Smart-Aleck Kill
SMART-ALECK KILL
ONE
The doorman of the Kilmarnock was six foot two. He wore a pale blue uniform, and white gloves made his hands look enormous. He opened the door of the Yellow taxi as gently as an old maid stroking a cat.
Johnny Dalmas got out and turned to the red-haired driver. He said: «Better wait for me around the corner, Joey.»
The driver nodded, tucked a toothpick a little farther back in the corner of his mouth, and swung his cab expertly away from the white-marked loading zone. Dalmas crossed the sunny sidewalk and went into the enormous cool lobby of the Kilmarnock. The carpets were thick, soundless. Bellboys stood with folded arms and the two clerks behind the marble desk looked austere.
Dalmas went across to the elevator lobby. He got into a paneled car and said: «End of the line, please.»
The penthouse floor had a small quiet lobby with three doors opening off it, one to each wall. Dalmas crossed to one of them and rang the bell.
Derek Walden opened the door. He was about forty-five, possibly a little more, and had a lot of powdery gray hair and a handsome, dissipated face that was beginning to go pouchy. He had on a monogrammed lounging robe and a glass full of whiskey in his hand. He was a little drunk.
He said thickly, morosely: «Oh, it’s you. C’mon in, Dalmas.»
He went back into the apartment, leaving the door open. Dalmas shut it and followed him into a long, high-ceilinged room with a balcony at one end and a line of french windows along the left side. There was a terrace outside.
Derek Walden sat down in a brown and gold chair against the wall and stretched his legs across a foot stool. He swirled the whiskey around in his glass, looking down at it.
«What’s on your mind?» he asked.
Dalmas stared at him a little grimly. After a moment he said: «I dropped in to tell you I’m giving you back your job.»
Walden drank the whiskey out of his glass and put it down on the corner of a table. He fumbled around for a cigarette, stuck it in his mouth and forgot to light it.
«Tha’ so?» His voice was blurred but indifferent.
Dalmas turned away from him and walked over to one of the windows. It was open and an awning flapped outside. The traffic noise from the boulevard was faint.
He spoke over his shoulder:
«The investigation isn’t getting anywhere — because you don’t want it to get anywhere. You know why you’re being blackmailed. I don’t. Eclipse Films is interested because they have a lot of sugar tied up in film you have made.»
«To hell with Eclipse Films,» Walden said, almost quietly.
Dalmas shook his head and turned around. «Not from my angle. They stand to lose if you get in a jam the publicity hounds can’t handle. You took me on because you were asked to. It was a waste of time. You haven’t cooperated worth a cent.»
Walden said in an unpleasant tone: «I’m handling this my own way and I’m not gettin’ into any jam. I’ll make my own deal — when I can buy something that’ll stay bought … And all you have to do is make the Eclipse people think the situation’s hem’ taken care of. That clear?»
Dalmas came partway back across the room. He stood with one hand on top of a table, beside an ash tray littered with cigarette stubs that had very dark lip rouge on them. He looked down at these absently.
«That wasn’t explained to me, Walden,» he said coldly.
«I thought you were smart enough to figure it out,» Walden sneered. He leaned sidewise and slopped some more whiskey into his glass. «Have a drink?»
Dalmas said: «No, thanks.»
Walden found the cigarette in his mouth and threw it on the floor. He drank. «What the hell!» he snorted. «You’re a private detective and you’re being paid to make a few motions that don’t mean anything. It’s a clean job — as your racket goes.»
Dalmas said: «That’s another crack I could do without hearing.»
Walden made an abrupt, angry motion. His eyes glittered. The corners of his mouth drew down and his face got sulky. He avoided Dalmas’ stare.
Dalmas said: «I’m not against you, but I never was for you. You’re not the kind of guy I could go for, ever. If you had played with me, I’d have done what I could. I still will — but not for your sake. I don’t want your money — and you can pull your shadows off my tail any time you like.»
Walden put his feet on the floor. He laid his glass down very carefully on the table at his elbow. The whole expression of his face changed.
«Shadows?… I don’t get you.» He swallowed. «I’m not having you shadowed.»
Dalmas stared at him. After a moment he nodded. «Okey, then. I’ll backtrack on the next one and see if I can make him tell who he’s working for… I’ll find out.»
Walden said very quietly: «I wouldn’t do that, if I were you. You’re — you’re monkeying with people that might get nasty. I know what I’m talking about.»
«That’s something I’m not going to let worry me,» Dalmas said evenly. «If it’s the people that want your money, they were nasty a long time ago.»
He held his hat out in front of him and looked at it. Walden’s face glistened with sweat. His eyes looked sick. He opened his mouth to say something.
The door buzzer sounded.
Walden scowled quickly, swore. He stared down the room but did not move.
«Too damn many people come here without hem’ announced,» he growled. «My Jap boy is off for the day.»
The buzzer sounded again, and Walden started to get up. Dalmas said: «I’ll see what it is. I’m on my way anyhow.»
He nodded to Walden, went down the room and opened the door.
Two men came in with guns in their hands. One of the guns dug sharply into Dalmas’ ribs, and the man who was holding it said urgently: «Back up, and make it snappy. This is one of those stick-ups you read about.»
He was dark and good-looking and cheerful. His face was as clear as a cameo, almost without hardness. He smiled.
The one behind him was short and sandy-haired. He scowled. The dark one said: «This is Walden’s dick, Noddy. Take him over and go through him for a gun.»
The sandy-haired man, Noddy, put a short-barreled revolver against Dalmas’ stomach and his partner kicked the door shut, then strolled carelessly down the room toward Walden.
Noddy took a .38 Colt from under Dalmas’ arm, walked around him and tapped his pockets. He put his own gun away and transferred Dalmas’ Colt to his business hand.
«Okey, Ricchio. This one’s clean,» he said in a grumbling voice. Dalmas let his arms fall, turned and went back into the room. He looked thoughtfully at Walden. Walden was leaning forward with his mouth open and an expression of intense concentration on his face. Dalmas looked at the dark stick-up and said softly: «Ricchio?»
The dark boy glanced at him. «Over there by the table, sweetheart. I’ll do all the talkin’.»
Walden made a hoarse sound in his throat. Ricchio stood in front of him, looking down at him pleasantly, his gun dangling from one finger by the trigger guard.
«You’re too slow on the pay-off, Walden. Too damn slow! So we came to tell you about it. Tailed your dick here too. Wasn’t that cute?»
Dalmas said gravely, quietly: «This punk used to be your bodyguard, Walden — if his name is Ricchio.»
Walden nodded silently and licked his lips. Ricchio snarled at Dalmas: «Don’t crack wise, dick. I’m tellin’ you again.» He stared with hot eyes, then looked back at Walden, looked at a watch on his wrist.
«It’s eight minutes past three, Walden. I figure a guy with your drag can still get dough out of the bank. We’re giving you an hour to raise ten grand. Just an hour. And we’re takin’ your shamus along to arrange about delivery.»