“Why don’t you... mind your own business?”
“Can’t. It’s a disease with me.” He shuddered. “Now, you take your uncle and Hal Johnson, the foreman, at the plant. They mind their own business and they’ve been working thirty-nine years in one plant.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. For them. But I’m made different, I guess. A week in one place and I can’t stand it any more.”
“You’ve been two days at the Towner Leather Company. Does that mean you’ll be leaving in another five days?”
“I’m going to let you in on a secret,” said Johnny.
“This job is the first one I’ve had since I was a boy. Oh, I work, pretty hard sometimes, too. But I work for myself. I’m a book salesman, the greatest book salesman in the world.”
“Then why aren’t you selling books now?” cried Nancy.
“Because I had a little bad luck. Rather, somebody else had bad luck. The publisher who supplies me with books was locked out by the sheriff. He couldn’t send me any books—”
“Can’t you get them anywhere else?”
“If I had money to pay for them, yes.”
“But you said you were the greatest book salesman in the world. If you’re that good, why don’t you have enough money to pay for the books...?”
“That,” said Johnny, “is what’s wrong with Johnny Fletcher. When he’s got money he won’t work. Oh, I’ve tried it. One year I worked hard. I made more money than the president of the United States. And I wound up at the end of the year with what I started. Nothing. You see, there are people in this country who run night clubs, horse races and crap games. They always find the Johnny Fletchers...”
The music stopped and Johnny released Nancy. “For example, there are night clubs in Chicago. And Johnny Fletcher’s in Chicago, with a couple of hundred dollar bills in his pocket. So — let’s go...!”
Sam Cragg spied Johnny and came forward. “Johnny,” he said, “that Carmella fellow and his friends have left the dance. But they are waiting downstairs...”
“How many friends?”
“Two.”
“Suckers,” said Johnny.
Janie Ballard came strolling up with Karl Kessler.
“Got enough slumming?” she asked.
“I’ve got one more phone call to make,” said Johnny, “then I’m ready to leave. Don’t start dancing; it’ll only take me a minute.”
He smiled at Nancy, nodded to Sam and headed for the barroom.
In the phone booth, he dialed the Wiggins Detective Agency. “Wiggins,” began the detective, but Johnny cut him off.
“Where’s Wendland tonight?”
“Wendland. I don’t believe I—”
“Cut it out!” snapped Johnny. “I want to know where he is right now. Your man’s shadowing me for him, and Wendland’s calling in and asking for reports.”
“But, Mr. Fletcher,” protested Wiggins. “I never told you—”
“Where’s Wendland?” snarled Johnny.
“At the Chez Hogan,” Wiggins replied quickly. “He phoned in only a few moments ago.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Only that you were at a dance hall on Clybourn Avenue.”
“All right,” Johnny said curtly, “I’m going to the Chez Hogan myself. But first there are a couple of points I want to clear up. This first marriage of Harry Towner’s — the one his father had annulled... what was the date on that?”
“I have it right here. Just a moment. Ah yes, October 16, 1921, that’s the annulment...”
“And when did he remarry?”
“Mmm, let’s see. January 1922, but I don’t see—”
“Never mind. Just one thing more, something that’s stuck in my mind since you told me about it. You said Al Piper owned his own home and that it was worth $15,000 to $18,000.”
“Approximately. My operator’s estimate...”
“More or less is good enough. How the devil could he buy his own home — one costing that much, on his thirty-six or thirty-eight dollars weekly pay?”
“Why, I thought you knew about that, Mr. Fletcher. Piper had a sideline — he took bets for Marco Maxwell, the bookie. He got five per cent, hot or cold.”
Johnny groaned. “Why doesn’t somebody tell me these things!”
“The police knew it yesterday. I thought you’d heard by now...”
“I didn’t. Is there anything else I ought to know?”
“About Al Piper? Only that that’s what Piper and that Italian boy, what’s his name, Carmella, had their quarrel about. Carmella started taking horse bets and Piper got sore about it.”
“Oh, fine,” said Johnny. “Now you tell me. Is there any other important little trifle that I ought to know and don’t?”
“About who?”
“About anyone connected with Piper’s murder.”
“Who’s connected with it?”
“Anyone who worked at the Towner factory.”
“You only paid me to investigate—”
“Oh, hell,” broke in Johnny, “forget it. I’ll call you later.” He slammed the receiver on the hook and left the booth and the barroom.
Sam and the girls were waiting for him at the exit. Nancy regarded Johnny suspiciously as he came up but made no comment.
They started down the stairs. Halfway down Johnny said:
“This Carmella lad learns the hard way.”
Carmella stood at the bottom of the stairs with his two pin-stripe-suited friends. Sam drew a deep breath. “This is my department, Johnny.” He stepped ahead of Johnny.
“Hiya, fellas,” he greeted Carmella and his friends as he hurried down the stairs.
“Hello, Ape,” retorted Carmella, stepping back. The movement formed a V: Carmella at the point, his two friends, one on either side of the corridor, making the prongs of the V.
Sam grinned hugely and stepped into the V. The two sleek men promptly closed in, each gripping one of Sam’s arms with both hands. Sam chuckled. “You fellas kiddin’?”
“See if this is kidding,” snarled Carmella, swinging a vicious blow at Sam. The fist would have hit Sam in the face except that he suddenly ducked his head and took the blow on his skull. Carmella cried out in pain and danced back, shaking his bruised hand. Then Sam, with a sharp, sudden movement brought both of his arms out in front of his body. The two pugs were jerked forward. Sam pulled his arms free of their grips, snaked one arm about each dark head and cracked the two together. Both men cried out in agony and Sam pushed them away. One went down to his knees and gripped his head in both of his hands. The other man reeled against the wall, ricocheted from it and fell to the floor on his face.
Johnny, coming down with the girls, took their arms. “Watch your step, girls.”
Sam followed Carmella who was backing away from him. “I got a little present for you too, greaseball,” Sam said.
“Don’t!” cried Nancy Miller. “Don’t hit him.”
Sam, surprised by this appeal, half turned. And then Carmella reached to his hip pocket and brought out a leather-covered blackjack. He sprang forward, the blackjack high over his head. Johnny, seeing Sam’s peril, cried out in alarm.
“Sam — duck!”
Sam whirled back to Carmella, but was too late. The blackjack struck him on the head, just over his forehead. It made a dull, sickening thud.
Sam grunted in pain and staggered back. Carmella raised his hand again. Sam ducked, groped out for Carmella and caught him by the shirt front. But that didn’t stop the Italian. His blackjack came down again and Sam fell to his knees. He carried a piece of Carmella’s shirt front with him.
Johnny, blocked by Sam, tried hurdling his friend. He caught his foot on Sam, plunged headlong against Carmella and sent, him staggering back. He clawed at Carmella’s leg, tried to upset him and then — then lightning struck his head and shot through his entire body. It was followed by utter blackness.