10
Hard knuckles pounded the door of Room 821. Johnny roiled over in bed and looked at the door. The knuckles massaged the door panels once more.
“Who is it?” he called.
“Open up, Fletcher,” cried a voice outside the door.
Sam Cragg sat up in bed. “What’s the idea, wakin’ a man in the middle of the night?”
Johnny threw back the covers and strode to the door. He shot back the bolt and whipped open the door. J.J. Kilkenny, smiling nastily, stepped in. Sam shook his head, let out a roar and started around the bed to get at Kilkenny.
The skip tracer coolly produced a snub-nosed revolver. “I’m not going to skin my knuckles on you, fat boy.”
“Fat boy?” roared Sam Cragg. “Put down that dingus and I’ll twist you into a pretzel.”
“Uh-uh,” said Kilkenny. He reached back with his foot and shut the door. “Business before pleasure.”
“I’ve got no more business with you,” snapped Johnny.
“Oh yes, you have,” sneered Kilkenny. “Remember that money you collected on the skip was twenty-two dollars short.”
“You forgot my ten-dollar commission.”
“I applied that on your own account.” Kilkenny pointed to Sam Cragg with his revolver. “I haven’t forgotten that little tab for the ape’s mandolin.”
“Who you callin’ an ape?” demanded Sam.
“You,” retorted Kilkenny.
Sam took another quick step forward, but Kilkenny kept the revolver pointed at him. “Come ahead, fatso.”
“You’ve got no right to carry a gun,” Johnny said angrily.
“I got a license, that gives me a right.”
“Since when are they giving licenses to bill collectors?”
“People threaten me,” smirked Kilkenny. “A man’s got a right to defend himself. Like now — I got a claim against you birds and if you make a pass at me, I can shoot you and nothin’ll happen to me. I’m only defending myself.”
“I ain’t sure that pea-shooter’d even hurt me,” said Sam Cragg dourly. “Don’t crowd your luck.”
“I’ll make this short and sweet,” snapped Kilkenny. “You didn’t give me all the money that Miss Cummings gave you. I happen to know that she gave you a piggy bank full of small change. I want it.”
Johnny’s eyes went involuntarily to the dresser where the limping goose bank had stood the day before. It was gone and for a moment Johnny thought that someone had stolen it. Then he recalled having swept it off the dresser into an open drawer the night before.
“There’s only a bunch of pennies in the bank.”
“Yeah, about twenty bucks’ worth. I want them.”
“You’re welcome if you can get them out of the bank. I couldn’t. The slot’s too narrow.”
Kilkenny held out his free hand. “Give.”
Johnny turned his back on the bill collector and headed for the dresser. As he passed Sam, he winked and said quickly in an undertone, “Ready!”
He reached past Sam, pulled open the dresser drawer and took out the bronze limping goose bank. “Here,” he said to Kilkenny, and tossed the bank to him. He threw it to the right of Kilkenny, so the bill collector had to lunge for it with the hand holding the gun. The bank struck the gun and for an instant Kilkenny tried to juggle both the revolver and the limping goose.
That was enough for Sam. He took a headlong plunge at Kilkenny, both hands flailing out. His head hit Kilkenny’s midriff, his left hand struck the bill collector’s right arm and closed around it. He gripped it savagely, twisting as both he and Kilkenny hit the floor.
Kilkenny cried out hoarsely in pain and the gun clattered to the floor. Johnny scooped it up just as Sam hit Kilkenny a short chopping blow on the chin with his fist.
Both Johnny and Sam stood up. Kilkenny’s eyes were closed and he was moaning. Sam prodded him with his bare foot. “Cut out the stalling,” he said, “I hardly hit you.”
Kilkenny’s eyes opened. “Help me up,” he groaned.
“Get up yourself.”
Kilkenny got painfully to his feet, but the fight was gone from him. “That was a sneaking trick you pulled,” he said to Johnny.
“Just like yours yesterday,” Johnny replied cheerfully.
“You want to go another fall?” Sam asked.
“Gimme my gun,” said Kilkenny, holding out his hand.
“Nixay,” said Johnny, “that’s one of the rules of the game. You pull a gun on a man and he takes it away from you, it’s his gun.”
“That roscoe cost me twenty-seven fifty second-hand.”
“That’s twenty-seven fifty you’re out.”
Kilkenny blinked, drew a great breath and exhaled. “All right, if that’s the way you’re going to play. I’ll remember it. It’ll be my turn again next time.”
“I’ll be carrying his rod,” Johnny said darkly. “You try anything on me when Sam isn’t around and I’ll be defending myself. Remember that.”
Kilkenny pointed to the limping goose bank. “At least, can I have that?”
“I just told you — you lost.”
“But you still owe me twenty-two bucks on the Cummings skip,” protested Kilkenny, “not to mention the sixty-seven on the Ajax mandolin bill. That’s eighty-nine bucks, altogether. All right, I promised you ten dollars for locating Cummings. That’s seventy-nine bucks. Le’me have the bank and I’ll knock off twenty — say, twenty-four — and call it an even fifty-five.”
“Call it an even seventy-five,” retorted Johnny. “I like it better.”
Kilkenny scowled. “Watch yourself, Fletcher. I’m a bloodhound. When you’re least expecting me, I’ll pop up — and the gorilla won’t be around.”
“Gorilla!” cried Sam, and made another lunge at Kilkenny. But the star of the Acme Adjustment Agency collection force had had enough. He sprang back, whipped open the hall door and leaped through. Sam, in pajamas, closed the door and whirled back.
“That’s what I like before breakfast,” he cried cheerfully. “A workout. Gives me an appetite.”
“We’ve got a buck forty-five,” said Johnny. “Let’s eat!”
A half hour later Johnny and Sam sat in the Automat, with Sam polishing off his second order of corned beef hash. He looked wistfully across at Johnny. “D’you suppose I could have another order, Johnny?”
Johnny shook his head. “We’ve now got left the sum of twenty cents, Sam.”
Sam smacked his lips. “The Automat makes the best corned beef hash in town, maybe in the whole country. Don’t you think you could spend a couple of those dimes, the ones that ain’t so old?”
“No, you’ve had enough to eat now. Sometime during the day I’ll get that advance from James Sutton, then you can fill up. Right now, I think we’d better start earning that money.”
“Where can you start on a deal like that? The guy disappeared twelve years ago.”
“From where?”
“How would I know?”
“Sutton isn’t going to be much help. He wants information but he doesn’t give out any.”
“Yeah, like last night. He didn’t even want us to know where he lived.”
“The man who could probably tell us more about young Smithson than anyone is old Jess Carmichael.” Then, as Sam winced: “He’ll probably be busy with the police commissioner this morning. I think maybe we’ll try it from the back door.”
“What back door?”
“Alice Cummings’s.”
“Oh, no!” cried Sam.
“She hates us,” Johnny mused. “She may be mad enough so she’ll spill something.” He nodded. “Yes, I think we’ll run up to her little old apartment.”
“You never do things the easy way, do you, Johnny?” groaned Sam. “I ought to have some more corned beef hash if we’re gonna face that little lady.”
“Later.”