Fenner stood up.
Kells said: “But it was Mister Fenner’s. Mister Fenner wanted to eat his cake and have crumbs in his bed, too.”
Fenner took two steps forward. His eyes were flashing. He said: “That’s a lie, sir — a tissue of falsehood!”
Kells spoke very softly, enunciating each word carefully, distinctly: “Sit down, you dirty son of a bitch.”
Fenner straightened, glared at Kells. He half turned towards the door.
Kells got up and took three slow steps, then two swiftly, crashed his fist into Fenner’s face. There was a sickening crackly noise and Fenner fell down very hard.
Kells jerked him up and pushed him back into the chair. Kells’ face was worried, solicitous. He said very low — almost whispered: “Sit still.”
Then he went back to his chair and sat down.
“He’s been overacting all evening.” Kells inclined his head towards Fenner. “One of the boys sapped the manager. They fanned me and made a pass for Granquist’s handbag. She tossed it out the window; I smacked one of them and the other one went after the bag. Granquist faked going after the bag too, and I sent Fenner after her, figuring that the stuff wasn’t in the bag and that she’d come back here and that the three of us would get together here for another little talk.”
Fenner was pressing himself back into the corner of the chair. He was holding his hands to his bloody face and moaning a little.
“When I sent Fenner after Granquist,” Kells went on, “I gave him a gun — one of the boys’. He was so excited about getting to the bag, or keeping G. in sight, that he forgot to frisk the manager for his big dough.”
Kells took the yellow envelope out of his pocket. “So I got it.” He leaned forward, pressed the edges of the envelope and a little packet of cigar coupons fell out on the floor.
“Almost enough to get a package of razor blades.”
Beery grinned.
Kells said: “Granquist headed over here, so Fenner knew that the bag had been a stall, followed her. When she came in past the office, he ducked up the side way and, figuring that she had come right up, knocked at her door.”
Beery said: “How did he know which apartment was hers?”
“He had us tailed from my hotel early this evening. His man got her number from the mailboxes in the lobby, gave it to him before we got to his place tonight.”
Beery nodded.
Kells said: “Am I boring you?”
“Yes. Bore me some more.”
“Bellmann had come up here after some things he wanted — some very personal things that he couldn’t trust anyone else to get. He probably paid his way into the apartment — I’ll have to check up on that — and didn’t find what he was looking for, and, when Fenner knocked, he thought it was either Granquist, who he wanted to talk to anyway, or whoever let him in.”
Kells took a deep breath. “He opened the door, and...” Kells paused, got up and went to Fenner. He looked down at the little twisted man and smiled. “Mister Fenner knows a good thing when he sees it — he jockeyed Bellmann into a good spot and shot him through the heart.”
Fenner mumbled something through his hands.
“He waited for a nice roll of off-stage thunder and murdered him.”
Beery said: “That’s certainly swell. And I haven’t got any more job than a rabbit.” He stood up and stared disconsolately at Kells. “My God! Bellmann killed by the boss of the opposition — the most perfect political break that could happen, for my paper — and I turn in an innocent girl, swing it exactly the other way, politically. My God!”
Beery sat down and reached for the telephone.
Kells said: “Wait a minute.”
Beery held up his right hand, the forefinger pointed, brought it down emphatically towards Kells. “Nuts!”
Kells said: “Wait a minute, Shep.” His voice was very gentle. His mouth was curved in a smile and his eyes were very hot and intent.
Beery sat still.
Fenner got up. He was holding a darkening handkerchief to his face. He tottered toward the door.
Kells went past him to the door, locked it. He said: “Both you bastards pipe down and sit still till I finish.”
He shoved Fenner back into the chair.
“As I was about to say — you were a little late, you heard Granquist outside the door, wiped off the rod — if you didn’t, I did when I put it back — put it under the table and ducked into the cupboard.”
Beery said slowly: “What do you mean, you wiped it off?”
Kells didn’t answer. Instead, he squatted in front of Fenner. “Listen, you,” he said. “What do you think I put on that act for — ribbed Granquist into taking the fall? Because she can beat it.” His elbows were on his knees. He pointed his finger forcibly at Fenner, sighted across it. “You couldn’t. You couldn’t get to first base.”
Fenner’s face was a bruised, fearful mask. He stared blankly at Kells. “A few days ago — yesterday — all I wanted was to be let alone,” Kells went on. “I wasn’t. I was getting along fine — quietly — legitimately — and Rose and you and the rest of these bastards gave me action.”
He stood up. “All right — I’m beginning to like it.” He walked once to the window, back, bent over Fenner. “I’m taking over your organization. Do you hear me? Fenner, I’m going to run this town for a while — ride hell out of it.”
He glanced at Beery, smiled. Then he turned again to Fenner, spoke quietly: “I was going East tomorrow. Now you’re going. You’re going to turn everything over to me and take a nice long trip — or they’re going to break your goddamned neck with a rope.”
Kells went to the small desk, sat down. He found a pen, scribbled on a piece of Venice stationery. “And just to make it ‘legal, and in black and white,’ as the big businessmen say — you’re going to sign this — and Mister Beery is going to witness it.”
Beery said: “You can’t get away with a—”
“No?” Kells paused, glanced over his shoulder at Beery. “I’ll get away with it big, young fella. And stop worrying about your job — you’ve got a swell job with me. How would you like to be Chief of Police?”
He went on writing, then stopped suddenly, turned to Fenner. “I’ve got a better idea,” he said. “You’ll stay here, where I can hold a book on you. You stay here, and in your same spot — only you can’t go to the toilet without my okay.” He got up and stood in the center of the room and jerked his head towards the desk. “There it is. Get down on it — quick.”
Fenner said: “Certainly not,” thickly.
Kells looked at the floor. He said: “Call Hayes, Shep.”
Beery reached for the telephone very slowly and deliberately.
Fenner didn’t look at him. He held his hands tightly over his face for a moment and mumbled, “My God!” — and then he got up and went unsteadily to the desk, sat down. He stooped over the piece of paper, read it carefully.
Kells said: “If Granquist beats the case — and she will — and you don’t talk out of turn, I’ll tear it up in a month or so.”
Fenner picked up the pen, shakily signed.
Kells looked at Beery, and Beery got up and went over and read the paper. He said: “This is a confession. Does it make me an accessory?”
Kells said: “It isn’t dated.”
Beery signed and folded the paper and handed it to Kells.
Kells glanced at it and looked at Fenner. “Now I want you to call your Coast Guardian man, Dickinson, and any other key men you can get in touch with, and tell them to be at your joint in the Manhattan in a half hour.”
Fenner went into the bathroom, washed his face. He came back and sat down at the telephone.
Kells held the folded paper out to Beery. “You’re going downtown anyway, Shep,” he said. “Stick this in the safe at your office — I’ll be down in the morning and take it to the bank.”