“We’ve got enough,” she broke in. “Let’s go, Gerry — please.”
He sat without moving or speaking for a little while, staring out the window at the brightness of the sun. Then he got up and went back to the table and took up the phone and asked the operator to get him the Sante Fe ticket office.
When the connection had been made, he said: “I want to make reservations on the Chief, tomorrow evening — a drawing room — two...”
Granquist had turned. She said: “Tonight! Gerry.”
Kells smiled at her a little. He shook his head and said: “Yes... Kells, Miramar Apartments in Hollywood — send them out.”
Then he hung up and reached across the table for the bottle and glasses, poured drinks. He raised his glass.
“Here’s to Crime — and the Chief tomorrow night.”
Granquist got up and came to the table and picked up one of the glasses. She said, “Hey, hey,” and smiled across the table at Kells.
There was a knock at the outer door and Granquist went into the bedroom, and Borg got up and let Woodward in.
Woodward was very nervous. He put two neat sheafs of thousandand five-hundred-dollar notes on the table, said: “There you are, sir.”
Kells tossed one of the forged confessions across the table and slid one of the thousand-dollar notes out of the sheaf, examined it carefully.
Woodward said: “And the other things — the pictures and things?...”
“They’re downtown. I’ll call Beery to turn them over to you — at the Howard Hotel.”
Woodward nodded. He went over to the window and adjusted his glasses, peered closely at the paper. He turned to say something and then there was a sharp sound and glass tinkled on the floor. Woodward stood with his mouth open a little while, then his legs buckled under him slowly and he fell down and stretched one arm out and took hold of the bottom of one of the drapes. He rolled his head once back and forth, and his glasses came off and stuck out at an angle from the side of his head. His eyes were open, staring.
Kells said: “Well...”
Borg was half-standing. He moved his arm and very deliberately put the cards down on the table. Then he straightened and moved toward Woodward’s body.
Kells said: “Don’t go near the window, sap.”
Granquist came into the bedroom door and stood with one hand up to her face, staring at Woodward.
Borg said: “It must have been from that joint.” He pointed through the window to the tall apartment house halfway down the block.
Kells stood up. “Bring me my clothes,” he said.
Granquist didn’t move. She stood staring at Woodward blankly. “
Bring me my clothes,” Kells said gently.
Borg went swiftly to the bedroom door, past Granquist into the bedroom. He came back almost immediately with a tangled mass of clothes under his arm. He held a short blunt revolver in one hand, down straight at his side.
Granquist went to a chair against one wall and picked up her coat and put it on. She went to the table and stood with both hands on the table, leaning forward a little.
Kells sat down and took his clothes from Borg, one piece at a time, put them on.
The phone rang.
Kells picked it up, said: “Hello... Shep — we’re shoving off. Woodward’s just been shot — through the window, from the roof of the place next door... Uh-huh. And he paid off with marked bills, so there’s probably someone waiting outside to make a pinch... Maybe some of Crotti’s boys tailed Fenner — your guess is as good as mine... Call me in a half hour at the Lancaster. If I’m not there I’ll be in jail — or on a slab... Hell! No. Let ’em find him... ’Bye.”
He hung up, finished dressing rapidly. He got up and limped to one side of the big window and pulled the cord that closed the drapes. Woodward’s hand was clenched on the bottom of one of the drapes and it moved a little as the drape closed. The paper had fallen, lay a little way from his other hand.
Kells stood looking down at Woodward for a minute, then he went to the table and picked up the two thin stacks of money and put them in his pocket. Granquist said, “My God, Gerry — don’t take them if they’re marked.”
He glanced at her and smiled with one side of his mouth. “Let’s go,” he said.
Borg had gone back into the bedroom. He came into the doorway and he had put on his shirt and coat; he went to a mirror near the outer door and put on his hat.
Granquist stooped and picked up the crutches.
Kells shook his head, said: “My leg feels swell.”
They went out into the corridor.
There was a man standing near the elevators but he paid no attention to them, entered one of the elevators while they were still halfway down the hall.
They waited a minute or so, got into the same elevator when it came back up. It was automatic — Kells pushed the sub-basement button.
He said: “Maybe...”
Borg watched the sixth floor go by through the little wired-glass window. “The basement is as good a hunch as any,”he said. “There’s a garage with a driveway out onto Cherokee. Maybe we can promote a car — or if we can get down to Highland, to the cab stand...”
“Why didn’t you call a cab?” Granquist was leaning back in a corner of the elevator.
Kells looked at her vacantly, as if he hadn’t heard.
“Maybe this is a lot of hooey,” he said — “maybe we’re a cinch. But if that was Crotti” — he gestured with his head up toward the apartment — “he’ll have a dozen beads on the place.”
The elevator stopped and they went into a dark corridor, down to a door to the garage. There was a tall man with a very small mustache asleep in a big car near the archway that led out into Cherokee. He woke up when Borg stepped on the running board.
Borg asked: “How’re chances of renting a car?”
The man rubbed his eyes, climbed out and stood between Kells and Borg. He said: “Sure. I got a Buick an’ I got a Chrysler.”
“Are either of them closed?” Kells leaned on Granquist’s shoulder, winked at Borg meaningly.
The man said: “Yeah — the Buick.”
He went towards a car five down the line from the one he had been sleeping in.
Kells said: “That’ll do. How much deposit do you want?”
“You want a driver?”
“No.”
Borg opened one rear door of the car and helped Granquist in. The man said: “No deposit if you live here. It’s two an’ a quarter an hour.”
“Maybe we’ll be out all night — you’d better take this.” Kells gave the man two bills, got in through the front door carefully. He put his leg out straight under the dashboard.
Borg went around to the other side and squeezed in behind the wheel. He pressed the starter, and the man reached in and pulled the choke and the engine roared. Borg scowled at the man and pushed the choke back in. They swung in a wide circle out through the archway into the sunlight.
Kells turned and spoke sharply to Granquist: “Lie down on the seat.”
She muttered something unintelligible and lay down on her side across the back seat.
They turned swiftly down Cherokee, and a spurt of flame came out of a close-curtained limousine to meet them, lead thudded, bit into the side of the car. Borg stepped on the throttle, they plunged forward, past.
Kells looked back at Granquist. She was lying with her eyes tightly closed and her face was very white. He put one arm back towards her and she rose suddenly to her knees, put her hands on his shoulder.
He smiled. “We’re all right, baby,” he said softly. “They build these cars in Detroit — that’s machinegun country.”
Borg was crouched over the wheel. He spoke out of the side of his mouth: “Are they coming?”