“Bronson made an appointment and came in to see me last Thursday morning, Mr. Keefler.”
“Came here! He was in town?”
“He sat in that chair where you are sitting.”
“What the hell did he want?”
“He seemed... quite furtive. Upset, I would say. I didn’t find out until later, of course, that he is a wanted man. Apparently he had picked my name at random out of a phone book. He had some document he wanted me to keep. It was in a sealed envelope. He explained that he wanted me to put it in my office safe and, should anything happen to him — if he should be killed, I believe he meant — I was to turn the envelope over to the police.”
“Have you got it? Let me have it!”
“Just a moment, Mr. Keefler. I tried to ask him some questions about himself. I tried to get some idea of the nature of the document I was to hold. He was most evasive. I finally refused to oblige him, even though the fee he offered was generous. I suspected from the way he acted he was involved in something illegal.”
“Shakedown!” Keefler said bitterly.
“He said he could find somebody. He was... abusive. This morning, just out of curiosity, I phoned the police and found out he is wanted for violation of parole. I was referred to you. I thought it was information you might like to have.”
“I sure appreciate it, Mr. Verney. It’s something I’m glad to know. Danny has dropped clean out of sight. He quit his job the end of June. I find out he is doing okay. At least he was doing okay in July. But this thing has me stopped. I was a cop until I got hurt. I’ve been using cop channels. I’ve had all the boys checking their informants to see if anybody knows anything. I get nothing. He used to be one of Kennedy’s boys. He’s known all over town. Nobody sees him. Nobody knows what he’s doing. He’s avoiding every contact. The last time, until I came here, that I could definitely pin him down as being in town was July twenty-fifth. I’d half decided he left for good. A guy with his background, it isn’t reasonable nobody would make him. And I couldn’t figure out how he could be doing good without my being able to find out how.”
“But this gives you a better idea?”
“Yes. It sounds like he’s got somebody on the hook, but good. He’s milking somebody. Maybe it’s a solo flight, and maybe he’s got a woman in with him. He could be holed up right here in town.”
“Did he contact somebody on the twenty-fifth of July?”
“His brother, Lee Bronson. He called on them and took his brother a birthday present. His brother lives out in Brookton on Arcadia and teaches at Brookton Junior College. I was there Saturday. They haven’t seen him since that day he stopped by.”
“I don’t imagine he’d leave an envelope with his brother, the one he tried to get me to keep?”
“I don’t know. Could be. I could go shake them up some, the brother and his wife. Sure, they could have it. That would be a logical place. By God, if that pair lied to me...”
“Just a moment, Mr. Keefler. I’ve remembered something else he said. I guess I should have remembered it before. It might give you a lead. As I told you, he was being abusive. He was shouting at me almost incoherently. He said he had friends who would keep it for him. He mentioned two first names. I don’t see how they could be of very much help to you. One name was Fred and the other was, I am quite certain, Tommy.”
Keefler sagged in the chair. “No last names?”
“No.”
“My God, this is going to mean leg work. Damn! Maybe fifty or sixty guys. I could sit right here and think of fifteen possibles. Great! But I’ll have to do it, I guess. It sounds like he was aiming for a big score. It he makes it, he’ll be long gone.”
After he had thanked Verney again, Keefler went down to Central Records. It took fifteen minutes to get an approval of his request, and another hour to set up the sorter to drop out the punch cards of all local known criminals with the two first names. The sorted cards were run through the tabulator and Keefler was provided with a list of forty-nine names, together with last known addresses. Five were currently serving time and could be eliminated. Keefler checked the names against the yellow sheet files and arbitrarily eliminated eighteen of them as being too young. It seemed logical that Danny would trust older, steadier men. The remaining list of twenty-six names was smaller and more manageable.
Keefler looked forward to the evening with pleasure. His mission was legitimate. He had known some of the men on the list for years. There wasn’t one of them who was going to be happy to see him. He would make a little small talk. Hold off until they were uncomfortable. Then set it up just right. What would be a good way?
“Danny Bronson did some talking before he died an hour ago. He said you’re holding an envelope for him. Let’s have it.”
That was a good way. There’d be a reaction — enough so you could tell. Enough to go to work on. It was as good as being a cop. In some ways it was better. In some ways it was even a lot better.
Chapter Seven
Lucille Bronson
Tuesday was a day of gray and dismal rain, and Lucille felt that her whole life ahead of her was as dreary as the skies. She had awakened when she heard the familiar sound of Lee backing the car out of the drive. She had turned over and tried to go back to sleep but she could not. She kept thinking of how grim and unfriendly Lee had been ever since he had found out about the money and taken it away from her. He had not touched her or kissed her. He had looked through her, as if she weren’t there.
She sat on the edge of her bed and stretched and yawned and then reached up under the old pajama top of Lee’s that she slept in and gently scratched her round stomach and tousled her hair with the other hand. She looked at the day and grunted with distaste and boredom. Sunday was the last day the pool was open. Now it would be closed for the winter. Damn the long miserable winter. She liked the feel of hot sun on her body. She liked the dazed laziness, the feeling of softness and content, half asleep with Ruthie propped beside her, droning away, talking, talking.
Maybe Lee would let her get a sunlamp. It wouldn’t be the same, but it would be something. Ruthie could come over and they could stretch out under it and really get an all over, without any stripes or strap marks or anything.
She trudged into the bathroom, listlessly brushed her hair, cleaned her teeth, put on a fresh mouth. It was too darn much trouble to get dressed on this kind of a day. And there was no point in looking good for Lee. She had come home alone Saturday night after midnight and instead of pacing around worrying about her and bawling her out when she got home, he’d been in bed and asleep.
She got into an aqua corduroy thing that Lee had, during friendlier days, called her battle dress. It was a one-piece garment with short sleeves, knee length legs, a wide belt with a brass buckle, and a zipper from throat to crotch.
Lee had rinsed his breakfast dishes and put them in the sink. She turned on the gas under the coffee, put bread in the toaster, and reassembled the morning paper. She finished the paper before her second cup of coffee was finished. It had started to rain again. She looked vacantly at the counter top, looked without focus at the row of canisters, and then focused on the largest one — and felt a curious shiver start deep inside her and run all the way up into her throat and leave her slightly breathless.
Why not?
Danny was responsible for the way Lee was acting. Danny had put her in the dog house. And Danny, acting like a crazy animal of some kind, had made her submit to him — had really made her unfaithful to Lee. She would never have been unfaithful to Lee, never in this world, if Danny hadn’t beat her up and cut her mouth and made her do it. She’d been too scared to scream, even.