“Bank stick-up.”
Spider’s dark face glowed greedily.
“That must’ve left you pretty well greased.”
Doc nodded. “But I can’t touch the big lump till the heat cools. Marked dough. Don’t worry though. I can pay my freight.”
As he spoke, Doc kept rubbing the rings on his right hand against the lapel of his coat. Spider grinned.
A grin didn’t become his evil face at all.
“I’ll fix you up with a nice, quiet room — private, or any way you want it.”
“Swell. I’ll be around only a few days. I got a tip there’s a harvest ready to be cut up around Boston. But while I’m around, if you get wind of any jobs that call for fast thinkin’, don’t forget my room number.”
He rubbed the rings on his coat again, studied them critically.
“Them’s some rings you got there,” Spider commented.
“Yeah,” Doc replied. “I make a hobby of collectin’ them. They’re my weakness. That’s how come I got my monicker, Rings Jackson.”
He pulled out a worn leather wallet, crowded with greenbacks. He knew he was gambling his life by flashing a roll like this, but it was part of his plan.
“What’s the bad news, pal?” he asked. “I know you’ll want it in advance.”
The Spider’s small eyes were glued on that wallet.
“No hurry, Rings, no hurry,” he said oilily, licking his puffy lips like a cat contemplating a canary. He gestured Doc to lean across the desk and said in a hushed voice: “You wouldn’t wanna see a little collection of sparklers I got, I don’t suppose.”
Doc’s heart pounded fast and furious. The fish had grabbed at his bait. He could scarcely curb his eagerness to yank him in, but he knew if he played him too fast, there was the danger of losing his quarry. He forced a frown, which wasn’t easy.
“I don’t know,” he drawled. “I ain’t got many fingers left.”
“I got some that’ll knock your eye out. Real class and cheap!”
Doc shrugged. “It ain’t the price. A good ring’s always worth dough. But—”
“I’ll show ’em to you,” Spider interrupted insistently. “Come on up to my room.”
He punched a tinny bell with the heel of his thick hand. A filthy old man shuffled forward lazily.
“Watch out nobody don’t run off with the desk, Pop,” Spider said with a weak attempt at levity.
He led Doc up the rickety stairs, past unsightly rooms, some of which possessed no doors. The beds were unmade and gray with dirt. Doc shivered inwardly at the thought of having to spend a night here.
They entered a sparsely furnished room with an unmade brass bed, a table, two chairs and a couple of pictured nudes adorning the walls. There were a bottle of whisky and two glasses on the table.
“Help yourself, Rings,” Spider invited.
Doc took one look at the dirt streaks on the glasses and declined. He wasn’t sure whether, if he had taken a drink, he would have left this place alive.
Spider closed the door and turned the key.
He walked over to Doc and frisked him. Doc frowned.
“What’s the idea?” he demanded.
Spider smiled. “No offense, pal. Just can’t be too careful with a guy you never met before.”
Finding Doc had no weapon, he walked to the larger of the two pictures on the wall. He brushed it aside with his hand and revealed a wall safe.
“This ain’t no tin can, either,” he bragged. “I’ve had some of the smartest safe-crackers try to open it. They didn’t even make an impression.”
He ordered Doc to turn his back so he couldn’t follow the combination, then spun the tumblers. When Doc turned to face him again, Spider had the safe open and was removing a big boxful of rings, cuff links, studs, bracelets, necklaces, earrings. He upset the box on the table.
Doc went over them carefully. His heart sank.
The ring he sought was not among them!
Spider couldn’t help but note the look of disappointment on Doc’s face. He frowned his resentment.
“What’s the matter? That’s the neatest collection of jewelry in the city.”
Doc managed a spiritless grin.
“Sure, they’re oke, but they’re not exactly what I want. I’ve had all them kind. If I’m gonna buy something, I want something different.”
Spider rubbed his jaw and studied Doc carefully.
“Wait a minute,” he said finally. “Your name’s Jackson, ain’t it? I got somethin’ maybe you’ll go for, only it’s hot — plenty hot. I wouldn’t even let you look at it if you was gonna stick around town very long.”
Doc’s heart took up that rapid thumping again.
“If it’s what I want, I’ll keep it off until after I’ve blown.”
Spider considered. “That’s fair enough, but remember you didn’t get it from me. I’ll call you a liar if you say you did.”
He went back to the safe, dug his black, hairy hand into the darkest corner and came out with a small package wrapped in tissue paper. He tore it open with blunt, sweaty fingers.
Doc watched in breathless silence as the contents of the package rolled out onto the table.
It was his brother’s ring!
His bony jaw stiffened. That black spade appeared even through the make-up. He snatched up the ring almost tenderly, read the inscription inside the band:
To John from Dad
Spider misconstrued it all. He grimaced gleefully and rubbed his big hands together. Doc whirled to face him angrily.
“Where did you get this ring?”
Spider’s grin spread and he held up his big paw.
“I never remember names, Pal.”
“You’ll remember this one!”
The grin washed from Spider’s face, was replaced by a glower.
“Gimme back my ring,” he snarled. “I don’t take no guff from nobody!”
He made a quick grab for the ring in Doc’s hand. Doc straight-armed him back against the wall. Instantly Spider’s hand flew to his hip pocket. Doc expected to see a gun come out. Instead the hotel owner yanked out a clasp knife. He touched a spring and a stout, deadly-looking blade sprang out. With a curse he pushed forward.
Doc set his weight on the balls of his feet, knotted his fists and waited for the lunge. It came. Doc took one short step to the side, grabbed the knife-wrist as it whizzed past. He knew every hidden, sensitive nerve center in the wrist. He found one and pressed his thumb hard against it.
The knife dropped to the ground and Spider went to his knees, groveling, yelling with pain. Doc snatched the knife and pressed the point of it against Spider’s throbbing jugular vein. The knife was sharp, as Spider realized. It brought big beads of perspiration to his wrinkled brow.
“From whom did you buy this ring?” Doc demanded.
“I don’t know!”
There was a banging of fists on the door, voices wanting to know what was the matter.
“Tell them it’s nothing,” Doc ordered. “Tell them to go away.”
“You won’t get away with this,” Spider gritted. The knife blade pricked his neck. He howled: “Beat it! There ain’t nothing wrong.”
The mob in the corridor went away, muttering.
“Now,” Doc snapped, “from whom did you get this ring?”
Spider swallowed. Doc knew he had figured his chances and realized they were all bad.
“Okay, okay, I’ll spill,” mumbled Spider. “Lemme up.”
“From whom did you get this ring?” repeated Doc inexorably.
“A lug named ‘Punchy’ Gus Martin. Come from outa town. Did a job for somebody here in the city and swiped the ring off the corpse. I paid fifty bucks for it.”
“You didn’t cheat yourself, did you? This ring is worth every penny of three hundred dollars.”