James Chase - Tiger by the Tail

Adams sat motionless, staring down at his hands.

Johnny Dorman! He remembered him well: a fair, slim, good-looking boy who used to haunt the pool rooms on 66m Street.

“Did you tell Donovan this?”

Darcy shook his head.

“He didn’t ask me for ideas.”

Adams rubbed his jaw.

“Dorman: why, yes, that makes sense. Okay, I’ll have him picked up. No harm in finding out where he was at the time of her death.”

“You may not know it, Lieutenant,” Darcy said quietly, “but Dorman’s sister is going to marry Sean O’Brien.”

Adams stubbed out his cigarette. His face remained expressionless.

“I didn’t know.” He stood up. “That could make the set-up tricky. Thanks for the information. Keep this close to your chest. I don’t want anyone to know.”

“No one will,” Darcy said. “The guy who told me and Louie are the only two who know besides you and me, and I can take care of them.”

Adams began to move slowly about the room.

“This is going to be damned tricky,” he said. “If O’Brien finds out I want to talk to Johnny I could get blocked off. You don’t know where Johnny is, do you?”

Darcy shook his head.

“Any ideas?”

“He might be holed up with his sister. She thought a lot of him in the old days.”

Adams grimaced.

“That makes it worse. Yeah, he could be with her. Can you check for me, Sam? I’ll have to keep out of sight on this. Will you see if you can find him for me?”

Darcy hesitated.

“It’ll pay dividends,” Adams went on, watching him. “I’m in with Burt. I’ll see you don’t do it for nothing.”

“Okay,” Darcy said. “I’ll pass the word around. I can’t promise anything. But don’t get the wrong idea, Lieutenant. He probably never went near Fay last night.”

“Oh, sure. All I want is ten minutes with him. Find him fast, Sam. This is urgent.”

Once more out in the drenching rain, Adams walked down the alley to his car. He got in and lit a cigarette. He sat staring emptily at the lighted dashboard, his brain busy.

So Dorman’s sister was going to marry O’Brien. If Dorman had killed Fay, O’Brien could be in a hell of a spot.

Adams inhaled smoke deeply, and let it drift down his thin nostrils.

There were two ways of playing this hand, he thought. There was the long-term or the short-term policy. He could get in with O’Brien if he went to him, but it would be better to be patient and go to Burt. Before he could do either of them he had to prove Johnny Dorman did it.

He trod on the starter and the engine woke into life.

This could be big enough not only to unseat Motley, it’s big enough to unseat O’Brien, he thought. This is the chance I’ve been waiting for, and brother! I’ve got to handle it right!

He engaged gear and drove fast to headquarters.

Sean O’Brien drove his big Cadillac along a lonely stretch of the river bank. The dirt road was pot-holed and dusty. No traffic came that way since the canning factory had closed down. The few remaining sheds and the broken-down jetty made a convenient place to leave a car and board the motorboat out to Tux’s cruiser.

He drove his car into the rickety lean-to shed, cut the engine and got out of the car. He walked down to the jetty where the motorboat was waiting.

Willow Point, an ancient, rusty, eighty-foot cruiser, lay at anchor, half a mile from the mud flats. Ostensibly used by Tux to fish from when he happened to be in the mood for fishing, it also provided a convenient and safe hide-out for any of Tux’s friends who were in trouble.

O’Brien climbed into the motorboat, nodded to the mulatto who sat in the stern and settled himself into the bucket seat.

The mulatto cast off, shoved the nose of the boat clear of the jetty, men started the engine and headed across the muddy estuary towards Willow Point.

Tux was leaning on the rail as the motorboat came alongside. He was thick-set, immensely powerful and swarthy. His washed-out blue eyes moved continuously and restlessly. His hard, brutal face was fleshy, and he badly needed a shave. He wore an open-necked black shirt, dirty white trousers and a yachting cap set jauntily over his right eye.

He was the only survivor of O’Brien’s drug-trafficking days: a dangerous man with a knife or a gun. O’Brien found him invaluable. He paid him well, and he had never known Tux to fall down on any job, no matter how hard or dangerous.

Tux lifted a languid finger to his cap as O’Brien climbed on board.

“Where is he?” O’Brien asked.

“Below,” Tux told him, and jerked his thumb to the companion ladder. Seated on an empty box, guarding the way down, was a big negro, naked to the waist, who grinned sheepishly at O’Brien, then got up and moved away from the door.

“What happened?” O’Brien asked.

“A little trouble,” Tux returned indifferently. He had spent all his life dealing with trouble. “I had to tap him, but we got away without being seen. He tried to get rough as we were bringing him over, so Solly had to tap him again.”

“Is he hurt?” O’Brien said sharply.

“Just a tap,” Tux said, shrugging. He was an expert at tapping people. He knew just where and how hard to hit them. “Nothing to it. Want to talk to him, boss?”

“Yes.”

Tux led the way below deck, along a passage to a cabin. He took a key from his pocket, unlocked the door and shoved it open. He walked in and O’Brien followed him.

Johnny Dorman lay on the bunk, one long leg hanging over the side. He opened his eyes as O’Brien came to stand at his side.

O’Brien looked at him, his face expressionless.

Johnny was uncannily like his sister, but without her strength of character. He had the same well-shaped nose and the green eyes, and his thick hair was the same shade as Gilda’s.

A good-looking weakling, O’Brien thought. My luck she has to have a punk like this for a brother.

“Hello, Johnny,” he said.

Johnny didn’t move. He stared up at O’Brien, his green eyes watchful.

“What’s the idea, Sean?” he asked. “Gilda’s going to love this when I tell her.”

O’Brien pulled up a straight-back chair and sat down. He waved to Tux, who went out, shutting the door behind him. Then he took out a gold cigarette-case and offered it to Johnny.

After a moment’s hesitation, Johnny took a cigarette and accepted a light.

“We won’t talk about Gilda just yet,” O’Brien said, “We’ll talk about you. How are you, Johnny?”

“Before that nigger knocked me around I was fine,” Johnny said. “You don’t imagine you’re going to get away with this, do you?”

“I get away with most things,” O’Brien returned. “I hear the doctors have given you a clean bill of health.”

“So what? They would have given it to me before only they wanted to make as much out of me as they could,” Johnny said with a sneer. “They’re all alike. All they think about is what they can get out of me.”

“I was under the impression your sister was paying the bills,” O’Brien said quietly. “Nice of you to show so much interest.”

Johnny laughed.

“That cat won’t jump,” he added. “Gilda’s got all the money she wants at the moment; I haven’t. If she had to go into a nuthouse, I’d take care of her. Besides, she’s going to marry you, isn’t she? She’ll have millions. It’s not too much to expect her to pay my doctor’s bills, is it?”

O’Brien had to make an effort to control his temper.

“You’re a nasty little rat, aren’t you, Johnny?” he said. “I’m damned glad you’re not my brother.”

“But I’m going to be your brother-in-law,” Johnny jeered. “That is if Gilda will take you after what you’ve done to me. You must have been crazy to pull a stunt like this, but maybe I-won’t say anything about it. It’ll cost you ten grand for me to keep my mouth shut. I don’t suppose you’ll find any trouble in raising ten grand, will you?”