James Chase - Tiger by the Tail

Some time passed, the Donovan came out and beckoned to the fat man. They all went into the house and shut the door.

Sweeting continued to wait. An hour dragged by, then the front door opened and the two detectives came out, walked down the path to their car and drove away.

Completely baffled as to why they hadn’t made an arrest, Sweeting returned to the bench seat opposite Ken’s bungalow and sat down again.

Who was the fat guy? he wondered, and why had the cops called on him? Why hadn’t they arrested the young fellow ? Even from this distance you could see how scared he had been. Had he satisfied them he hadn’t been in Fay’s apartment? Were they likely to return?

Sweeting decided to wait a little longer.

It was beginning to grow dusk when he saw the fat guy coming down the street.

Sweeting eyed him with interest.

My word! he thought, he looks as if he’s had a shock.

He watched him pause outside the bungalow’s gate, open it and walk up the path. The young fellow came to the door and let the fat guy in.

Sweeting waited.

Perhaps half an hour went by, then suddenly the front door opened and the fat guy came down the path. He walked hurriedly and unsteadily, his face was white and twitching.

Sweeting could contain himself no longer. He got to his feet, picked Leo up and crossed the road. At the gate, he looked to right and left. He was a little nervous in case the cops should suddenly appear. If it hadn’t been for the urgent need to raise the rent money, he would have postponed his visit until the following day, but he couldn’t afford to delay.

He lifted the latch and walked softly up the path to the front door. Setting Leo down on the step, he reached forward and pressed the bell with a dirty thumb.

Raphael Sweeting wasn’t the only man in Flint City who had a nose for a fast buck. Paradise Louie, or to give him his correct name, Louis Manchini, also had talents in that direction.

He had read the Stop Press announcement in the Herald, and had

instantly realized that Johnny had killed Fay.

He remembered that Johnny had come to him last night to ask for Fay’s address. If Fay hadn’t recently repulsed Louie’s attentions, and no woman turned Louie down without regretting it, he wouldn’t have told Johnny where he could find her, but it seemed to him poetic justice to give this wild-eyed nut the information he wanted.

Louie had hoped Johnny would beat Fay up as he had beaten her up before going to the home. He certainly hadn’t imagined Johnny would kill her, and the news came as a shock to him.

He dropped the newspaper on his dusty desk, pushed back his chair and groped for a cigarette.

Louie was thirty-seven, thin, swarthy, with greasy black hair, a black pencil-line moustache and jowls that turned blue towards evening.

He realized that if he informed the cops that Johnny had been enquiring for Fay, even the cops dumb as they were, would jump to the conclusion that Johnny had killed her. The information he had was therefore valuable, and it was up to him to find the highest bidder.

He thought it unlikely that Johnny would stay around in town, and besides, Johnny never had any money. But his sister had.

Louie smiled.

This could be turned into something if handled right. Gilda was some dish. She was earning good money making gramophone discs and singing in the smart nightclubs. She might be persuaded not only to part with a sack of dough but she might, with a little pressure, become Louie’s girl friend.

Louie lived for women. He had a lot of success, but he was sharply aware that so far his women weren’t class. Now Gilda was class. The set-up could definitely be turned into something outstanding.

He got up and walked over to the fly-blown mirror and surveyed his blue chin. A shave perhaps and a clean collar, he thought. She was appearing at the Casino tonight. He would drop in and have a little talk with her. He had no doubt he could persuade her to invite him back to her apartment. He had heard she was very fond of Johnny. He was confident she wouldn’t be difficult. He might even pass up the money if he could come to a satisfactory arrangement with her. This would make a refreshing change after mixing with the tough floosies who haunted the Paradise Club. After all, he could always make money, whereas to have a girl friend like Gilda was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

A couple of hours later he entered the lush hall of the Casino. He followed the Captain of waiters along the gangway to a badly placed table behind a pillar. The Casino management wasn’t wasting valuable space on a heel like Louie, but that didn’t worry him. He had no wish to be seen. He offended the Captain of waiters by ordering a straight whisky and a plate of ham. Then he settled down to wait for Gilda’s act.

She came on some twenty minutes later, dressed in a tight-fitting, strapless evening gown of gold lam£, and he watched her hungrily.

Some dish! he thought. Brother! What I would do for that dame is nobody’s business.

Her singing left him cold. He preferred his own crooners who worked at his club: girls who screeched their lungs out and who got their songs through even to the drunks at the back of the restaurant. This smooth, velvety voice with its colour and range didn’t appeal to him.

When she had taken her encores and had disappeared behind a curtain, Louie pushed back his chair and went around to the dressing-rooms.

The star on a door at the end of the corridor told him where she was, and he tapped with a long, glossy fingernail.

Gilda opened the door.

She had on a pale-green wrap that enhanced her colouring, and it was as much as he could do not to make a grab at her.

She looked him over; her great green eyes cold and steady.

“Yes?”

Louie remembered she had given him that look before. Before she had

become an established singer she had once sung at his club and he had tried to proposition her without success. His leering little smile stiffened.

This wren would have to be taught a lesson, he told himself. He would take a lot of pleasure knocking the starch out of her when he got her where he wanted her.

“I saw Johnny last night,” he said, leaning against the doorpost. “Want to talk about it?”

That cracked her veneer, he noticed. She lost the high-hat look and the anxious expression that came into her eyes gave him confidence.

“What’s there to talk about?” she asked sharply.

“Plenty, baby, plenty,” he said, and moving forward, rode her back into the room. He closed the door and set his back against it. “Sit down and let’s be pally.”

“I don’t want you in here. Get out!”

“You’ll get to like it,” he said, wandering across the room and sitting in the only armchair. “Most wrens find me an acquired taste. I grow on them.”

She studied him, then moved over to the couch and sat down. “What is it?”

“Johnny came to see me last night. He wanted to know where he could find Fay. I told him. I wouldn’t have if I had known he was going to kill her. I thought maybe I’d see you first before I told the cops.”

Gilda sat motionless, her face white, her eyes glittering. “He didn’t kill her!”

“The cops will think so,” Louie said, and smiled. “They want to crack this one fast. They’ll love Johnny for the job.”

She stared at him for a long moment. “How much?” she said, clenching her fists. Louie looked surprised.

“You’re quick, baby,” he said admiringly. “Some wrens would have…”

“How much?”

“Well, I thought we might go back to your apartment tonight. There could be other nights. I have an idea we could have plenty of fun together.”