James Chase - Fast Buck

Since the Bruce killing he had stopped dealing in illicit jewellery. He knew Olin was watching him, and until things cooled off a little, it would be unwise to tempt providence. He sadly missed the extra income from his activities as a fence.

He went over to the cellarette and mixed himself a whisky and soda. Three weeks had gone by since Kile had come to him with the mysterious proposition that might put fifteen grand in his pocket. For three weeks Rico had been hunting for Baird, but Baird seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth. No one had seen him: all Rico’s spies were hunting for him, and so far had nothing to report.

Kile was fast losing patience. He had been in last night and had bluntly said he would give Rico three more days to find Baird, and if he wasn’t successful the deal was off.

Fifteen grand! Rico sipped his drink and scowled down at his expensively shod feet. Where the hell was Baird? Why hadn’t he got into touch with Rico as he had promised? Had it been Baird who had been chased across the roofs and shot at that night the cop and girl in the drug store had been murdered?

How long ago was that? Rico thumbed back the leaves of his calendar. Twenty-three days. The papers had said the killer had been wounded. Maybe Baird had holed up somewhere and had died. Rico felt sweat start out on his forehead at the thought. If Baird was dead, then the hope of laying his hands on Kile’s fifteen grand was dead, too.

He finished his whisky, went over to the cellarette and made another. Then he lit a cigar and sat down at his desk again. There was nothing more he could do. Every petty crook in town was searching for Baird. Rico had offered a reward for reliable news of Baird, but so far no one had claimed it.

After he had finished his second whisky he decided he would take a turn in the restaurant. It was getting on for midnight, and it was time he showed himself. He went over to a vase of carnations, selected one, stuck it in his button-hole and surveyed himself in the mirror. In spite of his bald head, his pitted complexion and his bloodshot eyes, Rico was quite pleased with his appearance. He adjusted his silk handkerchief, shot his cuffs and turned to the door.

For a moment he stood completely still, scarcely believing his eyes, then with a sharp exclamation, he darted forward, holding out his hand.

‘Baird! Wel , damn it! I was only just this moment thinking about you. Where the hel have you been?’

Baird closed the door and walked across to Rico. He shook hands without enthusiasm, looked Rico up and down and then went over and dropped into the red leather armchair.

‘Get me a drink,’ he said curtly. ‘I need it.’

Rico gave him a quick, anxious glance. Baird was thinner than when he had last seen him, and his face fine drawn. There were smudges under his eyes as if he had been sleeping badly, and he looked surly.

‘I’ve been hunting al over for you,’ Rico said, hurriedly splashing whisky into a glass. ‘Where’ve you been?’

‘Out of town.’

‘Olin’s stil looking for you,’ Rico said, remembering with an anxious pang that Baird was a wanted man. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t have come here.’

Baird made an impatient gesture.

‘You don’t have to get steamed up. I’ve seen Olin.’

Rico stiffened.

‘You mean you’ve talked to him? When?’

‘Gimme that drink, can’t you?’ Baird snarled. ‘I’ve been at headquarters al the goddamn afternoon.’

Rico put the whisky on the desk by Baird’s hand and sat down.

‘What happened?’

Baird drank half the whisky, put the glass down and drew in a slow, deep breath. He reached out and helped himself to a cigarette from Rico’s box, lit it and stretched out his long legs.

‘I got myself a cast-iron alibi,’ he said. ‘Olin couldn’t bust it, so I walked out.’

‘You mean they haven’t anything on you?’ Rico asked eagerly.

‘They never had anything on me,’ Baird said, and his hard mouth twisted into a jeering grin. ‘No one ever saw me. They tried to pin the Bruce killing on me, but they hadn’t any proof. As soon as I could get around again I went up to New York and fixed myself an alibi. I’ve got a lot of friends in New York. Six of them swore I was with them the night Jean Bruce was knocked off. I and my lawyer took their statements to Olin. There was nothing he could do about it.’

Rico drew in a deep breath of relief.

‘That’s fine!’ he said, rubbing his hands. ‘That’s terrific! You’re free to operate again?’

‘Sure,’ Baird said indifferently. ‘Did you get rid of that bracelet?’

Rico nodded.

‘I didn’t get much for it, but I was lucky to find a buyer.’

‘Don’t talk crap,’ Baird said roughly. ‘If the stuff’s good there are always buyers.’

‘What happened to you? There was some talk you were shot.’

Baird stared across the desk at Rico.

‘I was. I was laid low for a couple of weeks. I had a pretty close call.’

‘How did you get away from them?’ Rico asked, his eyes popping.

‘I holed up with a girl,’ Baird said, and rubbed his hand across his eyes. ‘She looked after me.’ He frowned down at the desk. ‘The damnedest thing that’s ever happened to me.’

‘Who was she?’ Rico asked. ‘Talk about luck! Was she pret y?’

The look Baird gave him was hard and menacing.

‘Shut your dirty trap,’ he said. ‘Never mind who she was. She had more guts in her little finger than you’ve got in the whole of your rot en body. So shut up about her!’

Rico smiled ingratiatingly.

‘Sure, sure,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to talk out of turn.’

‘I’m running short of dough,’ Baird said. ‘Anything around for me?’

‘Yes,’ Rico said, leaning forward. ‘Something big. You’ve arrived in time. Another three days, and it’d have been too late. This is a big job; worth ten grand to you.’

Baird lifted his head sharply.

‘Ten grand? You been drinking?’

Rico rubbed his hands together excitedly.

‘The guy who’s behind this is Preston Kile, the financier. He’s offering ten grand for a guy who’l do a job for him. I told him you were the only one I’d trust to handle it.’

‘What’s the job?’ Baird asked suspiciously.

‘I don’t know. Kile wants to see you first. He’s acting awful cagey. Says he wants to talk to you before he spills any details, but it’s okay, Baird. Kile’s a big-shot. He’s got a front that’l knock your eye out, and you want to see his girl. Used to be with the Follies. Everything about Kile is big. Getting in with him is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’

Baird didn’t seem impressed.

‘You’re sure about the ten grand?’

‘Yeah. If you pull the job off it rates ten, if you fail he’l pay five. There’s nothing smal about Kile.

You wait until you meet him.’

Baird started to say something, but broke off as the door opened and a red-headed girl wandered in.

She was wearing a low-cut evening gown of lemon yellow, and her green eyes looked Baird over sharply.

Rico said, ‘What do you want, Zoe? I’m busy.’

‘That guy Dal as asked me if he could cash a cheque,’ Zoe said, coming over to the desk. She tossed a slip of paper on Rico’s blot er. ‘It’s only for thirty bucks. He wants to buy me champagne.’

Frowning, Rico picked up the cheque, scrutinised it, opened a drawer and dropped it in. He took out a cash-box and began to count five-dollar bills on to the blotter.

‘He’s get ing quite a regular customer,’ he said. ‘What’s he do with himself?’

Zoe rested an elegant hip on the desk and swung her leg, her eyes roaming over Baird.

‘I guess he’s got ideas about me,’ she said, smiled and winked at Baird, who stared at her stonily.