James Chase: Fast Buck

Olin said into the phone, ‘Okay, check it for finger-prints and call me back.’ He hung up, pushed back 103

James Hadley Chase. The Fast Buck. 1952

his chair and scowled at Dallas. ‘What do you want? I’m busy.’

‘I heard you the first time,’ Dal as said. ‘Found Hater yet?’

‘I’m not even looking for him,’ Olin returned. ‘What makes you think he’s where I could find him?’

‘It’s my bet Baird engineered his escape.’

‘Baird?’ Olin reached for a cigar, bit off the end and spat into his trash basket. ‘Are you making guesses or do you know something?’

‘I know something,’ Dal as returned, paused to light his cigaret e, then went on, ‘Kile hired Baird to get Hater out of jail. Hater was to tell Kile where he had cached the stuff. The idea was put to Kile by a guy named Adam Gillis, Eve Gillis’s brother. He and Kile were going to hand the stuff over to the Rajah of Chittabad in return for a half million in cash.’

‘How long have you known this?’ Olin said, his eyes suddenly hard.

‘Purvis had an idea this was the set-up for weeks, but he hadn’t any proof. As soon as I got proof, he told me to come down here and give you the dope.’

‘You mean you can prove it was Baird who got Hater out?’

‘Yeah. Gillis has just been booked for attempted murder. He’l talk.’

Olin put down his unlighted cigar.

‘What’s this? How do you know Gil is has been booked? Who’s running this goddamn police force?’

‘Take it easy, George,’ Dal as said soothingly. ‘I was on the spot when Gillis went for his sister. I guess if I hadn’t broken in, he’d have kil ed her. As it is she’s got a fractured skul , and may lose an eye.

The punk hit her with a bottle.’

Olin drew in a long, deep breath.

‘Look, I’m busy,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a cop kil ing on my hands. This’ll have to wait. You’re sure Gillis has been booked?’

Dallas nodded.

‘What’s left of him,’ he said, and looked down at his skinned knuckles. ‘He tried to get tough with me, so I had to quieten him.’

‘You know we’ve picked up Kile?’

‘Yeah. I saw you pick him up. Gillis tipped you. I was right behind him when he put the call through to you. I’ve been on his tail al the evening. Lucky for his sister I was.’

The phone rang.

Olin snatched it up.

‘What is it?’ He listened, stiffened, half got up. ‘You sure? A blue Packard? Okay, I’l start something. Thanks, Bill,’ and he hung up. ‘My cop was shot by a .45 Colt with Baird’s prints on it,’ he told Dallas. ‘A blue Packard was seen by a passing motorist heading away from the scene of the shooting, coming this way.’

‘Maybe he’s got Hater with him,’ Dal as said, get ing to his feet.

‘I don’t give a damn one way or the other. I want Baird.’

Olin got up and went out of the office. Dallas could hear him shouting orders in the outer office. He came back after a while.

‘Not much I can do until we get organised,’ he said. ‘They’l pick up the Packard fast enough if it’s in town. Maybe I’d better take a look at Gil is.’

‘I’ve been thinking about him,’ Dal as said. ‘The set-up is a little delicate. It mightn’t be such a bad idea if you didn’t see him tonight. When you do see him, he’s going to talk. He’s going to tell you it was the Rajah’s money that financed Hater’s escape. Might be awkward to have to arrest the Rajah. He’s a big shot in his own country.’

Olin grunted.

‘I couldn’t care less if he was Gandhi himself.’

‘No, maybe you couldn’t but the State Department might.’ Dal as stubbed out his cigaret e. ‘It would save complications if the Rajah was tipped off that trouble was heading his way. He might pack his trunks and return home. If he did, you’d be let out of a tricky situation.’

‘Are you working for this guy?’ Olin demanded aggressively.

Dallas shook his head.

‘I’m figuring it from your angle, George. I wouldn’t like you to get in bad with the State Department.’

Olin hesitated.

‘I’ve got to see Gil is,’ he said obstinately.

‘Did I tel you I broke his jaw? As soon as he was booked he was shipped off to hospital. He isn’t fit enough to talk tonight.’

Olin stared at Dallas, then suddenly grinned.

‘I’m going downstairs for a moment,’ he said. ‘Maybe you’d like to talk to your friend the Rajah.’

‘Yeah, I might at that,’ Dal as said, and reached for the phone.

Olin went down to the information room.

‘Lieutenant,’ the desk sergeant said, ‘a message’s just come in. A blue Packard’s been found in 25th Street. There’s a body of a man in it.’

Olin’s eyes lit up.

‘Who found it?’

‘O’Brien, sir. It’s on his beat. He’s just phoned through.’

‘I’ll go myself. Tel Morris to come on after me with the squad. I’l want ten uniformed men as well.

Have ’em out there fast.’

Olin went quickly down the steps to where his car was parked. He drove away fast, his siren blasting.

Three minutes later another police car, followed by an Emergency Squad truck, went tearing down the street after Olin.

Olin found the shabby 25th Street blocked either end by a big crowd of curious sightseers. There were three prowl-cars drawn up by the sidewalk. The patrol men were keeping the crowd well away from the big blue Packard that stood under a lamp standard, its driving door open.

Olin pushed his way through the crowd and walked down the street to the Packard.

O’Brien, a big, beefy man with greying hair and keen blue eyes, saluted.

‘What have you got there, Tim?’ Olin asked, pausing beside the Packard.

‘I’m making a guess, Lieutenant,’ O’Brien said, ‘but it’s my bet it’s Hater.’

‘Hater?’

Olin moved forward and peered into the car.

‘At the back, under the blanket,’ O’Brien said. ‘I left him how I found him.’

Olin opened the rear door as more police sirens wailed through the night. He lifted the blanket, and O’Brien threw the beam of his powerful flashlight over Olin’s shoulders.

They both stared at the emaciated, half-naked, mud-streaked body, and at the bluish-white face. The adhesive bandage across the mouth had cut deeply, and the flesh each side of it had swollen, giving the dead face a grotesque, horrifying appearance.

‘What makes you think it’s Hater?’ Olin asked.

‘I once worked at Bel more Farm, Lieutenant,’ O’Brien explained. ‘That’s their uniform,’ and he touched the mud-soaked trousers.

‘Ever seen Hater?’

‘I’ve seen pictures of him. Looks like him: same eyebrows.’

‘Yeah,’ Olin said, and stepped back. The stench in the car made him feel ill.

Morris came running up.

‘It’s Hater,’ Olin said.

‘What do you know?’ Morris gaped into the car. ‘He’s got his hands tied.’

‘You’l be tel ing me he’s dead next,’ Olin snapped. ‘Isn’t that damned ambulance coming?’

‘Yes, sir. Should be here any second now.’

Olin looked up and down the shabby street.

‘Isn’t this the street we cornered Baird in last time?’

Morris nodded.

‘Yeah, I guess it is.’

‘Maybe he’s still around.’ Olin looked up expectantly at the roofs of the buildings. ‘Get four men up there. The rest of them had better go from house to house and find out if anyone’s seen Baird.’

While Morris went off to get his men posted, the two interns, who had got off the newly arrived ambulance, carried Hater from the car to the sidewalk. They laid him on a stretcher, and one of them carefully removed the adhesive bandage from his mouth.