Хал Эллсон - Masters of Noir - Volume 3

“How are you?” she said.

“Just dandy.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Why? Why should anything be the matter?

“You sound... somehow... like a little boy.”

“That’s bad?”

“I like it.”

“I’m thrilled. To the marrow.”

“Now you don’t sound like a little boy any more.”

“Look. Let’s get off that pitch. You’re my Greek philosopher, and I love you, but—”

“Wanna go to a show tonight?”

“With you?”

“Yes.”

“I’d love it.”

“My coach gave me a couple of tickets to Dead Of Night.”

“A mystery?”

“Yes. I’m crazy about them. Aren’t you?”

“Just love ’em to extinction. But they frighten me. Will you hold my hand?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

“And no Greek philosophy?”

“I’ll just hold your hand.”

“You talked yourself into an escort, plus dinner. Do I call for you, or do you call for me?”

“I moved out, Peter. I couldn’t stand it there. I’m at a hotel. It’s barren, dreadful.”

“Okay. You call for me. We’ll have cocktails here, dinner out, your play, and after that... you’re the boss.”

“What time?”

“Suppose you be here at seven.”

“Let me think.” There was a pause. “I’ve one hour of rehearsal, and then... okay, fine. I’ll see you at seven.”

But she saw me at six. She came to me breathless and excited, and I had to restrain myself from kissing her. She had a little black book in her hand. She said, “I think... I think this might be important.”

“What is it?”

“A little black book.”

“Well, thanks. I wouldn’t have known that. Unless I was blind. Yours?”

“No.”

“Whose?”

“Sandra Mantell’s.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It was in my bag, in my locker, at rehearsal hall. It was a bag I don’t use much. She must have put it into my bag, at our apartment, by mistake. And I took it to rehearsal hall. And I hadn’t looked into it... until today.”

“Gimme,” I said.

But all my anticipatory tremors went for nothing. There wasn’t a name in that book that meant a thing to me. I said, “You stay here, honey. Make yourself a couple of drinks, and get real high for Peter.”

“Where you going?”

“Downtown to friend Parker. This little book doesn’t mean a thing to me, but it might to him. Enjoy. I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

I took a cab downtown to Headquarters, and the elevator took me up to Parker’s floor, and I was excited, so I barged in without knocking, but Parker had company. Company was a tall guy, with a bruiser’s shoulders, a dancer’s figure, and an angel’s face — Abner Reed. I started backing out, when Parker called:

“Come in, come in, Peter.”

When Parker’s busy and he’s that congenial, watch yourself, but it turns out, this time, he means it.

“You know Abner Reed, don’t you, Pete?”

“Yes. Saw him once, when he was asleep. How do you do?”

Reed nodded.

“This is Peter Chambers,” Parker said.

Reed said, “How do?”

Parker said, “Mr. Reed is going to Europe. He and Mrs. Reed. Going away for a year’s stay. Making a ship tonight, at eight o’clock. Dropped in for a last goodbye. What brings you, Pete?”

I showed him. “Wouldn’t be legit without a little black book.”

“Black book?”

“It belonged to Sandra Mantel.”

“Mantell?”

“Yes. Seems she slipped it into her room-mate’s bag, by mistake. Room-mate took bag to rehearsal hall, and didn’t look into it until today. Today, she did. There are names in it, which don’t mean a thing to me, but they might to you. So grab a look, Lieutenant.”

The Lieutenant grabbed.

I turned to Reed. “You’ve heard about Miss Mantell?”

“Yes.”

“Mixed up with your kidnapping.”

“Yes, so the Lieutenant told me.”

Suddenly I couldn’t hear too well. I said, “Pardon?”

“Yes,” he said. “So the Lieutenant told me.”

I tightened my face at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Little hard of hearing.”

“I said, ‘So the Lieutenant told me.’ ”

I’d heard about as much as I wanted to hear. I jumped him. I didn’t wait. He was big, and I wanted the first punch, and I got the first punch, but he took it standing up, and then he let loose a few of his own. From the corner of my eye, I saw Parker jump up, and I heard him roar: “Here. Stop it. Break it up. What the hell is going on here?”

By then we were mixing it like a couple of wild preliminary pugs. I slipped by a couple of lefts, but he punched too hard on one of them, and he was wide open, and I was in perfect position, and I came up with one off the floor, with all of my weight behind it, and it caught him clean on the button. His feet left the floor going up, and his head caught a corner of Parker’s desk coming down, and he went into a deep freeze, and he was going to stay frozen until someone warmed him up.

“Man, you’re nuts,” Parker roared. “This time, you’ve really gone and done it.”

“Precise moment,” I said.

“That’s assault and battery, and this guy’s important. You’ve popped your cork this trip, fella.”

“Precise moment,” I said.

Parker bent to him. “Here. Help me get him up. You’ve flipped your wig, pal.”

“Stay away from him, Louie.”

Parker peered up at me. “What are you talking about?”

“Precise moment,” I said.

“What the hell is this mumble you’ve gone into?”

“Greek philosophy. I’ll come to it. In due time.”

“What’ll you come to first?”

“A couple of answers to a lot of questions that you and I have been throwing about, Lieutenant.”

He straightened up. “Like which?”

“Like... why I was shot at in that graveyard... and shot up in my apartment. Like... why Sandra Mantell was killed. Like... why she called me in the first place. Like... why that gun had fingerprints...”

“Okay. Okay. One at a time.” Parker had lost interest in the stiffened Abner Reed.

“Let’s take the last one first, Lieutenant. Fingerprints on a gun. A guy dropping it when he collides with a dame. Does that sound like a professional?”

“No.”

“If it rules out a professional... what does it rule in?”

“An amateur.”

“Very good, Lieutenant?”

“So...?

“Let’s do it right side up now. Here’s a guy, Abner Reed — married himself a large hunk of dough — but he can’t reach too much of it... because she’s... frugal, that’s the word... frugal.”

“So...?”

“So... on the suggestion of a friend of his — Miss Sandra Mantell — and you’ll find, I’m sure, with a good deal of digging — that those two had a close sub rosa association—”

“Never mind what I’ll find out. Let’s get this over with first.”

“On her suggestion — for a hunk of the proceeds — they figured out a beauty. The guy would kidnap himself. Remember Uncle Harry? The first call? Whom did he talk to? Abner Reed, nobody else. Remember the wife, Florence Reed? Whom did she talk to the next morning? Abner Reed, nobody else.”

It was beginning to come to Parker. “Yeah,” he said, “Yeah...”

“He knew his wife. He knew how much in love she was. He knew she’d pay, and play ball. Which she did.”

“Which explains the shooting at the cemetery too.”

“Of course. He played it alone. And I had heard his voice. I was a loose remnant. So he brought a gun with him. Knock me off, and it’s all clear. He missed, so he tried again, at my apartment, and that time, he almost made it.”