Хал Эллсон - Masters of Noir - Volume 3

The hard jerk of her arm didn’t free her wrist. “Who are you?”

If the canvas was destroyed, Jordan thought, she wouldn’t be taking on so. And out of nowhere he remembered something — remembered Elsa saying that Bart had been fussing with their living room carpet, though he’d put that carpet down some time ago.

“You’re a cop!” Her accusation was venomous. With an abrupt, savage threshing of her arm, she freed herself from Jordan’s grip.

Jordan’s hand groped to recover its hold, but Gloria had sprung back from the couch and stood facing him. Her heavy breasts rose and fell with her hard breathing. The cleavage accentuated their flaccid heaviness. From her bosom, she drew a small automatic, as Jordan arose slowly from the couch.

All the time that canvas was under the carpet, he thought, right across the hall.

“I knew you was a cop! I knew you was a filthy cop right along!”

She moved carefully to the phone. She kept her eyes on Jordan as she dialed...

Crider moved across to Gloria as soon as he came into the room and took the automatic from her. As the depthless stare of the man’s square lenses fixed on him, Jordan told himself that Ben Eglin would be furious with him. He’d flubbed it. That was the word Captain Sline had used that day.

“Hand over the gun, Crider,” Jordan said. “You’re all done.”

“You know me?” The blank eyes studied him. “You are a cop.”

“I told you!” Gloria wailed.

“Shut up, Gloria,” said Crider.

“I told you, Joe,” Gloria cried again. Her mind was fixed rigidly on that one idea, clinging to it as though it absolved her from all guilt. “He said he was a rat killer. I knew he was a phony.”

Jordan ached to reach for the revolver in his armpit, but his hands down at his sides seemed a million miles away. He heard a sob from Gloria.

Crider had used her to get hold of Garfield in some fashion. Jordan was sure of it — as sure as he was that Gloria, and not Elsa, was there the night Garfield had died. She was a creature who could not tolerate indifference in any man, yet used any man she got her hands on. She had seen murder once. She thought she was going to witness it again.

Yet there was something Eglin had said: Crider was too smart to kill a cop in cold blood. Eglin was right. That was why Crider had not yet pulled the trigger. Crider was trying to figure a way out.

A warning cry came out of Gloria, mingling with the voice of Elsa. She stood at the door, with Bart behind her. “Ron!” Elsa cried.

Crider fired once — an unintended shot — as he spun; reflex pulled the trigger. The bullet thudded into the wall to Jordan’s left. Ron got his pistol half out before Crider twisted back. Jordan felt a burning sting at his shoulder and then the pain came. His gun was falling and he was falling. He was hit. Crider had fired a second time.

He heard Elsa call his name again, and a strangled cry from Bart. Bart flung himself blindly at Crider, half-jump, half-stumble, on the twisted foot. But it took Crider by surprise. Bart hit him, and they went down.

Elsa reached Jordan as he was trying to push up from the floor. Ben Eglin was there, too, flinging himself at the tangle of bodies. Jordan saw the automatic skid across the floor, saw Bart push it aside. Eglin stood, pulling Crider to his feet.

Eglin hit Crider once, hard, knocking him into the arms of the big, cold-eyed cop who had followed Eglin in. The big cop held him away and measured him, then struck. Crider slammed to the floor.

Gloria sat on the floor near the door, her hands over her face. Bart rolled over and sat up. Elsa looked with tragic face from Bart to Jordan where he stood weaving. When Bart got to his feet she came to Jordan and guided him to the couch, saying softly, “Ron. Oh, Ron.”

“Hey!” Eglin hollered to Jordan, “You’re shot!” He turned to the big cop. “Call the ambulance.”

Bart rushed to his sister. “Crider was going to kill you,” he sobbed. “If I told, he was going to kill you. Even if he went to prison and couldn’t do it, he was going to have somebody kill you for him. I couldn’t tell!”

“Well, I’ll be—” said Eglin. He walked around Elsa and Bart and began taking off Jordan’s coat, very gently. The big cop was back; he cut away Jordan’s shirt, compressed a wad of it against the small hole. “You can be glad that wasn’t a thirty-eight or a forty-five slug.”

Gloria got over on her hands and knees and crawled to the door.

“Not yet, sister,” said Eglin. He went to her and pulled her to her feet and sat her in a chair.

Jordan said, “Bart, tell me how you happened to get hold of the canvas from that back room floor?”

Bart still held onto his sister. He looked defiantly at Eglin. “I had to hang onto it. If I didn’t, it — it would end with my sister being killed.”

“Suppose you tell us about it,” said Eglin.

“I can tell you some of it,” said Jordan. “Gloria was there that night, not Elsa. And when Garfield was shot, he was standing on a canvas that Bart had put down in the back room, because he was getting ready to paint the room. That right, Bart?”

Bart nodded.

“I know you’re a smart cop, Jordan,” growled Eglin. “But you weren’t there, Bart was. I want him to tell it.”

Bart Berkey was gaining confidence. He stood away from his sister but spoke to Jordan, not Eglin. “Mr. Crider and Gloria were there first. Then Garfield came in. He had a funny sort of look on his face. I don’t think they expected him, the way they acted. They went in the back room and closed the door. I heard Gloria’s voice. And Garfield’s. He was angry. Then I heard a shot and I ran in—” Bart stopped and looked uncertainly at the unconscious Crider.

Eglin said, “Did you see the gun?”

“Mr. Crider had it. He gave it to Gloria and told her to walk a few blocks away and call a taxi and go home.”

Eglin walked over and stood in front of Gloria. “All right, Gloria,” he said. “It’s your turn.”

She looked at Crider. “He made me!”

“He made you what?”

“He made me go out with Bob. I told him it would get us all in trouble.”

“Stop sniveling. You played up to Garfield. What for?”

“To get him to leave the bookie business alone.”

“Garfield was taking from Crider and spending it on you. Was that it?”

“That’s the way you said it was.”

Eglin cut at her coldly. “You corrupted a young cop with that body of yours. Stall again with me and I’ll see that you have no chance to turn state’s evidence. You’ll go to trial right alongside Crider.”

She shrank down in the chair. “He made me, I told you.”

“Out with it now. What happened that night?”

“Bob said he was looking for us to tell us he was through. Through with Joe and — and through with me. He ordered Joe to take out all the phones. Joe accused him of trying to hike the ante and laughed at him. He knocked Joe down and started to knock him down again. That was when Joe shot him.”

“That’s enough,” said Eglin. “We’ll put the rest in writing.” He turned away from her, then came back. “One more question,” he said slowly. “Was Garfield trying to hike the ante?”

“No,” said Gloria wearily. “He wasn’t a bad guy. He was going to turn in his badge.”

“All right, Bart,” said Eglin. “Suppose you button it up for us. What happened after Gloria left?”

“Mr. Crider moved his car around into the alley by the side door. I–I tried to run then, but he caught me. He said he would kill Elsa if I didn’t tell the story he gave me. And he ordered me to get rid of the paint canvas. Then he made me help him carry the body to the car. He was going to take it — I don’t know where. We got the body out of the door and then — then I couldn’t stand it any more. I dropped the feet and ran. But I came back because of Crider’s threat. I’d seen the blood on the canvas; so I got it and the paint and stuff. I was too scared to try and get rid of the canvas, afraid I might not do a good job and Elsa’d be killed because of it. So I hid it — under our living room carpet.”