A Fair: Cut Thin to Win

Mrs. Chester’s face lit up. “You aren’t turning me over to the cops?”

Minny laughed and said, “You’re my ace in the hole, dearie. That nose of yours has finally smelled the way to money, lots of money.”

“You’ve got it?” Mrs. Chester asked.

“I’m going to get it,” Minny said. “You and I are going to get it together.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Mrs. Chester said.

“Bless your soul, you don’t have to. You just need to tell me the whole story, just put your cards on the table,” Mrs. Badger said. “When you finish talking, I’ll pick the trumps and start trumping everything in sight. Then we’ll have money, lots of money.”

“Twenty thousand dollars?” Mrs. Chester asked.

Minny laughed. “A hundred thousand for your share if you do exactly as I tell you.”

Mrs. Chester’s face lit into a beatific smile. “Darling,” she said, “I had a feeling of panic when you walked in, and then right away this nose of mine began to twitch. I think we’re on the right track now. Where do we go?”

“Where we can talk,” Minny said, “and where you can meet with my attorney.”

“Is he a good lawyer?” Mrs. Chester asked.

“The best.”

“Can he keep me out of trouble in Los Angeles?”

Minny laughed and said, “You’re in Nevada now. This attorney of mine has all the political pull in the world. If you don’t waive extradition, you can stay in Nevada as long as you live, provided you haven’t committed a murder in California.”

“It wasn’t a murder,” Mrs. Chester said. “It was... well, sort of a fraud.”

Minny laughed. “Come on, dearie,” she said. “I want you to meet a good lawyer and then we’ll do a little talking.”

She held the door open and smiled at me. “Goodnight, Donald,” she said.

The door slammed.

The closet door opened. Elsie, looking white and frightened, came out and said, “Is that what you expected?”

“That,” I told her, “was not what I expected.”

“What we do now?” Elsie asked.

“Now,” I said, “you go into that bedroom, take the tape recorder and your notebook, lock the connecting door, and go to bed. Don’t open up either the connecting door or your outside door for anything or anyone other than me, and make absolutely certain I’m the one at the door before you open.”

“Where are you going, Donald?”

“I’m going out and start picking up pieces,” I said.

“Pieces?” she asked.

“The shattered pieces of my career, Elsie.”

She came to me then and put her arms around me. “Donald, is it serious?”

“It’s so damned serious that I don’t like to think about it,” I said. “Sergeant Sellers has probably got what he wants. I’ve botched up a case and, taken by and large, there’s going to be hell to pay.”

She stood on her tiptoes then to kiss me. “Donald,” she said, after a moment, “remember that you have me and my faith in you. We’ll come out on top of the heap yet.”

“Well, we’re sure at the bottom now,” I told her. “But thanks for your support.”

This time I kissed her. It was a long, lingering kiss.

“Do you have to go, Donald?” she asked.

“That,” I told her, “is the understatement of the week. I have to go now and I have to go fast.”

She stood watching me wistfully as I dashed out of the door, slamming it behind me.

From the nearest public phone booth I called the night number Essex had given me.

His voice sounded sleepy.

“Wake up,” I said. “The fat’s in the fire.”

“What do you mean?”

I said, “Minerva is on the warpath. She’s grabbed every trump in the deck.”

“Damn it, Lam,” he said, irritably, “I told you to keep away from her and—”

“I kept away from her,” I said. “She was the one who picked up my trail and ran me down.”

“Well, you don’t have to talk to her.”

“It isn’t anything I’ll say,” I told him. “It’s what Mrs. Chester’s saying.”

“What Mrs... WHO? Who did you say?”

“I said Mrs. Chester.”

“She’s in Mexico.”

“That’s what you think. She came to try and blackmail me, and Minny moved in on the deal.”

“Where is Mrs. Chester now?”

“Talking with Minerva Badger and Minerva Badger’s attorney,” I said.

“Oh, my God,” he said, in a voice that was almost a wail. Then after a moment, he said, “That’s the end of the line, we’re ruined.”

“You give up?” I asked.

“If she’s got Mrs. Chester,” Essex said, “we might just as well throw in the towel.”

“All right,” I told him, “call up your client, tell him to get under cover and not to do any talking.”

“I’ll come to Las Vegas at once,” he assured me, “and—”

“And you’ll be arrested if you do,” I told him. “Minerva’s lawyer has got political power here. She picked the best.”

“What should I do?” he asked.

“From the way you sound, I think you’d better take a vacation,” I told him. “You sound all run down. Evidently you’re not accustomed to having the roof fall in on you. You’d better be unavailable for comment.”

“And you’re going to get out, too?”

“Hell, no,” I told him, “I’m in the stew. I’m going to stay here and face the music. There’s just one chance in a hundred I can salvage something.”

“If you can salvage anything, you can write your own ticket,” he said. “My Lord, I had no idea anything like this could happen — I suppose I’m in it now.”

“You’re in it now,” I told him.

“We’ll buy her off,” Essex said, after a moment, with a note of hope in his voice. “After all, it’s a question of money and with our careers at stake—”

“How much money has your client got?” I asked.

“Plenty.”

“And is he willing to give every cent of it to Minerva?”

“Good heavens, it wouldn’t be that bad. Even if she could prove infidelity, it—”

“She isn’t monkeying with infidelity now,” I interrupted. “She’s playing with murder.”

“Well,” said Essex after a moment, “my client has got himself into this. I did the best I could for him. If he gets caught, he’s going to have to pay. He gambled, and if he loses, that’s a chance he has to take.”

“How much money have you got?” I asked.

“Me?” he asked. “What’s that got to do with it?”

“Don’t underestimate Minerva,” I said.

“Why... why you can’t mean—”

“Look up your statutes on murder,” I said. “See what the law says about an accessory after the fact.”

It took a moment for that to sink in.

“Oh, my God,” he said.

I hung up the telephone.

I drove to my hotel and put in a long distance call to Homicide Bureau in Los Angeles. I said it was important that I reach Sergeant Frank Sellers at once with a hot tip. I finally got a night number where I could reach him.

Sellers had evidently been asleep. He was grouchy when he came to the phone.

“Hello, Frank,” I said. “This is your friend, Donald.”

“Why you... you... you’ve got a crust!... Friend! Why you pint-sized bastard—”

“Take it easy, Sergeant,” I said. “How would you like to talk with Mrs. Harvey W. Chester, the woman who was the victim in that hit-and-run case?”

“What the hell are you trying to do?” he roared into the telephone. “Ringing me up at this hour to give me a razz—”

“She’s here in Las Vegas,” I said. “If you can get over here right away, I’ll put you in touch with her.”