A Fair: Cut Thin to Win

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Where are you?”

“Las Vegas.”

“And she’s there?”

“That’s what I said.”

“What gives you this sudden change of heart?”

“It isn’t a change of heart,” I said. “I’ve always been on the side of law and order, but my motives have been twisted and misinterpreted. I will admit that a couple of smart guys tried to use me. They gave me a double cross but—”

“Where are you?”

I gave him the name of the hotel.

“Wait right there,” he said. “If this is a double cross, so help me, I’ll beat you to a pulp and throw the pulp into a sausage grinder.”

“Have I ever given you a double cross yet?” I asked.

He hesitated a moment. “Well, you’ve tried damned hard.”

“No, I haven’t,” I said. “I’ve tried to protect my clients but whenever I’ve given you a tip it’s been on the up-and-up.”

“All right,” he said, “I’m going to play along.”

“Don’t tell anybody about this conversation,” I warned. “Just get over here.”

After he had hung up, I called Bertha Cool.

Bertha hates night telephone calls.

“Hello, hello, hello,” she said testily. “You don’t need to ring in my ear just because you got me up out of a sound sleep.”

“This is Donald, Bertha,” I said. “Grab the first plane for Las Vegas, and I mean the first plane. Get over here. I’ve just finished talking with Frank Sellers. He’ll probably get here before you can get a plane, but get here as soon as you can.”

“Las Vegas? What the hell are you doing in Las Vegas?”

“Trying to save you embarrassment,” I told her. “You’d better get here so you can take charge personally. I think this may call for your technique.”

“Well, I’m not coming,” she said. “I’m not going to break my neck traipsing around the country trying to pull you out of jams. You went in this on your own. I told you it was your baby and you could change the diapers. Now change them.”

“All right,” I told her. “It’s my baby, but it’s sitting in your lap.”

“The partnership is dissolved,” she said. “You told me that yourself.”

Then I told her, “I’ll put this fifty thousand fee in my own pocket. Right?”

“What fee?”

“The fifty thousand fee.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Not me,” I told her.

“Where did you say you were?”

I gave her the name of the hotel.

She hesitated a moment, then grunted, “All right, I’ll be there but this had better be good.”

“It’s going to be good,” I told her, “very good indeed.”

I hung up the phone, rolled into bed and couldn’t sleep.

Sergeant Sellers must have chartered a plane. He was pounding on the door before daylight.

“All right, Pint Size,” he said, when I let him in, “what’s this about Mrs. Harvey W. Chester?”

“Want to see her?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Okay,” I said, “let’s go.”

I put him in my rented car and we drove down to the drab little bungalow that Mrs. Chester had rented.

We pounded on the door.

For a moment I had a feeling of panic. Then I heard someone moving around on the inside and after a moment the door was opened.

“Hello, Mrs. Chester,” I said. “This is Sergeant Sellers of the Los Angeles police force. He’s been looking for you.”

“Looking for me?” she said, wide-eyed with well-simulated surprise.

“That’s right.”

“You were involved in a hit-and-run case in Los Angeles,” Sellers said.

“Oh,” she remarked, looking from Sellers to me.

“We’re coming in,” Sellers said. “We want to talk with you.”

“I’m... I’m not dressed.”

“You’ve got a robe on,” Sellers said, “that’s good enough for us. This isn’t a beauty contest. This is investigating a hit-and-run case.”

Sellers pushed his way into the apartment. I followed him.

It was the same little two-room apartment with the same drab sitting room, only this time a wall bed had been let down. There was a glimpse of a kitchenette past the bed.

Sellers seated himself in the most comfortable chair in the place. I took a seat on the edge of the bed.

Mrs. Chester stood there looking from one to the other of us.

“All right,” Sellers said, “tell me about it.”

She said, “I’ve got to go to the bathroom first.”

“Well, make it snappy,” Sellers said.

Mrs. Chester went into the bathroom and closed the door.

Sellers looked at me and said, “I’ll be damned! I thought you were giving me the runaround.”

“It’s on the up-and-up,” I told him.

“Well, it had better be and don’t think for a minute you’re going to get any breaks unless you come out of this with a clean nose. You’ve been cutting too many corners.”

I said, “People use me. I tried to find out what it was all about before I told you. That’s one thing about me, you know, I never gave you a bum tip. Whenever I tell you anything it pans out.”

He took a cigar from his pocket, shoved it into his mouth, said, “I’ll reserve judgment on you, Lam.”

We sat there waiting. Frank Sellers looked me over.

“You know, Pint Size,” he said, “I don’t know what kind of a game you’re playing but if it’s on the up-and-up, I’m going to play along with you.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“I felt sure you were giving me some kind of a runaround when you telephoned, but one look at that woman’s face told me that you were knocking her for a loop. Whatever kind of a deal it is you’ve cooked up, it isn’t a frame-up, not as far as she’s concerned,” Sellers said. “There’s more to this than meets the eye. Those damned cops in Denver claiming that the Eldon car was in Denver the afternoon of the accident — they’re all wet! You know and I know that car was involved in an accident.”

“Do we?” I asked.

He frowned and said, “Now, don’t start pulling that stuff, Pint Size, or I’m going to get mad all over again.”

I kept quiet.

He chewed on the cigar for a while.

“There’s something fishy about the whole deal,” he said after a while.

I said nothing.

“Say,” he said, “that dame’s been in the bathroom a long time.”

He lurched up out of the chair, pounded over to the bathroom door and said, “Come on, make it snappy.”

There was no answer.

Sellers looked at me with sudden consternation. “Hell, she couldn’t get out of the bathroom window dressed like that,” he said.

The sound of a toilet flushing came through the door.

Sellers grunted, went back and sat down.

There was more silence.

Finally Sellers got up and went over to the bathroom door again. “Come on out,” he said.

She said, “I can’t come out.”

“Come on out,” he told her, “you’ve been in there long enough. Let’s go.”

“I’m not ready.”

Sellers banged on the door. “Open it up.”

“I tell you I can’t.”

Sellers’ face flushed. “Say, what kind of gag is this?” he said. “Get the hell out of there. Open up.”

“Just a minute,” she said sweetly, “I’ll be there. Don’t hurry me too much.”

Sellers came back and sat down. He scowled at me.

I said, “She must have been in there ten minutes.”

“Well,” Sellers said.

I shrugged my shoulders.

We waited another minute or two.

“What does a cop do,” I asked, “when someone gives him a runaround by sitting in a bathroom?”

“I’ll show you what a cop does,” Sellers said, savagely. He got out of the chair, walked over to the bathroom door, said, “Open up.”