Robert Bloch - Michael Shayne Mystery Magazine. Vol. 1, No. 1. September 1956

The bridge rail was still shattered, and a red warning lantern glowed alongside. That was the only sign. Pulling the car off the road, I got my flashlight and made a quick survey. I saw where they had worked, going for the body and the car. What I needed, I thought, was a nice cooling swim.

I stripped in the bushes, along the riverside and dived into the pothole. The water wasn’t too bad, and I kept on diving. It wasn’t much fun, feeling around in the dark water, but when I clamped my hand on the first radio, I knew it was worth it.

Despite the cool water, I was sweating a little when I got through. I had a whole shore full of stuff to look at. There were a lot of groceries, and the two radios. These were all that I wanted. I squatted there in the dark and turned my light on them.

For a minute, it didn’t register. They were just two white plastic radios. And then it hit me and I almost let out a whoop. I was on the right track.

Dressed, I took the radios in the car and drove back to town. There was a fat wire under the office door, and I spread it open after locking myself in. What I wanted to know was there.

The carnival had hit twelve good-sized towns on its summer-long trip. Ours was one of the last. At each stop, there had been a nice heist. The details were all there. In one place, it had been jewels from a charity ball, in another, a fancy store had been knocked over. In another, a bank messenger had been found rolled in a ditch. On it went, and every one was still listed as unsolved.

It was fifteen minutes to midnight. I barreled out to the carny and got to Ormes’ booth just under the wire. He was there. A last customer and his girl friend were walking off with a kewpie doll. The midway was almost empty. The barkers were silent, and the peanut machines had been stilled. The merry-go-round still tinkled away in the distance, but it sounded tired.

I said, “Give me three, chum.”

Ormes recognized me, and his eyes narrowed. “Check it,” he said shortly. “You done enough damage for one day.”

I smiled at him and picked up the baseballs. He opened his mouth. I lost my smile. “You really want to make trouble?” I asked him. “Maybe I should get Nichols over here — or the sheriff again.”

His mouth shut. I wound up and started pitching. There was no magnet this time. I was tired, but by being careful, I racked up three wins. “A radio,” I said.

There were two on the shelf. Ormes reached up and got one, a brown plastic job. I said, “Not that one.” He shrugged and got the other. I said, “No. I want one just like the number you swiped from my office.”

I could hear his quick inhale. He swung around, in a swift, catlike pivot, and pitched the radio at my head, I ducked and started over the counter after him. He slipped aside and hit a light switch with his hand. The booth was clamped by darkness.

I went after him, but he made it through a door into the rear part of the stand. I got in myself when a gun blasted. The bullet made a swift, angry sound as it went by my ear. I got my own gun out and hit the floor. Ormes was moving in back somewhere. I could hear a box tip, and I fired at it. His answering shot kicked dirt into my face. I returned the favor and heard him swear.

Then all hell broke loose. I could hear them coming from front and the rear. In a moment, the lights came on, blindingly. I stood up, my hands high, as a big deputy walked in and leveled a gun on me. Grimsby was right behind him.

They hauled Ormes upright. His right shoulder was shattered, but that was all. He was still alive. Grimsby looked from him to me.

“This about winds you up, Parker,” he said. I must have looked stupid, because he added, “Think we’re suckers? I’ve had a tail on you all the time. I don’t know what you and your pal here fought about, but I’ll find out soon enough.”

It was my turn to talk and fast. I said, “If you want the answer, look in some of those boxes marked radios. ” I lowered one hand long enough to fish out the wire I had got. I gave it to Grimsby.

I went on, “Don’t you get it? Ormes and some friends are in the fence racket. They move into a town, and jewels, or bills of big denomination, are stolen. Then Ormes puts them in dummy radio tubes. At another town along the line, a hand-picked shill steps up and wins a radio — one of the specials. He takes the dummy tubes out and puts in real ones. Any check on the radio shows nothing wrong. But when he breaks the dummies open, he has the loot from the heist job back down the line. He fences it for the organization.”

Grimsby studied the wire. Then he studied me. Finally, looked at Ormes. The little pitchman wasn’t saying anything. But his eyes were hating me plenty.

I said, “The shill here was a guy with a battered face. When I walked up, Ormes thought I was the one. So, when I won a radio so easily, he gave me the special. He caused the riot because the real shill walked up then, and Ormes realized I wasn’t his man after all. He wanted to swap sets on me under cover of the noise. But the farm boys moved too fast for him. His next best bet was to swipe it out of my office before I got wise to anything.

“The only trouble was, he didn’t know I’d swapped my brown set with Teel in exchange for a white one. When he found that out, he added things up and went after Teel.

“There,” I said, “is the guy who sent Teel off the bridge. He hid in Teel’s truck. When he saw his chance, he clipped Teel and took over. Maybe he wasn’t planning on murder, but that’s the way it turned out.”

“Sounds nice,” said Grimsby, “but can you prove it?”

What a thick skull he had! “Sure,” I said. “When I went diving, I brought up two radios — both white plastic. But Teel had started home with one white one and the brown set I gave him. Ormes, here, did too good a job, trying to make his murder look accidental.”

Ormes cut loose then. He took a swipe at one of the deputies’ guns, got his hand on it and sent a shot at me. He was off balance, and the bullet only nicked my leg. I lowered my hands and went for him. Grimsby’s gun made a flat sound. By the time I hit Ormes, he was already going limp.

Grimsby had nothing more to say. He began breaking open radio boxes. In every third one, we found dummy tubes. In the dummy tubes was the finest collection of diamonds and emeralds and thousand-dollar banknotes a man would ever want to see. When the stuff was all laid out, we could only stand and stare.

Grimsby took a deep breath. “You win, Parker. I wasn’t wrong about private cops, but I guess maybe I was wrong about one of them.”

I thought of what could have happened if he hadn’t tailed me and been there when the shooting started.

I said, “If it’s okay with you, sheriff, just keep right on not trusting me. I’m beginning to like having cops for bodyguards.”

“In that case,” he said, “I’ll take you home myself.”

I took a good radio along. I figured I’d earned it.

A lady on the lam — a strangler on the loose — a stranger at the bar! If Wanda let the man pay for her drink, she wondered where it was going to lead...

Wanda sat upright on the unmade bed and looked at the nylon blouse and nylon stockings draped dismally over the radiator cover that formed the sill of the room’s one window. On her flat, pretty face — powdered and lip-sticked — was an expression of discontent and of worry underneath, worry that amounted to fear.

But Wanda was refusing resolutely to allow herself to dwell on the source of her fear. She concentrated her concern on the little things — on the fact that what she was wearing, plus the things drying on the windowsill, plus the skirt and jacket draped carefully over the single straight chair, were all the clothes she had to her name.