Аврам Дэвидсон - Ellery Queen’s Double Dozen

“I have to see which way the coin drops, even when it’s my coin and somebody else wins,” he said. “That is a schmoe’s function in life — to call ‘heads’ just as it turns up tails. I have just one request to make.”

“What?” said Jerry.

“Choose somebody else for your cellmate. They say they’ve got a good library at Leavenworth. I’m going to catch up on all the comic books I missed in college, and I don’t want any more of your stupid interruptions.”

That had been three hours ago. The combination living-dining room of their apartment now looked like any other student’s combination living-dining room — a mess. But this mess concealed some of Mart’s favorite wires, which in perfect concealment led through the kitchenette to the dead-end of a back service hall. There Mort had set up his tape recorders and control panel.

“Well,” said Mort, “I hope it works.”

“Of course it will work!” confidently exclaimed Jerry. “They won’t dream we looked in the camera. They’ll give us time to unpack, but they won’t wait too—”

The phone rang.

Mort clawed at his switches, his black eyes lighting up as he beheld the flickering of certain needles. “Give it time to ring a few times,” he yelled. “Don’t want to let ’em think we were sitting here waiting for their call. Besides, I want to check my gain on the ringing signal before you answer.”

Jerry let it ring a few times. He was a little surprised to hear the voice of Mr. Fox, the attorney, instead of that of Mr. Cupp, the nice investor.

“Jerry-boy?” Mr. Fox said gaily. “I’ll bet you’re surprised to hear from me so soon!”

“Not exactly,” said Jerry.

Mr. Fox apparently missed that. “Got a favor I’d like to ask you, keed! My sister here in San Diego had a new baby while I was in Mexico, and I’d like to shoot some pictures. I hate to use that cheap camera of hers. I wonder, Jerry-boy, would it be asking too much to borrow yours again for a couple of hours?”

Mr. Fox’s voice recalled his unappetizing person. He was a small, furtive, dirty-minded man with sandy hair, freckles, and pale, nervously blinking eyes. Witty but not funny, a tab-grabber who never let Jerry or Mort pay for anything, Mr. Fox had been tolerated in Mazatlán only because it was nice Mr. Cupp’s money he was spending.

“Skip the build-up, Mr. Fox,” Jerry said, trying to get the right quaver of fear into his voice. It came quite easily. “I have already looked in the camera.”

“Oh,” said Mr. Fox. “Oh, I see. You say you have already looked in the camera?”

“Yes, and I want to speak to Mr. Cupp.”

“Why, may I ask?”

“That was a dirty trick you played on me, Mr. Fox, and I just don’t think he’d stand for it, that’s why!”

There was a brief hesitation. “Jerry-boy,” Mr. Fox said, “unfortunately, Mr. Cupp was detained a while by the customs officers. They searched his baggage again and again, and of course couldn’t find anything. But they were still trying when I left, so it will probably be a little while before we can reach Mr. Cupp. Meanwhile, you understand it’s urgent that you and I get together. I’ll admit frankly that I played a dirty trick on you, but I’m going to make up for it.”

“How?”

“Jerry-boy, I’m going to bring you two of the fattest little old hundred-dollar bills you ever saw, when I come out there to see you.”

“Only you’re not coming to see me,” said Jerry. “Not without Mr. Cupp.”

“Jerry-boy, listen to reason!” Mr. Fox cried. “Barney Cupp is a respectable, honest businessman and I’m a dirty, rotten, double-crossing heel. Now I’ve made a mistake, a serious mistake, perhaps. But I’m going to make up for it to you. Why involve Barney in what I did?”

“All right then, I’m going to go to a policeman I know. He gave me a traffic ticket once, but—”

“Jerry-boy, think of Barney Cupp! Why bring in some cop who is not only an ignorant slob, but a thief besides?” Mr. Fox’s voice fell half an octave. “I don’t like to frighten you, keed, but think! Are you in any position to go to a slob of a policeman? If you like Mr. Cupp, and you value your own well-being, you’re not going to be so foolish, are you?”

“Mr. Fox, either I see Mr. Cupp or I go to a policeman.”

“Jerry-boy, I’m sure you don’t mean that,” Mr. Fox said softly. “I’m sure you realize it would be about the most dangerous thing you could do!”

“I’ll bet you wouldn’t threaten me if Mr. Cupp could hear you!” Jerry almost shouted. Then in a whimpering voice he went on, “Let’s cut this short, Mr. Fox. I’ve never been in any trouble like this before, and it makes me nervous. I don’t want to talk to you any more until I’ve seen Mr. Cupp!”

“Barney isn’t available yet. But if I know him, he’ll tell you to take my advice. Meanwhile, you have every right to be nervous. Suppose I make it three hundred bucks?”

“No!”

“How about five? Does five suit you, Jerry-boy?”

“No. Listen, Mr. Fox. I’m getting out of here right now!”

“Shut up and listen to me.” Mr. Fox’s voice was suddenly as frigidly poisonous as quick-frozen cobra venom. “If you must see Barney, I’m sure we can get together later this evening. Meanwhile, I wouldn’t want anything to happen to that camera package, and I don’t believe you do either. It wouldn’t be healthy for you, see, keed? Stop being childish! Leave there? Where would you go?”

“I’ll quit school. I’ll mail the jewels to the police and go to... to Hawaii. Or Alaska.”

“Jerry-boy, there is no place on earth you can hide if you double-cross me. Barney Cupp is a gentleman, but he can’t stand a dirty, cowardly rat either. Now, why can’t you and I get together on a friendly basis, without bothering him?”

“No, sir!” Jerry shouted. “Listen, this is final. I’ll be here at eight this evening, with the package from the camera, and you and Mr. Cupp can both come then. Both of you, you understand? Because if it’s just you, I won’t even open the door, and there’s no use coming before then because I’m leaving right now!”

He slammed down the phone. Almost immediately, it began ringing again. He ignored it to run toward the back of the apartment. When he reached the back service hall, Mort Lisky was already dismantling his recording equipment.

“Better get this inside, in case they try to kick in the back way,” said Mort. “Won’t take long to set it up for this evening again. Here, you take this tape and work from it where you can watch the front. I’ll keep an eye on the back — and I’ve really got a job of rectifying to do! I told you I should have had more time to check that phone induction coil.”

“I was tremendous, wasn’t I?” said Jerry. “I really sounded scared, didn’t I?”

“You still do,” said Mort. “To work, boy, to work! But I still think this is one of those down-beat scripts where the hero’s buddy dies a lingering, last-act death.”

Jerry took the smaller of the two tape recorders to the living room and plugged it in where he could sit near the front door. He dragged the coffee table over to use for a desk, and stacked some paper and pencils on it. He put on the earphones and sat down, with his eye near a crack in the broken old blind that covered the glass in the front door.

It was hard to see well enough to write, with all the shades pulled down. And, as he expected, through the crack in the blind he shortly beheld a cab stop at the curb. None other than Mr. Wilfred “Bill” Fox got out and ran up the steps. Jerry and Mort had a first-floor apartment with a door facing the street. Mr. Fox pounded on the door again and again.