Ричард Деминг - Manhunt. Volume 1, Number 6, June, 1953

A cab took me up to the Flamingo Garage in fifteen minutes. It was quiet and dark with shuttered windows and a sheet-metal door pulled down. I pressed a bell at the side and listened to the clang inside. A little trap-door opened and a man said, “What do you want?”

“April.”

“Who sent you?”

“Whisper.”

The trap door snapped shut. There was silence. Then a whirring started and the sheet-metal door moved up high enough for me to enter. I went in. The door moved down and closed. The man said, “Come on to the office.”

It was a big barn of a garage with no more than five cars, all fairly new and polished. The guy opened the office door and we went in. It was much lighter in the office. The guy leading me was swarthy, skinny and pock-marked. He wore a sharp, wide-shouldered suit, and a light gray snap brim hat. The man at the desk was different. He was slick, sandy-haired, impeccable in a white shirt with French cuffs, and the initials J.A. embroidered over the heart.

I said, “You Joe April?”

He said, “What’s it to you?”

I said, “I’m in from Detroit. One day. I hustled up to sec my pal, Roderick H. Dallas, commonly known as Whisper. He gave me the okay to you.”

“For what?”

“Work.”

“Now wait a minute. How do you know where Whisper holes up?”

“I’ve known Whisper since he was running around in bicycle stockings. We have frequent phone conversations.”

“All the way from Detroit?”

“I can afford it. And Whisper, he tells me he’s doing pretty good too.”

“Okay. Let’s have the rest of it.”

“Ain’t too much. I’m a little hot in Detroit, so I come east for a rest. I amble up to see my friend Whisper, and he tells me he’s holed up for a while, blasted a guy tonight. He tells me maybe you can use me, so I come here. That’s it.”

He looked me over closely. He said, “You ever heist a car?”

“You kidding? I was heisting cars when Whisper was heisting his diapers.”

“What’s your name?”

“Scotty. Scotty Sanders.”

“All right, Scotty.” He reached for the phone, dialed, waited, said, “Hello? Hello, Whisper?”

You could hear Whisper’s rasp across the room. “Yeah, boss.”

“Got a friend of yours here.”

“Who?”

“Scotty Sanders.”

“Yeah, boss. A good kid.”

The strain went out of April's face. He looked pleased. He wouldn’t have looked as pleased, if he'd known that the muzzle of Parker’s gun was tight to Whisper’s temple.

April tried once more. “Where’s he from, this fancy gorilla of yours?”

“Who?”

“This Scotty Sanders.”

“From my home town. Detroit, boss. Very handy kid.”

“Okay. Stay holed up. You’ll hear from me.” April hung up, nodded at the pock-marked man, nodded at me. “Jack Ziggy, Scotty Sanders.”

We shook hands.

April said, “In a way, I’m glad you came. We’re short a man with Whisper out. You and Ziggy are going to work together. Tonight. Okay with you, Scotty?”

“Okay if the pay’s okay.”

April nodded at Ziggy and Ziggy went out. I heard the sheet-metal door whir open, and then whir shut.

April said, “Sit down, kid.”

“Thanks.” I sat.

“Let me give you the picture, kid. We got a new twist on an old racket. We heist cars to order. We get orders from all over... out of the country, I mean. Mexico, Cuba, South America. They tell us what they want, just what they want. A green Buick convertible? That’s it. A black Caddy sedan? That’s it. Then we send out spotters, get the car we want lined up — and heist it, boom, like that. We touch them up maybe a little bit, and that’s it. How’s it sound?”

“Sounds good enough to me. How’s the payoff? For the little guys, like me?”

He opened a drawer. It held a big blue automatic and a sheaf of bills. He drew out a few of the bills, said, “Here’s five C’s. That gets you on the pay-roll. You play ball... I’ll make you fat. You louse it up... you’re dead.”

Softly I said, “Like Frank Palance?”

“That Whisper’s got a big mouth.”

“It ain’t a big mouth when he’s talking to me.”

“Frank Palance. When a guy gets too big for his britches, he’s through. And with me, there’s no argument, no discussion, no nothing. When you’re through, that’s it. I put him in business — and I put him out of it. Only I wanted to do it myself.”

“I don’t get it.”

He had blue eyes. He screwed them up at me. He said, “You ever figure Whisper for being gun-happy?”

“Not Whisper.”

“Well, he pulled a wing-ding on me tonight. He had orders to pick up Palance and a box of dough and bring them both here to me. He brought the box, but he knocked off Palance, crazy-like. Maybe the guy would have had an out, which I doubt. Never had a chance to find out. Whisper got gun-happy. You think maybe Whisper’s getting a little too nervous for his own good?”

“I don’t know.”

He laid the five bills on the desk. He said, “You see, that’s dough. There’s plenty more. But don’t go flipping your wig, like Palance. He was making a nice hunk of change. But all of a sudden, he wanted in. Instead, he got his head handed to him. Okay, kid. Take your dough.”

I took it, stood up, put it into my pants’ pocket.

The sheet metal door whirred, then whirred closed.

Jack Ziggy came in with the gun in his hand.

April said, “What goes?”

“I went over to check with Whisper, personally.”

“Yeah?”

“No Whisper. No nothing. Lily filled me in on the rest.”

“Who’s Lily?”

“Owns the candy store across the street. They marched Whisper out. Cops marched him out. Marched out Rose Jonas too.” He gestured with the gun. “This guy’s a plant. Strictly.”

April said, “Me and my big mouth. I’m doing this one myself.” He reached into the drawer for the blue automatic.

These were not amateurs. There was no Rosie Jonas holding a gun like a cap pistol. This was a spot, and in a spot like this you’re dead. You’ve got nothing to lose. I jumped him, right there and then, with the other guy holding a gun on me. I jumped him, the blue automatic in his hand. I did a dive as good as Lola Southern, a flat dive, with force, and me and the guy and the swivel chair got tangled on the floor, with Ziggy jumping around looking for an opening.

Ziggy thought he had it.

He let go twice, and killed his boss.

I had the blue automatic in my hand, and I used the body as a shield, and I missed twice, and then a slug caught me in the arm, and then another in the shoulder, and then I didn’t miss. I opened a hole in his forehead, and the blood burst out like a red mask, and he dropped, and then I sprawled over the dead Joe April, and I tried to get up, but I couldn’t...

I sat slanted downward in the cranked-up bed, and I waited for them to show up, Parker and the cast of characters. I had no kick. I’d be out in three days. One bullet had gone clean through my left arm, and that was easy. They cleaned it, and closed it, and that was that. Not even a broken bone. The other one got stuck in a muscle near the lung, and that was lucky too. The lung was clear. They had to probe for that one, and they tell me it got a little nasty. That’s why I was a hospital case. Three days.

I hadn't been able to sleep and a couple of thoughts had bounced around in my head, and then I had sat up and reached for the phone on the little table and I had called Parker, and Parker was bringing them to me.

Now.

I heard their feet in the corridor.

The first ones in were Parker and a long, gaunt, fleshless man. Parker introduced us. Keith Grant. Peter Chambers.