Curtis Cluff - Black Mask Magazine (Vol. 31, No. 1 — January, 1948)

“Stay out of sight and don’t come unless I call you personally. Anything funny happens, give us a horn.”

Matsu nodded and drifted away into the shadows. The rest of us trudged single file up to the house. As we reached the doorway, lights blazed and Walter Kent stood grinning in the entrance. “Welcome to the Pali House, Hawkshaw.” He looked at Norris in surprise. “Hello, Allan. Is this your party, too?”

Norris shook his head. “Don’t you know what it’s all about either?”

“I’m afraid I don’t.” Kent shook hands with MacDonald and looked at Chun. “I don’t believe I’ve met this gentleman.”

“His name is Chun,” I said. “Let’s go inside.”

The wide hallway led to a dropped living room running the width of the house. The ceiling-to-floor drapes were pulled back, revealing a solid window across the front of the room. The indirect lights were low and I had the feeling of walking out into the night as I entered the room. The window was like a huge mural with its high moon and millions of stars suspended in the velvet blue-blackness of the Pacific night.

I moved over to the big window with something like awe and looked down at the reflected starlight on the water. The ocean was barely stirring except directly below us where the breakers rolled in majestically but futilely, to spend themselves on the scattered rocks at the foot of the cliff.

Kent busied himself pouring drinks. “You’ll have to excuse the looks of the place,” he apologized. “I just got here myself.”

I looked around the room. There was nothing to apologize for. Fine Oriental rugs lay scattered on the koa wood floors. The furniture was low and comfortable. Richly bound books lined the walls and added a final touch of luxurious ease to the scene. Kent finished handing out the drinks and for a moment it was like the awkward silence at a party where the guests haven’t been introduced. Then light sprayed across the side windows and the rattle of gravel on the drive announced the arrival of another car. Everyone remained silent and I felt the tension begin to mount.

Footsteps sounded and Kent opened the door.

Jocko Vecelli came in warily, followed by a silent and watchful Ruiz. The big, moon-faced grinning Malo came in last. Kent greeted Jocko familiarly, nodded to Ruiz and Malo and led them into the living room. He looked at me ironically. “Have I any more guests coming?”.

I shook my head and watched the new arrivals. Jocko looked at me coldly and turned his attention to the rest. Ruiz fastened his little cobra-eyes on me with a noticeable lack of affection.

Malo beamed at me. “Hi, Mac. We been looking all over for you.”

Kent spoke to Vecelli. “What will you have to drink?”

Vecelli looked around. “You got any wine?”

Kent looked apologetic. “I have a little White Burgundy but it isn’t chilled. Would you prefer whiskey?”

“Burgundy.”

Kent turned to the others.

“Got rye?” Ruiz asked.

“Of course.”

“I’ll take rye.”

“Me too,” Malo grinned. “Make mine double. I’m big fellow.”

When they had their drinks, Vecelli raised his glass. Everybody drank and as if at a signal, the glasses were lowered and all eyes turned toward me. All but Ruiz. He was looking at Chun. “What’s the copper here for?” he demanded.

Kent turned to Chun. “Are you a policeman?”

“I am,” said Chun. “Let’s get on with it, Ford. Who’s who and what’s what?”

I faced the others and started in to stir up the most trouble in the shortest amount of time. “First,” I said, “I’ll begin by saying that everybody in this room with the exception of Lieutenant Chun is guilty of some criminal action, and I may add,” I said pleasantly, “that I don’t like any of you and I’m sure that your collective mothers bayed at the moon.”

There were several growls at this and Carter MacDonald spoke up. “Apparently, I am not alone in taking exception to your remarks, Mr. Ford. You have been a focal point of irritation ever since you arrived in the Islands. It may interest you to know that I’ve tried to persuade my client to dispense with your services before you involve him in any further trouble. I may also point out that your rather childish invective lays you open to libel charges.”

“We’ll begin with you,” I said coldly. “You are Norris’ business and legal adviser, aren’t you?”

“I have that honor.”

“Then I may point out,” I said ironically, “that when you O.K. a deal whereby Allan Norris rents out his property to a known gambler, you sure as hell are guilty of criminal behavior even if there’s no law against it. The fact that you’re too good a lawyer for anybody to be able to prove that you had knowledge of the gambling is beside the point. Everyone in Honolulu knows about the Hobron Club. That rent is just as much a part of the house take as the money Vecelli pockets.” I turned to Norris. “We won’t waste time talking about morals and ethics. My client, besides being guilty of criminal behavior, is guilty of actual law-breaking in withholding facts of a crime in the death of his daughter. Vecelli is guilty of running a gambling house and probably of bribing vice squad cops. Our host,” I grinned at Kent, “is able to furnish a layout like this at least in part from the rental of obscene books. The two stooges,” I nodded at Ruiz and Malo, “are guilty of assorted crimes including kidnapping and murder. Modesty forbids a listing of my own crimes,” I said shyly.

“Get down to business,” Chun said impatiently. He was grinning.

I nodded. “A drug ring in Honolulu is anxious to see me get out of the Islands. They tried to encourage me with a bribe and planted dope in my cottage in case I didn’t take the hint. Jennifer Norris was murdered last night and I was waylaid by her murderers. I was lucky enough to get the guy who did the actual killing — William Kahalawai. Today I spotted his pal and followed him. He led me to a cache of over half a million dollars’ worth of heroin. It was hidden on property also belonging to Allan Norris. It’s obvious that a man as well known as Norris couldn’t run around peddling dope but—”

MacDonald squeaked out again. “I protest against your continued libels against my client’s character.”

“Shut up!” I snarled. “I’m stating facts and I’ll do it my way. I said Norris didn’t run around peddling dope, and he didn’t. But the punk I followed works for a man who has got the organization to handle it. Ruiz works for Jocko Vecelli.”

I got all the action I wanted in the next few moments.

“I knew it was a frame!” Vecelli spat. He went for the gun in his shoulder holster. Guns appeared in various hands and I beat Vecelli to the draw but didn’t fire. Because Vecelli crumpled to the floor with a slug through his head.

The smoking .38 was in the hand of Walter Kent whose elbow still rested on the open top drawer of his desk. Malo stood by the door, a A5 in his big mitt, not smiling now, and looking to Ruiz for his cue. Ruiz covered the room with his Woodsman and backed toward the fireplace. Kent’s face creased in a hard grin.

“I’m sorry, Ford,” he apologized, “you could have used his testimony.”

“Drop your guns and raise your hands.” Lieutenant Chun spoke to Ruiz and Malo.

Suddenly, outside the house, three shots rang out in quick succession. All of us were startled but nobody took his eyes off anybody else. A twisted grin curled over Ruiz’s face. Chun turned his gun on him.

“It’s three to two. You want to shoot it out?”

Ruiz continued to grin. I looked around unhappily. Norris was out of line of fire, staring uncomprehendingly at the scene. MacDonald was down on his hands and knees, blinking owlishly over the top of his glasses. Perspiration stood out on his pale forehead. I wanted to tell him to move over and kneel down beside him. I spoke to Chun.