Anthony Boucher - Ed McBain’s Mystery Book, No. 1, 1960

“You’re right!” He didn’t let me finish. “If something happens — ah — I can call a cop. That seems like a good idea, anyway. Call several cops.”

“Yeah. They won’t be overjoyed by my little plan, but that seems the least of our worries at the moment.”

He said there were two rest rooms off the lobby, another small one, for employees, down at the left-front corner of the theater, and told me where closets and a storeroom were. We left the projection booth and went into the empty lobby. As I took my Colt from its new clamshell holster, Jim scooted with unseemly haste out through the lobby doors. I checked both rest rooms. They were empty. I walked back past the projection booth, down the carpeted aisle. When I was a few feet from the rear entrance through which Jim had admitted me earlier, I heard the door rattle softly. The knob moved slightly; it couldn’t be turned from the outside, but could be opened from inside.

I stepped quickly to the door, held my gun ready, turned the knob, and yanked. As the door flew open I stepped forward, brought up my gun, and jabbed it into a soft white breast. I knew it was soft; I knew it was white; it was Robbie’s.

For a moment my nerves sputtered, and I sputtered, and then I grabbed Robbie’s arm and yanked her inside, pushed the door shut. “You little fool,” I said. “What do you think—”

“Don’t be angry—”

“Don’t be angry? Don’t be—”

“I just wanted to be here. I was in at the start, and I want to be in at the finish.”

“It’ll be your finish, if you don’t—”

“Anyway, I told you I was coming.”

“And I told you you weren’t.”

“Poof.”

I groaned, turned around, and slapped a hand on my head. Then I got a grip on myself. “Robbie, please listen. The guy may be here right now. Or he may show up any second.”

“But you said—”

“I know what the hell I said.” I paused, thinking. “Did anybody see you come down the alley? Or come inside?”

“No. Nobody was out there. Only a fellow sweeping.”

“Sweeping? Sweeping the alley?”

“No, silly. Just in back of his shop. I suppose it was his shop. They sell things made out of driftwood—”

“Maybe it was his shop. I’ll brace that guy and make sure before you go back out there. You’d better wait in the projection booth... No. That’s the place he’ll head for. Just stand still a minute.”

I eased the door open, looked up and down the alley. Nothing. Nobody was in sight. Probably Robbie was right, just a guy sweeping out his shop. But I couldn’t be sure — and if he’d seen her come in...

I turned to Robbie. “Of all the—”

“Don’t swear at me.”

“Well, if this isn’t a—”

“I thought you’d be glad.”

“You what?”

“I thought you’d be glad. That I wanted to be with you, in the heat of battle, in the thick of—”

“Never mind. Boy, here we stand yakking like a couple of psychos while that guy may be drawing a bead on my fat head, squeezing — look, you stand right here while I look around... no, I can’t leave you alone. Come with me. No—”

“Make up your mind.”

“I will make up my mind to sock you if you don’t shut up. Come along while I check this joint. But stay behind me. I’m thick enough to stop at least a couple of bullets. And I probably will now. Oh, brother, one of these days—”

“I thought you’d be glad.”

I quit. “Come on,” I said.

We gave the backstage area a good going over. It was a little spooky back there, with the ropes and electrical cables, speakers and back side of the big screen, and the gloomy corners. But the area was empty of people. I figured I’d checked everything except the employees’ john that Jim had mentioned. It was reached through a short hallway behind curtains at stage left, under a softly glowing “Exit” sign. I went down the little hallway, Robbie silent behind me, reached the door of the small rest room.

I was thinking that after I had checked this spot, and looked around in the alley for the egg who’d been sweeping, I could send Robbie on her way. I was thinking that the guy I was after might be clear across the Mexican border by now. I was thinking once in a while of Robbie, and the fact that although she’d complicated things a bit, it was pleasant in a way that she’d wanted to be with me, and even thinking — briefly — of other facets of Robbie.

I was thinking of entirely too many things.

I pushed open the door and didn’t see anybody, and stuck my head inside for a better look, and from behind the door on my left he jammed the gun so hard against my temple that it knocked my head six inches sideways.

The .38 was in my right hand. I started to slap it forward. Six inches from my ear the click-click of the hammer going back on a revolver. And two words: “Go ahead.”

I heard the soft intake of breath outside, a few feet away. Robbie. For a moment she was all I could think of. I wondered if the guy had heard her soft, sudden breath. I hadn’t even seen the man yet.

There were faint whispering movements behind me. Robbie. Moving, no telling where. I started talking, not worrying about what I said, just stringing words together to cover the sounds Robbie was making.

“You’re stuck, friend. You can’t get out of here — the place is lousy with law. You don’t think I’d come here alone, do you?” My head was throbbing; he’d really banged me with the gun.

He spoke again, his voice flat. “I figured it for a setup. But I also figured you’d expect me today, pal. That’s why I came in last night. I’ll get out, Scott.”

“You know my name, huh?”

“Sure. And you know me. Drop the heater.”

I dropped it, slowly turned my head. As I did, he stepped back, kept the gun in his hand out of my reach. But it looked me in the eye.

I did know the guy. Only by reputation, mugg shots. And I’d seen him a time or two in bars where heavy men hang out. His name was Billings, or something like that, but he was called Spade because another gambler had caught him with an extra ace — the ace of spades — in a poker game and shot him. Unfortunately it hadn’t killed him. He was a safecracker, a professional thief.

He was about my height, thin, with a dark angular face and a nose sharp enough to slice cheese. His eyes were red-rimmed, lips drooping. I said, “You were right. It is a setup. And you walked into it.”

“I’ll walk out, too. Pal, we’re going to get them films — only I’m not going to try getting away with them. I’ll ruin them right here, see? When they’re gone, there’s nothing left but your word — and I can beat that if it ever comes to court. That’s if I’m stopped. But I figure to make it out, pal.”

“Not if I can help it.”

He grinned unpleasantly. “You won’t be able to help it. And if there’s no films, and no Scott, nobody’s going to tag me with any murder rap. Not in a hundred years.”

He didn’t know how right he was. Even I hadn’t known until now that it was Spade we wanted. He’d actually be in the clear — if he got out. I said: “There’s just one thing wrong, Spade. You got in all right. But the only way you’ll get out now is on a stretcher.”

“You’re just as dumb as all the cops I ever met. I told you I figured this for a trap. So I don’t plan to be seen going out.” He stepped back against the wall. “Take a look, pal.”

I moved forward a little as he gestured with his gun. “Maybe I’m not so dumb, Scott”

Maybe he wasn’t. I started to get it when I saw the hole. In the wall of the rest room was a jagged hole about two feet in diameter. The wall of this rest room was also the outer wall of the Chasen Theater. But I didn’t know what was on the other side of the wall.