D. Champion - Black Mask Magazine (Vol. 30, No. 2 — July 1947)

“Sick,” said Scarface. “In bed. You can’t see him.”

“The hell I can’t,” said Woolley, and pushed past him.

Sackler and I trailed along through a thickly carpeted hallway and eventually found ourselves in a lushly furnished bedroom.

In the centre of a huge bed was Earnshaw. His head was bald and because of the bandages wrapped around his face was, at the moment, the most prominent part of him.

Woolley stood at the foot of the bed and watched a white clad nurse take a thermometer from Earnshaw’s lips. Woolley put his hands on hips and said: “What’s the matter with you?”

A mumble from the bandages. The three of us cocked our ears toward the bed. I made out the words, “Met with an accident.”

Woolley snorted. “You mean some hoods beat you up. Who?”

Earnshaw shook his head. “I’ll take care of this. I don’t need you.”

“Did Freuh beat you up, yesterday?”

Earnshaw shook his head.

“Well, he was here yesterday, wasn’t he?”

This time the bandages bobbed up and down.

“Did he leave here alive or dead?”

The bandages were still for a moment. Then came an indignant mumble. “He left here alive and I can prove it.”

“By whom?”

“A couple of my boys.”

“They’d swear to anything.”

“Well, they’re witnesses. You have no witnesses at all to the contrary.”

There was a lot more dialogue. Most of it was concerned with Woolley’s trying to find out who beat Earnshaw up. But the bandages weren’t talking. At last Woolley walked out of the room in utter disgust. Sackler and I followed behind.

“I hope,” said Woolley when we got down into the street, “that you found out what you wanted to know. I didn’t find out anything.”

“I think I did,” said Sackler, “However, it may take me a couple of days to clean it up for you.”

“You miserable punk,” exploded Woolley, “it’d take you more than a couple of days to even find out what it was all about. It’s a police secret shared only between us and Washington.”

“And me,” said Sackler, heading toward the subway station.

I lit a cigarette and caught up with him. Deliberately I blew smoke in his face. He sniffed nervously. His nostrils twitched. I did a fast inward gloat. One day wasn’t up yet and he craved tobacco.

He said: “Joey, maybe we’ve been a couple of fools.”

“How come?”

“That silly bet. Neither of us can afford that kind of money. We were foolish. Perhaps we should cancel it. You can’t afford to lose a hundred dollars.”

“I’m not going to. You’re choking now. You’ll never hold out.”

He grunted, but discussed the matter no further.

He spent the next twenty-four hours at his desk apparently engrossed in deep thought. I smoked all day and blew the aroma toward him. He twitched a little but never broke down.

On the following day, he greeted me with a captivating smile. “Joey,” he said, “I have a few chores to do today. Your help won’t be necessary. So what do you think I’m going to do?”

“I haven’t any idea. What?”

“I’m going to give you the whole day off. With pay. You are free to do whatever you like.”

I eyed him suspiciously. “You are a Greek bearing a gift. What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Enjoy yourself.”

I shrugged. I said, “All right,” and picked up my hat. I had arrived at the doorway when he said, “And, oh, Joey?”

I stopped and turned around. “What?”

“About that idiotic bet. I was thinking—”

“Think all you like. Don’t smoke.”

I slammed the door on his curse and went out into the sunlight whistling. I went to two movies and a hockey game.

I hit the office some twenty minutes late the next morning. Sackler had not arrived yet. I let myself in, sat at my desk and ran through the morning paper. I had half finished the sports page when Sackler strolled in.

He carried an oblong package under his arm. There was a carefree smile on his lips and a lilt in his tone as he said: “Good morning, Joey.”

I returned the greeting as he stowed his parcel away in a desk drawer, then locked it. He sat down, drew a heavy sigh and looked at me speculatively.

I said: “You seem happy. I take it you have been on a successful pursuit of some unlucky dollar.”

He shook his head. “No, Joey. I have been thinking of our personal relations.”

“Interesting. Now, I have an uncle over in Jersey who—”

“Idiot. I mean the relations which exist between us. We bicker too much, Joey.”

I became wary. “Do we?”

“Indeed. And mostly about money, which is deplorable.”

I said incredulously: “You’re not going to raise my salary?”

“No. But I want this bickering stopped. Hereafter we will not bet with each other any more. I think that is the trouble.”

“That’s better than okay with me. I always lose anyway.”

“Good. And in order that we get along better I also think that we should cancel all bets which are still in existence between us.”

I am not the brightest boy in all the world but I didn’t need a sledge hammer to pound the point of this conversation into my skull. I laughed out loud.

I said: “So you’re cooking for a smoke, is that it? So you want to call off the bet in order that you may have a cigarette? Oh, no, brother. This is one bet I’m going to win. Besides, what’s become of the steel Sackler will power you spoke to me of only a few days ago?” He scowled at me. I lit a cigarette and blew the smoke ostentatiously in his direction. His scowl became deeper.

“You are a money-grubbing little rat,” he said bitterly. “No honor, no decency, no generosity.”

I grinned and decided to rub it in. “Since you feel you are possessed of all those three traits, may I call your attention to the fact that you must return Freuh’s hundred dollar bill to his estate or to the coppers or whoever gets it. You certainly can’t lay claim to it. You failed to find that quotation in the requisite time. You must return that money.”

He looked at me sourly.

“Yes, sir,” I went on. “I know what’s in the back of your conniving brain. You think you can start smoking again and pay me off with that dough which belongs to Freuh. That let’s you out for nothing. Well, you’re always getting out for nothing. This time it’s going to cost you a hundred bucks. If you’re dying for a butt now, think how you’ll feel in a month.”

For one of the few times in my life I had him against the wall. The happy mien that he had worn a few moments back had disappeared entirely. There was a little panic in his voice as he said: “And what do you intend to do if I keep this money of Freuh’s?”

“Squeal.”

“To whom?”

“To Woolley, of course. He hates the idea of you making money almost as much as I do. All I have to do is tell him you’ve got a hundred you’re not entitled to and he’ll grab it. If Freuh has no kin, it’ll probably go in Dewey’s treasury.”

He closed his eyes as if my perfidy were more than he could bear. He said in a weak voice: “Go away, Joey. Go out of my sight. Traitor, betrayer, go away. I cannot stand your presence.”

Nothing at all loath, I grabbed my hat and went to the door. When I was on the threshold he spoke again.

“While you’re out call Capelli. Tell him to be here at one o’clock sharp. Then call Woolley. Tell him to arrive at exactly one fifteen and to bring Earnshaw with him. Tell them all I have important news for them.”

I nodded and went out. I stopped in the saloon downstairs and had a couple of quick ones. This was one time I was going to show no mercy. When Sackler took his first smoke — and I was sure he couldn’t hold out much longer — I was going to collect a hundred bucks. Moreover, I was going to see he returned the hundred of Freuh’s to which he wasn’t entitled.