Brett Halliday - Black Mask Magazine (Vol. 27, No. 2 — September 1945)

“Himself.”

“I know, but I mean other people. Did he have any serious enemies?”

“I’m positive he didn’t have. There wasn’t a soul in our town who didn’t love Dad — and pity him. The poor man thought he was a super gambler. Actually he never won in all his life.”

“This town you lived in across the state line — it’s not very big, is it?”

“Ten thousand. Nobody very rich. Dad was a pretty shrewd real estate operator — he had to be to make up for his gambling losses. I worked in his office and tried to keep him in line.”

“Couldn’t he have made somebody pretty mad on some of his real estate deals?”

“Say, what are you driving at?”

“An answer to my question.”

“Well, I suppose there were people who got peeved. Like Jim Newell. He really was burned up for a while when he found how much Dad would have given him when he bought his building for that chain store.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere! Where’s this Jim Newell now?”

“Greenlawn Cemetery. I think that transaction killed him.”

“Yes, it’s killing me, too! So the guy’s dead! Well, did he ever make anybody mad who’s still alive?”

“I just can’t think of anybody offhand.”

“Suppose you work on it.”

“You really suspect foul play? You really think somebody might have murdered Dad?”

“I’ve just got a hunch. Suppose the thirty thousand was actually paid to him. He’d advertised in all the newspapers that he was going to commit suicide. That made a perfect set-up for anybody who wanted to come along, pick up the thirty grand and toss him out of the window.”

“But Mr. Bronson saw him jump!”

“He thinks he did. But remember that your father’s falling body killed his girl. My bet is that Bronson has no very clear idea of what happened. A shock like that addles your brain. Besides, even if his girl hadn’t been killed, I wouldn’t put too much stock in his story. When I went to FBI school I turned in a report of a fake killing that said five shots were fired. There were only three. And I’m supposed to be a detective!”

I thought maybe I’d said the wrong thing then, for she gave me an odd look.

“Suppose we get out of this joint. I only brought you here because it’s expensive. I think it smells. We should be able to find a nice place that isn’t so stuffy.”

“I’m glad you said that. Let’s try the Silver Dollar.”

I gave her a double-take. “But it’s closed!”

“Only the gambling room part. The nightclub side is still running. I found that out.”

She’d also found out the Silver Dollar was on the south edge of Midtown, actually just over the corporation line. The cab had hauled us about five blocks before I noticed the tail.

It was one of those cabs that are converted passenger cars. There was no glass partition between us and the driver. I said: “Fellow, is there any place between here and the Silver Dollar that’s nice and quiet?”

Mary Ditson said: “Why, Mr. Corbett, I—”

“Don’t get any wrong ideas,” I told her. “We’re being followed. I’d like to find out why.” Again I addressed the driver. “Have you thought of some place by now?”

He turned around, about half scared.

“Listen, mister, what are you getting me into?”

“A ten-spot tip. Don’t get hot and bothered. I’m the law.” I flashed my badge.

He seemed to breathe easier. “There won’t be any shooting?”

“If there is, I’ll be doing it. Now let me know when you’re about to turn off and where you’re going to stop.”

The driver turned off at one of those cross-streets that rim through undeveloped areas. When he saw the tail turn after us, he really got a bad case of jitters.

“Gee, I don’t think I want any part of this! Those guys are after you!”

“Twenty dollars.”

“Well, I don’t suppose I can turn down dough like that. It’ll be when we go under the Pennsy overhead. I’ll stop real quick just on the other side of that.”

I turned to Mary Ditson. “How about you? You want out now?”

“I... I’ll stay! Maybe something important’s going to happen!”

I didn’t know how important it was going to be, but I made up my mind it wasn’t going to be sad for me. When the cabbie pulled up and stopped, the other car pulled up beside us and stopped as I had anticipated. By that time I had the cab door open and my .380 out of its shoulder holster. The windows on the other car were down, and I stuck the .380’s muzzle to within six inches of the big guy’s brain.

The big guy was sitting in the front at the right. “Hold it, fellow,” he said, “we only wanted to talk — privately.”

“That’s right,” chimed in a middle-aged man at the wheel. “We can help you, Mr. Corbett. That’s all we want to do, just help you.”

“Then why did you tail me down a back road? Why didn’t you come to my room at the hotel?”

“We’re hiding out, Mr. Corbett. We couldn’t come to the Maramoor on account of Westfall spotting us. So we had to watch our chance to see you.”

“Then you’re the guys Westfall sent over with the thirty grand.”

“That’s right, Mr. Corbett. We delivered it all right. We delivered every cent of it at nine o’clock. Parker here’ll bear me out, and I’ll vouch for him. My name’s Souders.”

“Why shouldn’t you boys back up each other’s story? Thirty grand split two ways is still a nice deal for each of you.”

“But if we had the dough, why’d we stick around here? Why’d we talk to you?”

“Go on. Let’s have the talk.”

“Well, that’s all there is. We gave Ditson the money. He was happy as hell about it. He was so happy he started laughing like he was crazy, and he wound up crying. We beat it, it was so embarrassing.”

“Then where’d the money get to?”

Souders exchanged a glance with Parker. Parker took a deep breath and nodded.

“Hinchman. He’s the guy who was in charge of the investigation. We stuck around long enough to see that — after we’d heard what had happened. This Hinchman is a strictly no good deal. We ought to know. We’ve been handling Westfall’s payoffs long enough to know Hinchman’s got his hand out almost as far as the chief’s and the sheriff’s.”

“How about the county D. A.? He like his gravy, too?”

The boys exchanged another pair of glances.

“What have you got on your mind?”

“An out for you fellows. Westfall’ll never believe your story about delivering that thirty grand. If he catches you, you’re through. You know that. Your only out is to turn state’s evidence. You’ll put Westfall, the crooked cops, the sheriff and even the D. A. where they won’t be able to bother you again. It’s the only way.”

The boys remained silent. Finally Parker, who had done the listening, said: “We’ll have to have a little time to think that deal over. That makes us squealers.”

“Live squealers. Think it over. When you’re ready, call me at the Maramoor.”

When they’d gone and I was back in the cab, Mary Ditson said:

“Why did you let them go? Why didn’t you arrest them?”

“That’s what they wanted. They daren’t turn themselves in to the local law because the local law is one of Westfall’s subsidiaries. They figured they’d be safe in my hands. If I let them sweat., it out a little longer they’ll be ready to upset the whole applecart. Then I can hand the town over to Keever on a silver platter.”

The cab was still standing there, so I said to the driver: “It’s all over, fellow. Get going.”

He turned around. His face was bathed in perspiration. His lower lip trembled.

“My God, why didn’t you tell me them guys was going to be Stonie Parker and Punch Souders? They’re the toughest boys Spain Westfall’s got! They might have massacred us all!”