Джон Макдональд - More Good Old Stuff

Bill Davo looked up from the floor and studied Berman for a moment. “Maybe you’re right. Of course, they won’t suspect you unless we’re seen together. You’ve never been in this town before, and you don’t know a soul in it.”

“Not a soul.”

“That’s odd.” Davo looked at Berman intently. As Berman looked up, Bill Davo put his shoulder behind a short right that smacked neatly against Berman’s jaw. The dark man bounded backward off the chair. His shoulders hit the floor and he moaned as he tried to lift his head.

Davo picked him up off the floor by the lapels and threw him on the bed. He held the man down and pulled a flat .38 out of a shoulder holster. Then he moved over and sat where Berman had been sitting. Davo was breathing hard. In a few seconds Berman sat up, his eyes narrowed. He felt his jaw with gentle fingertips.

Davo said, “If you’re really Berman, I’m going to be doghoused. But you’re a stranger to this town, and you came out with Wescott’s middle initial. You didn’t hear it from me. Empty your pockets and throw the stuff on the floor between us.”

Berman said, “Look here, Davo. This has gone far enough. You can’t—”

“Empty your pockets!”

Berman eyed the steady muzzle of the automatic. As he did so, Davo noticed that he tensed slightly. With quick comprehension, Davo worked the slide, jacking a shell into the chamber. Berman began throwing papers on the floor.

When the man’s pockets were empty, Bill Davo said, “Now stretch out on that bed. On your face. And don’t move.”

After a full minute, Davo said, “Okay, Vittano. Sit up. What did you do with Berman?”

Vittano grinned. “Go find out if you know so much. Berman decided to take a longer train ride than he thought. He talked a lot. Hell, I told him I was you.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have a little friend in the capital who gave us the tip. I went a hundred miles up the line on the train with Berman. Told him the thing had blown up and I was leaving town. Told him there was nothing to go on.” Vittano laughed, seeming to regain most of his poise. “He got off at Frereton, fifty miles up, and caught the limited back, sore as hell.”

Davo got up and paced the floor, careful to keep the gun ready even though Vittano showed little inclination to try anything. Checkmated. He cursed himself for not having the sense to exchange descriptions with Berman over the phone.

“Stobe Farner’s going to get a bang out of this,” Vittano said. “What’re you going to do now, chump? You better take my advice and leave town. You gave me all your ammunition on a silver platter. For example, that Fay woman.”

“Shut up!”

“And Stobe’ll be happy to know about Vincens. There isn’t much room around this town for guys like that.”

Davo whirled, raising the gun. Vittano shrugged his shoulders and said, “Go ahead, sucker. Slug me. What’ll it get you? You can’t keep me from reporting to the boys.”

“I can slow you down a little. Take off your necktie and roll over on your face.”

In three minutes Vittano was securely bound — his wrists were knotted behind him, his ankles tied with a strip of sheeting, a face towel crammed into his mouth and secured by another towel tied around his head. Davo picked him up easily, dropped him on the closet floor and shut the door. He slipped into his raincoat and shut the door to the room quietly behind him. Not much time. A few hours. No more.

It was raining again and the bars had closed. The neon had clicked off and the streets were dark, wet, soiled. The gun in the side pocket of his raincoat thumped against his thigh. He crossed the street and paused. The station was a few steps away. He had a thousand dollars in cash. Time to take any train. Anyplace. Time to get away. A new job somewhere else. Forget the whole dirty deal. A new start.

He waited and the rain whipped against his cheek. For a moment he wanted to laugh. Melodrama. Bill Davo stowing a gunman in a hotel closet. Bill Davo walking the night streets with a gun in his pocket. Somewhere Stobe Farner would be dreaming of large profits, sleek cars, imported liquor. And Jane Fay would be...

That thought stopped him. He suddenly knew that he couldn’t go — couldn’t leave Jane to the political wolves of Amberton. He walked to the station and startled a dozing cabdriver as he climbed in and slammed the door. He gave Jane’s address and settled back into the corner, his jaw set. The tires made a swishing sound on the wet pavement.

Davo climbed out of the cab and said, “Wait here.” His heels were loud on the wooden porch. He leaned on the bell and waited. Rang it again. At last lights clicked on in the hall and he saw her come down the stairs, a robe held around her, trying to see who was standing outside the door. Her blond hair was tousled and her makeup was off — but she looked good to him. Very good.

The porch lights snapped on and he saw the worried recognition. She unlocked the door and opened it. “Bill! What in the world?”

“I’ve got to talk to you. I’ve messed everything up.”

“Come on in.” She grinned crookedly. “At least they haven’t put you in bed again.”

They sat side by side on the couch in the darkened living room.

“This is worse than a beating,” Davo told her. “I reported the whole deal, including your willingness to testify, to a man from the Attorney General’s office. He turned out to be a plant. The real guy never showed up. I was a fool.”

She was silent for a long minute, not looking at him. She said softly, “I don’t care much for myself. I can always get work in some other city. But my mother owns this house. They won’t stop at driving me away. Her assessment will go up a few thousand. There’ll be building inspectors here, forcing her to make unnecessary repairs. They’ll find a dozen ordinances to make her life miserable.

“And they may do more than drive me away. There was a girl in the assessor’s office once. She tried to make a stink. They found two hundred dollars’ worth of office supplies in the back of her car. She went to the county jail for six months.”

He said hoarsely, “Okay, then! Tell me I’m a fool! Tell me I’ve ruined things for you! Tell me to get out of here!”

She reached over and her hand was warm against his. “It’s a little late for that, Bill. Maybe we can still fight.”

“How? Johnson Vincens is going to get it too. He’s right in the soup with us. Our only chance was surprise and I muffed it. Oh, I’ve done a great job. A wonderful job.”

She snatched her hand away. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself! Does Farner know yet?”

“No. I made like a tough guy and put the plant in a closet down at the Amberton. I don’t think he’ll get out until morning. I thought it would give us more time. More time to run.”

“I have a hunch that neither of us is the running type, Davo boy.”

“Any ideas?”

Jane said slowly, “There’s three of us in the soup. Right? Well, three heads are going to be better than two. You phone Johnson Vincens while I get dressed. Tell him we’re coming over. And phone a taxi.”

“Got one outside. All this doesn’t make much sense to me—”

“Can you think of anything better?”

“Go get dressed and stop needling me. Maybe the three of us can still make some kind of stink.”

She ran up the stairs. He went into the hall, looked up and dialed Vincens’ number. The phone rang six times before it clicked and he heard Vincens’ sleepy “Yeah?”

“Mr. Vincens, this is Bill Davo. I’m coming over to talk to you.”

“Look, Davo. I need my sleep. It can wait until morning.”

“Maybe it can, but you can’t.”

A few seconds’ silence. Then: “What does that mean?”