Джон Макдональд - More Good Old Stuff

Larry grabbed the drowned man’s wrist, got his feet against the bottom, pushed up with all his strength. When he emerged with Carter there were people to help. They got Carter onto the concrete apron of the pool, on his stomach. Larry went into the rhythmic cadence of lifesaving technique.

Lochard stood by, dancing with anxiety. All the others were clustered about. Larry dipped and pressed hard; when he sat back on his heels giving Carter’s lax lungs a chance to fill, he saw Gail on one knee beside him, her face a white mask, her hands clenched. Her eyes were venomous.

The group stood, sober now, numbed by the disaster, waiting and hoping. When Carter coughed and then sighed, something like a faint cheer went up.

Water gouted from Carter’s lungs and finally, white and shaking, he was well enough to sit up.

Lench said, “What happened? I thought you could swim good. What happened?”

Carter looked steadily at him. “I must have gotten a bit tired.” He looked around. “Who got me out?”

Lawrence Hask was pointed out to him. Carter looked soberly at Hask. “You work for Lench?”

“One of my best,” Lench said eagerly.

“Help me up,” Carter said to Lochard. Carter staggered for a moment, then walked toward the dressing room, leaning heavily on Lochard. He beckoned to Larry. Larry shrugged and followed him.

Once inside the dressing room Carter pulled away from Lochard. He braced himself, doubled his fist and hit Lochard in the mouth with all his strength. Lochard stumbled back against the wall, slipped, caught his balance and stood up. He wiped the blood on his handkerchief.

“Dress,” he said to Larry. “You’re leaving with us.”

“I work for Lench.”

“You used to work for Lench. He is out of business. He’ll find out tomorrow.”

Larry shrugged. “Okay, so I come with you.”

Minutes later the three of them went out to the pool. Lench, sitting on the edge beside Gail, struggled up, smiled wanly and said, “We’re having steak pretty soon, boss.”

Carter said evenly, “I’m sure you can eat my share. Thank you for an instructive party. Thank you very much.”

“Accidents will happen,” Lench said.

“Yes, they sometimes will,” Carter said in a dry voice. “Good night.”

But Lench, his wet white body dripping water onto the heavy rug, caught them at the front door.

He said thickly, “Take your choice, Carter.”

“Is there a choice?”

“It can work both ways, you know, Carter.”

“You wouldn’t be warning me, Gus, would you?” Carter asked, almost gently.

“People get too big for their pants, Carter,” Lench said. “They lose touch. They don’t know how many people they have left in the orgaization.”

Carter leaned against the wall. “Since you force my hand, Mr. Lench, I’ll put it this way. You, my greedy friend, may live another twelve hours, or even as much as thirty-six hours if you stay and fight it out. If you run like a rabbit, it may take my people a year to find you. If you want another year — run.”

Something inside Lench seemed to collapse. He looked vaguely around the hall, as though weighing his possessions. He said in a smaller voice, “It isn’t smart, Carter. These wars. They hurt business. Compromise—”

“No war, Lench.” Carter stared meaningfully at Lench’s sagging abdomen. “Just a little more worm food.”

He opened the door. Before Lawrence left he had a fraction of a second in which to wink at Lench. He saw the little gesture light a fire of hope in Lench. Then Lawrence followed Carter out to the black sedan beside which the driver stood patiently waiting.

Lochard sat in front with the driver. Carter rode in silence for a few moments. Then he said, “That girl he married. Dancer, wasn’t she?”

“Swimmer first. But the work was too hard. She picked Lench.”

“She amused me at first, but she has no conversation. A bit humiliating to be drowned by a woman.”

Lawrence saw then how they had worked it. He said, “How did you know?”

“Perfume. She put her arms around my neck from behind and dragged me down. She drenches herself in perfume, or hadn’t you noticed? Has it in her hair.”

“I’ve noticed,” Lawrence said.

Carter maintained himself in two adjoining suites in a midtown apartment hotel. He ordered hot rum for himself, scotch and water for Lawrence Hask.

He set the rum on his desk blotter, screened the wall safe with his big body as he opened it. He took out bills, a sheaf of them, turned and counted them out on the corner of the desk.

“For you, Hask. Five thousand. Part of that is for using your head. The rest is for giving me all you know about Lench’s routine, his habits and his people. This may become very messy. It will hurt business. It will attract unfavorable attention to our business affairs.

“Our tame politicians and the police on our payroll will have to show signs of activity. Route men will be picked up and fined. Newspapers will sprout scare headlines. Police will smash the stitching machines. Then a master headline will say ‘Numbers Ring Smashed.’ After that we can go back to work. I know. I’ve seen it before.”

Lawrence picked up the money, folded it once and put it in his bill clip.

He said, “Lench is all set to go on his own. He’s been relocating the printers and stitchers and he’s been making new friends. He wangled gun permits for most of his route men and he has a big trouble fund to pay them heavy to stay with him. He has sleeping quarters at his office, and he won’t stick his head out into fresh air until you’re cooked. I’ll write you out every pertinent address.”

“Wait until I order dinner sent up. Tomorrow I’ll change the master ticket design. I’m always prepared to do that. I’ll send boys around to tell all the customers that the combine isn’t honoring any old tickets sold starting tomorrow. That’ll cut into his sales badly.”

“But how will you get Lench himself?”

Carter shrugged. “The same way as always. Buy somebody close to him and guarantee their way out of the country. A nice chance for someone to retire.”

“Not this time,” Hask said slowly.

“What do you mean by that?”

“He has his defenses laid out so that nobody will get close enough. He knows your methods. He has one of those jailhouse items where it will ring a bell if you try to go into his office with a gun. He’ll only have one man in his office at a time. He controls the door lock from his desk. And he keeps a gun in his hand until this trouble is over. He told me his plans once.”

“What would you suggest, young man?”

“I winked at him as we left. He thinks I have something under my hat. Money will bring him out. So I case your layout, get your safe combination. If I do it right, I can go back to him in secret, explain that I’m living here now, clear him and some of his harder boys through downstairs. You’ll have to be out. He’ll open the safe himself.”

“So what?”

“Set gun. Your safe sits fairly low. Rig a double-barrel in there and it ought to catch him at throat level. So a man gets killed robbing your apartment. You’re having dinner at a club when it happens.”

Carter said, “Hask, you have a quite extraordinary talent for this business.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Lawrence Hask sat slouched in the chair across the desk from Lench. His throat was tight and his lips were dry, but he tried to look amused. Lench sat behind the desk, the heavy revolver aimed directly at Larry’s face, Lench’s finger on the trigger. “Why should I believe anything you say? You crossed me!”

“You just think I crossed you, Gus. I’m working for myself, and my best bet is through you. I thought you were smarter than Carter, but that thing you tried to pull at your pool is tops for stupidity in my book.”