Джон Макдональд - More Good Old Stuff

“Swimming accident? The cops would swallow it.”

“They might. But Carter kicking off at your place would be just a little too rich for the blood of some of his people. They knew he could swim. Besides, that dopey little wife you bought last year marked his throat with her fingernails. And he recognized her perfume. Sure, she can swim. But she had a little panic all her own. Carter dies in your pool and his people clean his safe. My way is better.”

Lench said uncertainly, “Your way?”

“I’m living there now, at Carter’s invitation. He sent me down here to cross you up. I’m supposed to pretend to play along with you and suck you into a trap. He has at least three hundred thousand in that wall safe of his. I got a peek at it. Nice dirty old hundreds and five hundreds. Nothing too big so it has to be discounted. I am supposed to tell you that next Friday night Carter will be going out for a big evening. I’ll say I’m going out, but I won’t go. I’ll stay in the hotel and sap the two he leaves there at all times. I can do that easily enough.

“Then I am supposed to tell you that eleven o’clock is a good time. Bring a few boys and call up from the desk and I’ll clear you with the desk. I give you a fake safe combination. When you arrive there’s a reception party and you all get gunned for trying to rob the apartment.”

Lench swallowed hard. He said, “Thanks, Larry. Thanks for telling me. But have you got a plan?”

“Carter is going out, but he’s coming back at ten-thirty with a few extra boys. So you come at ten. You can be waiting. And instead of giving you the fake combination, I’ll give you the McCoy. For twenty-five percent.”

“Ten,” Lench said.

“Isn’t this a good time not to argue, Gus?”

“Okay. Ten o’clock on Friday night. A quarter cut for you. And I leave fast and leave a hoppie to blast Carter.”

“Or do it yourself to make sure it’s done.”

Carter, standing near the bedroom windows, said, “I’ve moved the money to a box and the set gun is rigged, all but the trigger string. Did he believe you?”

“Of course. I told him you were fixing the frame for midnight, so he’s coming at eleven. That’ll give you plenty of time to clear out.”

“If the set gun kills Lench, Hask, what will his men do to you?”

“I’ll tell Lench that I’d better watch the hall. When I hear the set gun go off, I’ll run for it. I’ll have a good chance.”

“I often wonder about you, Hask. You have a — an educated way of speaking.”

“Is that important?”

“No. No, I guess it isn’t. Who do you think Lench will bring with him?”

“Hoagie Chance, Shenk, Ullister and probably Murphy. They all have legal permits and they’re the least likely to cross him.”

“And Lench will open the safe himself?”

“You should have seen his eyes when I mentioned the money. Like a kid with his nose flat against the toyland window.”

“Day after tomorrow is Friday. I’ll clear out by ten-thirty, leaving you here, with Lochard and Mains on the floor, apparently sapped, as window dressing.”

“That ought to do it,” Hask said, keeping his voice calm.

Lawrence Hask sat slouched in the armchair, a drink in his hand. He tried to keep from looking at the clock. It was five to ten. Carter was dressing. Lochard and Mains were playing an aimless gin game at the big table. Heckle and Donovan, the two men Carter was taking with him, were in the next room watching the video.

Every time Larry took a deep breath, his throat seemed to knot and it was hard to exhale. Small tremors ran up and down his spine. A year and a month.

The phone was at his elbow. Carter came out of his bedroom just as the phone rang. Larry took it.

He listened, said, “Just a moment, please.” He made his eyes wide, cupped his hand over the mouthpiece, said, “Lench and four men. He’s trying to cross me by coming early.”

Carter frowned. He jerked a thumb at Lochard, who went in and got the other two men away from the video program.

Carter said heavily, “Okay, we’ll play it his way. On your face over there, Lochard. Remember, you’re out. Mains, you drop in that doorway there. Make it good. Clear them to come up, Hask. Heckle and Donovan, you come into the bedroom with me.”

Hask spoke briefly into the phone and hung up. He went to the bedroom door and said, “He’s no dummy. Better shut the door completely.”

Lochard lay still. Larry went over to him, slipping the sap from his hip pocket. He said, “Turn your head just a little this way, Lochard.”

The lead ball, leather-wrapped, made very little sound as it thudded behind Lochard’s ear. He made a small sighing sound. Hask crossed the room quickly and struck Mains. Mains began to struggle weakly. He hit him again, with careful precision.

Moments later there was a knock at the door. Hask opened it. Hoagie Chance came in fast, ramming a revolver muzzle with such force against Hask’s middle that it knocked the wind out of him.

“Against the wall, friend,” Hoagie said. He moved to one side of the door. Murph came next, took his station on the other side of the door. Then Lench came in, his face pallid with strain, a cigar in one hand, flat automatic in the other. The automatic had a long, tubular silencer screwed to the barrel.

Lench bent and held the glowing end of his cigar near the back of Lochard’s hand. Lochard didn’t stir.

“Good boy,” Lench said to Hask. “Our friend is out?”

This was when it had to be. Hask jerked his thumb several times toward the bedroom door and said, “Left some time ago, Gus.”

Gus said loudly, “We’ll see about that safe.” He motioned to Murph and Chance. They moved, up on their toes, toward the bedroom door.

Chance put out a gloved hand, closed it gently over the bedroom doorknob, then gave a sudden twist, opening the door, slamming it back with his foot as he went in.

The double slam of the shot sounded as Chance went in. He didn’t falter in his rush, merely leaned further and further off balance, landing on his face, skidding on the bedroom throw rug. Shenk and Ullister had come in from the hall, closing the door behind them. Shenk carried a .45 Colt, army model. When Heckle appeared inside the room, standing near the body of Chance, Shenk fired once. The heavy slug doubled Heckle, dropped him back across Chance’s body.

Carter moved quickly into the doorway, aiming carefully at Lawrence Hask, his face calm, his hand steady and deliberate. Ullister, Shenk and Murph fired almost as one man. The slug from Carter’s gun entered the wall an inch from Hask’s left ear. The powdered plaster stung his cheek and neck. As Carter fell to his knees, driven back by the impact, he fired wildly. Murph had been standing sideways. The slug tore through him. He moved two weak steps to one side, lowered himself delicately to the rug and was still.

Donovan appeared beyond Carter’s body, his hands held high, saying hoarsely, “Okay, okay. Enough.”

Lench’s automatic made a small sound, no louder than a book dropped flat against a rug. Donovan’s hands sagged. The dark hole had appeared just beside the left nostril. He stood for a moment and fell heavily, full length, his head slamming the hardwood floor.

Lench, his fat lip lifted away from his teeth, stepped to Lochard, aimed and fired. Lochard’s head moved slightly with the impact. He walked lightly over to Mains, fired again.

“Don’t move!” Lench said to Hask.

He went to the safe, spun the dial, his thick, gloved hands trembling. He missed, tried again. Hask heard the tumblers click. He closed his eyes. The blast seemed almost to lift the ceiling of the room. Lench’s pudgy doll-body lay on its back in front of the safe.