Джон Макдональд - More Good Old Stuff

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“You are clever, Mr. Raffidy, in a gaudy way. We picked up the young lady. She faked loss of memory. But when confronted with the man she saw eliminate Mr. Norma, she had a fine case of hysterics. You spent considerable time with the young lady. Doubtless she told you her story. My question is — what am I to do with you?”

“You spoiled my chance of going to the police.”

“That was elementary.”

“What harm can I do you, Ledecker?”

“I don’t know. How can you prove to me that you won’t make the attempt?”

“I can’t.”

“Then this is a type of stalemate, wouldn’t you say?”

“Stop horsing, Ledecker. Make your proposition.”

“Impatience and impertinence, Mr. Raffidy. Here it is. My people have a strange distaste when it comes to the question of dealing with the girl. They will have no such scruples about you. You can go free from here, Mr. Raffidy, as soon as you have accomplished that slightly messy job.”

Max sat very still. “There’s no need to ask you what happens if I say that this isn’t my line of work.”

“No need whatsoever. Please don’t think that I enjoy this sort of thing. If you help us take care of the girl, then your mouth will be closed. You need to have no fear of the law unless you try to cross me. We run an efficient place here.”

Now was the time to mention the report to Lowery. Max opened his mouth to speak of it, then closed his lips.

“What were you about to say?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” To mention the report would definitely seal the girl’s death warrant. Then he had another thought. “Why not throw this trusted assistant of yours to the wolves. That sounds easy.”

Ledecker’s smile was without humor. “The assistant is trusted because he had the good fortune to obtain documentary proof of an earlier indiscretion of mine. That was when I was younger, and not as wise. His position is far, far better than yours, Mr. Raffidy.”

Max slouched in the chair. “Just how am I supposed to kill the girl?”

Ledecker frowned. “Please, Mr. Raffidy. Discuss it in business terms.”

“Well, how?”

“There’s a choice of methods. We can have her taken over into the woods and you can shoot her. Or you can strangle her. Or you can hit her with a heavy object.”

“Business terms, eh? Why such rough ways?”

“For their effect on you, Mr. Raffidy. I would prefer that it be a rough way, as you express it.”

“Where is she?”

“Roughly sixty feet from you.”

“When is all this supposed to take place?”

“Right after dusk, I believe. That should be the best time.”

“Where does the body go?”

“We will take several pictures of the body and then it will be disposed of. There’s no need for you to know where or how.”

“And then?”

“And then, with my blessing, you go on about your business.”

“Why not just pick the two of us off? Why tie yourself in knots?”

Ledecker sighed. “There is too big a chance, my boy, that you might have tried to protect yourself with some silly report to the police.”

“Suppose I did. Then all I have to do is sit tight.”

“Hurt him a little, Joseph,” Ledecker said in a strained voice.

Max spun out of the chair and got his back near the wall as Joseph came in. With the expressionless boredom of a professional, Joseph ducked into Max’s swing, taking the knuckles against his forehead. He moved in close, grunting with the exertion of each blow.

When Joseph backed away, Max dropped to his hands and knees, then fell over on his side. He pulled his knees up toward his chest and rolled his head from side to side, pushing against the pain, trying to think and plan.

Ledecker stood above him, seeming to sway, to shift back and forth through the mists that the pain brought. His voice was very far away. “There’ll be no more lip and no nonsense, Raffidy, damn you!”

Joseph, torpidly satisfied with his work, had gone back to the couch. Max was spinning toward the edge of consciousness, but, as the idea formed, he fought his way back. He wheezed, “Where’d you lose your British accent?”

He saw Ledecker’s neat black shoe coming at him. He snapped his head back at the last moment and the foot went by, throwing the man off balance. Max grabbed him by the ankle and spilled him. He grabbed one wrist, twisted the arm up into a punishing hammerlock, got his thick right hand on Ledecker’s throat. Joseph came charging across the room.

Max yelled, “Hold it!” He had Ledecker in a sitting position. He said quickly, “Come any closer and I shut my hand on this throat. With one squeeze, I can crush the windpipe.”

When Ledecker reached up to claw at the hand, Max tightened the hammerlock. Ledecker painfully groaned, “Move back, Joseph.”

Joseph, no longer expressionless, moved slowly back on the balls of his feet.

“I want Joseph to give me the gun he took off me,” Max said softly.

“Don’t be absurd,” Ledecker said. His voice had more confidence.

Max gave a quick hard pressure with his fingers, released it. Ledecker’s body shook with the convulsive coughing.

Max said, “Did you feel that, friend? Just a little more than that. Here, I’ll try to give you a little more without killing you.”

“Wait,” Ledecker gasped. “Joseph, give him the gun.”

“Boss, I’m not going to get—”

“Do as you’re told!”

Max said, “Hold it by the barrel and slide it along the floor. Slide it right over here.”

Joseph hesitated for long seconds. The automatic slid along the rug. He released Ledecker’s throat, snatched up the gun, scrambled to his feet. It took an effort to straighten his bruised body.

Ledecker stood up slowly. His face was calm. “What now, Raffidy?”

“You and Joseph line up against that wall, face to the wall, feet about a yard from the baseboard. Then lean against the wall, your palms flat against it.”

Joseph looked at him with contempt. Max leveled the gun, saying, “So I have to smash your knee, Joe.”

Joseph lumbered over to the wall. Max went up behind them. Swinging the automatic in a horizontal arc, he chopped the barrel and trigger guard heavily against Joseph’s head, just above the right ear. Joseph’s face hit the hardwood floor with a damp, meaty smack. Then keeping the muzzle a few inches from the small of Ledecker’s back, he patted the man in all places where a small gun could be concealed.

Ledecker said, “Whatever you’re planning, Raffidy, it won’t work. I have fifteen employees in this place. Half of them are armed.”

Max said mildly, “If you were me, friend, wouldn’t you at least give it a whirl? Come on now. Turn around slow. The gun is in my pocket. I’m going to be a half step behind you. Anything I don’t care for — and one goes right through you.”

He could see the sheen of sweat on the man’s face. “Where to?” Ledecker asked.

“Right out the door and down the hall to the stairs. Slowly down the stairs and across the club room and out to the drive. Then into the car. And then to town.”

“Anything you suggest, Raffidy.”

“And all the time you’re walking, you’ll be talking to me. Not too loud and not too soft. You’ll be explaining some of your equipment. Understand?”

“Perfectly.”

“Start talking now.”

“One of... ah... the items we’ve had the most luck with this year has been a specialty item used in chuckaluck where the operator by merely putting his hand in a certain position to spin the cage, can make the dice...”

His voice droned on. The hallway was empty. They met a man on the stairs carrying a tray of drinks. The man backed into the corner of the landing to let them by. The door at the foot of the stairway opened near the bar. Two couples sat at the far end of the club room. Ledecker walked with his back rigid. Max kept what he hoped was an amiable smile on his face. Then out the side door to the parking lot.