James Chase - Strictly For Cash

From the Liberty Inn we went across to the Pump Room, a plush and gold gambling saloon, where I was introduced to Jerry Itta, a hawk-faced man in shirt sleeves who ran the joint. He told me the poker game in session at the moment had been on for three days.

“We get ten per cent of the final hand,” he said, chewing on his dead cigar. “And by the look of it, it’ll be worth five grand.”

Both Zoe Elsner and Itta seemed scared of Della, and they enquired after Wertham with bated breath. It was the same story wherever we went. Our visits were brief, our reception royal, and Wertham’s power always obvious.

“Time we got back,” Della said after we had met a dozen or so characters and looked over most of the sin-dives. “We have a date with Nick.”

“There must be a fortune tied up in that alley,” I said as I got into the car. “Don’t the cops interfere with this set-up?”

“They would if they weren’t taken care of,” Della returned, and laughed. “Captain of Police Hame collects five hundred a week from Reisner. You’ll meet him before long. He’s all right so long as he gets his money, but if it stopped, he’d slam us shut overnight.”

“How do you reckon this set-up will make out now Wertham’s dead?” I asked, steering the Buick through the stream of traffic.

“I don’t think Nick can handle it. Zoe and Itta have ideas, and would like to break away from us if they dared. That’s why I wanted them to meet you.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” She gave me a queer little smile. “It may have plenty to do with it, Johnny.”

Reisner was sitting behind a big, flat-topped desk, a cigarette drooping from his thin lips. To his right, lounging in an armchair, was a short, thickset man whose iron-grey hair was clipped short, and his square, brutal face burned red by the sun. He jumped to his feet when he saw Della, a wide grin lighting up his face.

“Why, Mrs. Wertham, this is a surprise and a pleasure,” he said, taking her hand. “It must be almost a year since we last met. How are you? Still looking as beautiful as ever, I see.”

Della gave him a bright, provocative smile, and allowed him to hold her hand a little longer than necessary.

“It’s nice to see you again. I’d like you to meet Johnny Ricca who’s in charge of the Los Angeles casino.” Turning to me, she went on, “This is Captain of Police Jim Hame. He’s a very good friend of ours.”

Hame lost his smile as he shook hands with me. He tried to crack my knuckles, but my grip was a little stronger than his.

“Glad to know you, Ricca,” he said curtly. It seemed he only kept his charm for the ladies. “I’ve been hearing about you.”

I said I had been hearing about him, too. Reisner got to his feet and began to mix cocktails.

“Jim has bad news for you, Mrs. Wertham,” he said as he gave Della a dry martini. “Tell her, Jim.”

Hame settled himself in his armchair again. He took a highball from Reisner with a grunt of thanks.

“We’ve found your car,” he said.

“You have?” Della’s expression was a nice blend of surprise and admiration. “Why, that’s quick work, Captain.”

“It was easy,” Hame said, and his cold, blue eyes brooded over her face. “A report came in last night, and when Nick phoned this morning it clinched it.”

“Clinched — what?”

“There was a smash on the road out of Pelotta last night. Both drivers were killed. One of them was driving your car. It’s completely burned out.”

Her look of startled consternation was just right.

“Burned out? Paul will be furious!”

“Yeah, that was a swell car,” Hame said, stroking his heavy jowl. “How come you give this fella a ride?”

While Della was going through the story again, Reisner came over to me.

“What’ll you drink? Scotch?”

Without thinking I said, “I don’t touch the stuff. I’ll have a beer.”

The black eyes surveyed me. “I thought you lived on Scotch.”

Then I remembered Ricca was a whisky-soak and my heart skipped a beat.

“I’m on the wagon now. I’ve taken up beer.”

I don’t know if he spotted my shifty look, but his face was expressionless as he opened a can of beer.

Hame was saying, “Dangerous to give a stranger a ride, Mrs. Wertham. You should know that.”

“I had Johnny with me. It never crossed my mind.”

I thought it was time I showed a little interest in the proceedings.

“Who was the guy, anyway?”

Both Reisner and Hame looked at me.

“There wasn’t much left of him by the time we got him out of the car,” Hame said, “but he’s been identified. His name is Johnny Farrar: a third-rate fighter who was hitchhiking his way to Miami. He stopped off at Pelotta and got himself a fight at the stadium. After the fight he disappeared. He must have taken a liking to the Bentley.”

“You certainly have collected a lot of information fast,” I said. “Nice work.”

“Nothing to it, once you know how and have got the organization,” Hame said, lifting his massive shoulders. “Farrar had a silver medallion in his pocket. A woman who runs a café in Pelotta gave it to him. She identified it, and a guy named Brant, who gave Farrar a suit of clothes, identified what was left of the suit.”

“Well, I don’t give a damn who he was,” Della said. “It’s the car I’m worrying about. Paul will be furious. He had the body specially built.”

“Just one of those things,” Reisner said. “I’ve contacted the insurance people. They’ve agreed to settle.”

“Thank you, Nick.”

“Just to keep the record straight,” Hame said, looking at me, “can you give me a description of Farrar? I have one from Brant and this woman. I’d like to see if it checks with your man.”

I hadn’t thought of that angle. Did they suspect I was Farrar? For a moment I was flustered.

Della cut in smoothly before I could think what to say.

“Funnily enough he wasn’t unlike Johnny to look at: same build, fair and tall. He wore a white linen suit, a green and brown tie and a cream silk shirt.”

“That’s the fella,” Hame said. “Well, what do you know? Nick and I were a little foxed. The description of Farrar seemed oddly like Ricca. We couldn’t figure it out.”

“He was very like Johnny,” Della said, completely unruffled. “But Johnny wouldn’t have it. I pointed it out at the time, but I guess he thinks he’s a lot better looking than he really is.”

That got a laugh from Hame, but Reisner continued to stare thoughtfully at me.

Hame rose to his feet.

“Well, I guess that takes care of that,” he said. “I’ll be running along. We won’t need either of you at the inquest. Our yam to the coroner will be that Farrar stole your car from the parking-lot, and you didn’t catch sight of him. Okay?”

“That’s very sweet of you,” Della said.

“Glad to save you any bother, Mrs. Wertham.” Again she let him hold her hand longer than necessary. “Look me up when you’re passing headquarters. Always glad to have a beautiful woman in the office.” He nodded to me. “So long, Ricca.”

When he had gone, I said, “Nice obliging cop.”

“So he should be,” Reisner said curtly. “We pay him enough.” He moved to his desk and sat down. “Well, now we’ve got that straightened out, let’s get down to business.”

“Yes,” Della said, “Paul wanted Johnny and me to check the books, Nick.”

Reisner favoured her with a cold stare.

“You? First time you’ve had anything to do with the business, isn’t it?”

There was a short pause while they looked at each other, then Della laughed.

“I have to make a start sometime. As Paul couldn’t come himself, he asked me to represent him.”