Ричард Деминг - The Second Richard Deming Mystery MEGAPACK®

Barney knew that even if he managed to beat the raps legally, he couldn’t win by using his gun on Drennan and Nash. The finger would point straight at him, and the local administration wouldn’t require legal evidence to dump him. As nobody, regardless of the guns behind him, could take over without political backing, anything as crude as murder would bounce Barney right out of the picture altogether.

So Barney Stroud merely dreamed of how nice it would be to become top dog. He didn’t really plan to do anything about it.

It was about nine p.m. Barney parked in front of Mark Drennan’s house. Ordinarily he delivered tally sheets to Johnny Nash, as Nash handled the routine business end of the partnership, while the more suave Drennan was the contact man who lined up and paid off the necessary officials. But tonight Johnny Nash was out of town and Barney had instructions to deliver tallies to Drennan whenever Nash wasn’t available.

Although Mark Drennan was a bachelor, he maintained a seven room ranch style house on Shannon Drive in one of St. Vincent’s most exclusive sections. Barney supposed it was because he liked to entertain, though most of his parties were rumored to consist of only himself and some lone woman. Drennan had the reputation of being something of a Casanova.

The front of the house was dark when Barney came up the front walk, but he noted light streaming through some French doors at the side. As he knew the French doors gave onto a small play room where there was a bar, he guessed that Drennan was there and walked around to the side.

As he approached the French doors, he saw a man and woman standing in front of the bar clasped in each other’s arms. The man, tall, lean and darkly handsome, half faced the doors so that Barney could see he was Mark Drennan. As the woman’s back was to him, he could see only that she was a slim and shapely brunette.

Barney paused, not wishing to interrupt such an intimate scene. Then the woman disengaged herself from the embrace and picked up one of two drinks setting on the bar. The movement placed her profile to Barney.

With a sense of shock Barney recognized her as Nina Nash.

He stood still, momentarily appalled at Mark Drennan’s perfidy. Even though Drennan was a notorious woman chaser, it would never have occurred to Barney that he would poach on the domain of his own partner, who was also supposed to be his best friend.

Quietly he faded back toward the front of the house. After standing indecisively for a few moments, he mounted the porch and rang the front doorbell.

A couple of minutes passed before a light went on in the front room and the door opened. There was a frown on Mark Drennan’s handsome face when he peered out, but his expression cleared when he saw who his visitor was.

“Hi, Barney,” he said. “What’s up?”

Beyond Drennan, Barney could see that the doorway to the playroom had been left open, but the room was now dark. He said, “Just the week’s tally sheets. Johnny’s out of town, you know.” He held out the manila envelope containing the tally sheets.

“Oh, yeah,” Brennan said, accepting the envelope. “I’d forgotten that.”

Forgotten it, hell, Barney thought. He’d taken full advantage of it.

“Come in for a drink?” Brennan asked without moving aside. His tone was more polite than enthusiastic.

Barney was tempted, just to see what evasive action Nina Nash would take, but he decided against it.

“No thanks,” he said. “Phyllis is waiting for me at home.”

During the drive back home Barney brooded over what he had seen. And as the shock abated, it gradually dawned on him that he had stumbled onto something which might move him right into the top slot.

No one would suspect Barney if one of the partners was gunned and the other was convicted of the crime. The idea had tentatively occurred to him once before, but he had rejected it because he couldn’t think of any motive the police would swallow. The partners got along too amicably for the police to accept that either would gun the other merely to take over control of the combine alone.

But a love triangle offered a perfect motive for murder.

When he entered the house, Phyllis was in the bar off the front room working on the invitation list for her next party. Offering a cool cheek for his kiss of hello, she asked preoccupiedly. “How’s Mark?”

“Fine,” he said.

She added a name to the list, then glanced lip. “Do you think we can skip Johnny and Nina again this time?”

Walking over behind the bar to mix himself a drink, Barney said, “They’re going to start suspecting how you feel about them, hon. And, after all, I have to get along with Johnny.”

“Yes, I suppose an errand boy can’t afford to offend the boss,” she said, making a face. “I wish you didn’t have to take orders from that man. I would have more respect for you if you quit the whole setup and went into some honest business.”

He poured soda on top of whisky. “You knew what I was when you married me.”

“Not exactly, darling. I knew you were some kind of gangster, which held a certain fascination for me, because I’d never known an underworld character before. But I didn’t realize you took orders from such a crude boor as Johnny Nash. It’s not your profession I object to. It’s probably the only one in which you could make enough money to suit me. It’s just your status in the profession that turns my stomach.”

Barney stirred his drink and sampled it. Resting his elbows on the bar, he gazed at his wife’s profile.

“You wouldn’t fuss so much if I was top dog, huh?”

She was busy with her list again. Preoccupiedly she said, “I wouldn’t fuss at all.” Barney came to a decision. He was going to take advantage of what he had learned tonight.

He lay awake and thought about it long after Phyllis had gone to sleep. The first step, he decided, was to make sure the motive would come to light immediately after the murder, before the police had time to look in any other direction. And the surest way to accomplish that was to let the affair between Mark Drennan and Johnny Nash’s wife become known to the police in advance.

He could hardly just inform them. But there was a way to let information seep to the police naturally without leaving any trace of its source. A rumor planted in the underworld grapevine would eventually reach some informer, who in turn would relay it on to the police.

Of course if the rumor also reached either Drennan or Nina Nash, caution might cause them to break off the affair. But he was reasonably certain that none of the principals would hear the gossip, because those talked about are always last to hear.

The next morning Barney entered a pool hall on lower State Street. Singling out a tall, lanky man of about forty who was idly watching a snooker game, Barney called him aside.

“I’ve got a little private job for you, Bulletin,” he said. “Can you keep your mouth shut?”

Bulletin Willie Gloff nodded eagerly. “Sure, Barney. You know me.”

Barney did know him, which was the reason he had picked him. Bulletin Willie got his nickname from his chronic eagerness to be the first to pass on gossip. As he worked as a leg man for a half dozen of the combine’s bookies, he had daily contacts with a lot of people. No one could spread a rumor faster than Bulletin Willie Gloff.

“This is strictly confidential,” Barney said. “I don’t want you to mention it to a soul.”

Bulletin Willie raised his right hand. “I’m a clam, Barney.”

“Okay. This has to do with the good of the organization. I’m a little worried about Johnny.”

“Johnny Nash?”

“Nuh-huh. You know how nuts he is about his wife.”