Ричард Деминг - Whistle Past the Graveyard [= Give the Girl a Gun]

One at a time Day drew back the slides, released the clips and peered down the barrels, sticking his thumb into the ejector slots so that his nail acted as a reflector.

“Neither fired,” he commented. “You ladies got permits for these things?”

“I didn’t buy mine,” Bubbles said. “It was a gift.” Her tone seemed to indicate she assumed this relieved her of the necessity of having a permit.

“So was mine,” Evelyn chimed in.

The inspector handed both guns to Hannegan. “Both of you be at headquarters at nine in the morning,” he grimly instructed the women. “If the D.A. wants to overlook charging you with carrying concealed weapons, you can have them back after they’re registered. But not to carry around in your purses any more. To keep in a drawer at home. Understand?”

Both women nodded agreeably and favored him with brilliant smiles. Neither seemed in the least disturbed insofar as the inspector was concerned, though Evelyn impressed me as being a trifle apprehensive about her escort’s reaction. The inspector himself seemed more upset than either woman. Flushing at the overpowering smiles being directed at him, he doggedly continued his questioning.

“Where’d you get your gun?” he asked Bubbles. “From Walter. Before he died, of course.”

Looking past the girl at a forty-five-degree angle, he asked, “How long before he died?”

“About a week. No... two weeks. For my twenty-first birthday.”

Day neglected to inquire why Walter Ford picked such an odd birthday present, possibly because he feared he might get another upsetting answer. Instead he asked Evelyn Karnes to explain where she got her gun.

“From Walter also,” she said. “A little over a month ago. For my...” She paused, looked thoughtful for a moment and went on, “For my twenty-fifth birthday.”

The red-haired Madeline announced, “I’ve got one at home too, Inspector. Walter gave it to me for my birthday five months back. Why, I don’t know. It struck me as a peculiar sort of present.”

Barney Amhurst emitted a cynical laugh. “Not if you knew Walter.”

When the inspector stared at him inquiringly, Amhurst went on, “All they cost Ford was the engraving. He was purchasing agent for Maxim Electrical Products before he came in with us. He had dozens of contacts with supply-house salesmen, and to keep on his good side they slipped him presents now and then. Usually stuff they obtained at cost from other customers, I imagine, but some of the presents were quite valuable. They were also frequently impractical, but I guess Walt operated on the principle that you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, because I never heard him mention turning anything down. I happen to know this particular present consisted of a dozen ivory-handled, twenty-five-caliber automatics.

Walt hadn’t a use in the world for them, but they’re quite costly retail and made something of an impression as gifts. So he doled them out to people he wanted to impress. Women mostly, I think. At least he never gave me one, and I had a birthday awhile back.”

Ed Friday said in a brittle voice to Evelyn Karnes, “Ford have some reason for wanting to impress you, baby?”

When she looked at him, for the first time her lacquered exterior seemed to crack, and a trace of fear showed through. “Of course not, honey. I barely knew him.”

“I don’t recall your mentioning him giving you a birthday present. I suppose you kept it to protect the present I gave you.” Crossing to her, he took her hand and jerked the diamond bracelet from her wrist. In a brutal voice he said, “Now that you haven’t got a gun to protect it with, I better take care of this.”

Her eyes were stricken as the bracelet. disappeared into Friday’s pocket.

Warren Day broke the uncomfortable silence which followed. “I want all you people to stay available until I tell you otherwise,” he said brusquely. Then he turned to Hannegan. “Let’s go see this Tom Henry fellow.”

As soon as the inspector and the lieutenant had departed, Madeline Strong said, “Mr. Moon, Fausta tells me you’re a private detective.”

I noticed Friday glanced at her sharply. “Yes,” I admitted. “If... if it proves necessary, would you handle an investigation for me?”

“What kind of investigation?”

“I... I’m not even sure it will be necessary. Could I call you tomorrow?”

“Sure,” I said. “My. number’s in the book.”

The group began to break up then. Amhurst phoned for two taxis, one for himself to take Madeline home in, and the other for Friday and Evelyn. Bubbles seemed to take it for granted I was going to take her home and attached herself to me and Fausta.

As I left with the two women, I noticed Ed Friday was deep in frowning conversation with Madeline. He looked up to call good-bye, and I was surprised to note an estimating expression in his eyes when they touched me, as though he were judging the ability of a potential opponent.

When we reached Bubbles’s address, I thought it wise not to offer to accompany her to the door, and with equal wiseness Bubbles gave no indication that she expected this courtesy. The moment I pulled the car to a stop she had the door open and was out on the sidewalk.

“Thank you, Mr. Moon,” she said primly. “And I’m glad I met you, Miss Moreni.”

I’ll bet, I thought, but all I said was that she was welcome.

On the way to El Patio I studiously avoided Bubbles as a conversational subject and Fausta mentioned her only once.

“Miss Duval is a very attractive girl,” she said reflectively. “She has the prettiest blonde hair I have ever seen on a brunette.”

Though it was only shortly after midnight when we readied El Patio, by the time we had a nightcap at the bar and Fausta had spread a little more good will by chatting with half the customers in the cocktail lounge, it was one o’clock and closing time. And it was nearly one-thirty by the time I got home.

As no garage comes with my apartment, I keep my Plymouth in a public garage half a block away. When on foot I neared the walk leading to the front door of the apartment house, I noticed a taxi parked directly in front. I glanced at it casually, then halted when a voice hailed me from the rear seat.

“Oh, Mr. Moon!”

As I walked over to the cab, the rear door opened and two men climbed out. One was Ed Friday and the other was his bodyguard, Max.

“We’ve been waiting for you some time,” Friday said in a pleasant voice. “Could I come in and talk to you for a minute?”

“Come ahead,” I said. “I guess one more nightcap won’t kill me.

Friday instructed the cab to wait, and both he and Max followed me up the walk, up the half flight of stairs to my flat and into my front room.

“Have a couple of chairs,” I said, and went on into the kitchen for ice cubes.

When I returned with a bowl of ice, I found my guests had made themselves at home in a couple of easy chairs. I mixed Friday a bourbon and water, then looked at Max Furtell inquiringly.

“He doesn’t drink on duty,” Friday said.

I made myself a rye and water.

“Well, Mr. Friday, what’s the important business that won’t wait until morning?” I inquired when I was seated.

“I’d like to engage you professionally, Mr. Moon,” he said. “I’d have brought up the subject earlier this evening, but I didn’t realize you were a private investigator until just as you were leaving Amhurst’s.”

Noncommittally I said, “I see.”

“I had another man lined up for the job,” he went on. “But about six this evening he backed out on me. By then all the other private investigators’ offices were closed and I thought I was going to have to wait until morning to get a replacement. And morning is too late.”