Paul Cain - The Paul Cain Omnibus

“Over at the Station, filing murder charges against Rose and the greaser.”

Kells said: “That’s swell.”

“The housedick and a bunch of coppers and a lot of neighbors who had heard the barrage got here at about the same time. It was the fastest police action I’ve ever seen; must have been one of the radio cars. I listened through the airshaft. Fenner had pulled himself together and told a beautiful story about Rose and O’Donnell and the Mex crashing in, and O’Donnell getting rubbed in a fight with Rose.”

Beery mashed out his cigarette. “He’s telling it over at headquarters now — or maybe he’s on his way back. You’ve been out about a half hour.”

Kells sat up unsteadily. He said: “Give me a drink of water.” He bent over and very carefully rolled up his trouser leg, examined his injured leg.

A little later there was a tap at the door. Beery opened it and let Fenner in.

Fenner looked very tired. He said: “How are you, Gerry?”

“I’m fine, Lee — how are you?” Kells grinned.

“Terrible — terrible! I can’t stand this kind of thing.” Fenner sat down.

“Maybe you’d better take a trip, after all.” Kells smiled faintly, picked up the revolver. “Things are going to be more in the open. I’ll have to carry a gun.” He looked down at the revolver.

“By God, I’ll get a permit for a change,” he said: “Can you fix that up?”

Fenner nodded wearily. “I guess so.”

“And Lee, we made a deal tonight — I mean early — the twenty-five grand, you know. I’m going to handle the stuff, of course; but in the interests of my client, Miss Granquist, I’ll have to consummate the sale.”

Fenner looked at the floor.

“A check’ll be all right.”

Fenner nodded. “I’ll go in and make it out,” he said. “Then I’ll have to say goodnight — I’m all in.”

Kells said, “That’ll be all right.”

Fenner went out and closed the door.

Kells sat looking at the door for a moment and then he said: “Shep — you’re the new editor of the Coast Guardian . How do you like that?”

“Lousy. I don’t carry enough insurance.”

“You’ll be all right. A hundred a week and all the advertising you can sell on the side.”

“When do I start?”

“Right now. I parked Dickinson up at Bill Cullen’s. I’ll drop you there and you can get the details from him — if he’s conscious. I’ll turn the, uh — data over to you...”

Beery rubbed his eyes, yawned. He smiled a little and said: “Oh well, what the hell. I guess I’m beginning to like it, too.”

Kells looked at his wrist. “The bastards smashed my watch — what time is it?”

“Twelve-two.”

Kells picked up the telephone and called a Hempstead number. “Goddamn! I’m late.” He said: “Hello, baby... Sure... Have you got any ham and eggs?... Have you got some absorbent cotton and bandages and iodine?... That’s fine, I’ll be up in about ten minutes... I’ve been on a party.”

A story of a gambling-politics racket on the West Coast.

Doctor Janis looked wiser than any one man could possibly be. His head was as round and white and bare as a cue ball; his nose was a long bony hook and his eyes were pale, immensely shrewd.

He jabbed forceps gently into Kells’ leg, said: “Hurt?”

Kells stuck out his lips, shook his head slightly.”No. Not very much.”

“You’re a goddamned liar!” Janis straightened, glared.

Bright sun beat through the wide east window; the big instrument case against one white wall glittered. Kells was half lying on a small operating table. He stared at the bright point of sunlight on the wall, tried not to think about the leg.

“Sweet God deliver me from a sadistic doctor,” he said.

Janis grinned, bent again over the leg, probed deeper. “That was a dandy.” He held a tiny twisted chunk of lead up in the forceps’ point, exhibited it proudly. “Now you know how a rabbit feels.”

“Now I know how it feels to be a mother. You’re as proud of a few shot as a good doctor would be of triplets.”

Janis chuckled, jabbed again with the forceps.

They were silent a little while.

“One of these days,” Kells said finally, “you’re liable to be making out one of those cherry little certificates for me — the kind the coroner insists on...”

“So what?”

“So maybe I’d better give you a case history.” Kells clamped his teeth tightly together for a moment, stared at the spot of sun. His face was white, drained. “Then you won’t have to use any of those cliché endings,” he went on, “like, ‘killed by party or parties unknown.’ You can make out a death certificate that’ll be a masterpiece.”

Janis was concentrating on the leg. He said: “I’m not interested — I know too much about the sex life of my patients now.”

Kells paid no attention. “It seems,” he said, “that Prince Charming — that’s me — came out here to soak up a load of California sunshine... ouch!”

Janis straightened and help up another chunk of lead. “Oh boy!” he said. “That was a pip.”

Kells scowled, took a deep breath, and went on: “It seems, further, that Jack Rose — that’s one of the villains — had heard about how rough I used to play — back East — and decided that I’d be an asset to his organization.”

Janis dipped the forceps in sterilizer. “When you begin to bore me I’ll stop listening,” he warned.

“When I said I didn’t feel like being an asset, the bastard — I’m still talking about Rose — framed me for Doc Haardt’s murder.”

Janis was looking out the window.

Kells changed his position slightly and went on. “A young fella named Kastner from K.C. rubbed Doc — and Dave Perry and Detective Lieutenant Reilly and another mug named O’Donnell were in on it...” He pause and stared at the circle of sunlight while Janis bent again over the leg. Kells continued: “Kastner’s dead. O’Donnell shot him in a lover’s quarrel. Now O’Donnell’s dead, and according to the police,” — Kells smiled wanly — “Rose killed him. I beat the blotter for Haardt’s kill by hanging it on Perry — he’s in jail. I knew his wife pretty well...”

Janis clucked. “Tch, tch, tch. I knew it’d get sexy.”

“Listen, it gets better as it goes along. I met a gal named Granquist who had a swell lot of lowdown on an undercover political meeting between Rose and Bellmann, who — if you don’t know — is, or was until last night, the boss of our present glorious city administration.”

Janis looked definitely interested. “You tell it pretty well,” he said. “Do you know the one about the travelling salesman and the farmer’s daughter?...”

“Shut up. I took the gal and her stuff to L.D. Fenner, who’d give his right arm to lick Bellmann. I asked Fenner twenty-five grand for it and we were about to make the deal when a couple heisters who Fenner had planted in the next apartment stuck us up. Fenner wanted the stuff, but he wanted the dough, too.”

Janis squeezed iodine on the leg.

Kells closed his eyes and went on. “We went round and round — Granquist got away and beat it back to her apartment where she’s socked the Bellmann stuff. I sent Fenner after her — found out how he’d timed the stick-up, and lit out after him. I picked up Beery of the Chronicle , on a hunch, and we walk in on — guess what...”

“How many guesses do I get?”

“Granquist and John R. Bellmann — and Bellmann had a couple slugs in his heart. It was a perfect angle to beat the Bellmann outfit on — it tied up with the stuff we already had. Bellmann had gone to her place to get the snapshots and some letters he’d sent her. She found him there and let him have it.”