Paul Cain - The Paul Cain Omnibus

A man’s high-pitched voice said: “I have been authorized to offer you fifteen thousand dollars for the whole issue of the Guardian, together with the plates and all data used in its make-up.”

Kells said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” and hung up. He told Fenner to hurry down to the switchboard, try to trace the call; waited for the phone to ring again. It did almost immediately. The man’s voice said: “It will be very much to your advantage to talk business, Mister Kells.”

“Who’s your authority?”

“The Bellmann estate.”

Kells said: “If you know where Miss Granquist is, and can produce her within the next half hour, I’ll talk to you.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Then the man said: “Wait a minute.” After a little while, a woman’s voice said: “Gerry! For God’s sake get me out of this!..” The voice trailed off as if she had been dragged away from the phone. The man’s voice said: “Well?”

Fenner came in, nodded to Kells.

Kells said: “Okay. Bring her here.” He hung up.

The phone rang again but he didn’t answer. He sat grinning at Fenner.

Fenner was excited. “West Adams — about a block west of Figueroa.”

“That wasn’t even a good imitation of the baby, but maybe they’ll come here and try to do business on that angle. That’ll be swell.”

“But we’d better get out there, hadn’t we?”

Kells said: “What for? They haven’t got her, or they wouldn’t take a chance faking her voice. They’ll be here — and I’ll lay ten to one they don’t know any more about where Rose or the kid are than we do.”

Kells went back to his chair by the window. “I told Shep to plant some men at the print shop in case there’s trouble there. Did he?”

Fenner nodded.

There was a knock and Fenner said, “Come in,” and a boy came in with a bottle of whiskey and three tall glasses of ice on a tray. He put the tray on a table; Fenner gave him some change and he went out and closed the door.

At twenty minutes after eleven a Mister Woodward was announced. Fenner went into the bedroom, closed the door. Woodward turned out to be a small yellow-haired man, wearing tortoise-shell glasses; about thirty-five. He sat down at Kells’ invitation, declined a drink.

He said: “Of course we couldn’t bring Miss Granquist here. She’s being sought by the police and that would be too dangerous. She’ll be turned over to you, together with a certified check for fifteen thousand dollars, as soon as the issue of the Guardian, the plates and the copy are turned over to us.”

Kells said: “What the hell kind of a cheap outfit are you? The stuff’s worth that much simply as state’s evidence — let alone its political value to your people.”

“I know — I know.” Woodward bobbed his head up and down. “The fact of the matter is, Mister Kells — my people are up against it for cash. They’ll know how to show their appreciation in other ways, however.”

“What other ways?”

“Certain political concessions after election — uh — you know.” Woodward glanced nervously at his watch. “And it is imperative that you make a decision quickly.”

Kells said: “I’m not in politics. I want the dough. Lay fifty thousand on the line and show me Miss Granquist” — he looked at his watch, smiled — “and it is imperative that you make a decision quickly.”

Woodward stood up. “Very well, Mister Kells,” he said. His voice had risen in pitch to the near-falsetto of the telephone conversation. “What you ask is impossible. I’ll say good-day.”

He started towards the door and Kells said: “Hold on a minute.” The big automatic that had been O’Donnell’s glittered dully in his hand. “Sit down.”

Woodward’s blue eyes were wide behind his glasses. He went back towards the chair.

Kells said: “No. Over by the phone.”

Woodward smiled weakly, sat down at the telephone stand. “Now you’d better call up your parties and tell them everything’s all right — that we made a deal.”

Woodward was looking at the rug. He pursed his lips, shook his head slowly.

“There’s a direct line in the other room,” Kells went on, “if you’d rather not make it through the switchboard.”

Woodward didn’t move except to shake his head slowly; he stared at the floor, smiled a little.

“Hurry up.” Kells stood up.

Then the phone in the bedroom rang. Kells could faintly hear Beery say “Hello.” It was quiet for a moment and then the bedroom door opened and Fenner stood in the doorway looking back at Beery.

Beery said: “You sure...? Just the press and the forms... All out?... All right, I’ll be right over.” The receiver clicked and Beery came into the doorway. He glanced at Woodward, grinned crookedly at Kells.

“They blew up the joint,” he said. “But nearly all the stuff was out. A hand press and a couple Linotypes were cracked up, and one guy’s got a piece of iron in his shoulder, but they discovered it in time and got everybody else and the sheets out. The originals are in the safe.”

He struck an attitude, declaimed: “The first issue of The Coast Guardian: A Political Weekly for Thinking People, is on the stands.”

Kells turned slowly, sat down. He looked steadily at Woodward for a while and then he said: “As a representative of the Bellmann estate ” — he paused, coughed gently — “do you think you’re strong enough to beat charges of coercion, conspiracy to defeat justice, dynamiting, abduction — a few more that any half-smart attorney can figure out?”

Woodward kept his eyes down. “That was a stall about the girl. We haven’t got her, and we don’t know where Rose is...”

“So Rose has got her?”

Woodward looked up, spoke hesitantly: “I don’t know.”

“If you’ve got any ideas, now’s a swell time to spill them.”

Woodward glanced at Beery, Fenner, back at Kells. “My people don’t want to have anything to do with Rose,” he said. “He’s wanted for murder, and if he’s caught he’ll get the works.” He smiled again, went on slowly: “He called up this morning and said you shot O’Donnell — said he could prove it...”

Fenner laughed quietly.

Kells said: “Where did he call from?”

Woodward shook his head. “Don’t know.”

Beery had gone back into the bedroom. He came into the doorway again, pulling on his coat. “I’ll be back in about an hour, Gerry,” he said. He poured himself a short drink, swallowed it and went out making faces.

Kells asked Woodward: “Where can I find you?”

Woodward hesitated a moment. “I’ve got an office in the Dell Building — the number’s in the book.”

“You can go.”

Woodward got up and said: “Good-day, sir.” He nodded at Fenner and went out.

Kells took Fenner’s twenty-five-thousand-dollar check out of his inside coat pocket. He unfolded it and looked at it for a minute and then he said: “Let’s go over to the bank and have this certified.”

They went out together.

Kells slept most of the afternoon. Doctor Janis stopped by at seven. The leg was pretty stiff.

Janis said. “You ought to stay in a couple days, anyway. You’re damned lucky it was the edge of the fan that got you — Dickinson got the middle...”

Kells asked: “How is he?”

“He’ll be all right. He’s too tough.”

Janis put on his coat and hat, finished his drink, and went to the door. “You had a break,” he said. “Don’t press it.” He went out.

Kells telephoned Fenner. There had been several steers on Rose, all of them bad. Sheedy hadn’t been located. The Mexican who had been with Rose was probably Abalos, from Frisco. He lived at a small hotel on Main Street. The hotel was being watched. Reilly was being tailed.