Paul Cain - The Paul Cain Omnibus

He opened a box of cigars on the desk, offered them to Kells, and carefully selected one.

“And here you are.”

Kells didn’t answer.

Crotti clipped and lighted his cigar, leaned back again. “What do you think of that?” he said.

Kells said: “What do you want?”

“Since you anticipated my invitation, may I ask what you want?”

Kells sipped his drink, shrugged. “I came out for a drink of good whiskey,” he said.

He looked around the room. There were two closed doors on his right, a window on his left. In front of him, behind Crotti, there was another large square window — the one he had seen from the outside. He finished his drink and put the glass on the desk.

“I’m looking for a fella named Jack Rose,” he said. “Ever hear of him?”

Crotti nodded.

“Know where he is?”

“No.” Crotti smiled, shook his head.

They were both silent for a minute. Crotti puffed comfortably at his cigar and Kells waited.

Crotti cleared his throat finally and said: “You’ve done very well.”

Kells waited.

“You helped eliminate a lot of small fry: Haardt, Perry, O’Donnell — you’ve run Rose out of town, and you have the Fenner and Bellmann factions pretty well in hand. You can write your own ticket...”

“You make it sound swell.” Kells poured himself a drink. “What about it?”

“I’m going to cut you in.”

Kells widened his eyes extravagantly. “What do you mean — cut me in ?”

“I’m going to clean up all the loose ends and turn the whole business over to you...”

Kells said: “My, my — isn’t that dandy!” He put the full glass down on the desk. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Crotti flicked ashes from his cigar, leaned forward.

“Listen,” he said. “Things are pretty hot back East. I’ve been running a couple ships up here with stuff from Mexico for a year. Now I’m going to move all my interests here, the whole layout. I’m going to take over the Coast.”

“And?...”

“And you’re in.”

Kells said: “I’m out.”

Crotti leaned back again, studied the gray tip of his cigar. He smiled. “I think you’re in,” he said.

Kells took a little tin box of aspirin out of his pocket, put two tablets on his tongue and washed them down with the whiskey.

“You seem to have kept pretty well in touch with things out here,” he said.

Crotti said: “Yes. I sent an operative out a few weeks ago to look things over — a very clever girl...” He took the cigar out of his mouth. “Name’s Granquist.”

Kells sat very still. He looked at Crotti and then he grinned slowly, broadly.

Crotti grinned back. “Am I right in assuming that you were looking for Rose because you thought he had something to do with Miss Granquist’s — uh — escape?”

Kells didn’t answer.

Crotti stood up. “I always take care of my people,” he said as pompously as his squeaky voice would permit. He went to one of the doors, swung it open. The inner room was dark.

Crotti called: “Hey — Swede.”

There was no answer and Crotti went into the room. Kells could hear him whispering, evidently trying to wake someone up.

Kells unbuttoned his coat, shifted the shoulder holster. Crotti reappeared in the doorway, and Granquist was behind him. Crotti went back to his chair, sat down.

Granquist stood in the doorway, swaying. Her eyes were heavy with sleep and she stared drunkenly about the room, finally focused on Kells. She sneered as if it was difficult for her to control her facial muscles. She put one hand on the doorframe to steady herself.

She said thickly: “Hello, bastard.”

Kells looked away from her, spoke to Crotti. “Nice quiet girl,” he said. “Just the kind you want to take home and introduce to your folks.”

Crotti laughed soundlessly.

Granquist staggered forward, stood swaying above Kells. “Bastard framed me,” she mumbled — “tried t’ tag me f’ murder...”

She put one hand out tentatively as if she was about to catch a fly, and slapped Kells very hard across the face.

Crotti stood up suddenly.

Kells reached out and pushed Granquist gently away and said: “Don’t be effeminate.”

Crotti came around the desk and took Granquist by the shoulder and pressed her down into a chair. She was swearing brokenly, incoherently. She put her hands up to her face, sobbed.

Crotti said: “Be quiet.” He turned to Kells with a deprecating smile. “I’m sorry.”

Kells didn’t say anything.

It was quiet for a little while except for Granquist’s strangled, occasional sobs. Crotti sat down on the edge of the desk.

Kells sat staring thoughtfully at Granquist. Finally he turned to Crotti, said: “I played the Bellmann business against this one” — he jerked his head at Granquist — “because it was good sense, and because I knew I could clear her if it was necessary. Then when she got away I figured Rose had her and went into the panic. I’ve been leaping all over Southern California with a big hero act while she’s been sitting on her ass over here with an armful of bottles...”

He sighed, shook his head. “When I’m right, I’m wrong.”

Then he went on as if thinking aloud: “Rose and Abalos, and a woman — probably Rose’s wife — hired a boat at Long Beach tonight and didn’t come back.”

Crotti glanced at Granquist. “Rose had an interest in one of the big booze boats,” he said — “the Santa Maria. She was lying about sixty miles off the Coast a couple days ago. He probably headed out there.”

He puffed hard at his cigar, put it down on an ashtray, leaned forward.

“Now about my proposition...” he said. “You’ve started a good thing, but you can’t finish it by yourself. I’ve got the finest organization in the country and I’m going to put it at your disposal so that you can do this thing the way it should be done — to the limit. LA county is big enough for everybody—”

Kells interrupted him. “I think I’ve heard that someplace before.”

Crotti paid no attention to the interruption, went on: “—for everybody — but things have got to be under a single head. This thing of everybody cutting everybody else’s throat is bad business — small-town stuff.”

Kells nodded very seriously.

“We can have things working like a charm in a couple weeks if we go at it right,” Crotti went on excitedly. “Organization is the thing. We’ll organize gambling, the bootleggers, the city and state and federal police — everything .”

He stood up, his eyes glittering with enthusiasm. “We can jerk five million dollars a year out of this territory — five million dollars !”

Kells whistled.

Granquist had put her hands down. She was sitting deep in the chair, glaring at Kells. Crotti picked up his cigar and walked up and down, puffing out great clouds of blue-gray smoke.

“Why, right this minute,” he said, “I’ve got a hundred and fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of French crystal cocaine on one of my boats — a hundred and fifteen thousand dollars’ worth at the market price. All it needs is protected landing and distribution to a dozen organized dealers.”

Kells nodded, pouring himself another drink.

Crotti sat down at the desk, took out a handkerchief and wiped his face.

“And you’re the man for it,” he said. “My money’s on you...”

Kells said. “That’s fine,” smiled appreciatively.

“Your split is twenty-five per cent of everything.” Crotti crushed his cigar out, leaned back and regarded Kells benignly. “Everything — the whole take .”

Kells was watching Crotti. He moved his eyes without moving his head, looked at Granquist. “That ought to pay for a lot of telephone calls,” he said.