Paul Cain - The Paul Cain Omnibus

Beery stood up. He went over to the stand by the bed and poured himself a drink. He waved the glass at Kells. He said: “We’ve gone too far — an’ it’s too much fun. We can still smack the Bellmann administration down — and anyway, these bastards don’t know whether we’re strong or not. You’ll be up and around in a couple days — we can count on a hand from Rainey, if we need it...”

Borg was staring at the cards. He said, “Sure,” without looking up.

“No.” Kells shook his head slowly. “It’s too tough — you boys have been a great help, but—”

“Shut up! You can crawl out if you want to, but I’ll stick — I’m having a swell time.” Beery grinned down at Kells then gulped his drink.

Borg looked up, said, “Sure,” quietly. He stood up.

Kells laughed. He glanced at the bottle on the bedstand. “Draw three, Shep.”

They had dinner sent up from Musso-Frank’s, on the Boulevard. Doctor Janis stopped by about nine o’clock.

“Two days,” he said — “two more days at least. Then you can go out for a little while, if you take it easy — on crutches.”

Kells was sweating; his eyes burned and he yawned a great deal. He said: “Maybe I’d better have one more load in the arm, Doc, to sort of taper off on.”

“You’ll taper off on whiskey and milk, young fella — and like it.” The doctor put two small pills on the stand. “If you get too jumpy you can take these before you go to sleep.”

Janis and Beery went out together; Beery was going home. Borg played solitaire for a while, and Kells sat up in bed, tried to read the papers.

Borg said: “Denny Faber is still trailing around with Gilroy.”

“You can call him off — Gilroy ought to be okay by now.”

At eleven Borg stood up, stretched, said: “I’m going bye-bye.” He went into the bedroom — Kells was on the wall bed in the living room. Borg came back in his underwear, got Kells a glass of water, made a pass at tucking him in.

“If you want anything,” he said, “just yell and fire a few shots and throw your shoe through the window. I’m a very light sleeper.”

Kells said he would.

Borg went back into the bedroom, and Kells turned out the lights, tried to sleep. He heard the bell in the big church on Sunset Boulevard strike twelve. Rain drummed against the windows, and the wind was blowing.

Sometime around one, he got up, hobbled into the bath. He scrubbed his teeth and got back to the bed by using a chair for support, hopping slowly on one foot. He took the pills Janis had left, washed them down with whiskey and water. He slept after a while — heavily, dreamlessly.

When he awoke, he lay rigid for a little while listening to rain beat against the windows. Then a voice whispered close to his ear: “Wake up, darling.”

Kells lay very still, turned his eyes toward the darkness. Granquist said: “Wake up — darling.” Kells moved his head until he could see the silhouette of her crouched body against the pale reflected light of the wall.

She spoke rapidly, breathlessly: “Are you all right, darling — can you walk? We’ve got to get out of here right away...”

He smiled a little and raised his head and said: “Will you please go away?...”

She sank to her knees beside the bed and tried to take his head in her arms.

“Please,” she said. “We’ve got to go quickly. Please...”

Kells put her arms away and sat up and pulled the pillow up behind him. “How the hell did you get in?”

“I put on an act for the night man — told him I wanted to surprise you. He came up and let me in with the passkey...”

“Go on — surprise me.”

“Gerry.” Granquist’s eyes were big in the faint light; drops of rain glistened on her small dark hat, her dark close-fitting coat. “I’ve been in an awfully bad spot since you shot up Crotti’s camp. I got away this afternoon when Fenner came out to do business about his confession — Crotti didn’t know anything about it, but he let Fenner think he did...”

“What do you mean, Crotti didn’t know about it?” Kells put his hand on her wrist.

“I got to your coat first — I’ve got Fenner’s confession and his certified check for twenty-five thou — and your cash...”

She clicked open a small handbag, took out a handful of crumpled paper and currency, dropped it on the bed. He looked down at it a little while and then he let his head fall back again against the pillow, bent it slightly down sidewise.

He said: “You’re a strange gal.” He put his hand on her wrist again, held it tightly.

She tried to speak. She got up and walked to the window and then back, sat down on the edge of the bed.

Kells asked: “Why do we have to leave here?”

“Because you haven’t Fenner’s protection any longer — he thinks Crotti has this” — she nodded at the stuff on the bed. “The whole layout is against you now — Crotti, Rose, Fenner, the Bellmann people...”

Kells switched on the lamp beside the bed. He unfolded and smoothed out the sheet of Venice stationery with Fenner’s shakily signed confession.

“We have this,” he said. “Fenner hasn’t played ball — I can stick it into him and break it off. And we’ve got around thirty-five grand. We’re in a swell spot to play both ends against the middle...”

“No, Gerry.” Granquist’s voice was harsh, strained. “Please, no, Gerry — let’s go away, quick. I’m scared...”

Kells was silent a while, looking at her abstractedly.

Then he said: “The middle against both ends, by God!”

He put out one arm and cupped his hand against the back of Granquist’s neck and pulled her to him.

In the morning the sun came out warm, bright.

At about nine-thirty, Borg came out of the bedroom in trousers and a green silk undershirt. Granquist had had things sent up from the commissary, was preparing breakfast in the kitchen. Borg leaned against the side of the door and looked at her, and then he smiled blankly at Kells, said: “Well, well.”

“From now on” — Kells bent his head to one side — “Fenner’s on the other team.”

Borg went to the table and sat down. “I still like your side,” he said, “and I want to pitch.”

“You’re not very bright. See if you can get Faber on the phone — tell him to come up here.”

Borg reached for the phone, dialed a number.

Granquist brought breakfast in on a big tray. There was orange juice and an omelette and toast and coffee. It was all very good.

Borg finally got Faber and talked to him a little while, and then he looked up Woodward’s number in the Dell Building, downtown, dialed it, took the phone to Kells.

Kells said, “Hello,” and asked for Woodward, and then he said: “This is Kells. If you come out to the Miramar Apartments on Franklin and Cherokee, in Hollywood, I think we might do a little business.” He hung up, smiled at Granquist.

“You’ll have to duck while he’s here, baby,” he said. “He’s the undercover legal representative for the Bellmann administration, and you’re still number one suspect for Bellmann’s shooting — you’ll have to lay low till we hang it on Fenner, and make it stick.”

She nodded.

After a little while someone knocked at the door, and Borg got up and let Beery in. Beery threw his hat on a chair, stared with bright, surprised eyes at Granquist, said: “Well — it’s a small world.”

She smiled. “Coffee?”

Beery nodded and Granquist went out into the kitchen.

Kells said: “Fenner went out to see Crotti yesterday.”

Beery sat down, smiled down his nose.

“Now we don’t have to worry about kicking any of our crowd in the tail,” Kells went on, “because we haven’t got any.”