Paul Cain - The Paul Cain Omnibus

Kells said: “Well...”

Borg was half-standing. He moved his arm and very deliberately put the cards down on the table. Then he straightened and moved toward Woodward’s body.

Kells said: “Don’t go near the window, sap.”

Granquist came into the bedroom door and stood with one hand up to her face, staring at Woodward.

Borg said: “It must have been from that joint.” He pointed through the window to the tall apartment house halfway down the block.

Kells stood up. “Bring me my clothes,” he said.

Granquist didn’t move. She stood staring at Woodward blankly. “

Bring me my clothes,” Kells said gently.

Borg went swiftly to the bedroom door, past Granquist into the bedroom. He came back almost immediately with a tangled mass of clothes under his arm. He held a short blunt revolver in one hand, down straight at his side.

Granquist went to a chair against one wall and picked up her coat and put it on. She went to the table and stood with both hands on the table, leaning forward a little.

Kells sat down and took his clothes from Borg, one piece at a time, put them on.

The phone rang.

Kells picked it up, said: “Hello... Shep — we’re shoving off. Woodward’s just been shot — through the window, from the roof of the place next door... Uh-huh. And he paid off with marked bills, so there’s probably someone waiting outside to make a pinch... Maybe some of Crotti’s boys tailed Fenner — your guess is as good as mine... Call me in a half hour at the Lancaster. If I’m not there I’ll be in jail — or on a slab... Hell! No. Let ’em find him... ’Bye.”

He hung up, finished dressing rapidly. He got up and limped to one side of the big window and pulled the cord that closed the drapes. Woodward’s hand was clenched on the bottom of one of the drapes and it moved a little as the drape closed. The paper had fallen, lay a little way from his other hand.

Kells stood looking down at Woodward for a minute, then he went to the table and picked up the two thin stacks of money and put them in his pocket. Granquist said, “My God, Gerry — don’t take them if they’re marked.”

He glanced at her and smiled with one side of his mouth. “Let’s go,” he said.

Borg had gone back into the bedroom. He came into the doorway and he had put on his shirt and coat; he went to a mirror near the outer door and put on his hat.

Granquist stooped and picked up the crutches.

Kells shook his head, said: “My leg feels swell.”

They went out into the corridor.

There was a man standing near the elevators but he paid no attention to them, entered one of the elevators while they were still halfway down the hall.

They waited a minute or so, got into the same elevator when it came back up. It was automatic — Kells pushed the sub-basement button.

He said: “Maybe...”

Borg watched the sixth floor go by through the little wired-glass window. “The basement is as good a hunch as any,”he said. “There’s a garage with a driveway out onto Cherokee. Maybe we can promote a car — or if we can get down to Highland, to the cab stand...”

“Why didn’t you call a cab?” Granquist was leaning back in a corner of the elevator.

Kells looked at her vacantly, as if he hadn’t heard.

“Maybe this is a lot of hooey,” he said — “maybe we’re a cinch. But if that was Crotti” — he gestured with his head up toward the apartment — “he’ll have a dozen beads on the place.”

The elevator stopped and they went into a dark corridor, down to a door to the garage. There was a tall man with a very small mustache asleep in a big car near the archway that led out into Cherokee. He woke up when Borg stepped on the running board.

Borg asked: “How’re chances of renting a car?”

The man rubbed his eyes, climbed out and stood between Kells and Borg. He said: “Sure. I got a Buick an’ I got a Chrysler.”

“Are either of them closed?” Kells leaned on Granquist’s shoulder, winked at Borg meaningly.

The man said: “Yeah — the Buick.”

He went towards a car five down the line from the one he had been sleeping in.

Kells said: “That’ll do. How much deposit do you want?”

“You want a driver?”

“No.”

Borg opened one rear door of the car and helped Granquist in. The man said: “No deposit if you live here. It’s two an’ a quarter an hour.”

“Maybe we’ll be out all night — you’d better take this.” Kells gave the man two bills, got in through the front door carefully. He put his leg out straight under the dashboard.

Borg went around to the other side and squeezed in behind the wheel. He pressed the starter, and the man reached in and pulled the choke and the engine roared. Borg scowled at the man and pushed the choke back in. They swung in a wide circle out through the archway into the sunlight.

Kells turned and spoke sharply to Granquist: “Lie down on the seat.”

She muttered something unintelligible and lay down on her side across the back seat.

They turned swiftly down Cherokee, and a spurt of flame came out of a close-curtained limousine to meet them, lead thudded, bit into the side of the car. Borg stepped on the throttle, they plunged forward, past.

Kells looked back at Granquist. She was lying with her eyes tightly closed and her face was very white. He put one arm back towards her and she rose suddenly to her knees, put her hands on his shoulder.

He smiled. “We’re all right, baby,” he said softly. “They build these cars in Detroit — that’s machinegun country.”

Borg was crouched over the wheel. He spoke out of the side of his mouth: “Are they coming?”

Kells was looking back, shook his head. “They’re turning around — they were parked the wrong way.”

Granquist slid back to the seat.

They turned west on Yucca to Highland, jogged up Highland to Franklin, turned west on Franklin. They stopped between Sycamore and La Brea a little while and watched through the glass oval in the back of the car; the limousine had evidently been lost.

Borg got out and looked at the side of the car.

“It must have jammed,” he said. “Four little holes, and a nick on one of the headlights. One of ’em missed the carburetor by about an inch — that was a break.”

Kells said: “Let’s go over and see how Faber is making out.”

Kells was leaning back in his seat. “So they’re finally getting around to machineguns...” He straightened and glanced back at Granquist. “Now we know it’s Crotti. Maybe...”

She nodded. “I think I remember that black car,” she said. “It’s one he’s been using out of Long Beach.”

“Let’s go over and see how Faber is making out,” Kells said.

Borg climbed back into the car and they went on up Franklin to La Brea and down La Brea to Fountain. At the corner of Fountain and Harper they parked under a big pepper tree.

Kells turned around and spoke to Granquist: “You take this car — you can drive it, can’t you? — and go down to the Lancaster and wait for us.” He reached into his pocket, fished out a key. “Go up to my room and pack all the stuff that isn’t already packed. Call up the Santa Fe and tell ’em to send the reservations there. If we get everything cleaned up tonight, we’ll drive down to San Bernardino and lay low tomorrow and get the Chief out of there tomorrow night.”

Kells and Borg got out of the car, and Granquist climbed over into the front seat. She said, “Be careful,” without looking at Kells, and there was something resigned and a little bitter in the way she said it. She shifted gears and let the clutch in a little way and the car moved ahead.

Kells said: “Beery’ll be calling in a little while. Tell him to come up to the hotel as soon as he can.”