Paul Cain - The Paul Cain Omnibus

Granquist nodded without turning and the car moved ahead swiftly.

Kells and Borg crossed to the west side of Harper and walked slowly up towards Sunset Boulevard. Kells’ limp was pronounced.

Borg asked: “How is it?” He ducked his head towards Kells’ leg.

“All right.”

They went slowly and without speaking up Harper, and a little way below the Villa Dora, Faber stuck his head out of Borg’s car. They went over to it and Kells got into the tonneau and sat down; Borg stood outside, leaned on the front door.

Faber said: “Nothing yet.”

Kells sat for several minutes staring absently at a long scratch on the back of the front seat. Then he said: “Let’s go in and see what we can find.” He leaned forward.

Faber lifted the flap of the right side pocket, slipped a black Luger out onto the seat beside him. He turned and looked at Kells and nodded at the gun. Kells said, “Yes,” absently, and reached over and took the gun and stuck it into the waistband of his trousers, pulled the points of his vest down over it.

“We’re going in to try to find a hundred and fifteen grand in cash,” he said. “I don’t know who’s got it — we’ll have to try the mailboxes and see if we can get a lead.”

Borg said: “We probably won’t.”

Kells opened the door and started to get out.

“Why don’t you wait here and I’ll see if I can find anything?” Borg took a light-colored cigar out of his outer breast pocket and bit off the end.

Kells looked at him a moment sleepily, nodded, and sat down.

Borg went up the street and disappeared into the Villa Dora. He was back in a few minutes with a soiled envelope on which he had scrawled the names of all the occupants.

Kells took it, looked at it, and asked: “Are you sure this is all?”

“Yeah.” Borg nodded. “It’s a big joint, but I guess the apartments are big too — there are only twelve mailboxes.”

Kells studied the names. Then he said: “MacAlmon — that’s Bellmann’s silksock ward heeler. I thought he lived in Beverly Hills.” He stared at the envelope. “That’d be a tricky piece of business — if MacAlmon was go-between on the white stuff. I can figure his tie-up with Max Hesse — if Hesse is really the buyer — but how the hell would Crotti get to him?”

Faber looked interested at the mention of Crotti’s name. He said: “Maybe this would be more fun for me if I knew what it was all about.”

Borg said: “Crotti’s delivering a load of C, and the hundred and fifteen we want to locate is what somebody up there” — he jerked his head towards the apartment house — “has got to pay for it with.”

“Oh.” Faber turned to Kells. “Count me out — I don’t want any part of Crotti.”

Kells smiled slowly. He said: “Okay.”

Faber started to get out of the car and then he looked at Kells’ hands; Kells had slipped the Luger out of his waistband, was holding it loosely on his lap.

Borg said: “Aw for God’s sake, cut it out.” He looked from Kells to Faber.

Kells was smiling faintly at Faber. He said very seriously: “Your cut is ten grand. You’ve got one coming now — an’ you can have it, but you’ll have to stick around until this is over.” He put his hand into his pocket and slid out a roll of bills, pulled one off and held it towards Faber.

Faber looked at it a little while, then he grinned sourly, said: “Well — if I’ve got to stay I might as well work.” He took the bill, folded it carefully and put it into his watch pocket. “Deal me in — ten grand’ll buy a lot of flowers.”

“Me — I want to be cremated.” Borg was staring soberly into space. “No flowers, but plenty of music.” He glanced at Kells. “You know — Wagner.”

Kells said: “Let’s go and see if Mister MacAlmon is in.”

He and Faber got out of the car and they all went up the street and into the Villa Dora.

Mister MacAlmon was in. He stood in the middle of his big, highceilinged living room with his hands in the air.

Kells said: “I’m sorry about this. I haven’t anything against you or Hesse — if Hesse is in with you on it. But I’ve got plenty against Crotti, and plenty against your whole bloody combination. I’ve been out here five or six months and I’ve been double-crossed to death. I’m goddamned tired of it — and I need the dough.”

MacAlmon was almost as tall as Kells. His thick brown hair was combed straight back from a high narrow forehead, and his eyes were dark, sharp.

He said: “This is plain robbery. How far do you think you’re going to get with it?”

“Don’t be silly,” Kells looked at the stack of currency on the table. “I’ll have the Federal narcotic squad on their way out here in two minutes — and I’ll see that you’re here when they get here. Then all they’ll have to do is wait for the stuff to come in. When you’re pinched on a dope deal that’s this big, see who you can get to listen to a squawk about money.”

Borg was leaning against the outer door, spinning the blunt revolver around his forefinger. Faber had waited outside.

Kells went to the telephone on a low round table, picked it up. “I’ve never called ‘copper’ on anybody in my life,” he said. “But here it is...” He spun the dial.

MacAlmon put his hands down. He said: “Wait a minute.” He sat down in a big chair and leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. He looked at Kells and his face was flushed and he tried very hard to smile. “Wait a minute.”

Kells said into the telephone: “Information — what’s the number of the Federal Building?” He waited a moment and then said, “Thank you,” pressed the receiver down with his thumb.

MacAlmon said: “How would you like to make twenty-five more?” He inclined his head towards the money on the table.

“This is enough.” Kells shook his head. “All I want is a fair price for the time I’ve put in. This is it.”

MacAlmon leaned back in the chair. “The stuff that’s being delivered here this afternoon is worth exactly twice what’s being paid for it, to me — my people,” he said. “I don’t care who gets the money — if you’ll hold off until the transfer has been made and the stuff is in my possession, I’ll give you a twenty-five grand bonus.”

Kells said: “No.”

Someone knocked at the door.

Borg pressed his lips together and let his eyelids droop, shook his head sadly. He held the blunt black revolver loosely in his hand and looked at Kells.

Kells framed the word, “Faber,” with his lips. Borg kept on shaking his head. Kells took the Luger out of his belt and crossed the room and stood close to the wall; he nodded slightly to Borg.

Crotti and two other men came in. One of the men was carrying a big pigskin kitbag; one carried two. Crotti looked at MacAlmon and then he turned his head and looked at Borg. He hadn’t seen Kells. The man with one bag put it down on the floor, straightened. Borg closed the door.

Kells said: “Hello.”

The man who had been carrying one bag took one step sidewise towards Borg. At the same time he jerked an automatic out of a shoulder holster, sank to one knee and swung the automatic up toward Borg. Borg’s gun roared twice.

Crotti had taken two or three steps forward. His head was turned towards Kells and his black wide-set eyes were big, his thick red mouth hung a little open.

The man with two bags still stood just inside the door. His small face was entirely expressionless; he bent his knees slowly and put down the bags. The other man looked up at Borg and his face was soft and childlike and surprised; then he toppled over on his side.

MacAlmon was standing up.

Kells moved toward Crotti.

Borg was standing, staring at Crotti, and his revolver was focused on Crotti, and then he moved suddenly forward, very swiftly for a fat man, and took the revolver barrel in his left hand and swung the gun back and brought it down hard on the back of Crotti’s head. Crotti was still looking at Kells. His eyes went dull and he fell down very hard.