Paul Cain - The Paul Cain Omnibus

Cullen was a heavily built man of about forty-five. He had a round, pale face, a blue chin and blue-black hair. He was naked except for a pair of yellow silk pajama trousers; a full-rigged ship was elaborately tattooed across his wide chest.

Kells said: “H’are ya, Willie?” went past Cullen into the room. He sat down in a deep leather chair, took off his panama hat, and ran his fingers through red, faintly graying hair.

Cullen went into the kitchen and came back with tall glasses, a bowl of ice, and a squat bottle.

Kells said: “Well, Willie—”

Cullen held up his hand. “Wait. Don’t tell me. Make me guess.” He closed his eyes, went through the motions of communing with himself. He opened his eyes, sat down and poured two drinks. “You’re in another jam,” he said.

Kells twisted his mouth into a wholly mirthless smile, nodded. “You’re a genius, Willie.” He sipped his drink. “You know Max Hesse pretty well. You’ve been out to his house in Flintridge?”

“Sure.”

“Do you know what Dave Perry looks like?”

“No.”

Kells put his glass down. “A little, black, pop-eyed guy with a waxed mustache. Wears gray silk shirts with tricky brocaded stripes. Used to run a string of trucks down from Frisco — had some kind of a warehouse connection up there. Stood a bad rap on some forged Liberty Bonds about a year ago and went broke beating it. Married Grant Rainey’s sister when he was on top.”

“I’ve seen her,” Cullen said. “Nice dish.”

“You’ve never seen Dave at Hesse’s?”

Cullen shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“All right. It wouldn’t mean a hell of a lot, anyway.” Kells picked up his glass, drained it, stood up. “I want to use the phone.”

He dialed a number printed in large letters on the cover of the telephone book, asked for the reporters’ room. When the connection was made, he asked for Shep Beery. He spoke evenly into the instrument: “Listen, Shep, this is Gerry. In a little while you’ll probably have some news for me... Yeah... Call Granite five-six-six-one... And Shep, who copped in the fourth race at ’Juana?... Thanks, Shep. Got the number?... Okay.”

Cullen was pouring another drink. “If all this is as bad as you’re making it look, you have a very trusting nature,” he observed.

Kells was dialing another number. He said, over his shoulder: “I win twenty-four hundred on Kiosque. ”

“That’s fine.”

“Perry shot Doc Haardt to death about four o’clock.”

“That’s fine. Where were you?” Cullen was stirring his drink.

Kells jiggled the hook up and down. “Goddamn telephones,” he said. He dialed the number again, then turned his head to smile at Cullen. “I was here.”

The telephone clicked. Kells turned to it, asked: “Is Number Four on duty?” There was a momentary wait, then: “Hello, Stella? This is Mister Kells... Listen, Stella, there weren’t any calls for me between two and four today... I know it’s on the record, baby, but I want it off. Will you see what you can do about it?... Right away?... That’s fine. And, Stella, the number I called about three-thirty — the one where the line was busy... Yes. That was Granite five-six-sixone... Got it?... All right, kid, I’ll tell you all about it later. ’Bye.”

Cullen said: “As I was saying... You have a very trusting nature.”

Kells was riffling the pages of a small blue address book. “One more,” he said, mostly to himself. He spun the dial again. “Hello, Yellow? Lancaster stand, please... Hello. Is Fifty-eight in?... That’s the little baldheaded Mick, isn’t it?... No, no: Mick... Sure... Send him to two nine Iris Circle when he gets in... Two... nine... That’s in Hollywood; off Cahuenga...”

They sat for several minutes without speaking. Kells sipped at his drink and stared out the window. Then he said: “I’m not putting on an act for you, Willie. I don’t know how to tell it; it doesn’t make much sense, yet.” He smiled lazily at Cullen. “Are you good at riddles?”

“Terrible.”

The phone rang. Cullen got up to answer it.

Kells said: “Maybe that’s the answer.”

Cullen called him to the phone. He said, “Yes, Shep,” and was silent, listening for a little while. Then he said, “Thanks,” hung up and went back to the deep leather chair. “I guess maybe we can’t play it the way I’d figured,” he said. “There’s a tag out for me.”

Cullen said slowly, sarcastically: “What a pal! They’ll trace the phony call that your girlfriend Stella’s handling, or get to the cab driver before he gets to you. We’ll have a couple carloads of law here in about fifteen minutes.”

“That’s all right, Willie. You can talk to ’em.”

Cullen grinned mirthlessly. “I haven’t spoken to a copper for four years.”

Kells straightened in his chair. “Listen. Doc went to Perry’s to see me... What for? I was with Jack Rose being propositioned to come in with him and Doc, on the Joanna. They’re evidently figuring Rainey or Hesse to make things tough and wanted me for a flash.”

He looked at his watch. He said, “God! I wish that cab would show!”

Cullen was stirring ice into another drink.

Kells went on, swiftly: “When I open the door at Perry’s someone lets Doc have it, and goes out through the kitchen. Maybe. The back door slammed, but it might have been the draft when I opened the front door. Dave is cold, with an egg over his ear, and Ruth Perry says that a little queen with glasses shot Doc and sapped Dave when he spoke out of turn...”

Cullen said: “You’re not making this up as you go along, are you?”

Kells paid no attention to the interruption. “The rod is on the floor. I tell Ruth to stick to her story...”

Cullen raised one eyebrow and smiled faintly with his lips.

Kells said, “She will !” He went on: “...and try to keep Dave quiet while I figure an alibi, and try to find out what it’s all about. I smack her to make it look good, and then I get the bright idea that if I leave the gun there, they’ll hold both of them, no matter what story they tell. They’d have to hold somebody; Doc had a lot of friends downtown.”

Kells finished his drink, picked up his hat and put it on. “I figured Ruth to office Dave that I was working on it, and that he might keep his mouth shut if he wasn’t in on the plant.”

Cullen sighed heavily.

Kells said: “He was. Shep tells me that Dave says I had an argument with Doc, shot him, and clipped Dave when he tried to stop me. Shep can’t get a line on Ruth’s story, but I’ll lay six, two, and even that she’s still telling the one about the little guy.” He stood up. “They’re both being held incommunicado. And here’s one for the book: Reilly made the pinch. Now what the hell was Reilly doing out here, if it wasn’t tipped?”

Cullen said: “It’s a setup. It was the girl.”

Kells shook his head slowly.

“Dave knows it and is trying to cover for her,” Cullen went on. “She told you a fast one about the little guy, and I’ll bet she’s telling the same story as Dave right now.”

Kells said: “Wrong.”

Cullen laughed. “If you didn’t think it was possible you wouldn’t look that way.”

“You’re crazy. If she wanted to frame me she wouldn’t’ve put on that act. She wouldn’t’ve...”

“Oh, yes, she would. She’d let you go, and put the finger on you from a distance.” Cullen scratched his side, under the arm, yawned. Kells said: “What about Dave?”

“Maybe Doc socked Dave.”

“She’d cheer.”

“Maybe.” Cullen got up and walked to a window. “Maybe she cheered and squeezed the heater at the same time. That’s been done, you know.”