Paul Cain - The Paul Cain Omnibus

In the thirty-five or forty minutes that it took to come up to the Joanna , the wind freshened, and the launch slid up and down over the long, smooth swells. The lights of the Joanna came out of the darkness through a thin ribbon of fog.

Kells walked up the gangway a step behind and a little to the left of Rose. Several seamen and hangers-on stood at the rail, stared at them. They crossed the cabaret that had been built across the upper deck, went down a wide red-carpeted stairway to the principal gambling room. It ran the width and nearly the length of the ship. Dozens of green-covered tables lined the walls: blackjack, chuck-a-luck, faro, roulette, crap. Two dealers were removing the canvas cover from one of the big roulette tables.

They turned at the bottom of the stairs and went aft to a wide, white bulkhead. There were three doors in the bulkhead, and the middle one was ajar. They went in.

Swanstrom sat in a tilted swivel chair at a large rolltop desk. Swanstrom had been Doc Haardt’s house manager; he was a very fat man with big brown eyes, a slow and eager smile. A black and white kitten was curled up on his lap.

The swivel chair creaked as he swung heavily forward and stood up. He put the kitten on the desk. He said: “How are ya, Jack?”

Rose nodded abstractedly, cleared his throat. “This is Mister Kells... Mister Swanstrom.”

Swanstrom opened his mouth. He held out his hand towards Kells and looked at the door. Kells had stopped just inside the door; he half turned and closed it, pressed the little brass knob and the spring lock clicked. He stood looking at Rose, Swanstrom, the room.

There was a blue-shaded drop light hanging from the center of the ceiling and another over the desk. There was a big, old-fashioned safe against one wall, and beside it there was a short ladder leading up to a narrow shoulder-height platform that ran across all the bulkhead — the one through which they had entered. The bulkhead above the platform was lined with sheet iron and there was a two-inch slit running across it at about the height of a medium-sized man’s eyes. There were two .30–30 rifles on the platform, leaning against the wall. There was another narrow door back of the desk.

Rose went to the desk and sat down. He took a gray leather key case out of his pocket and unlocked one of the desk drawers. He slid the drawer open and took out a cigar box and opened it. He took out a sheaf of hundred-dollar notes, slid the rubber band off onto two fingers and counted out twenty-four. He put the rest back in the box, the box back in the drawer, locked it. He counted the money again and held it out towards Kells. “Now, if you’ll give me a receipt...” he said.

Kells took the money and tucked it into his inside breast pocket. He said: “Sure. Write it out.” His face was hard and expressionless.

Rose scribbled a few words on a piece of paper and Kells went to the desk and leaned over and signed it.

Swanstrom was still standing in the middle of the room looking self-consciously at Kells, a meaningless smile curving his mouth. He said: “Well, I guess I better go up and see if everything’s ready for the first load.”

Kells said: “We’ll all go.”

There was silence for a moment and then a new thin voice said: “Please lock your hands together back of your neck.”

Kells slowly turned his head and looked at the narrow white door behind the desk. It had been opened about three inches and the slim blue barrel of a heavy-caliber revolver was stuck through the opening. As he watched, the door swung open a little farther and he saw a little dark man standing in the dimness of the passageway. The little man was leaning against the wall of the passageway and holding the revolver pointed at Kells’ chest and smiling through thick-lensed glasses.

Kells put his hands back of his neck.

Rose came around the desk and took the automatic out of Kells’ belt. He held it by the barrel and swung it swiftly back and then forward at Kells’ head. Kells moved his hand enough to take most of the butt of the automatic on his knuckles, and bent his knees and grabbed Rose’s arm. Then he fell backwards, pulling Rose down with him.

The little man came into the room quickly and kicked the side of Kells’ head very hard. Kells relaxed his grip on Rose and Rose stood up. He brushed himself off and went over and kicked Kells’ head and face several times. His face was dark and composed and he was breathing hard. He kicked Kells very carefully, drawing his foot back and aiming, and then kicking very accurately and hard.

The kitten jumped off the desk and went to Kells’ bloody head and sniffed delicately. Kells could feel the kitten’s warm breath. Then everything got dark and he couldn’t feel anything any more.

There was very dim yellow light coming from somewhere. There were voices, too. One of them was O’Donnell’s voice but it was from too far away to make out the words. Then the voices went away.

Kells moved his shoulder an inch at a time and turned his head slowly. It felt as if it would fall in several pieces. He closed his eyes and moved his head slowly and very carefully. Then he opened his eyes. The yellow light was coming through a partially open door at the other end of a long dark storeroom. Kells could dimly see cases piled along the sides. He could see a man sitting on one of the cases, silhouetted against the pale light.

The man stood up and came over and looked down at him. Kells closed his eyes and lay very still, and the man walked back and sat down and put his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands. There was thin jazz music coming from somewhere above, and the man tapped his foot in time.

Kells watched him for a long time; then the man got up and came over again and lighted a match and held it down near his face. Then he went away through the door and closed it behind him. In the moment that the door was open, Kells saw that the room was very big, and rounded at the end opposite the door — following the line of the ship’s stern. There were hundreds of cases piled along the sides. Then the door closed and there was darkness.

Kells got up slowly, holding his head between his hands. He took out a handkerchief and tried to wipe some of the dried blood from his face. He went swiftly to the door. It was locked. He leaned against the bulkhead, and sharp buzzing hammers pounded inside his skull. In a little while he heard the man coming back. He stood flat against the bulkhead just inside the door, and when the man came in Kells slid one arm around his neck and pulled it tight with his other hand. The man’s curse was cut to a faint gurgle; they fell down and rolled about the deck. Kells kept his arm pressed tightly against the man’s throat, and after a time he stopped struggling, went limp. Kells lay panting beside him for a few minutes without releasing his hold and then, when he was sure that the man was unconscious, got up. He stooped and fumbled in the man’s pockets, found a box of matches and a small woven-leather blackjack.

He went swiftly to the door and into a narrow L-shaped room where unused chairs, stools, tables were stacked against the walls. There was a hatchway and a steep sloped stair leading down to another compartment. Kells went silently down.

There was a paper-shaded light over a flat desk and there were two bunks. A man in overalls was snoring in one. There was a watertight door in one wall and Kells went through it to a dark passageway that led forward along the ship’s side.

About thirty feet along the passageway, he stepped on something soft, yielding; he lighted a match and held it down to the drained face of the little man who had said “Please lock your hands together back of your neck.” There was a dark stain high on the front of his shirt; the heavy blue revolver was gripped in his outstretched hand. He was breathing.