Роберт Беллем - Pulp Frictions

I experienced no sense of satisfaction that Nick had paid the price. It only made me feel just how badly I had erred — how real were the fears of Bernie — and just what danger the poor kid must be in. But why had they killed Nick? What had he learned? Did he know who this guardian was? Had he followed the man and found out? But all that would take time. Then what — had the guardian himself come to the ‘Egyptian Lure’? Had he approached Nick earlier in the night? But all that was only guesswork. One thing was sure. Nick had tried to follow them, and Nick had been caught and killed and probably dragged into the rear yard.

Had he gained any information — had he—? And I flashed on the light again, for I remembered seeing Nick’s hand and the tightly closed fist when my flash first went to work. It took real force to open those fingers, but I did it and got out a piece of paper. It was crumpled into a tiny ball. I slipped it into my pocket. Then I turned quickly and left the alley.

I didn’t wait for my taxi driver to return. I didn’t need the information that Nick wasn’t at the ‘Egyptian Lure’ and I wasn’t afraid that the taxi driver would mix me up with this bit of murder when it was discovered. Not him. His kind don’t talk. His life was hardly an open book and wouldn’t stand investigation. If the police did connect him with Nick and his business the night of the murder — well — I shrugged my shoulders. It wouldn’t be the first time I had come under an official investigation, and I guess it wouldn’t be the last.

I was five blocks away when I spread open that bit of paper. And there was something in it. The enemy was right in suspecting that Nick had followed them for a purpose; but they were wrong in suspecting that he used his head. Nick always had a bad head for figures. But there were numbers written on that sheet of paper. And I didn’t need any Sherlock Holmes to tell me that the numbers were the licence of an automobile — the automobile that Bernie was carried off in. I felt a little better as I shoved the paper back in my pocket. Bernie was going to see me strut my stuff again — and this time we were going to get action.

I didn’t have much fear that the licence number would be a fake one. They didn’t know that I was in the case until Nick told them — if he did. The enemy had just tracked Bernie down and intended to drag her from her hiding-place. They didn’t suspect she had consulted anyone, and there was no reason for them to believe that they would be watched or followed. That had all come later. They were gentlemen who met unexpected problems when they came to them — met them thoroughly and efficiently. As a witness to that efficiency was the cold, dead body of Nick stretched out in the alley yard.

The next day I had the desired information about that licence. There was a real kick in the foreign label of the lad who owned the car. Doctor Antonio Maderia. It made me rub my hands together. The name was certainly in tune with Bernie’s story and the two gents who had tried to drag her from the night-club. Now, we’d have a slant at the bird with the fancy moniker and see if he’d like to teach me any playful tricks with a knife.

Doctor Antonio Maderia hung his hat in a brownstone front well uptown. There was a sign in the window that modestly designated his profession and pointed out that he saw patients by appointment only. Well — I didn’t have any appointment, but then — I didn’t intend to be a patient.

A female chirped as the door opened.

‘You have an appointment with the doctor?’ And I drew a bit of a shock at the trim little maid who answered the door. I didn’t exactly expect to be greeted by a lad with a blackjack in one hand, a gun in the other, and a knife between his teeth. But I did expect to find a lad who could hold his own in a fight.

She frowned; told me that the doctor was busy over some work, but finally, when I was persistent, agreed to take in my card. I made no bones about that card — there was no necessity for Doctor Maderia to peek through a hole in the door to see who was asking for him. I’m not ashamed of my name, and RACE WILLIAMS stood out like a sore thumb in the centre of the white pasteboard. This doctor would grab himself off an eyeful and no mistake.

Only a minute or two I waited in the hall before he came down. He was a tall, rangy bird, with sharp features and uncertain eyes that were sunk far back in his head. They were dull sort of eyes but for the steel-like points in the centres of them, and he sort of bent his head forward and looked up at me, tapping the card nervously in his hand.

‘Mr Williams,’ he said at length, ‘we will talk in here.’ And I followed him into a little room off the hall. Before he shut the door he pulled up all the shades, flooding the room with light. Then he turned again and looked at me, and looked at the card.

‘ “Confidential Agent”,’ he said after a bit. ‘You are a detective then. You are not going to tell me that something has happened to Bernie.’

Now, you’ll admit that was a good start — the opening words of a man who has nothing to fear. But if it was a monkey wrench he was trying to toss into my works, it missed the machinery. I eyed him placidly.

‘Yes—’ I looked him straight in the eyes. ‘You are her guardian, I believe.’

‘In a way... in a way.’ He tapped his fingers upon the chair. ‘Nothing legal, you understand. She was alone and abroad. Her mother — well, I knew her. She was of my country and she asked me to look after the girl, before she died. She is of age, of course. I have tried to advise her at times.’

‘She lived here with you?’

‘Yes, that is so,’ he said, after a moment’s hesitation. ‘She lived here with me.’

‘And you helped straighten out her mother’s estate?’

‘There was little to straighten.’ He smiled. ‘Stocks and bonds and a savings bank account.’

‘You charged her for such service, of course.’

‘But, no.’ He shook his head. ‘There was really nothing to do. I have enough for my own needs — and her inheritance was trivial.’

‘She told me it was considerable.’ I fired the statement straight at him.

‘So—’ He stroked his chin with long, thin fingers. ‘Perhaps it was to her. And now,’ he broke in before I could fire another question, ‘you have come here, taken up my time and questioned me. May I ask just why I am indebted to you for this visit?’

‘I have come,’ I said, ‘to see Bernie — where is she?’

And he was on his feet at once.

‘Ah—’ His eyes flashed far back in his head. ‘So you waste my time. I tolerated your presence, Mr Williams, because of the girl. I thought you brought information. Now — you would question me. I have helped her and advised her, and she has repaid me by leaving my house suddenly — three days ago. What, might I ask, do you know about her?’

And I quit beating about the bush.

‘I know enough to know that she’s in trouble. I know enough to know that she fears you. And I know that you threaten her with a secret. And I know that she left your house in fear, and that you followed her and found her and carried her away. And I know—’ I stopped suddenly and raised my right hand that was sunk deep in my overcoat pocket. ‘I also know,’ I said very slowly, ‘that if the lad who is so carefully opening that door behind you don’t close it again, there’ll be a mess on the carpet.’

And the door closed with a click — and Doctor Maderia’s face whitened. I had struck my first blow.

‘The maid—’ he stammered, as he turned towards the door.

I stretched out a hand and stopped him.

‘It’s no use, Doctor.’ I took advantage of my first blow and followed it up quickly. ‘I don’t know the whole game, but I know enough of it. The girl did wrong — probably inveigled into it. How you worked it is not my business. How to prove it on you is not my business. I’m here only in the interest of Bernie. Produce the girl — cut the blackmail, and the dead body of Nick is up to the police. Otherwise—’ I finished with a shrug. ‘They bum ’em in this state.’