Roger Torrey - 42 Days For Murder

“He’s a smart egg, Shean! He’s made money when there’s been others starved. He’ll shoot all angles.”

“Hustler, hunh?”

Kewpie laughed. “You should ask. That soft soap of his don’t fool anybody. He owns a good half of the town. No, not that much dough, but he’s well fixed and then some. Part of two banks. This place. A cut in two of the gambling places down town. He’s got a piece of the Rustic, that bar where I first met you. He’s got a dude ranch out in the country and a couple of mines. Rucci is no slouch.”

I said it would seem not. I said: “He seems friendly with Crandall.”

“Crandall’s his lawyer, same as he’s the lawyer for most of the money men in town. Crandall’s good I guess; I don’t know him.”

I said: “Lawyers are good people to stay away from. Let’s get to work.”

Crandall and Mrs. Wendel, the two guards and the two the-less-said-the-betters came in about ten and Rucci led them to a booth almost facing the piano. We had a nice crowd and I was working hard but I still could notice Rucci talking and waving his hands and nodding toward me. Finally Crandall and Mrs. Wendel danced and Rucci came over to the piano. He flagged them down when they pranced by and said: “Mr. Crandall! Mrs. Wendel! I want you to meet Shean Connell.”

I nodded, and kept on playing. Crandall said: “Come on over to the booth and have a drink with us when you get a chance.”

I said thank you... and took them up on it half an hour later.

Crandall was nice... too nice. Mrs. Wendel acted as though I wasn’t on earth, beyond saying: “Hello!” when I first went over. It wasn’t that she high-hatted me; she just ignored me. I was as the dirt under her feet, if actions meant a thing. The two guards were very guarded, saying not a hell of a lot more than she did. The two chippies were swarming over me like bees... and I’d just as soon have had the bees.

I left for the next set of tunes and Rucci came over and shrugged and said: “She is like that, that lady. Very dignified. Very high class. She is rich; she has the guards with her at all times in case of trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

He shrugged again. “Hold-ups, kidnapping, anything may happen to the very rich.”

That was the size of it. The Wendel party left about two, the same as the night before. We quit about four and I went home to find Lester in bed and asleep. Which was rather a surprise; I’d thought his big mama was going to do better than that on her second time out with him.

The three of us, Kewpie, Lester, and I, were eating breakfast the next morning when I looked over at another table and saw Bill Maxwell and Charley Howard. I said to Lester: “Well, good Lord! Two pals. Excuse me.”

Lester said: “Sure. I’ve got a date this afternoon, Shean, so don’t plan on me going with you anyplace.”

I looked at Kewpie and winked and Kewpie looked puzzled. I said: “Those two guys I’ve known for ten years. They’re card dealers. I used to know them when I worked in Eureka. They had a pan game there.”

“Pan game?” Lester asked.

“Panguingi. It’s like rummy, only more so. Like a cross between rummy and coon-can. It’s insanity and slow death. You can’t quit playing it once you start and the house gets all the money because they’re cutting the game so hard.”

Lester lied and said: “I see!” and Kewpie laughed and said: “I’ve played it. I never had a dime all the time I did.”

I went over and said hello to Bill and Charley and they said they were working at the Bank Club, Bill at the Laro bank and Charley back of the crap layout. Lester and Kewpie came over, Lester to tell me he was going back to the hotel and his date, and Kewpie to say he had to see a man about a dog. I waited until Bill and Charley got through eating, then said: “Come out and see me at the Three C Club. I’m working out there.”

They said they would and we walked down the street together. We got almost level with the first National Bank, and I saw Ruth Wendel and the same two guards come out and start toward us. I said:

“Hello!” to the three of them, smiling, and the two guards grunted and stepped in close to her. She looked right through me and kept walking. Bill and Charley and I stared after them, and Charley laughed and said:

“Madge is getting high-hat as hell. She never even spoke to me. I don’t blame her for passing you up, Connell, but I used to know her old man.”

“What d’ya mean, her old man?”

“Her old man. She’s Madge Giovanatti. She used to be with Harry Kieth, when he ran that joint on Post Street. That would be five, no six years ago. I guess maybe she’s forgotten me.”

Bill Maxwell said: “I couldn’t blame her for that.”

I said: “You’re screwy, Charley. That’s Mrs. Ruth Wendel from New York City. I met her last night. She’s got dough in lots. Here for a divorce.”

Charley grinned and said: “Maybe that’s why she didn’t speak to me. I don’t know any New York society women, but this one looks like Madge Giovanatti, I swear.”

“She didn’t speak to me, either, and I just met her last night. She acted as though she didn’t think much of me then.”

Bill said again: “And I couldn’t blame her for that.” They dropped me at the hotel and I told them I’d look in on their games, later on. I went inside, found I’d had no calls and read the city papers through. Then I went down to the Bank Club.

I’d dropped sixty dollars on Bill’s faro bank, and spent four hours doing it, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I wasn’t feeling good about losing the dough, and I swung around and said: “What’s the matter?”

It was Kirby, and he didn’t look as pleasant as he usually did. He said: “I want to talk to you, Connell. Cash in.”

“Suppose I go down to the station after a while? I want to get well. I’m in the game now and it can’t go on like this forever.”

Kirby grinned, but not with any humor in the grin, and said: “Hell, I’m doing you a favor. You’ll get sicker. You can’t beat the bank unless you’re right. Come on now.”

I said to Bill Maxwell: “The law’s got me, Bill. I’ll be back after my sixty pretty soon.”

“I’ll save it for you,” he said, and I followed Kirby out to the street and to his car. I was a bit hot under the collar... I’d a hunch that I was going to start calling the turn about that time. I said:

“Couldn’t this wait, Chief? I hate like hell to have to quit right now. On top of that, I don’t like to have a cop take me out of a place, now or any other time.”

“It can’t wait,” he said.

He drove down to the station and neither of us said a word until we were inside. Len McIntosh was in the Chiefs office, waiting for us, and he drawled out: “Hello, Connell!” I said hello and took my usual seat. Kirby took his and started out with: “I tried to give you a break, Connell, and one for myself along with you. You don’t want to play it that way, hunh?”

“What d’ya mean?”

“I gave you the dope once. I figured you’d play smart, stick here a while and make yourself a fee out of this Wendel. Instead, you bull ahead and put yourself in bad. And me on the pan. I won’t go for that.”

This had me down and I asked him what he meant. He said impatiently: “You know damned well what I mean. You try and bust into that woman on the street and she makes a complaint about it. I understand you wangled an introduction to her last night and I can’t stop that. But this street business! Insisting on talking to her when she doesn’t want to talk to you! That I can and will stop.”

I said: “Now, wait a minute!” and told him just exactly what had happened. That I’d said hello and that was all. That I’d been with two friends, who’d tell him the same if he’d ask them. I said: “It’s like this. I’m here and minding my business. It’s your town and I know it. But I’m damned if I’m going to get railroaded out of it over a thing like this. There’s something screwy about this.”