Paul Cain - Fast One

Borg poured peroxide on the leg.

Kells said: “I came out to California with two grand.” He shoved the bills into a heap. There was a little pile of silver left. He counted it with his finger.

“Now I’ve got two — and seventy cents.” He picked up the silver, held it in his palm, smiled at Borg. “Velvet.”

Bernie shouted: “I hope I remember the way back!”

Kells said; “Don’t let that worry you,” stared forward into the fog.

There was a small zebra galloping up and down the footboard. He was striped red white blue like a barber pole; his ears were tasseled, flopped back and forth awkwardly. Then he faded into a bright mist; the room tipped over to darkness. Kells yelled...

Then it was raining outside. Gray...

After a while Kells opened his eyes and looked up at Borg, said: “Hello, baby,” softly.

Borg giggled. He said: “Don’t be sentimental.”

Doc Janis same over and stared bleakly down over Borg’s shoulder. He said: “By God! I never saw such a tough egg.”

Kells blinked at him, closed his eyes. He heard Janis talking to Borg as if from a great distance: “Give him all the whiskey he wants, but no more of this. Understand?”

Kells wondered idly what this was. He mumbled, “Gimme drink a water,” fell asleep.

When he awoke he lay with his eyes closed listening to rain beat against the windows.

He said, “What time is it?” opened his eyes.

Borg and Shep Beery were playing cards on a table in the center of the room. Beery said: “That’s twice I’ve ruined my hand waiting for three hundred pinochle.” He got up and came over to the bed, grinned down at Kells.

“What do you care — you’re not going any place.”

Kells looked past Beery at Borg, looked around the room. He said: “What the hell is this?”

Borg was shuffling the cards. There was a bridge lamp beside the table and the light fell squarely on his fat, pale face. He shook his head sadly without looking up.

“Slug-nutty.”

Beery sat down on the edge of the bed, whispered confidentially: “This is the Palace, Gerry — you’re the Prince of Wales.

“I’m Mary, Queen of Snots.” Borg looked up, smiled complacently.

Kells closed his eyes, said: “Give me a drink.”

Beery reached over and took a tumbler, a big bottle from a stand beside the bed, poured a drink; Kells sat up slowly, carefully.

Beery handed him the glass. “You’ve been out like a light for a few days. We didn’t figure the hotel was a good spot right now so we moved you over here. It’s the Miramar, on Franklin.”

Kells held the glass with both shaking hands, tipped it, drank deeply.

Borg got up, came over and leaned on the foot of the bed.

“Where do you remember to?” he asked. — Kells handed the empty glass to Beery, lay down. “When we got back from the island, I phoned Fenner — and had Bernie get a bottle...”

“Four bottles... And you sucked up three of ’em. I had to practically clip you to get a swallow. You said your leg hurt an’ you wanted to get drunk...”

Kells said: “Sure, I remember...”

“You did.”

Beery chuckled. “Uh huh,” he said. “You did.”

“Then when we got you to the hotel,” Borg went on, “an” into bed, you started having the screaming heebies and the Doc give you a shot in the arm — so you got worse...” Kells smiled faintly. His eyes were closed. “The Doc was running around in circles wringing his hands because he thought the leg was going to gangrene or something. You started roaring for more M, and then when I left you alone for a minute you got up an’ promoted a tube of Hyoscine someplace, an’ a needle...” Borg paused, straightening up and finished disgustedly: “An’ I’ll be god-damned if you didn’t shoot the whole bloody tube!”

Beery said: “Then you began to get really violent — tried to do a hundred an’ eight out the window, wanted to walk across the ceiling — things like that. We smuggled you out of the hotel and brought you over here.” Kells said: “Give me a drink, Shep.” He sat up again slowly, took the glass. “How many days?”

Beery said: “Four.”

Kells drank, laughed, “four bottles — four days... Four’s my lucky number...” He squinted at Borg. “Once I bet four yards on a four-to-one shot in the fourth race on the Fourth of July...” He handed the glass to Beery, sank back on the pillow. “Horse ran fourth.”

Borg snorted, turned and went into the bathroom. Kells looked around the room again. “Nice joint,” he said. “How much am I paying for it?”

“I don’t know.” Beery lighted a cigarette. “Fenner has some kind of lien or mortgage or something on the building — he said he’d take care of the details.”

“It was his suggestion — bringing me here?”

Beery nodded.

“Where is he?”

“Long gone. When you told him Crotti had his confession he scrammed. I got him on the phone just before he checked out of the Knickerbocker and he said he’d call over here and fix it for the apartment — said he’d get in touch with you later.”

Kells smiled. “All the big boys... It’s simply a process of elimination. Fenner and Rose gone — Bellmann dead. Now if we can only angle Crotti into committing suicide...” He paused, glanced at Borg coming back from the bath. “Did Fat, here, tell you all about the island sequence?”

Borg said: “Sure I told him — all I knew.”

“Crotti propositioned me to come in with him on a big play to organize the whole coast,” Kells went on. “Will you please tell me why these bastards keep dealing me in, and then figure that if I’m not for ’em I’m against ’em? First Rose — but that was an out-and-out frame; then Fenner thought he and I’d make a great team. Now, Crotti — and the funny part of that one is I think he was on the level about it.”

Beery said: “It must be the way you wear your clothes.”

“Sure. It’s just your natural charm.” Borg made a wry face, went back to the table and began laying out solitaire.

“Of course Crotti’s got the right idea about organization.” Kells rubbed his eyes — with his knuckles. “But the fun in an organization is being head man.”

Beery said: “The other night at Fenner’s when you were putting on that act for Gowdy, you said you had some friends on the way out here. Was that a gag?”

“Certainly. I wanted to impress Gowdy with my importance to his outfit. You can get my torpedo friends in the East into a telephone booth.”

“Well — if Crotti says war” — Beery got up and went over to one of the rain-swept windows — “we’re sitting pretty...”

“Uh huh.” Borg looked at Kells. “In a pig’s eye. We three, an’ whatever strong-arm strength Gowdy swings — and that doesn’t amount to a hell of a lot...”

“And against us...” Beery turned from the window, stuck his hands deep in his pockets. “There’s all Crotti’s mob — and that’s supposed to be the best in the country. There’s Rose, with his syndicate behind him, and all the loogans he’s imported from back East. There’s the Bellmann outfit. They weren’t very efficient when they blew up the print shop the other day, but you can’t figure from that—”

“And by God! — most of them are in uniform,” Borg interrupted.

Beery smiled faintly, nodded. “Uh huh — we’re in a swell spot.”

Kells was staring at the ceiling. He said: “Now’s a good time to get out.”

Beery looked at Borg; Borg took a toothpick out of his vest pocket, stuck it in his mouth and went back to his solitaire.

“I didn’t mean that,” Beery said. “Only, what are we going to do?”

“Get out.” Kells’ eyes were fixed blankly on the ceiling. “I’ve been pretty lucky up to now. Partly because everybody that’s been against me has figured that the inside would get a big press spread if anything serious happened to me.”