Paul Cain - Fast One

He looked at Beery. “Through you — spread through you, I mean. That doesn’t make it very safe for you.”

Beery was looking at the floor.

“The luck’s beginning to run out,” Kells went on. “I dropped all the dough I’d made since I’ve been out here, on the island, because I was dumb enough to get heroic about that bitch Granquist — and she was Crotti’s plant all the time...”

Beery said: “You didn’t tell me about that.”

“I’m telling you now. She was sent out here by Crotti to look things over — start the organization ball rolling.”

“Well, well. Damned clever, these Swedes.” Beery sat down at the table.

No one said anything for a minute. Beery watched Borg play solitaire. Kells’ eyes wandered again to the ceiling.

“You’re absolutely right,” he finally said. “We’d better take a sneak while we’re all in one piece.”

Beery stood up and poured himself a drink. He waved the glass at Kells. He said: “We’ve gone too far — an’ it’s too much fun. We can still smack the Bellmann administration down — and anyway, these rats don’t know whether we’re strong or not. You’ll be up and around in a couple days — we can count on a hand from Fay, if we need it...”

Borg was staring at the cards. He said, “Sure,” without looking up.

“No.” Kells shook his head slowly. “It’s too tough. You boys have been a great help, but—”

“Shut up! You can crawl out if you want to, but I’ll stick — I’m having a swell time.” Beery grinned down at Kells, gulped his drink.

Borg looked up, said, “Sure,” quietly. He stood up.

Kells laughed. He glanced at the bottle on the bedstand, said: “Draw three, Shep.”

They had dinner sent up from Musso & Frank’s, on the Boulevard.

Doctor Janis stopped by about nine o’clock.

“Two days,” he said — “two more days at least. Then you can go out for a little while, if you take it easy — on crutches.”

Kells was sweating; his eyes burned and he yawned a great deal. He said: “Maybe I’d better have one more load in the arm, Doc — to sort of taper off on.”

“You’ll taper off on whiskey and milk, young fella — and like it.” The doctor put two small yellow capsules on the stand. “If you get too jumpy you can take these before you go to sleep.”

Janis and Beery went out together; Beery was going home. Borg played solitaire for a while and Kells sat up in bed, tried to read the papers.

Borg said: “Denny Faber is still trailing around with Gilroy.”

“You can call him off — Gilroy ought to be okay by now.”

At eleven Borg stood up, stretched, said: “I’m going byebye.” He went into the bedroom — Kells was on the wall bed in the living room. Borg came back in his underwear, got Kells a glass of water, made a pass at tucking him in.

“If you want anything,” he said, “just yell and fire a few shots and throw your shoe through the window. I’m a very light sleeper.”

Kells said he would.

Borg went back into the bedroom and Kells turned out the lights, tried to sleep. He heard the bell in the big church on Sunset Boulevard strike twelve. Rain drummed against the windows, and the wind was blowing.

Sometime around one he got up, hobbled into the bath. He scrubbed his teeth and got back to the bed by using a chair for support, hopping slowly on one foot. He took the capsules Janis had left, washed them down with whiskey and water. He slept after a while — heavily, dreamlessly.

When he awoke he lay rigid for a little while listening to rain beating against the windows. Then a voice whispered close to his ear: “Wake up — darling.”

Kells lay very still, turned his eyes toward the darkness.

Granquist said: “Wake up — darling.”

Kells moved his head until he could see the silhouette of her crouched body against the pale reflected light of the wall.

She spoke rapidly, breathlessly: “Are you all right, darling — can you walk? We’ve got to get out of here right away...”

He smiled a little and raised his head a little and said: “Will you please go away?”

She sank to her knees beside the bed and tried to take his head in her arms.

“Please,” she said. “We’ve got to go quickly. Please...”

Kells put her arms away and sat up and pulled the pillows up behind him. “How the hell did you get in?”

“I put on act for the night man — told him I wanted to surprise you. He came up and let me in with the passkey...”

“Go on — surprise me.”

“Gerry,” Granquist’s eyes were big in the faint light; drops of rain glistened on her small dark hat, her dark close-fitting coat — “I’ve been in an awfully bad spot since you shot up Crotti’s camp. I got away this afternoon when Fenner came out to do business about his confession — Crotti didn’t know anything about it but he let Fenner think he did...”

“What do you mean, Crotti didn’t know about it?” Kells put his hand on her wrist.

“I got to your coat first — I’ve got Fenner’s confession and his certified check for twenty-five thou — and your cash...”

She clicked open a small handbag, took out a handful of crumpled papers and currency, dropped it on the bed. He looked down at it a little while and then he let his head fall back again against the pillow, bent it slightly sideways.

He said: “You’re a strange gal.” He put his hand on her wrist again, held it tightly.

She tried to speak. She got up and walked to the window and then back, sat down on the edge of the bed.

Kells asked: “Why do we have to leave here?”

“Because you haven’t Fenner’s protection any longer — he thinks Crotti has this” — she nodded at the stuff on the bed. “The whole layout is against you now — Crotti, Rose, Fenner, the Bellmann people...”

Kells switched on the lamp beside the bed, unfolded and smoothed out the sheet of Lido stationery with Fenner’s shakily signed confession.

“We have this,” he said. “Fenner hasn’t played ball — I can stick it into him and break it off. And we’ve got around thirty-five grand. We’re in a swell spot to play both ends against the middle.”

“No, Gerry.” Her voice was harsh, strained. “Please, no, Gerry — let’s go away, quick. I’m scared...”

Kells was silent a while, looking at her abstractedly.

Then he said: “The middle against both ends, by God!” He put out one arm and cupped his hand against the back of Granquist’s neck and pulled her to him.

In the morning the sun came out warm, bright.

At about nine-thirty Borg came out of the bedroom in trousers and a green silk undershirt. Granquist had had things sent up from the commissary, was preparing breakfast in the kitchen. Borg leaned against the side of the door and looked at her and then he smiled blankly at Kells, said: “Well, well.”

“From now on” — Kells bent his head a little to one side — “Fenner’s on the other team.”

Borg went to the table and sat down. “I still like your side,” he said — “an’ I want to pitch.”

“You’re not very bright. See if you can get Faber on the phone — tell him to come up here.”

Borg reached for the phone, dialed a number.

Granquist brought breakfast in on a big tray. There was orange juice and an omelette and toast and coffee.

Borg finally got Faber and talked to him a little while, and then he looked up Woodward’s number in the Dell Building, downtown, dialed it, took the phone to Kells.

Kells said, “Hello,” asked for Woodward, and then he said: “This is Kells. If you come out to the Miramar Apartments on Franklin and Cherokee, in Hollywood, I think we might do a little business.” He hung up, smiled at Granquist.