Paul Cain - Fast One

The driver shook his head. “I don’t know. It was there a minute ago an’ then I looked up an’ it was gone.”

Kells got into the cab, stared through the open door at Beery. His face was hard and white. “We were going to an auto-rental joint over on Los Angeles Street and hire a car and driver to take us down to San Bernardino. But she didn’t know the address — they couldn’t have gone over there.”

Beery said: “Maybe they were in a ‘no parking’ zone and had to go around the block.”

A short gray-haired man came out on the steps of the Police Station and called across to Beery: “Telephone, Shep — says it’s important.”

Beery ran across the street and Kells got out of the cab and followed as fast as he could. That wasn’t very fast; his leg was hurting pretty badly. When he went into the Reporters’ Room, Beery was standing at a telephone, jiggling the hook up and down savagely, yelling at the operator to trace the call. Then he said: “All right — hurry it — this is the Police Station,” hung up and looked at Kells.

The man who had called Beery to the phone glanced at them and then got up and went out into the hall.

They looked at one another silently for a moment and Beery sat down on one of the little desks. He said: “They’ve got her.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know — Crotti and MacAlmon I guess. You’re supposed to do business with MacAlmon...”

“What do you mean, business?” Kells was standing by one of the windows, his mouth curved in a hard and mirthless grin.

“They want their hundred and fifteen, and they want it quick. I don’t know who I talked to — I couldn’t place the voice. He said the price goes up twenty-five grand a day — and they’ll send you one of her teeth every day, just to remind you...”

Kells laughed. He looked out the window and laughed without moving his head, and the sound was cold and dry and rattling. He said: “To hell with it. Where did those saps get the idea she means that much to me? All she’s given me is a lot of grief — I don’t want any part of her.” Beery sat staring at Kells with a very faint smile on his lips. “I’m in the clear — I’ve got mine. I’m going.” Kells went unsteadily toward the door, and then he turned and held out his hand. Beery stood up and took his hand and shook it gravely.

Kells said: “Why, goddamn it, Shep — she’s double-crossed me a half dozen times. How do I know this isn’t another one of those Scandinavian gags? She was Crotti’s gal in the first place...”

Beery nodded slowly. He said: “Sure.”

Kells turned again toward the door. He took two or three steps and then he turned again and limped wearily over to one of the desks, sat down. He sat there a little while staring into space.

Then he said: “See if you can get MacAlmon, Shep.”

Beery smiled, picked up the phone.

There were six men in MacAlmon’s big living room at the Villa Dora. Crotti sat sidewise at a desk against one wall, leaned with one elbow on the big pink blotter that covered the desk. His thick red lower lip was thrust out, curved up at the corners in a fixed and meaningless smile.

There were two men sitting in straight-backed chairs on the other side of the room. One was Max Hesse. He was fat, ruddy-cheeked, blond; his suit looked as if it might have been cut out of a horse blanket. The other man was dark and slight. He fidgeted a great deal. He had been introduced simply as Carl. Kells sat in one of the big armchairs near the central table and Beery sat on the edge of the table.

MacAlmon paced from the door to the table, back again. Kells said: “Certainly not. You haven’t got Granquist here — I haven’t got the dough. Turn her over to me in the open and without any finaygling and you can send anyone you want to a spot I’ll give them, with an order from me. They can call you with an okay when they get the money. Then-we’ll walk.” Crotti moved his fixed smile from MacAlmon to Kells. He said: “You are very careful.” The soft slurred impediment in his speech made it sound like a whisper.

Kells nodded without speaking, without looking at him. Hesse laughed, a high dry cackle.

MacAlmon glanced at Crotti, then stopped his pacing, spoke to Kells: “She is here.” He raised his eyes to the balcony that ran across half one side of the room. He called: “Shorty.”

One of the three doors on the balcony opened and a squat over-dressed Filipino came out and leaned on the balustrade. He tipped his bright green velours hat to the back of his head, stared coldly, expressionlessly at MacAlmon. MacAlmon said: “Bring her down.” The Filipino went back into the room and then came into the doorway with Granquist.

Her hair was loose, hung in straw-colored and angular disorder over her shoulders. Her eyes were wide, unseeing. A white silk handkerchief had been stuffed into her mouth, and her hands were knotted behind her back.

Kells said: “Take that god-damned gag out of her mouth.” He spoke almost without moving his lips.

Beery stood up.

“I am very sorry.” Crotti spoke sidewise to Kells. “She raised a lot of hell...” He nodded to the Filipino.

The Filipino reached up delicately and flicked the handkerchief out of her mouth by one corner. She caught her breath sharply; her eyes rolled up whitely for a second then she closed them and swayed sideways with one hip against the balustrade.

Kells stood up slowly.

Crotti said: “Sit down.”

Granquist opened her eyes and turned her head slowly and looked down at Kells. She opened her mouth a little and tried to speak. Then the Filipino took her arm and guided her down the stair, to a low chair between Kells and Crotti. She sank down into it, and the Filipino took a little knife out of his pocket and reached behind her and cut the twisted cord that held her hands. She leaned back and put her hands up to her face.

MacAlmon walked to the door and back. Crotti asked: “How do you feel, sister?” Granquist didn’t move or show in any way that she had heard.

Kells sat down in the big chair, and Beery sat down again on the edge of the table.

Kells took a thin black card case out of his pocket and removed a card and spoke over his shoulder, to Beery: “Got a pencil?”

MacAlmon had come back from the door and was standing near Kells. He took a silver pencil out of his vest pocket, handed it to him. Hesse got up and went out into the kitchen and came back with a glass of water and put it down on the arm of Granquist’s chair. He tapped her shoulder, smiled down at her. She took her hands away from her face a moment and stared blankly up at him, then she put her hands back over her eyes.

“How many men have you got outside?” Kells glanced at Crotti. Crotti wasn’t smiling any more. His wide-set eyes were very serious.

He said: “Two — one car.” He took a dark green cigar out of his breast pocket, bit off the end, lighted it.

Kells was watching him, smiling faintly. Crotti looked up from lighting his cigar, nodded slowly, emphatically.

Hesse said: “I’ve got just my chauffeur — he is waiting...” Kells put the card down on the arm of his chair, scribbled something on it. He said: “You can send Carl, here” — he jerked his head toward the slight nervous man — “and whoever’s outside after the dough. Berry will go along and tell ’em where to go.” He was looking at Carl. “When you’re paid off, Beery will call us here and you can okay it for your boss.” He nodded at Crotti.

Crotti was smiling again. He said: “All right.”

Carl got up and came over to pick up the card. Beery was at the telephone; he made a note of the number.

Kells went on: “Maybe the spick had better go along too.” The Filipino looked at him coldly. Crotti shook his head.