William Davis - Blackmailed

Jerking the door open, Arnie hauled the man out and slammed him up hard against the rear fender.

"You looking for me?" he growled.

The man who had been trailing him was husky, heavily muscled and Arnie saw that his face bore the marks of many a bout, the gloves of his opponents having cut him, time after time.

"What the hell?" the old fighter snarled, his hand diving into a jacket pocket and coming up holding a snub-nosed pistol.

Arnie grabbed the gun hand and smashed it against the fender of the car. He heard the sickening crunch of breaking bones. The pistol dropped to the ground. The man who had been following him grabbed at his broken hand with a groan.

"Son-of-a-bitch! My hand's broke!"

Reaching down, Arnie picked up the pistol from the pavement and rapped out, "You're lucky that's all!"

"Why'n hell you do that?"

"Why have you been following me… the last two days?" Arnie countered.

"You're crazy! No such thing!" the other groaned.

As the injured man was speaking, Arnie studied his face, his memory clicking. He was almost sure that he knew who the man was.

"Why'd you pull this gun on me… just now?"

"Well, hell… I thought you were a mugger… or something!"

Arnie's memory dredged up a name: Pratt… Ollie Pratt! He had been a welter-weight… one of the top ones. Let me see… maybe fifteen years ago.

"You knew who I was… Ollie!" Arnie grunted.

"You're off your rocker! My name's…"

"Ollie Pratt! Welter-weight… out of Des Moines… right at the top of the weight! You were even the contender for the title… one time… but it looks like the gamblers found your price! What was it… money… women… drugs?"

"Shut up! Damn you!"

"Now… you're packing a gun… and mixed up with a blackmailing thing! Christ! How low can a man get?" There was raw contempt in his voice for the former boxer.

Methodically, Arnie swung open the cylinder of Pratt's snub-nosed pistol and extracted the shells; one by one he tossed them toward the iron grating of a flood-control inlet near the curb. When he was finished unloading the gun, he hurled it into the weeds of a vacant lot opposite Ollie's parked car; then, reaching inside, he removed the ignition keys. They followed the pistol. In the waning light they would be hard to find.

Satisfied that the former boxer, turned gunman and blackmailer, wouldn't be able to follow him now, Arnie told Pratt grimly, "Give this message to your boss, Ollie. I don't scare easy!"

Walking purposefully to his own car, he got into it and left Ollie Pratt standing helplessly where he was, holding his broken hand and cursing through his groans of pain.

p(line).***

Cautiously, Jay Ballard checked all around the immediate area, before he climbed into his Mustang to leave Carla Reynolds' apartment building. There's a damned good chance they might be watching her! Everything seemed to be clear. He drove away.

He had considered the possibility of Carla's being in some danger, and thought, perhaps, she should be in protective custody… But, hell… she might not testify against Ramsey… and if it ever come out in court how I got my information from her… there'd be hell to pay… as far as I'm concerned! So, if she wants to play in the big time… she'll just have to take her chances!

Arnie would have to be told what he'd found out, so far, but the case was still a long ways from being settled. He'd have to have a lot more to go on, before he could take it to the police.

Remembering that the heavyweight fighter was going into L.A. to work out and probably wouldn't be home until late in the afternoon, Jay headed for the air-conditioned comfort of a bar to refresh himself and kill some time, before looking up Arnie's new address.

At about a quarter after six, Jay found the new apartment complex, walked up a flight to the number Arnie had given him, pushed the doorbell and waited, humming a tuneless popular song to himself.

The door opened. He recognized her, instantly. Joan! The other woman… in Carla's place! He stared at her hard.

"Joan…?"

"You!" She started to slam the door in his face.

"Wait!" Jay said, holding the door back. "Are you… Joan Pearson… Arnie Pearson's wife…?"

"What difference would that make?" Again, she struggled to close the door. He saw that she had been crying.

"Wait… Joan… let me explain…?" he implored. "I'm a friend of Arnie's… and I have to see him."

"He isn't here!" Joan snapped. "Goodbye!"

"Look… Joan, it was just an accident… or a horrible coincidence… that you came into Carla's apartment… and it just happened! You know that… don't you?"

"Oh, p-please… just go away…!" she sobbed, tears starting into her eyes, again.

"I've got a pretty good idea… of why you went there…" he began.

"That'd be none of your… b-business!"

"Carla's just like a lot of other prostitutes… you know…"

Joan stared at him, unbelieving. "P-Prostitute…?"

"Yes… didn't you know?"

Mutely, she shook her head in negative disbelief.

"Anyway… she's a man-hater… and gets her real kicks with other women!" he explained. "… And, I gather… you and she had a thing going… and… and I just happened to be there… as a… customer!"

"Oooh, no!" Joan moaned, covering her face with both hands and turning away to slump into an overstuffed chair near the door.

Jay came to stand beside her. Looking down at her pitiable figure, he said, "Arnie'll never have to know… about her… or me… if that's the way you want it. It'll be our secret!"

"Oh, God… I'd just die… if Arnie… ever… f-found out!"

"He won't ever known he promised."

"Really…?" Joan looked up at him gratefully through streaming eyes.

"Really! Just tell Arnie I called him… and have him call me at my office, in the morning… Okay? You don't even have to tell him I was here."

"All right…" She dabbed at her eyes. "What did you say… your name was…?"

"Jay… Jay Ballard…"

As he looked down at her, remembering how she had climaxed under him, just a few hours ago, in Carla's apartment, he felt a surging rekindling of sexual arousal… the beginning of a throbbing erection. He repressed it. Damn it! No! She's so uptight, now… she doesn't know which way's which!

With an exertion of will, Jay forced himself to walk to the door and out; then, he turned and said, "Get yourself all prettied up! Arnie'll probably be here pretty soon… and you'll want to look your best for him!"

"A-All right… Mr. Ballard…"

"Jay!" he said. "And just forget that it ever happened! It was… well… just one of those things!"

He closed the door behind him and left her there. Christ! This changes everything… especially, the fact that she and Carla were having… a lesbian affair! What happens when they try to show her pictures of Arnie's little dalliance with Carla…? Hell! There's no ball game… and they start playing real rough… with Arnie!

Jay drove rapidly along the freeways toward Santa Monica and home. It would be too late for dinner at home, so he stopped for a quick bite along the way. He hadn't spent much time at home the last few days, but tonight, he was determined to spend the whole evening-and night, too-with Betty. Maybe, we can start working things out, now… and right after I finish up this thing for Arnie… we'll take that vacation… together!

Betty's little, foreign car wasn't in the garage, when he parked. His natural thought was that she was out shopping, or visiting with one of her women friends.

His wife wasn't in the living room or the kitchen. Walking back to the bedroom wing, he looked into their bedroom and found it a shambles.