James Chase - The Guilty Are Afraid

After I had given my evidence, I had returned to my seat beside Greaves. I asked him if he knew who the two glossy-looking men were.

“They’re from Hesketh’s office,” he told me. “The biggest and smartest attorney on the Pacific Coast.”

“Would he handle Creedy’s business?”

“There would be no one big enough except him to handle it.”

“Know who the blond dude is over there with the pencil at his nose?”

Greaves shook his head.

“Or the girl at the back?”

“No.”

As soon as the Coroner had gone, the blond gentleman slid out of court with no more commotion than water makes leaving a sink.

The two glossy men went over to Rankin and talked for a minute or so before leaving. While I watched them, I missed seeing the girl in grey leave.

Greaves said he would take the bus back. He added he hoped I would keep in touch with him. We shook hands and he went off.

The two glossy men went away and that left Rankin and me alone in the court room.

I went over to him.

“Anything new?” I asked.

“No.” He looked vaguely uneasy. “Not yet. I still can’t get a line on that icepick.” He took out a cigarette and began to fidget with it. “We’re now digging into the girl’s background. She may have been a dark horse.”

“Yeah? Suppose you dig into Creedy’s background,” I said. “That might pay off. Were those two guys representing him?”

“They just looked in to pass the time. They have a case on now, and they were a little early for it.”

I laughed.

“Is that what they told you? You don’t fall for that, do you?”

“Well, I can’t stay here talking to you. I have work to do,” he said, his voice curt.

“Did you see the blond boy in the grey suit? Know who he is?”

“He works at the School of Ceramics,” Rankin said, looking away from me.

“That’s interesting. What’s he doing here?”

“Maybe Hahn sent him down,” he said vaguely. “Well, I’ve got to get moving.”

“If you want me, I’m staying at Arrow Point. I’ve got me a little bungalow out there.”

He gave me a curious stare.

“There’s only one bungalow out at Arrow Point. I thought it belonged to Margot Creedy.”

“So it does. I’ve rented it off her.”

Again he stared at me, started to say something, changed his mind, nodded and went away. I gave him time to leave the building, then I went out to the Buick. The time was now half past four. I asked a policeman who was airing himself on the edge of the kerb where the Courier’s offices were. He directed me as if he were doing me a favour.

I got over to the Courier’s offices a few minutes to a quarter to five. I told the girl at the reception desk that I wanted to talk to Ralph Troy. I gave her my business card and, after a five-minute wait, she took me down a passage into a small office where a man was sitting behind a crowded desk, a pipe in his mouth. He was a big man with greying hair, a square jaw and light grey eyes. He pushed out a big firm hand over the litter of his desk and shook hands.

“Take a seat, Mr. Brandon. I’ve heard about you. Holding called and said you might look in for a talk.”

I sat down.

“I haven’t much to talk about right now, Mr. Troy,” I said, “but I wanted to introduce myself. Maybe in a little while I’ll have something for you. I understand that if I give you some facts, you’ll print.”

He showed big, strong white teeth in a wide smile.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he said. “I aim to print the truth and only the truth, and that’s the only reason why I’m still in business. I’m glad you looked in. I want to put you wise to this town. You’ve heard Holding sound off, now it’s my turn.” He eased himself back in

his chair, puffed smoke at the ceiling, then went on, “There’s an election for a new term coming along in a month’s time. The old gang who have been in power now for five years have got to get back into power or sink. And when I say sink, I mean just that. The only way these boys can keep alive is to continue to keep their paws in the gravy. Take the gravy away and they’re finished. St. Raphael City is one of the biggest money spinners on the Pacific coast. Even without the rackets, it would still make money. It’s the rich man’s stamping ground. There’s everything here. There’s no other place outside Miami that offers so much for the millionaire who wants to relax. This town is in the hands of the racketeers. Although Creedy owns a little more than half of it, even if he wanted to, he couldn’t keep the racketeers out. It so happens he doesn’t give a damn one way or the other so long as his holdings pay off. He isn’t a bad man, Mr. Brandon. Don’t get that idea into your head. I’m not saying he isn’t a greedy one. He wants a return for his money. If the racketeers push up the value of his holdings as they are doing he isn’t objecting. So long as the Casino, the gambling ship, the various night clubs, the five movie houses, the theatre and the opera house, all of which he has financed, pay off, he isn’t worrying his brains that the racketeers, the chiselers, the con men, the dope traffickers and the vice boys don’t cut into his profits, he leaves them alone, and they are smart enough to know it. This town is riddled with vice and corruption. There’s scarcely an official in the Administration who isn’t collecting a cut from somewhere.”

“And Judge Harrison plans to put all that right?” I asked.

Troy lifted his bulky shoulders.

“That’s what Judge Harrison promises to do if he gets elected, but he won’t, of course. I’m not saying there won’t be a token clean-up: there will be. A number of the minor vice characters will get tossed into the can. There’ll be a certain amount of flag waving and a hell of a lot of talk, then, after a month or so, the big boys will flex their muscles and everything will be back as it was. The Judge will find his bank balance has suddenly mysteriously increased. Someone will give him a Cadillac. He’ll find it is that much easier to let things go on without interference: for Creedy read Harrison, otherwise it will be the same old racket. It’s the system, not the men. A man is honest just so far, but if the money is there, then he can be bought. I’m not saying every man can be bought, but I know damn well Harrison can be.”

“I was under the impression that Creedy was the boss of the rackets. If he isn’t, then who is? “

Troy blew more smoke before saying, “The man who uses Creedy’s money and who really runs this town is Cordez, the owner of the Musketeer Club. He’s the boy. He’s the one who will still be here if Creedy drops out and Harrison takes over. No one knows much about him except he is a slick operator from South America who arrived overnight and who seems to have a natural talent for making profit out of any kind of racket. If Creedy’s big business, then Cordez is big rackets. But make no mistake about this: Creedy is just a song at twilight compared with Cordez. If anyone could pull the rug from under Cordez’s feet, this town would be free of the rackets, but no one is big enough.”

“Let me get this straight,” I said. “The Musketeer Club isn’t Cordez’s only asset, is it?”

Troy smiled grimly as he shook his head.

“Of course not. He uses Creedy’s money to make himself money. Take the Casino as an example. Creedy financed the building and gets the house stakes, but Cordez also gets twenty-five percent as protection money. Creedy financed the gambling ship. He reckoned it would bring in the tourists. It does, but Cordez is there to pick up another twenty-five percent. If there was no payoff a bomb would go off in that ship. Those who run the ship and the Casino and all the other money spinners know that so they pay up.”