The Case of the Bouncing Betty

by Michael Avallone

  Tommy Chin tried one of his two-teeth missing smiles. It didn’t quite wipe the fear off his fat face.

  “A man as funny as yourself, Mr. Noon, should understand joke. Number One and my humble self were joking–”

  “No good, Thomas. I ain’t deef. So stop bluffing. The mickey finns are no joke. Red wine is perfect for hiding a doctored drink. I had to find out where you stood. So Number One gave me my answer.” I stared at him hard, still finding it hard to believe that this silly looking little old fat man had mixed himself up with murder and narcotics. “You should have stuck to chop suey and fried rice, Tommy. Not as much money in it as narcotics, of course but it’s a helluva better way to make a living.”

  “Narcotics?” Number One sounded as if he had never even heard the word before. “Haven’t you killed enough people yet? Why don’t you leave us alone and go away? We tried–”

  I laughed. So loud and so hard and so suddenly that his face flushed and he shut up.

  “Knock it off,” I said coldly. “Let’s get this straight. You don’t have to stall anymore or kid or clown or play like little kids who don’t know from nothing. I didn’t come up here to just eat chop suey as you so wisely put it a few minutes ago. I’m on to the whole set-up. So forget this all-dumb show and let me ask the questions. The first one is–why did you kill Betty Heck?”

  They were really funny now. They exchanged looks like two high school kids will in the principal’s office when they are shown the brick that was thrown through the library window. But I kept my eyes peeled. Because Tommy Chin had stopped trembling and Number One’s menu had stopped fluttering. They were starting to think about ways and means of getting out from under now that the surprise had worn off.

  “What are you going to do with us?” Number One suddenly demanded coldly.

  I clicked the hammer of the .32 back noisily so they could both hear it. I laughed again.

  “You really have gotten used to the ways of the Western world, haven’t you? You answer a question with a question. Typical dodge of the big businessman. No dice, boys. I’m going to start shooting any minute now. I don’t know exactly when but soon. You can count on it. If you’re smart, one of you will start preparing a confession before I get around to it. Think it over. I’m not going to wait all day.”

  I was bluffing. I had nothing. But they didn’t know that. They couldn’t know that. All they knew was what they could see. And that was the long-barreled .32 in my hand leveled straight at both of them.

  A brief silence held. Minutes seemed to tick off into nowhere. Tommy Chin sweated visibly under the yellow lights of his ceiling, his full, moon face wreathed in un-Oriental lines of worry and doubt. Number One tried to compose himself and acted the part of a wise person who when dealing with a fool resigns himself to waiting.

  I jerked the nose of my gun higher suddenly. Reflexively, they both started. I laughed to help their discomfort along.

  “Come on,” I gritted. “Somebody say something. You, Tommy? You, Number One? My patience is wearing out fast.”

  They looked at each other again. But neither spoke.

  I smiled. I let them see how dead and drawn and un-real a smile can be.

  “I’ll talk awhile more. I’ve got to get some things off my chest. I want to know some definite things too. Like which one of you shot Artel from the roof upstairs and most especially which one of you pushed Betty Heck down those stairs. To hell with the narcotics. The cops will take care of that. Narcotics and murders entitles them to lock you both up and throw the key away until it gets around to the day in the hot seat. And that’s coming to you, boys. Both of you. But I personally want to know who killed Betty Heck. That is my department. I won’t sleep nights if I don’t even that one up.”

  Number One coughed and shifted his feet. Tommy Chin’s eyes shone like marbles in the light of the room.

  “You see, Tommy, it all adds up. You were Artel’s big man–the source of all his pile of contraband. The load that he convinced Bim Caesar he had. That’s why he went to Caesar. That slob knows every dirty angle in this town. He could have helped you move your junk to the customers. At some profit too. Artel knew that. He suggested Bim to you. You agreed. But you didn’t know Artel. A slick con man who’d been ahead of everybody for years. Also a man suddenly in love and about to reform. So Artel saw a chance to get out from under and make a profit too without messing with the law. Artel knew what horsing around with dope could do to his old age plans. So he sucked into Bim Caesar for operating expenses, set the stuff on fire to collect the insurance–oh, I know all about the mattresses too, Tommy. Artel was killing two birds with one stone. He’d get rid of the evidence that could send him to jail and be a big hero to his bride-to-be if she ever found out. The reformed sharp operator. But reforming with class. Tell me, Tommy. How much dough did he milk out of you? Quite enough I expect. A smoothie like the late Mr. A. could talk his way out of a date with a firing squad. But tell me something else, Tommy. Why didn’t you stick to chop suey? Why did you want to tangle with narcotics? Hasn’t the good old U.S.A. been good to you? Believe me, you were the last person in the world I thought of in relation to this case until I put a few things together.” I smiled at both of them. “Am I boring you? Please interrupt me if I am.”

  Number One sneered. “Talk your head off if you like. My father and I will wait until the police arrive.”

  “Stop it, Number One. I like to talk I’ll admit but don’t push me into a corner. I’m still in a shooting mood.”

  Tommy Chin suddenly came back to life. “What do you want of us, my friend?”

  “No more dodges, that’s what. I came in here yesterday looking for a mysterious rifleman who had dropped Artel in my office from your roof-top and all the time the facts were staring me right in the face. Who would it be easier for to get up there and snap one off than someone who works here, lives here, belongs here? It had to be that way. Artel was in my office just a short while. No one knew he was coming except a partner he maybe doublecrossed. Nobody could count on the convenience of your roof except someone who knew your roof, who knew it looked right down into my office. Haven’t your damn neons been ruining my sleep for years? You found out about Artel’s planning a run-out. You can see him go into my office from here. It all happened too fast for someone to come up here from the street, find that perfect killing place and go to work. There weren’t any butts up on the roof or signs of waiting of any kind. Neither of you smoke.” I looked at Number One. “Nice shot, Number One. Even with a high-powered rifle, it was a nice shot.”

  His yellow face seemed to flame. “Are you insane, Mr. Noon? How long do we have to listen to this nonsense?”

  “Sure it’s nonsense. It’s nonsense because you killed Artel for no good reason. He wasn’t going to tip me off to your whole dirty scheme. He just wanted to take Betty home before she hired me to snoop around. I might have spoiled Lover Boy’s plans. But you and your father got panicky and made the jump to the big leagues. Murder. And once you get on that merry-go-round, it’s hard to climb down off the red horses.”

  Tommy Chin’s fat arms were getting to be too much for him. Either that or my voice full-of-facts was too much for him.

  “Please–” he puffed. “My arms–they are as heavy as dragon wings. Pity on an old man–”

  “What kind of pity was it that shoved that poor fat slob down those stairs? You tried to pin it on me with a lousy button off my coat that I must have lost here yesterday. You knew I had the same suit on when I went to see Hadley this morning because you knew I didn’t sleep in my office last night. And lucky for you both, you also knew that the cops kind of had me lined up as the number one suspect. So you just helped things along. I’d be pinned with Artel and Betty’s dead bodies, the cops would be satisfied and you could get around to peddling your stuff when things cooled off. But you didn’t count on Artel’s fire because you didn’t know what that was about. But how much do you know about police lab equipment? They’ll sift t
hat fire and maybe find traces of narcotics. And you couldn’t be sure of Lois Hunt either. So you waited until she was out from under my protective wing and went after her. It would have worked too if you hadn’t gotten such a romantic bastard to do the job.”

  Number One dropped his menu card but I kept my eyes on his face. It was bland now and smiling. The card sailed to the floor like a graceful pigeon.

  “Assuming what you say is all true, Mr. Noon–where precisely are your proofs? There is not a thing you have said that can be substantiated in a court of law. You admit that, don’t you?”

  I wanted to wash the smirk off his face with the gun barrel but I kept myself in check.

  “I can establish connection on your part with the whole thing and that’s all I really want. Then you’re not just a chop suey place just across the street from me. See the difference? Then I get you down to where your clothes and fingerprints and whereabouts the last day or so become very important. But I’ve got other things. I’ve got a bit of your menu–Chin’s Chop Suey Palace–and on the back of it is written Lois Hunt’s name and address. This was found in the pockets of the man sent to kill her. And plus all that I’ve got the statement of a dying woman. And a dead woman. Maybe not enough for a court of law but enough for me. Watch.” I took my free left finger and drew the skin alongside my left eye taut so that it made a slanted miracle of the eye. “Get it. A game we used to play when I was a kid. Slant-eyes for a Chinaman. Slant-eyes for a murderer.”

  I drew a deep breath. “Betty Heck died all right but somewhere in the middle of all the pain and horror of dying, she tagged you with her murder. It was her own Shanghai Gesture. And she was indicating you, Number One. Not your father. He’s too fat and unathletic to have managed to push that hulk down to her death. But you’re slim and strong, Number One. And I find you guilty of murder. I pass sentence because I’m judge and jury all rolled into one this trip. And I liked her. God help me, I liked her.”

  I stopped talking. I brought the gun up higher and deliberately drew a bead on his shiny, yellow face, the sight of the gun just targeted in between his eyes.

  He screeched at what he saw in my face. So did Tommy Chin. I must have looked like an executioner to completely shatter their bland Oriental fronts like that.

  I wasn’t quite sure how I’d carry the bluff through. It all ready depended on them. And just how good I’d made my story.

  Story is right.

  I had an audience. One I didn’t even know I had.

  “Drop it, Noon. And fast. But not fast enough to make it funny. Don’t try anything, either. Or you’re a dead man.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I turned around. The gun in my hand was about as useful as a microscope to a blind man. I dropped it. Fast. It thudded to the floor like the death knell we all hear sooner or later.

  They had me. But good.

  It was like Reunion Day in an Italian family in a Bronx apartment house.

  Bim Caesar’s burly, squat figure was barring the entrance of the chop suey palace. But he had brought everyone else with him. Flanking him was tall, bitter Lon and short, strong-as-a-fire-hydrant Bucky. Bringing up the rear were those most amiable of, torpedoes, Cuba and Velvet. The whole Caesar crowd had come to Chin’s but I could tell by the show of guns in their steady hands that they hadn’t come for chop suey either.

  They moved into the center of the dining room fast like a well-oiled, well-co-ordinated machine. At a quick nod from Bim Caesar, Velvet locked the door and he and Cuba stationed themselves at either side of the barrier. Bim Caesar came forward with Lon and Bucky as escorts, the underworld king with his two flunkies showing. Bim’s thick-lipped mouth was wrapped around the eternal cigar but it wasn’t lighted. His gimlet eyes were hard and cold. I could see he was in a bad mood. I didn’t give two hoots in hell about his mood.

  I tried a smile.

  “Hail, Caesar. Beware the Ides of March. Your income taxes are going to be pretty heavy this year.”

  “Shut up, Funny,” Bim Caesar growled. “I control the show now. I take care of you soon enough. Right now I wanta talk to the laundrymen.” His hard, cold eyes rested on Tommy Chin and his Number One son.

  But they hadn’t moved. Their hands were still sky-high.

  “Put the arms down. We gotta talk. Make yourself comfortable. This might take time. Who runs this place?”

  Tommy Chin’s arms flopped down like lead weights to his side. He was too tired to even go through the formality of a bow.

  “I have that pleasure, sir. Welcome to my place of business. Fortunate for us you came along. This madman–”

  “Save it,” Bim croaked around his cigar. “I know how Noon operates. He’s a smart monkey I don’t like. But he’s smart. I know why he came here. That’s why I’m here. Noon wanted the brains. So do I. Know who I am?”

  Number One coughed in preamble, some of his natural oil returning.

  “Everyone who’s anyone has heard of Bim Caesar. So has my father.”

  Bim favored him with a satisfied glare. Lon and Bucky had their eyes riveted on me. I didn’t like the way they were literally licking their lips.

  “Okay, kid,” Bim chuckled. “We stop horsing around. I’m the certain party your friend Artel was pulling into your deal with the junk. He’s dead. I’m still kicking. I still got the contacts. Tell me where the stuff is so I can put my hands on it and makes millionaires of you both. Play ball with Bim Caesar and you’ll be lighting these things with ten dollar bills.” His sausagey thumb indicated the dead stogie rammed into his thick mouth.

  Tommy Chin looked at his son helplessly. Number One let the ghost of a smile play across his mouth.

  “My father and I will be pleased to do as you say. But you must help us with him.” He turned his onyx eyes on me. “He has dangerous knowledge. Knowledge that can put us all out of business. The police want him for two murders. Mr. Artel’s and the fat lady. We must do something about Mr. Noon before we do anything else.”

  Bim Caesar grunted and a sigh of pleasure burst out of Bucky.

  “Don’t worry about Noon. He’s all set for his cement overcoat. The fish in the East River can have him. Where’s the stuff? I gotta my contacts all set. We can start pushin’ the stuff almost immediately.”

  Number One frowned. “The police have to have a murderer or they won’t be satisfied. He must be found but not in any position to talk, of course.”

  Tommy Chin stirred. “Might I submit, Honorable Son–”

  “Quiet, Father.” There was steel in Number One now. “I’ll handle this from now on. If you had let me have my way, we wouldn’t have had all this confusion. Let me arrange things with Mr. Caesar.”

  But Mr. Caesar was way past his patience.

  “Come on. We make the funny talk later. Have we got a deal or ain’t we? Noon’ll get his. You got Bim Caesar’s word for it. Now where’s the stuff?”

  I laughed. Out loud. I can’t help it. Some conversations tickle me silly. This one was just as funny as the two morons telephoning each other in the middle of the night.

  I got attention. They all stopped planning my untimely doom and stared at me. Bim Caesar didn’t get mad though. He let me laugh myself out and even shook Bucky off me. Bucky who wanted to slap his gun barrel across my smart-alecky face.

  “Noon. You oughta be in show business you’re so funny. Okay. I go for the gag. What’s so funny? You like dying?”

  I stopped laughing.

  “Bim, you surprise me. And the Chin family absolutely puts me in stitches. What have I been doing–talking to myself or is the brain of the late but great Mr. Artel so Macchiavellian and keen that no one else here can appreciate it? Come on, wake up all of you. The punch line is staring you right in the face.”

  Bim Caesar scowled. I could see the wheels turning behind his hairy eyebrows. He hated jokers in the deck and I was forever throwing them in his face. He took a short step toward me.

  “Speak English, goddammit or I’ll have my boys wo
rk you over right here and now so you’re not so funny anymore! Whatta the hell are you trying to say?”

  “Sleep-Tite burned down yesterday, Bim.”

  “So?” His frown was gigantic.

  “Sleep-Tite was Mr. Artel’s place of business. He started the fire. For a few reasons. One of them was fire insurance. Another reason was love. He was going to take off with the snoring brunette here.”

  “Come on. Spit the rest out.”

  “The Chins had turned over their lousy merchandise to him. He sold mattresses. He was reforming, going straight to start life anew somewhere else under the influence of a good woman. Doesn’t that suggest anything at all to you, Bim?”

  “What are you giving me, snoop?”

  I sighed. “The junk is gone. There is no more. It went up in smoke. All that heroin and marijuana and hophead happiness burned up with all those mattresses. Get the picture now? It was quite a fire. Happened last night. I’m surprised the Chins don’t know about it. I’m surprised they killed him before finding out where he’d left the stuff. Unless he told them a phony place and they never suspected him of lying about it.”

  Bim Caesar tried to smile. But it didn’t come off. The tug at his mouth corners became a ghastly leer.

  “You giving it to me straight? No funny stuff? You mean all that junk ain’t no more. I coulda made millions with it, closed that crummy night spot–” He broke off, his teeth biting down on the cigar, his eyes swinging back to the Chin family. “How about it? Is he right? Is that where Artel planted the stuff? Come on. Talk. It’s very important to me.”

  Number One’s face was a study in bewilderment. “It can’t be true. He said that’s what happened but I didn’t believe it. Mr. Artel didn’t impress me as that kind of a man. There was so much profit involved–”

  “Fool!” Tommy Chin hissed suddenly. “Fool! Peddling was not sufficient for my college graduate son! There had to be murder also–”