The Talmage Powell Crime Megapack

by Talmage Powell

“You mean them two?”

  “Yes, that was Alicia Droyster and Doctor Lawrence Jordan.”

  “Jordan! Boss, I told you—”

  “Not so loud!”

  “That sawbones, boss, I’ll give you eight to three—”

  “For heaven’s sake, Willie, stop the deducting.”

  I didn’t say nothing more. But it would sure be a laugh, I thought, if I was right.

  We didn’t have no trouble at all getting into the little storage house. The boss has a fine ring of keys.

  He swung the door open. He shielded his pencil flash with his hand so nobody in the big house up front could see it.

  There was some old furniture and books in the front room, piled all around.

  The boss eased the door shut behind us.

  “What are we looking for, boss?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You what—? You mean we get shot at by Newell, hide from the cops…”

  He grabbed my arm. “Newell? Did you say Newell?”

  “Sure, boss, he was driving that car! I—I was so excited I didn’t think to tell you before.”

  “Newell,” the boss muttered like he had found a present of some kind, “Newell was driving the car, eh?”

  Then he said, “Well, come along, Willie. We’ll still seek our treasure.”

  “For pity’s sake, boss, what kind of treasure?”

  “I told you I don’t know. Now shut up.” He played the light around the room.

  “Well, can’t you just sort of give me an idea?”

  “We’re hunting whatever Jackie, the Great Dane dog, found here. Remember, Willie? The dog came here and barked. Then he vanished. If we find his corpse, or the thing he was after, we have found our treasure.”

  I thought of Bedrock Hannrihan hunting all over town. “I hope we find it.”

  We didn’t find nothing downstairs but a lot of junk. We went upstairs. There were only three rooms here. The first was empty except for dust all over the floor. We walked to the door of the second room.

  The boss threw his light into the room. This room held plenty—too much. I took one look and got sick.

  He was in the middle of the floor, what was left of him, lying on his back. His feet and body looked okay. But his whole head was gone. I shut my eyes.

  When I opened them again, I was sort of sagging against the door, like a fighter hangs onto the ropes. Percival Smith was looking over the headless gent like he might look over a dozen roses.

  I got my stomach well swallowed and took a look myself. He had been a big man. His clothes were dusty and wrinkled. There was no blood around on the floor.

  Smith said, “Know him?”

  “Maybe—if I could see his face.”

  The boss laughed. I tried a grin.

  “This lovely specimen, Willie,” Percival Smith said, “is our old friend—Mark Droyster!”

  That knocked the sickness out of me. “Droy—you’re telling me that’s Mark Droyster? It couldn’t be! Droyster was buried yesterday!”

  “Not actually.” The boss held out his hand, shined the light on it. On his palm was a ring and a small blue book. “Droyster’s ring, Willie. I just took it off the corpse.”

  “And the book?”

  “A bank book. It was on the floor, under the small of his back. I got it while you were taking a count. It’s a very interesting book.”

  I said, “Uh huh?”

  “It shows a withdrawal of fifty-seven thousand dollars made three days ago by Droyster.”

  I whistled. “This sure gums up things, boss. Anybody most would kill for that much money.”

  “Yes, it is a complication. Unknown to the world, Droyster possessed a fortune three days ago.”

  “But why is his corpse here, boss?”

  “You can play Sherlock on that if you want to, Willie.”

  I said, “Uh huh.” I pointed at the corpse. “And that’s why the dog came here.”

  “That’s right. He came and barked. The murderer, for his own purposes, had taken Droyster’s corpse from the casket. The casket, due to the condition of the body, was never opened. The dog came here, found Droyster, and the murderer did something to the dog to silence him. Mrs. Droyster came and looked, but not very well. However, she did scare the killer off. He’ll have to return and dispose of this body.”

  “Well,” I said, “I don’t understand every bit of your lingo. And I’m in one fine muddle. But if the killer has to come back, why can’t we lay for him here?”

  “In the first place he might fool us and not return. And in the second, we’ve got to find the murderer before Hannrihan finds us.”

  Even the mention of it made my mouth get dry. “Let’s not talk about Hannrihan, boss.”

  We started back down the stairs. The boss turned off his light.

  I whispered, “Where do we go from here?”

  “Where would you like to go? Take your pick. You have Alicia Droyster, Doctor Lawrence Jordan, an absent bookie named Pete Lorentz, and our friend, Al Newell, to choose from.”

  “Let’s see the sawbones!”

  “Later. First we’ll see Newell.” He started to open the front door. “And, Willie, you can begin to earn your pay. I’m whistling for you now. We might have to beat the truth from Newell.”

  “Lead me to it!”

  He pulled the front door open.

  I said, “I’ll wring Newell’s neck, boss. I’ll break him in two. I’ll…”

  “Do nothing of the kind!” a voice said. Somebody else had a pencil flash. They threw it on us, standing so the light couldn’t be seen from the big house.

  Percival Smith said, “Hello, Newell.”

  “Hello, Smith, I’ve got a gun. So be careful. Now get back inside. I don’t want snoopers from the house.”

  Newell moved from the yard to the porch. I could see his face above the flash.

  Just like he was asking Newell in for a drink, Smith opened the door with his passkey.

  “Go on in,” Newell said. He took a step toward us.

  There wasn’t nothing to do but backpedal. Newell herded us to a back room. He didn’t get close to us. He wasn’t taking chances.

  “Smith,” he said, “I had a devil of a time trailing you down here. In fact, I’ve been having a devil of a time all night—and just because of you.”

  “That,” Percival Smith said, “is mutual. That was a very smart trick, Newell, putting the remains of Joe Dance in my office and calling the bulls.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Smith? You’re nuts!”

  “Am I? Joe Dance worked for you. He was about to tell me a few things about Droyster’s death. You inherited a very rich dog track from Droyster and you were afraid Dance would spoil it by talking.”

  Newell brought his gun up a little. I wished I could get some moisture in my mouth. Newell said, “So you know about the track?”

  “Of course, what do you think I do with my time, knit? How much does the track payoff, Newell? Ten grand a month? Enough to commit murder for?”

  “All right,” Newell said in a sort of ice-like voice, “I’ll show you my hand—since I’ve got the gun. The track does payoff plenty. Mark Droyster never knew, because I kept the books and he was tied up in a dozen other different places. But I didn’t kill him or Joe Dance.”

  “And you trailed us all the way down here to tell me that?” Smith said.

  Newell laughed. “Don’t be funny. I came here to do what I tried to do earlier tonight.”

  The boss just said, “Yes?” but my knees were banging together. I looked at Newell’s gun. It must be awful lonesome, I thought, with six feet of dirt over your face. But I couldn’t get close to Newell, not close enough to do nothing.

  The boss said, “Earlier tonight you tried to kill us, Newell. Now you say you are going to finish it. Yet you claim you are a very innocent boy. I think you are a very funny boy. You tried to make me and the police think you were drunk this afternoon, when Dance’s corpse w
as planted in my office. You—”

  “I was drunk, if you must know. I was in jail until just a few minutes before I found you and Gargantua in the alley.” He leveled the gun at Smith’s head. “I think you know too much, Smith. Maybe I should knock you off.”

  “You tried hard enough once already,” I said.

  Newell laughed. “Tried? There in the alley? That’s a joke. If I’d tried, you wouldn’t be kicking now.” He threw the light toward the boss. “No, Smith, I don’t want to kill you. In the alley tonight I merely tried to wing you, lay you up for a few days with a bullet in the leg. Or maybe scare you off the Droyster case. But I didn’t really expect that. You’re too dumb to keep your nose clean.”

  Smith said, “Perhaps you need another drink, Newell—to sober you up. What are you driving at, anyway?”

  “I’ve decided to change my tactics, Smith. Instead of putting you and that baboon in the hospital, I’m going to buy you off this case.”

  The boss rubbed his hands together. “How interesting!”

  “Two grand, Smith, to forget Droyster’s suicide?”

  “Gracious!” Percival Smith said. “Willie, we must choose more generous company. We’ll settle for four thousand, Newell.”

  “You’re a fool, Smith!”

  “Four thousand?”

  Well, I’d never thought the boss would do that. I’d sooner look at Newell’s gun than have Smith do this kind of business. “Cripes, boss, don’t do it! We—”

  Newell said, “I must be crazy, but I’ll give you three grand.”

  “It’s a deal,” the boss said.

  That must have made Newell happy. He laughed. “I’ve heard different about you, Smith, but I guess you like dough as well as the next one.”

  “Money is money, no matter what type hand handles it.”

  This was slaying me and I’m not kidding. Me and Smith maybe don’t do everything real gentle, but having him do this was like finding out there is no Santa Claus. “Boss…”

  Newell threw the light more on me. “The gorilla doesn’t like your way of working, Smith.”

  “He will,” the boss said, “when I whistle.”

  I got it then. Newell put the back end of the pencil flash in his mouth. He still kept his light on us, but having the flash in his mouth freed his left hand. He used the hand to drag out a pocketbook that was just about busting with dough. He put the pocketbook between his knees. He got three one grand bills from it with his left hand. I was set.

  Newell moved closer to hand the three grand to the boss.

  He let the gun point away from me a little. That was bad. I was on my toes, just like in the good old ring days. The boss reached out for the three grand. He whistled real soft between his teeth.

  I let go. It was a wallop that would have floored the champ ten or twelve years ago. Newell saw it coming, tried to swing the gun. The gun got all tangled up in the boss’ fingers. My knuckles smashed Newell’s cheek and the flash popped out of his mouth. He staggered, but he hung to the gun.

  The boss twisted. I stepped in and hit Newell again. It was fine. The punk nearly left the floor. He sailed clear across the small room. I heard him hit the floor.

  The boss picked up the flash, threw it on Al Newell.

  Newell made a couple of tries and got his pins under him. The boss kept the gun on Newell. I picked up the slim punk’s dough, put it back in the pocketbook, and handed it to him.

  His eyes were nasty looking in the light from the flash. “I’ll remember this, Smith!”

  “Tish, tish, such talk—when I’ve got the gun.” He cocked his head, looked at Newell a minute. “It will be a shame, Newell, a downright shame.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That face of yours, it’s so handsome.”

  Newell lost some of his fire. “Listen now, Smith…”

  “Willie will make mincemeat of you, Newell—unless you tell us the whole story of the guy in the closet.”

  “Now look here, Smith! You’d better watch your step. It wouldn’t be healthy if you set that gorilla on me!”

  “Indeed it wouldn’t—for you. Come now, tell me. You killed Droyster to get the dog track, didn’t you? Dance found out and you killed him to cover it.”

  “No, Smith, you’re all wrong.” He was sort of having trouble with his voice. It kept shaking like a hula dancer. “I swear you’re wrong! I didn’t even know Dance was dead until my lawyer came to headquarters tonight to get me out of jail.”

  The boss didn’t say nothing for awhile. Then he said, “Okay, Al, if that’s the way you want it. How many of your boys are outside?”

  “None, Smith, I came alone.”

  “Very well. We can’t stay here all night. If you want to be stubborn, we’ll have to have a little tea party someplace. Would you like some tea, Willie?”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  “No, Smith, don’t do it.” He was nearly crying.

  “Take him in tow, Willie,” the boss said. “And if he gets away, I’ll have your hide.”

  I grabbed Newell by the shoulder. He was scared silly. He let me turn him around. I got his left arm in a hammer hold. I got my gun in my other hand and planted it in the middle of Newell’s back. He was in a bad way.

  The boss turned off the light. “Let’s go.”

  We went out the front again. I almost had to hold Newell up while the boss locked the door. We were out on the porch of the little house. The moon was playing around behind clouds.

  “Listen, Smith,” Newell begged, “I’ve seen a couple of guys you have worked over and I don’t want it. I’ll tell you all about Droyster, if you’ll make this elephant turn me loose. You’re right, it wasn’t suicide. It was the most fantastic—”

  And that’s as far as he got. Somebody in a patch of bushes not ten feet away had a gun. He used it. It sounded like an earthquake, the gun going off. Newell slammed into me when the slug hit him. Then the somebody made a quick take off out of the bushes. Before me or the boss could get our roscoes going, the somebody was already around the corner of Droyster’s big house and gone.

  Smith snapped, “We’ve got to get out of here.” Lights went on in the big house. “Hurt bad, Newell?”

  “In the side.”

  “Let’s get the guy, boss,” I said.

  “We’d never catch him now. Better let Newell go, Willie, he should get to a doctor.”

  A door slammed up at the big house. Somebody yelled. More lights went on.

  I turned Newell loose. He wobbled off, nearly on his last legs.

  “You and me, boss?” I said. We were already legging it across the lawn.

  “We’re going on a little errand. Too bad we couldn’t have hung onto Newell. But if we had tried, he might have died on us.”

  “What kind of errand, boss?”

  “We’re going to dig a grave, Willie.”

  CHAPTER IV

  Me and the boss shinnied over the iron fence that was supposed to keep people out of the graveyard. I didn’t much want to move when we got inside the fence. There wasn’t nothing but tombstones and graves all around. The way the moon was shining didn’t make them look any better.

  “Do we just have to do this, boss?”

  “Of course. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing—I guess. I sort of would like to get out of here, though.”

  He laughed and gave me a push with his hand. I wished I could laugh. I wonder what it is like to have a regular job so you can sleep at night instead of messing around in graveyards with a killer loose someplace and the cops just praying for a chance to get you in the little room at headquarters.

  I followed the boss. He looked at tombstones every little bit. Finally he pointed to a big chunk of some kind of fancy stone, marble, I guess.

  “This is it, Willie. Start digging.”

  We had gone by Smith’s apartment on the way down here. The boss had found a short-handled spade way back in a closet. He had once used the spade for flower beds, but w
e wasn’t planting petunias now.

  He handed me the spade. I took off my coat, wiped the sweat off my face, and went to work.

  I was about three feet down when I heard the voice. “What are you doing there?”

  Then a light smacked me. I turned around gentle-like. I couldn’t see the guy holding the light.

  He said, “Are you the same one that was here last night?”

  I shook my head. Where in hell was Smith? I took a step toward the light.

  “Hold it!” the guy said. “I’m the caretaker here and I’ve got a gun on you. One more move and I’ll give it to you.”

  He wasn’t kidding.

  He went on after a minute, “What’s so interesting in that grave, anyway?”

  What the devil could I say? I didn’t know what he was talking about even if my throat and tongue hadn’t been so numb.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” he growled. “Last night somebody came here and now you. Why?”

  I shook my head again. Damn that Smith!

  Then I saw the shadow behind the caretaker. Smith hit him hard with his automatic. The sound of the gun on the caretaker’s skull sort of made me sick. He dropped his light and fell on the loose dirt I had dug.

  “Cripes, boss, I was wondering…”

  “Where I was? Merely taking care of you, Willie. That headstone over there made a nice hiding place.” He looked down at the caretaker. “Someone here last night, eh? How interesting!” Then he told me, “Keep working, Willie. This is no holiday.”

  I went back at it. It was hot work. The closer I got to the coffin, the hotter it seemed to get.

  I got the lid off the pine box with a screwdriver the boss had brought along. I handed the lid up to him. He was getting all in a huff.

  “Hurry, Willie! Get busy—open the casket!”

  That took longer. My hands had too much sweat on them to do what Smith wanted them to do.

  This had been one more night, I thought. Nothing could floor me now. But when I opened that casket, I damn near passed out.

  The moonlight that came into the grave made things plain enough to see. I wish it hadn’t. There was a Great Dane dog stuffed in the casket. Blood was all over the inside, on the shiny white cloth. Somebody had cut the dog’s throat wide open…

  Smith got down in the grave so fast I thought he had fallen. He pushed me back, which was fine, and started messing around in the casket with his hands. I shut my eyes on that.