by Jerry eBooks
“We’re going down. You’re staying straight up, between me and the window,” Charlie breathed. “Start moving.”
Jake moved. Yet as he moved he knew. He was going to die. It would be a shot from the window . . . or it would be later . . . somewhere . . . when Charlie pulled the trigger on his gun! It had to be sometime . . .
He swallowed the sweat from his lips. He caught a glimpse of the dark concrete below. Through his mind went a picture of Jean . . . the memory of her hair . . . he saw the four aces again . . . he remembered a trip to Coney Island . . .
This is what you think when you die, he told himself crazily. But when you die, it hurts just the same . . . one way or the other . . . If I die now, it won’t hurt anymore . . .
Then a bullet sang past his head. The gun-blast followed, thundering from above him. One more time, he realized . . .
He took his breath. He gathered his muscles. His fingers locked on the rail. Then he kicked his legs from beneath him! Kicked them backward toward Charlie . . . toward the gun against his spine—
There was a grunt, a scream, and then—a roar. A finger of cold fire drilled into his side. There was a scrambling scraping rasp of finger-nails on the steel railing . . . then there was a wilder, tortured scream that seemed to drop away. It ended in a sodden crush.
Jake was still clutching the railing as he sagged down. Yet he still could see. On the dark concrete below lay the formless, crumpled mass of flesh and bone that, but a few moments before, had been a killer.
“Don’t . . . don’t shoot him!” the girl’s voice wailed from above. “Not that man . . . it was the other man . . . I heard them talking . . .”
Jake almost smiled. There wouldn’t be another shot from up there . . . yet, as he sank down on the steps, he thought of the irony. If Charlie hadn’t framed him as the killer, the cabby wouldn’t have brought the police . . . he wondered if Charlie had thought of that before he died . . .
It was cool and white in the room. Jake could hear the man speaking: “. . . quite all right to talk to him now . . .”
And then, into the horizon of his vision came Jean. She smiled at him anxiously. “Jake . . . you’re all right?”
He blinked. His lips felt funny—he felt funny all over . . . light and far from earth. “I . . . don’t know,” he experimented with his words. “You tell me.”
Then she grinned. “I’m going to. About playing poker anymore,” she began. “Don’t you think—”
“Honey,” he said slowly, “I think the game is a little too fast for me . . .”
ONCE THERE WAS A WOLF—
Bert Collier
The kid was safely on ice—a valuable property of the State, and on whose safety depended the lives of half a dozen people. That was just when Jimmy the Fixer sprung him, for the sake of the Girl in Red, and for the pleasure of the killer who might keep his freedom—if the kid’s mouth was sealed in hot lead.
The girl wore red. Now there are some women who can wear red and don’t and some who can’t and do. This one could, and did. She had a pert red hat, a red suit, and white shoes with slim red heels. She had everything that went with an outfit like that, including the cute little mole on her neck.
She looked at Jimmy Jamaica and flicked her eyelids, and Jimmy cut loose with his slow chuckle. “It’s not often I have a client as pretty as you, Miss Perry.”
Miss Perry’s face curled in a grimace of apology. “You’re going to hate me when I tell you I’m not a client,” she murmured with just the right hint of regret. “I’ve come to ask you for a favor—a perfectly huge favor.”
“If it’s in my power,” Jimmy told her gallantly, “consider it done.”
She gave the impression of bowing her thanks. She said, oddly casual, “I want you to get the police to release Red Eckhart in your custody for about four hours.”
Jimmy’s face gave no clue to his astonishment, but the long, low whistle was expressive. “You don’t want much, do you?” he grunted.
“Oh, Mr. Jamaica,” she cried pleadingly, “let me tell you why, first.”
“Go ahead, but make it good!”
She seemed helpless, yet her eyes were eloquent. “I’m a volunteer worker in a mission down on Bay street.” Words tumbled out as she hurried to forestall his refusal. “Red Eckert’s grandmother is one of our clients—we’ve been helping her with food and clothes, and a little rent money. You see, she’s been sick and can’t work and Red hasn’t been a very good grandson. Runs around with a rough crowd—but she loves him, Mr. Jamaica. You know how grandmothers are.”
“Sure,” Jamaica grinned sardonically, “having been one for years.”
She seemed close to tears. “Please don’t make fun of me! Mrs. Eckhart had a stroke today, and she’s begging for Red.”
Jimmy’s lips puckered in thought and his fingers drummed the desk. In his long fight upward from Jimmy the Fixer, ambulance chaser, to “Mr. James J. Jamaica, our leading attorney,” as the newspapers called him now, he had learned to judge people, and this visitor inspired him with a mixture of interest and caution.
“Why don’t you go to the police?” he asked softly.
“I did!” she cried with the same eagerness. “I went right to Chief Gross. He only laughed and said even Jimmy the Fixer couldn’t get that guy out of that jug!” She looked at Jimmy with a dismayed blush. “I’m sorry! I was only quoting his exact words.”
Jimmy laughed. “No apologies, Miss Perry. I’m proud of that name. After all, that’s why you came here, isn’t it?”
The girl seemed embarrassed.
“Well, isn’t it?”
She nodded, crimson. “I know you think I’m a stupid little fool, coming to you with a request like this, Mr. Jamaica, but, well—I think a lot of old Mrs. Eckhart and I’d feel terrible if she died without seeing her grandson. I tried to work it out with the police, but they just laughed. And then I remembered all the things I’d heard about you—how you like the hard jobs, and sort of make a hobby of helping people, and I thought—” Jimmy detested praise or flattery. He demanded in harsh irritation:
“Do you know why Red Eckhart is in jail?”
“I heard it was some kind of a pistol charge,” she replied in vague tones.
Jamaica laughed softly. “I’ll tell you a little story, Miss Perry. There’s a character around town named Carl Braniff. Know him?”
Her eyes widened. “A-a gambler, isn’t he?”
“Carl’s about the most vicious criminal we have,” Jimmy went on. “He has, to coin a sparkling phrase, been getting away with murder. But no longer. Chief Gross and the District Attorney have got him at last—a nice little murder charge that will stick in court. The only trouble is, they can’t locate Braniff.”
“But what’s that got to do with Red?”
“Red Eckhart,” intoned Jamaica, “is the murder case!”
Miss Perry was startled. “Please don’t think I’m an idiot—” she began.
“Red Eckhart is a material witness—the only material witness against Braniff. If Braniff could get rid of him the murder case would collapse. He’s got to get Red, or go to the chair. Now, do you understand why the police are keeping Eckhart under cover?” Miss Perry began to cry. There was no audible sound but the corners of her mouth twitched and when she blinked her eyes two large tears spilled over.
“They told me you could do it,” she whispered. “They said you could—could do the impossible! Even Mrs. Eckhart had such faith in you. She looked so happy when I told her I was coming to see you. When I tell her you wouldn’t, it will p-p-probably k-kill her. Can’t you, Mr. Jamaica? Can’t you?”
Jimmy Jamaica felt acutely uncomfortable, staring at the girl’s bent shoulders as she ducked her head and dabbed at her eyes with a wisp of handkerchief. There was a long, anxious silence. He said suddenly:
“Okay, little Red Riding Hood. Meet me in front of the city jail in an hour.”
Jimmy Jamaica was famous for acting on impulses.
/> Police Chief Gross’ eyes seemed strangely blue in their deep sockets. He stared at Jimmy Jamaica. “Let me get it straight, Jimmy,” he drawled in amazement. “You mean you want me to release Red Eckhart in your custody?”
“What’s strange about that?”
“Are you kidding?” Gross growled suspiciously. “Red’s vital to our case against Braniff and, until Braniff is under lock and key, we’re going to keep Red that way.”
“I’m giving you my word I’ll get him back.” Gross seemed tired. He said somberly, “You would put it on that basis, Jimmy. I’ve known you for twenty years. I’ve seen you come up from nothing to the top. I know those so-called ethical boys look down on your methods, but break their necks to settle out of court when you’re on the other side. You’ve got where you are through two things—you’re always willing to give the other guy a break, and you’ve never failed to keep your word. If you say you’ll have Red here in four hours, he’ll be here. But I can’t do it, Jimmy.”
“You think I’m sticking my neck out, don’t you?”
“About three miles further than it’s safe,” Gross declared earnestly. “Braniff’s desperate. We’ve got hooks in him and he knows it. He’s got to shut Red’s mouth, and it would just be an incident if he has to kill you, too. I can’t afford to let Red go wandering around town, even for you.”
“But it’s not for me,” Jimmy insisted. “It’s for an old woman who may not live through the night—and a cute little trick in a red hat that cried on my shoulder,” he added with an honest grin.
“Damn you!” Gross cried. “You can talk me out of more than my wife. Okay! I’ll give you an escort of toughies with riot guns.”
“And tell the whole town Red is out visiting? This job calls for quiet, Chief.”
Gross shook his head. “I ought to kick you out, Jimmy, my boy. After all these years, you are a sucker for a red dress.”
“You’re too old to understand,” Jimmy bantered.
“I’m old enough to know where it gets you.” Gross pressed a button on the desk and told the young cop who responded to bring Red Eckhart. “And for God’s sake be discreet!” he roared with a worried frown.
Red was not a bad-looking kid. He was fair, in keeping with his flaming thatch, and he walked with a swagger, as if he owned a good slice of the world. He had a friendly, cock grin.
“Hello, Mr. Jamaica,” he greeted, shaking hands. “Don’t tell me you’re taking my case.”
“You don’t need a lawyer, son,” Jimmy responded. “This is personal—a bit of bad news, I’m afraid. Your grandmother—”
“Don’t tell me Carl Braniff—”
“No, no,” Jimmy assured him. “Nothing like that. She’s sick.”
“Serious?”
Jimmy nodded almost imperceptibly. Red cried, “I can’t believe it. I left her spry as a cricket.”
“She’s asking for Red. Do you want to go with me?”
Red whirled to Gross, his face lined with worry. “It’s okay?” he demanded.
“Jamaica talked me into it,” Gross muttered. “I’m letting you go if you promise not to get out of his sight. I’m holding him personally responsible for you, Red.”
“Check!” Eckhart snapped. “Let’s get going.”
As they moved to the door Gross caught Jimmy by the sleeve. “You got a gun?” he whispered.
Jimmy, shaking his head, smiled at the chief. “Watch your blood pressure,” he breathed.
“You soft-hearted fool! You bring Red back here by 11 p. m. or—”
“Or what, my worried friend?”
“Or I’ll probably be busted by the police commission for kicking away the star witness in the Braniff case,” Gross ended ruefully.
Jimmy patted his shoulder.
Taking Eckhart by the arm, the lawyer led him into the street. The sun had vanished behind the tall buildings, leaving the dregs of radiance in pools among the dusky shadows. Crowds of clerks hurried toward the bus stops. Jimmy’s eyes gleamed at the flash of scarlet and the tap of eager red heels clicking toward him. Miss Perry was radiant.
“Mr. Jamaica, you’re wonderful!” she breathed. “How can I ever thank you?”
“By being as inconspicuous as possible until this business is over,” Jimmy growled, glancing sharply over the hurrying traffic. “This is Miss Perry, a friend of your grandmother’s, Red,” he introduced, “Let’s make a dash for my car.”
Under the wheel, breasting the streams of vehicles, Jimmy studied his two silent passengers in the rear-view mirror. Red was worried and impatient, the girl as eager as a child. Which was exactly in character for both of them, under the circumstances, Jimmy thought. But he couldn’t get rid of an uneasy feeling.
He had handled some unusual situations in his career. Yet he realized he had acted on an impulse this time and had out talked Gross against the chief’s better judgment.
If anything happened to Red the result would be disastrous. But, Jimmy told himself with an inward shrug, it was a hell of a time to be getting cold feet. He had made his decision back there in his office.
Watching Miss Perry narrowly, he asked, “Where to, Red?”
“North Pelham Street—127B—and step on it, Mr. Jamaica!”
The girl nodded confirmation and Jimmy began to look for openings in the traffic. It was almost impossible that Braniff knew Red was on the loose, but there was a chance he was watching the Eckhart flat. The best spot for a little hot lead would be on Pelham Street when they climbed out of the car. Still Jamaica drove a devious route, much to Red’s annoyance. Miss Perry’s only apparent emotion was a sort of glow, as if at the knowledge of a good deed done.
They reached Pelham and Jamaica eased into the block gingerly. There were no cars, moving or parked, but the sidewalks were crowded in the early desk. Jamaica wondered why his heart beat tightly as the car scraped the curbing in front of a rambling, ancient building. He leaned across the girl to open the door.
Red was already out and moving toward the entrance. Jimmy choked back a warning yell, leaped out and caught him on the steps.
He said sharply, “As long as I’m responsible for you, let me poke my nose in places first!”
“It’s my house—and my old lady,” Eckhart flared.
“But it’s my funeral if anything happens,” Jamaica muttered. He sent a swift glance along the street that seemed to probe every patch of shadow, then opened the door swiftly, shoved the pair through, and slammed it shut. He sighed gustily in the murky hallway.
“Which is your place, Red?”
“Second floor.” Eckhart went up the stairs two at a time. Jimmy helped Miss Perry to follow. At the door she caught up with Red.
“Just a minute,” she panted. “I’d better go in first and prepare her, Red. She’s very low.”
Before the boy could reply the girl shoved past him. Jamaica saw the dim light burning on a table by the bed and the huddled figure beneath the covers. Miss Perry murmured softly, “It’s me, Granny Eckhart. I’ve brought Red.” The huddled figure heaved and cried “Red! Red!” in a husky, strangled voice. Eckhart pulled away and ran into the room. Jamaica stepped inside and closed the door. The ceiling light clicked on.
Jimmy exploded, “Well, I’ll be damned!”
The figure in the bed was Carl Braniff. He sat up swiftly, throwing off the covers with an awkward gesture. Red’s eyes became bleak. He stammered, “Wh-what?” and then went silent at the sight of the gun in Braniff’s hand.
Jamaica looked at the girl. He seemed amused but a hard glitter spread over his features as she danced away from the light switch and stood defiantly by the bed. Their glances clashed. Jimmy said bitterly, “Thanks for a lesson in acting!” Then he seemed to forget her. He looked at Braniff.
“Oh, grandmother!” he muttered. “What great big teeth you have!”
Braniff slid his legs to the floor and stood up, the radiance glinting grotesquely from his bald head. He watched Jamaica. “Now Jimmy,” he said in a wh
ining voice, “I’m sorry I had to do this to you. You understand it was the only way I could pry Red loose.”
“Don’t waste time with that softie, Carl!” the girl cut in sharply. “Get it over with. He makes me nervous.”
Jimmy scowled. “Little Red Riding Hood steps out of character.”
“He even believes fairy stories,” the girl scoffed.
“I believed yours.”
“Shut up, you two!” Braniff snarled. “Get over by the door, Marge. Now, Jamaica, we’re going out. I want your word you’ll give us five minutes—”
Suddenly Jimmy shouted, “Take him, Red!” and tried to dive in under Braniff’s gun. Carl sidestepped with a lithe motion and the pistol barrel whistled in a tight arc, exploding against Jamaica’s temple. He pitched forward and thudded against the bed, pain-wracked. Twisting to protect his face he tried to crawl toward Carl’s legs. The girl ran over and kicked him viciously under the chin.
“That’s for trying to play God Almighty!” she screamed.
Jamaica felt a sudden paralysis like handcuffs on his arms and legs. He saw swift movement, squinted to focus his eyes, and made out Braniff prodding Red through the door. He tried to call out but words issued only as a faint moan.
Then he knew he couldn’t give up. He had to get on his feet, to follow. Fighting against a horrible lassitude Jimmy pushed his body to a sitting position, groaning.
And then he heard a curious rasping noise that seemed to blend with the ringing in his ears. His head clearing, he traced the sound to the closet beyond the bed, crawled over and opened the door.
Eyes glared at him furiously. Jamaica saw a little old woman tied up like a sack, knees under her chin, arms behind her, one end of a towel stuffed in her mouth, the other wound around her neck. She made gasping sounds.
When Jimmy got the towel loose he was blasted by a stream of picturesque profanity, which deepened and broadened at his startled expression. “What are you goggling at, you dope? Get me out of here!”
Jimmy struggled with the knots. “Take it easy, Grandma,” he soothed her.