The Bitch

by Gil Brewer

  “You hired a son-of-a-bitch who let a robbery come off and didn’t even get in a decent alarm.”

  “He’s dead, isn’t he?” Sam said evenly.

  “Now, that’s a great damned help, isn’t it?” Schroeder said. He whirled away from Sam and looked at me with a hard light in those pale eyes. I went around and sat down behind my desk and just kind of soaked in the easiness of my chair. I had never known a chair to feel so good. I had never known anything to feel so comfortable and secure as this office. Why, it was the law! I was the law. And all of that thinking was so damnably wrong. I sat there, and it was all like a dream, because it was all twisted, and only a matter of time before it got straightened out—with the fingers pointing at me.

  “I want to help all I can, George,” Sam said.

  Schroeder was still looking at me.

  “What have you got to say about this insane mess?” Schroeder said to me.

  I shrugged and looked toward Sam.

  Sam moved over by his desk and leaned back against it. The strain didn’t seem to show in his face. He was a bit paler than usual, but otherwise he looked all right. He avoided my eyes very well, though. I knew he was hurt plenty, all the way to his socks.

  And what was worse, was he had lied for me. He could easily have thrown me to the dogs. He hadn’t—yet.

  “We’ve had the Halquist account for a long time,” Sam said. “Hornell’s been on before and he—”

  “Hornell’s dead,” Schroeder said.

  Sam looked at him questioningly.

  “Quit talking about him as if he’s alive. I don’t like it.” Schroeder paced up and down the office. He stopped and ripped the plastic raincoat off and tossed it across my desk. I wanted to shove it off on the floor.

  “Damn it,” he said. “You guys are going to lose your license. You know that, don’t you?”

  Sam’s voice sounded calm, but I could detect the strain now. “The robbery was unavoidable,” he said. “Hornell did put in the alarm.”

  “And what a garbled mess that was,” Schroeder said.

  “My God, the man’s dead!” Sam said.

  ‘Two hundred thousand dollars worth of ‘my God, the man’s dead',” Schroeder said, pacing again. “How in hell can you do such a thing? One man on a payroll like that.”

  “You know it happens all the time. There are other payrolls as big as that in this city right now. It’s all a gamble.”

  “A gamble,” Schroeder said. He was mad. You could see it running through him like a red-hot current. He was mad and determined, and likely out to smash the Morgan agency, just because it was a fly in his soup at the moment.

  “How many other similar accounts do you have?” Schroeder asked Sam.

  “A number.”

  “Well, you don’t have them anymore. Get that through your head.”

  “Lieutenant, relax,” Sam said.

  Schroeder stood in front of him and rocked up and down on his heels. He acted as if he wanted to hop up and down. It seemed as if he actually radiated nervous energy; you could feel it in the room.

  “Have you got a line on anything?”

  “No. Then again, maybe.”

  “Now what is that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean, I’m not even sure the money’s stolen,” Sam said. “We don’t know. It’s too early yet.”

  Schroeder slammed the heel of his palm against his forehead three times. He flashed around and looked at me, standing in a kind of crouch. Then he straightened and looked at Sam again. He spoke softly, almost in a whisper.

  “One,” he said. “The money’s gone.” He counted them off on his fingers, bending the fingers far down, then letting them snap up. He spoke very softly. “Two, your operative is dead, dead, dead. Three, the safe was blown. Four, a well-known safe-cracker dead, dead, dead. Five, they didn’t trip the burglar alarm during the robbery—an almost impossible feat. You know that. Yes? Six,” he started bending the fingers on his other hand, his head cocked a little to one side, watching Sam and Sam taking it, while I sat there with the knowledge that I was guilty and my brother was shielding me again. “Somebody turned that alarm off during the robbery and on again afterward. It was on when our men arrived. Seven, the front gate was unlocked. Unlocked! Do you hear me, Morgan?”

  “I hear you.”

  Schroeder cleared his throat and went on speaking just as softly as before, but faster now. “Eight, a couple of our cruisers chased some bastard all over the place out there and never really got a look at the car! That’s our fault. But whoever it was had that money—I’m certain of that.” He started to continue counting, then struck his hand and knocked it out of the way. “What’s the use of enumerating. You know what happened. Who was Hornell?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “We’re running a check right now.”

  “He’s a small—he was a small-time private, over on 2nd, near the Orange Blossom hotel. He’s worked for us a lot, Lieutenant. He was completely dependable, maybe even too dependable. I’m sure he did everything he could. It’s too early to know what happened.”

  “It stinks!” Schroeder said softly, pushing his face very close to Sam’s. “It stinks—it smells. It stinks like the worst stink you ever smelled!”

  Sam watched him. He had to take all this. He wasn’t the kind of man to take any of it. At the same time, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. And it was then that I understood. I realized what Sam was doing. He was trying to save the agency.

  This only made it all the worse for me. I wanted to help him and I couldn’t. Even if I did, I wouldn’t be helping him. He wanted the money, and if I spilled now, he wouldn’t get it—and the agency would be ended right there. It was ended anyway.

  “You’re through, Morgan,” Schroeder said. He turned to me. “You’re through, the both of you. Do you understand that?”

  “I wish you’d try and calm down,” Sam said.

  Schroeder looked at him slowly.

  “We’re not getting any place like this. We’ve got to figure it out.”

  “Yes.”

  “What exactly did Hornell say when he called in the alarm?”

  Schroeder scratched his head, rubbed his hands together.

  “He gave the address. He said the place was being robbed, and then he yelled something and we heard a shot over the phone. That was that. We already had two cruisers headed there. We had radio contact with them when they were only four blocks from the place.”

  “He didn’t say anything else?”

  “Nothing. He wanted to. But he didn’t.” Schroeder moved across the room and stood by the window and looked out at the night, rocking on his heels. “What gets me,” he said, “is how in hell did he get the call in in the first place? It was after the robbery was done.”

  Sam said nothing. He looked over at me and shook his head slightly. I avoided his eyes. I couldn’t look at his eyes now. It was a rotten feeling.

  “I want a complete report,” Schroeder said. “I want it typed, and I want four copies. I want everything you know concerning this thing, written out. Got that? Everything. All about Hornell. When you met him. How long he’s worked for you. Why you would hire another private investigator when there are two of you here as it is. I want to know everything you think about this thing. I’ll talk to Halquist myself.”

  Sam did not speak.

  “Now,” Schroeder said, turning slowly until his gaze met mine. “I want to know what you think about this. You haven’t said a word since I’ve been here.”

  I glanced over at Sam.

  “Well?” Schroeder said. “Are you the same as your brother?”

  “I guess I am,” I said.

  “Where were you when all this happened?”

  “Home.”

  “I see. How did you hear about it?”

  “Sam told me.”

  “What did you think of Hornell?”

  “He was a steady-going guy. A good man—only he’d run into a lot of tough lu
ck.”

  “Now, ain’t that the truth?” Schroeder said.

  He stalked over to Sam’s desk without looking at him and grabbed his plastic raincoat up. He balled it into a wet, sticky wad and shoved it under his arm and stood there staring at the office door.

  “You’re through,” he said. “That’s all there is to it. You’re through in this town—or any other town. You’re washed up.”

  Nobody spoke. Schroeder left the room. We heard him pause in the waiting room.

  “Anything you hear, let me know—pronto.” He laughed to himself and stumped on out and the door slammed.

  Sam stood there, leaning against his desk, staring at the floor.

  CHAPTER 10

  “Why didn’t you tell him?”

  Sam still watched the floor, leaning against his desk.

  “Why didn’t you?” I asked again.

  “You know why.”

  “All right. But tell me.”

  “You did this thing, didn’t you, Tate? Didn’t you?”

  I didn’t answer him.

  “It’s sure swell,” he said. “It’s just great. I know you did, boy—because it was inside all the way. Why do you think Schroeder talked like that? You think he’s a fool? I’ll explain it carefully. He’s not a fool—he’s a damned smart guy—and he knows it was inside. Anybody knows that!”

  “What do you know about that?”

  “Oh, Christ,” he said. “Good Christ.”

  I was sorry I’d spoken that way, but what good did it do now? He got under my skin and made me talk that way. I couldn’t help that.

  I was fogged with everything that had happened. Especially what Janet had said about only wanting to “spur me on.” That tore it—it was the end. Here I was with two hundred thousand dollars, and I’d gone through with the whole thing just because of something in my own mind.

  Somehow I couldn’t believe all that. Somehow I couldn’t see how I’d been so wrong.

  “You going to tell me about it?” Sam said.

  “Schroeder told you.”

  Sam stood away from the desk, looking at me. He took hold of the buckle on the trenchcoat and ripped it loose, and slipped out of the coat and walked across the room and hung it on a hanger, and hung the whole thing on the coat rack. He straightened his tie, then turned and looked at me again. You could see the butt of his gun winking from the shoulder holster at the opening of his gray jacket.

  All of the feeling about the security and pleasure of the office was gone now. The atmosphere was there, all right, but it no longer reached me.

  “What are you going to do about what you think?” I said. “You just going to keep on talking? You think that’ll get you anywhere?”

  “Just keep talking,” Sam said. “That’s all I want you to do. It’ll come out, because you can’t help yourself. I never saw such a fool before. How in hell do you live with yourself? Did you kill Hornell?”

  “No.”

  “Who was the other man?”

  I turned my chair around and looked out the window. It was quite a sight, over the city, only right now was no time to look at it and enjoy it. I couldn’t, anyway—not with the way things were. I wondered how little old Thelma was doing on her loving couch, by now? I was willing to bet she’d hit the sauce and got all lushed up in anticipation of the pay-off. She would be in a fine state by now. I wondered if that’s where Johnny Morrell was? I had to see Morrell. I was as lost as you can get, because I didn’t know what to do.

  Morrell wasn’t going to sit around and do nothing, knowing I had all that boodle. It would tear the hell out of him, and even if he decided to take it easy for the rest of the night, Thelma wouldn’t let him. She’d froth at the mouth, the way she was. She’d banked a hell of a lot on this. It meant getting out from under old Zachary. And remembering him was something too. He trusted me, and I’d let him down flat. He’d been notified by now. Maybe the police were out there now. Thelma might be stuck with them.

  It would be a fine night at the Halquist’s.

  I kept feeling sorry for Halquist, which was a hell of a thing under the circumstances.

  “Tate?”

  “Why don’t you lay off?” I said “Why don’t you go ahead and do what you planned to do?”

  “Where’s the money, Tate?”

  I didn’t answer him.

  “Tate, I’ve got to know.”

  I sat there looking at the window—not out of it, at the glass, listening to him.

  He bashed the top of my desk with his fist and I turned around in the swivel chair and the spring squeaked and I looked at him.

  “I’ve got to have that money,” he said. “I’ve got to get it back where it belongs, Tate. Listen,” he lowered his voice, hanging grimly onto the thing, like a bear swinging on a side of bacon hung to a tree. “Can’t you see what this means? Can’t you?” He stopped, then shouted, “Why did you do it?”

  I stood up and walked around my desk, and over by his. I sat on the top of his desk and watched him. Christ, he was reaching me enough—but I couldn’t tell him. I wanted the money a lot worse than he did. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him anything. He wouldn’t turn me in, I knew that. He kept banking on the fact that I would tell him. He thought he’d break me down.

  Only it was just like always. When he acted that way, I rebelled. Even if I wanted to give him the money, I wouldn’t. Because it had always been that way. I wouldn’t give him a damned thing because he’d given me so much.

  Now wasn’t that a grand attitude to have?

  He still stood at my desk, his hands flat on it, staring at my empty chair. I could see the red flush of blood on the back of his neck. He would be a bad one to tangle with, something that hadn’t happened between us in a good many years. I thought I could still take him, but there was a tinge of doubt in the thought. Sam had changed some. He was Heavier, stronger, not so quick to flip. It used to be that in a fight he’d lose his head, and that’s when I always nailed him. But I didn’t want to tangle with him now.

  Yet I had to get out of here.

  He did not turn around. His voice was very slow and matter-of-fact—almost pleasant with the effort to be pleasant.

  “It’s not going to do you any good, Tate. If you did this thing alone, which I can’t believe—remember that—then you’ve got all the money. Maybe you’ve got it all anyway. But either way, you know where it is. I’m going to get it back, Tate—I’ve got to have it.” He turned slowly and faced me and lifted his arms and spread them apart, his face really sad and pleading. “This is all I’ve got,” he said. “I’ve tried to help you get a start. I’ve got a reputation, and it’s a good one. This agency is a good one, and someday I expect to be big—really big, with branches in every big city in the country. Are you going to wreck that now?”

  He dropped his hands and shook his head.

  “Are you going to do that, Tate? Do you think Schroeder was talking through his hat? When he said I’ll lose the license, he means it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re not sorry. You’re not sorry at all. You just say that, because the words are so God damned familiar, Tate. You’ve said them all your life. Don’t you see? But whether you’re sorry or not doesn’t matter. What matters is, I’ve got to get that money back. Here’s what I plan.”

  “I knew you had a plan,” I said. “You never work without a plan.”

  He let that pass. He was taking a lot from me and I knew it, and I guess that’s partly why I kept boring into him that way. I was worth more than he was at the moment, anyway.

  ‘I won’t turn you in,” he said. “Not now. Not until you think about it a little. And you’ll think about it. You can’t live with a thing like that, Tate. Don’t you see?”

  “I don’t see anything, except you’re doing one hell of a lot of gassing.”

  “I ought to kill you, you son-of-a-bitch!”

  His eyes kind of glazed for a second. Then they were all right again.

 
; I really felt lousy, because I felt so safe.

  I kept thinking of Janet and how we had the money and what it would mean. I had to force it a little. Because it wasn’t natural, having all that money. And I knew, somehow, that I wasn’t going to have it all. I was putting up plenty of front right now, with the memory of those two rain-washed bodies.

  I had to get out of here and see Morrell.

  “The only thing I can do,” Sam said, “is take the money back there, see? Plant it someplace and let somebody find it. Then it won’t be gone, and maybe I can talk Schroeder into laying off the agency—off me. But it’s got to be done soon.”

  The telephone on Sam’s desk began to ring. I turned around and started to reach for it, then didn’t. Sam came across the room and slumped into his chair and grabbed the phone up.

  “Yes? Oh—sure, yes?” His face got a strange look on it for a second, and I moved away, across the room by the window. I looked back at him. He was listening with a kind of anxiousness on his face. He glanced at me and formed the word, “Schroeder,” silently, with his lips.

  “Sure,” he said. “I see. Yes, that’s right. No. All right—you bet. Now, George—take it easy, will you? I’m doing all I can. What the hell do you expect from me? George—George, listen—” He stopped talking, hung up and looked at me. “Hung up on me,” he said, shaking his head. He stared down at his desk and his hands were shaking a little. He folded them together like he was praying, and stared at them.

  “What did he want?”

  “It’s not about you—if that’s what you’re worried about. Nobody knows but me. Nobody knows you were on duty there tonight. Halquist didn’t even know, for Christ’s sake, thank God. If you’d told him, it would have been all up with you, Tate.”

  “What did he want?”

  “The same old song. He’s hot, that’s all. Cussed me out for sitting here in the office, when I should be outside on the job—trying to find what I could find. And he’s right, from his side of the fence.”