I guess I must have looked ashamed and he reached out and gave my shoulder a pat. But still I had to let off a little steam.
“I’m sorry. But damn it, Phelps, you can’t imagine what it’s doing to me to realize that in a few minutes I’m going to take everything I ever dreamed of having and turn it over to those lice. It wasn’t so bad before but now that I see these papers in front of me I think I’ll go nuts!”
The more I talked the hotter I got and then my tongue got so thick I couldn’t talk any more. I got a terrible urge to smash things and grabbed up an ash tray from the desk and started to fling it against the wall. As I turned to throw, someone grabbed me from behind.
At first I thought it was Phelps but when I tried to struggle and found I couldn’t move I realized it couldn’t be he. My next thought was...Antonelli! There was a red haze obscuring my vision as I managed to swing myself around and got an arm free. I threw a wild roundhouse that connected and received a terrible slap across the face in return. It slammed me half across the room into a corner. I shook my head to clear it. The room stopped whirling and I could see again. I looked for Antonelli. A voice stopped me. Uncle Shpinay!
“My boy!” he was saying, “You must calm yourself!”
I was calm all right; that slap had certainly slowed me down.
“So impetuous!” he said to Phelps. “In Syria we call it ‘heavy blood’.”
I introduced him to Phelps and grinned as Phelps winced at the handshake he got. “This is my lawyer,” I told my uncle.
He beamed at Phelps. “A friend of Sidney’s is a friend of mine,” he told the lawyer. Then he turned to me.
“I have brought with me something you will wish to see...from the old country.” He let out a bellow. “Sam!...Skondor!...bring in the suitcases!”
Before I could protest both of them came in lugging two huge sample cases. Skondor looked much like his father, short, dark, thin. They were an unprepossessing pair but my uncle introduced them to Phelps proudly and with great formality. They nodded silently to the lawyer, then to me.
Uncle Shpinay bent and opened one of the cases and dragged out a huge damask cloth. He half turned and looked up at Phelps whose mouth was open in astonishment. My uncle smiled. “Perhaps this fine gentleman would be interested in some imported linens which I have by chance with me?”
Phelps shook his head groggily.
“Please!” I begged my uncle, “we’ve got business to attend to. We’ll look at this stuff tomorrow.”
He was pleasantly tolerant. “This, too, is business, my boy,” he told me. He grunted and came up with what he’d apparently been looking for right along. It was an envelope which he had wrapped in a large napkin. He handed it to me with a flourish. I opened it and took out the contents, several sheets of official-looking paper. One look and I hopped out of the chair I’d just sat down in.
“This is it!” I yelled at Phelps. “This is it!” I couldn’t say more.
Phelps ran around the desk to see what I was so excited about. Then he got excited.
Uncle Shpinay was radiant. “This is indeed it, as you say. That scoundrel, brother of fifty goats, son of a camel, would have betrayed us. It was as you suspected. The papers are signed, attested, notarized. May the dog know no peace!”
Sam gave him a hearty “amen.”
My uncle looked at me. “I would suggest you burn these at once. Your friends may be here soon.” He watched approvingly as I put the match to them, then opened the other case and began to empty it of its contents. He soon had a pile of assorted linens on the floor.
A large cloth had just made its appearance and as he straightened up with it the door opened behind him. Antonelli came in first and was followed immediately by Gorren. The gangster cast his eyes about suspiciously. “What’s goin’ on here?” he wanted to know.
Gorren reassured him. “This old guy’s just a loony linen peddler.”
My uncle gave him a sweet smile and inquired gently, “And how is your wife, that angel?” Gorren grunted disgustedly.
Antonelli was still suspicious. “What you been burnin’ there?” He stared at the small pile of still smoking ashes in the tray.
Gorren laughed shortly. “Probably some old love letters.”
Uncle Shpinay thought that was very funny. Deep laughter rumbled out of him. “You have guessed closer to the mark, my friend, than you think.” He threw Sam Nazare a huge wink. “It was necessary to keep the most charming lady occupied in order to give Skondor time for an investigation. It fell to my lot to furnish the diversion.”
Gorren and Antonelli were bewildered by the merriment. If they had thought I’d take their grab lying down they certainly hadn’t expected me to make a joke of it. I hastened to enlighten them.
“That was your evidence that just went up in smoke,” I told them.
Gorren looked dazed. “No...it was in the safe...!” He began to catch on. “My wife!” he screamed. His hand flashed toward his coat pocket. “I’ll kill you!” he shrieked at Uncle Shpinay.
My uncle dropped the cloth he’d been holding and revealed a sawed-off shotgun in his huge hand. He held it as one who was accustomed to weapons. “Hold on, my friend,” he cautioned Gorren. Gorren froze. “Something else Skondor found in Mr. Gorren’s safe,” my uncle explained to me. “I thought it might prove useful.”
Gorren looked at the gun, then at Antonelli. “That’s it!” he told the gangster. Antonelli understood him for he was shaken.
At last I began to catch on. So that was how Antonelli had been able to stay in Detroit and still get his work done. I turned to Gorren.
“You dirty killer!” I yelled. “I’m gonna see you fry!”
He woke up. “It’s not loaded!” he hollered to Antonelli, “Grab it!”
The gangster lunged at my uncle as Gorren’s hand came out of his pocket with a rod. Antonelli got to my uncle just as Gorren swung the gun to cover my middle. Then Uncle Shpinay went into action. He ducked down and got a hand into Antonelli’s gut. Then with a tremendous heave he catapulted the hoodlum into Gorren. Gorren’s shot at me went wild and he and Antonelli were rammed into the wall.
I got around the desk fast and caught Gorren as he started to rise. My foot smashed into the side of his head and he went back down. Antonelli was digging at his pocket as he tried to get up. I gave him a knee right in his fat face. His nose turned into a red blob and he went back, this time for keeps.
For a moment the room was quiet. I looked at my uncle. There was one thing I wanted to know.
“How did you find out about all this?” I asked him.
He shrugged. “I listened at the door. Please forgive me.”
“You’re forgiven. Don’t worry about it.”
“Thank you, my boy. Now I suggest you call the authorities.”
“I will. I think the F.B.I. will be interested in these two. They’ll want to know all about that dope racket Antonelli was going to take over.” I got busy on the phone.
When I hung up Uncle Shpinay started stuffing his cases. Suddenly he paused and looked up. “Perhaps,” he said, “while we are waiting, you would like to look at some of these lovely linens which have just arrived from the old country?”
AN INGENIOUS DEFENSE, by Anonymous
Originally published in The Leisure Hour, April 28th 1877.
Mr. Serjeant Vaughan (afterwards Mr. Justice Vaughan), while on his way to Chelmsford assizes, met with an intelligent and pleasant fellow-passenger on the coach. What happened on this occasion is narrated by Mr. James Grant in his book on The Bench and the Bar. Mr. Serjeant Vaughan was, on such occasions, very fond of what he used to call a little agreeable chat with any talkative person he chanced to meet. He was not long in ascertaining from his companion that he also was going to the Chelmsford assizes, which were to be held on the following day.
“As a juryman, no doubt?” said Mr. Vaughan.
“No, sir, not as a juryman,” said the other.
“Oh, as a witness, I
should have said.”
“Not as a witness either—I wish it were as pleasant as that.”
“Oh, I see how it is: you are the prosecutor in some case which is painful to your feelings. However, such things will happen—there is no help for them.”
“You are still wrong in your conjecture, sir. I am going to pay away money for a relative who has a case at the assizes.”
“Ah, that’s it! Very unpleasant, certainly, to pay money,” observed the learned serjeant.
“It is, indeed, for those who have little to spare,” observed the other.
“It is not a very serious amount, I hope?”
“Why, the magnitude of the sum, you know, depends on the resources of the party who makes the payment.”
“Very true, certainly very true,” said Mr. Serjeant Vaughan.
“The sum is £500, which, to one of my limited means, is a very large sum indeed.”
“Oh, but perhaps you expect to be repaid later?”
“That is most uncertain. It depends entirely on whether my relative, who is an innkeeper, succeeds in business or not.”
“Well, it is undoubtedly a hard case,” observed Mr. Serjeant Vaughan, with a serious and emphatic air.
“Ay, you would certainly say so, if you only knew it all.”
“Indeed! Are there any peculiar circumstances in the case?”
“There are, indeed,” answered the other, with something between a sigh and a groan.
“Is the matter a secret?” inquired Mr. Serjeant Vaughan, his curiosity now wound up to no ordinary pitch.
“Not in the least,” said the other. “I’ll tell you the whole affair if you don’t think it tiresome.”
“I am all anxiety to hear it,” said the learned gentleman.
“Well, then,” said the other, “about six weeks ago a respectable corn dealer of London, while on his way to Chelmsford, met, on the coach, with two persons who were perfect strangers to him. The strangers soon entered into conversation with him, and having learned the object of the corn dealer’s visit to Chelmsford, said that they also were going there on a precisely similar errand—namely, to make some purchases of com. After some further conversation, it was suggested by one of the strangers that it would be much better for all three if they could come to a mutual understanding as to what amount of purchases they should make—for if they went into the market ‘slapdash’ and without any understanding, the result would be that in so small a place as Chelmsford they would simply cause the prices to rise, whereas by operating slowly and in concert that would be avoided.
“The second stranger pretended to approve highly of this suggestion and further proposed, in order to show that no one had the advantage of the other, that they should all three deposit their money in the hands of the respectable landlord of the principal inn, taking care that they did so in the presence of witnesses, and that special instructions should be given to the landlord not to give up a farthing to anyone until all three returned together to receive the whole. The first stranger then added that if the landlord violated the special instructions, he—the landlord—would be held responsible.
“The London merchant, knowing the landlord of the inn to be a man of undoubted respectability—the landlord is my relative, you understand—at once assented to the proposal, and each of the three accordingly placed in the landlord’s hands, under the circumstances stated, £250—making £750 in all.”
“Well,” observed Mr. Serjeant Vaughan, “you certainly interest me in your singular story. And what was the result?”
“Why, this: scarcely had the three men left the inn a minute, when one of the two strangers—the one who had been the spokesman with the landlord and had made all the arrangements with him—came running back, and said that, on second thought, they had all come to the conclusion that it would be better to make their purchases as early in the day as possible, and that consequently the other two had desired him to return and get the money.”
“And your relative, the landlord, gave him the whole sum?” interposed Mr. Serjeant Vaughan.
“He did, indeed—unfortunately for himself and for me,” answered the other.
“And what followed?” inquired the learned gentleman, eagerly.
“Why the other stranger and the London merchant returned about an hour later and demanded their money—£250 each.”
“When the landlord, of course, told them he had given it all to the first stranger?”
“He did.”
“On which, I suppose, the second stranger and the merchant are now bringing action against the landlord?”
“Precisely so. And seeing that defense is useless, inasmuch as the landlord delivered the money to one when his instructions were peremptory not to deliver it until all three were present, my relative is allowing the action to go undefended. The money must be paid to the sharper—for both strangers, as events have proved, were sharpers—and also to the London merchant.”
“And you really have made up your mind to pay it?”
“Oh, certainly—there is no help for it.”
“I am a barrister and I will be happy to defend the case for the poor landlord gratuitously.”
The other tendered him a thousand thanks for his kindness, but expressed his apprehensions that all efforts at defense would be perfectly useless.
“We shall see,” said the serjeant, “we shall see. You and your relative the landlord will call on me this evening at eight o’clock, to arrange for the defense tomorrow.”
Tomorrow came and the case was duly called in court. The poor innkeeper, acting on the advice of Mr. Vaughan, but not perceiving in what way he could be benefited by it, defended the case. Everything proceeded so favorably for the prosecution for some time that even though every person in court deeply sympathized with the unfortunate landlord, they saw no possibility of any result other than a verdict against him.
But Mr. Serjeant Vaughan, when the case for the prosecution was closed, rose and said, “Now, gentlemen of the jury, you have heard the evidence adduced. You have seen it proved by unimpeachable witnesses that the defendant received the most positive instructions from all three not to deliver up the money, or any part of it, to any of the parties except in the presence of all. Gentlemen, my client has got the money in his possession, and is ready to give it when all three parties come to demand it. Let the absent party present himself, in company with the other two, and everyone will have his money returned to him.”
The prosecution looked amazed. The verdict was, of course, for the defendant. It is unnecessary to add that the man who had absconded with the money never returned, and that consequently the landlord never had to pay a farthing of the amount.
It might have been more equitable to share the loss of the honest corn dealer, but a London merchant deserved to pay something for his experience.
THOUSAND DOLLAR QUESTION, by Stephen Wasylyk
Originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, January 1997.
The man on the stretcher hadn’t made a sound or fluttered an eyelid since he’d been found lying alongside his car in the parking lot of the roadhouse. Depressed skull fracture, the local hospital said, too much for them to handle.
County Sheriff Ben Bennis watched the running lights of the medevac helicopter approach through the early morning darkness, rotor blades pounding hard as it neared the spotlighted landing pad. In a half hour the man would be on the operating table at the huge medical center down the valley where they had the equipment and the skills to repair almost every sort of damage the human body might suffer. They might even save his life.
Ben hoped so. The man’s hair was gray, but the rest of him had weathered the years well. A few liver spots on his hands, but aside from the firm creases from nose to mouth, his face was relatively unlined, body well muscled. Hell, he was in better shape than Ben, who had thinned on top and thickened through the middle—age responsible for one, Emily’s cooking for the other.
At the mom
ent all they knew was the man’s name. Lawrence T. Curtis.
Not what he was doing here in this farm, orchard, and tourist-oriented upstate county—just another fisherman or vacationer, or taking a hiatus from the interstate to admire the mountainous scenery? Or why he was at a sleazy roadhouse named the Rondayvoo, how he’d suffered the blow to his head, or even why—if it had been a mugging—his wallet hadn’t been taken. If Curtis survived and suffered no lasting brain damage, some answers might be forthcoming, but if he died, a serious problem had been created by what the church folk called “that den of iniquity”—a quaint description, but fitting.
But possibly giving Ben, at last, the reason he needed to close down the damned Rondayvoo. The place generated half the calls to his office.
The chopper felt for the pad and squatted, the stretcher already on its way. An EMS tech helped slide the injured man aboard, scrambled in after him, and spotted Ben at the edge of the light. Ben held his left hand to his ear and simulated dialing with his right. The tech grinned and gave him a thumbs up.
Lou Merlinsky. Good hardworking kid. Due to enter medical school in the fall.
The chopper rose and hovered briefly as if to be sure all was well before the nose dipped and it plunged into the night.
Down near the end of his spine, a hot coal flared to life as Ben shuffled around the building to the parking lot, dragging a plastic trash bag containing Curtis’s clothes.
Ironic that his back had been thrown out that morning when he’d bent from his chair to pick up a dropped sheet of paper, instead of by something more dramatic like wrestling with a desperate criminal.
Sheer agony had frozen him into a piece of neo-sculpture entitled Man with Slipped Disc—eyeballs popping, body covered with a film of cold sweat.
Leo had come over. “Need help?”
The Cutthroats and Criminals Megapack Page 21