Death Comes Early

by William R. Cox

  In that moment Jack knew who had killed Ted Colyer. It was in her, in her boasting, her whining. Ted would never have suspected a woman. “The booze bit,” he had mumbled. He had known about Alvin’s connection with Cancelli, that Alvin had somehow stumbled onto the alky set-up. He had been about to blow it all up, unquestionably he had been ready to take the job in California and wash his hands of Alvin and everything to do with him. The fact that he had cleared the Lodge would point to the surmise that he was leaving that, and that alone, for Alvin, with Lila as the heiress to it.

  The virago was screaming, “When you kill them—put him also in the cement. I want him dead. I’ll work, I’ll do for you, Mr. Cancelli. I can be anything you want. Who looks at an ugly woman? What better a disguise-like, than a woman like me? Just take him off my hands, the jerky, stinking coward that he is.”

  “Mr. Cancelli, you should excuse her. She’s sick lately, I don’t know what,” Izzy began.

  Cancelli said, “Take her inside and shut her up.” Simon seemed the man for that job. He prodded her, while Izzy fussed at her side, and prevented her from hitting out at Izzy, managed her through a door into another part of the silo. Her yells gradually faded.

  Cancelli said thoughtfully, “Made a mistake, there. But how could I know there even was a Sophie? Using Izzy, that was smart. Funny thing. He agreed to do it, to hit Alvin. Then he chickened, and she did it. You never can tell about people.” He shook his head wonderingly, then turned to Jack. “You know what you cost me, huh?”

  “Plenty,” said Jack.

  “Two million a year.” Cancelli seemed hypnotized by the sum. “Second biggest single cut in the country. I got to tear it down, throw it away.”

  “You’re lucky you had the inside from Blatsky,” said Jack. “You’re lucky the Federal people can’t pin it on you.”

  “A rap like that? Who cares, for two million a year,” said Cancelli. He lifted a corner of his lip at Lila. “Now I can use Colyer Lodge. I’m your legal heir, baby, don’t forget it. I’m your husband.”

  “You’re my husband,” she repeated. The spark had gone from her. “I always knew you’d kill me, some day.”

  “Yes. It figured,” Cancelli assented.

  Jack said, “Damon will be on your tail, you know that.”

  “Damon should be here any minute,” said Cancelli emotionlessly. “Him and some others, prob’ly. Glory grabbers. You think I don’t know them others? You think I ain’t ready for them?”

  “I’ve got a picture of you killing several New York cops. You’re too smart for that,” said Jack. “You were too smart to show in the Colyer murders. You can’t kill cops, and you know it damn well.”

  Cancelli said, “Who’s going to kill cops? Don’t let your imagination run away with you there. I got plenty time to do what I want to do. Cops? They can have the place now. The stuff is in the river. There’ll be a million drunken fish tonight.”

  There was something odd about Cancelli, Jack thought. There was detachment in him, as though the blow had left him partially crippled. Worse, however, there was calculated murder in him.

  Katz said, “Maybe we oughta get busy, Pete.”

  “There’s enough to keep Damon busy out there, and the kid in the office has been paid to take the rap,” said Cancelli. “The boat is ready. All we got to do is mix the concrete on the boat.” He smiled and now the murder was plain in him. “I want these two to be alive when we sink ’em. I want them to know the score, all the way, every step of the way.”

  Katz added, “What about Izzy and that broad of his?”

  “They can be knocked off first,” allowed Cancelli, as one making a decent concession. “Any time, just take care of them the easy way. Just so long as they ain’t around to be hysterical.”

  The young man from the front office came in. “Everything’s ready. There are two jigs don’t expect anything. Four five-gallon tins of stuff.”

  “That’ll give the cops their hunka cheese,” said Cancelli. “They won’t want any more’n that.”

  “Your friend downtown just called. Said Damon and a couple others are on their way.”

  “Sure, they are.” Cancelli arose. Katz gestured with the revolver he held carelessly in his right hand. “Go on, get started. It’s a nice little walk. Right through the yard. Like in a prison. The last mile, all that jazz. From the motion picture, by Pete Cancelli.” His laugh was the most revealing thing about him yet. It was laden with hatred, with bitterness, with everything but humor.

  They went ahead, through the door. The bright sun was blinding. There was a high fence about the back lot. Straight ahead was a dock and moored to it was a sixty- two-foot power cruiser.

  Cancelli had it planned very well, Jack thought. The evidence to hold the police, the men surrendering, while the boss calmly took a trip to sea. It would take time for the Coast Guard to intercept the vessel. Plenty of time for Cancelli to rid himself of the people who might link him to murder.

  He would make his play, Jack decided, when they were at the gangway. Maybe he could shove Lila into the river. He wondered if she could swim. If she couldn’t, she could at least drown while fighting. It was better by far than living through the ordeal of concrete overshoes with Cancelli gloating on the sidelines.

  For himself, he would take a bullet. He hoped he could make them kill him. He would take Cancelli along if he had enough strength and enough time to get to him. He thought he could kill with one blow at the neck. He had never yet tried it, but he knew where to strike.

  He saw Izzy and Sophie and Simon waiting. The brick wall did not quite reach the shoreline, which sloped to the water. It was all very clear in his mind.

  Lila walked with her head high, but her face was pinched, colorless. Of course, she knew Cancelli better than he did. She could imagine punishments which he could only guess at. She had lived with Cancelli.

  It was the ferocious calmness of the man which brought imagination to play, Jack thought. Cancelli was in shock. Something worse than the loss of his alky operation was eating at him.

  It was probably that Lila was in at his defeat, plus the knowledge that he might never build so high again. In such a man this could be devastating. There were no lengths to which he would not go to repay this humiliation. Only by debasing his captives could he gain satisfaction.

  At the end of the walk, Jack repeated it to himself. Katz and Simon both had guns. He would have to arrange it so that one of them was between the Blatskys and himself, so that only one gun was against him. He would have to estimate his distance with care and make his play on Cancelli. Maybe into the river, maybe he could drown the bastard before they got him.

  Damon pulled up to the old Camp Coal Company silos just as Malaney and Wynoski arrived. They were all secretly sore that it had to be this way, but they acted as cops should act. They went in fast and caught two Negro youths with the containers of alky. They tagged this evidence while Damon, moving fast, went into the office.

  The young man stalled a bit, but he knew the act was transparent. They brought the two colored boys in and questioned all three.

  “Where’s Pete Cancelli?”

  “Cancelli? Never heard of him.”

  “You boys—you never heard of him, either, I suppose?”

  “No, sir,” said the tall boy. “There’s a boss man, all right. Fancy man.”

  The other boy said, “Plenty fancy. Them tight clothes.”

  “We seen him,” they both volunteered. “We seen him maybe last month. He was here.”

  “Last month. That’s great,” Damon said to Wynoski. “That’s a big help.”

  “We know it’s Cancelli’s layout,” Wynoski said. He had the old officer’s stubbornness. “We’ll trail it to him.”

  “If we can ever find him now,” said Damon disgustedly. He addressed the man behind the desk, “Had the news, didn’t you? Someone blew the whistle.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m merely an employee of Acme Corpo
ration.”

  Wynoski said, “Brother! Would I like to go after this one. Could I ever have a whack at him!”

  Malaney said nothing, being outranked. His commendation was shot, that was for sure. Too many in on this, too little accomplished. A few gallons of bootleg, three inconsequential prisoners; it wasn’t enough.

  Visions of Rose Marie Coole waiting in Jack Ware’s apartment mingled with the dictates of his cop’s mind as Damon said, “I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t take him over a few hurdles, Wynoski. He’s such a smart bastard.”

  Wynoski lumbered to within arm’s length of the man behind the desk and asked, “What’s your name?”

  “Castle, Jim Castle. Look, why don’t we go downtown,” he said. He looked older now, and tougher. “You’re not going to get anything out of me.”

  “Well, they’re kind of funny downtown.” Damon looked at Malaney. “Why don’t you make those colored boys comfortable in the car? They can’t help us any.”

  Malaney ushered the pair out. He wanted no part of what he imagined would happen to Jim Castle. He was against that kind of thing. He knew the old-timers would scorn him, would make it tough for him if he objected, but he was against beating up suspects.

  Wynoski leaned over the desk and lazily swiped, as if at a fly. Castle’s head snapped.

  Damon said critically, “You always did have a nice left, Wynoski. Try the right.”

  Back went the head in the other direction. Slap, slap, slap, it spun back and forth.

  Damon said, “Yep. Your left is better. Now, let me show you how to slap with the right.”

  He went to work, not enjoying it, watching for the watering eyes of the young man to tell him when to stop. “You see? A little more shoulder into the right.”

  Wynoski said, “You got a good right, there, all right. Ha! Right, all right. Ha!”

  Damon sat down for a moment, crossing his knees. “Maybe Mr. Castle, Jim, would like a respite. That’s a fancy word for a rest, see?”

  “Respite? That’s pretty good… respite,” said Wynoski. “You think maybe we should demonstrate on him downstairs? Inna gut? They can’t take it inna gut.”

  “That’s right. Nobody likes it inna gut.”

  Castle choked out, “Go screw yourselves.”

  Wynoski said, “I bet this is a tough one. I bet he has got a record. I bet he has been worked on before.”

  They ought to take him downtown. They would, too, only now he had challenged them. Two old-timers like Wynoski and Damon could stand about anything but a challenge from a prisoner who thought he was tough.

  Castle said, “I’m asking you once more, take me downtown. I’ll talk to the Federals.”

  “You see? Defiance,” said Damon. He could turn them over to the Federals and join Rose Marie. She had given every indication that she liked him. She would shack up, he knew it. You could tell, even with a high-class broad. She was maybe queer for guys who weren’t—well, like Jack Ware. First Alvin, a midget, practically, now Damon. He said, “Your turn, Wynoski. Downstairs, like you say.”

  Wynoski picked up the man named Castle as though he were a rag doll. He shook him tentatively, then slammed the back of his hamlike hand into the midsection. Castle made a sound like an automobile tire losing all its air through the stem, a whooshing sound.

  “It may take a little time. But we got time,” said Damon. He leaned back and lit a cigarette, not because he wanted one, but to impress the victim. “Don’t hurt your hand on his belt buckle, Wynoski.”

  There had been a short delay in the brick-walled yard. Two men were hauling bags of cement and sand onto the boat. Cancelli relished this. He waited, watching Lila and Jack, purposely saying nothing, letting them figure it out for themselves. The ship’s engines were turning over, everything was in readiness to cast off and be gone.

  Lila was standing between Simon and Manning, who had their eyes on Jack. It prevented him from acting. He was sweating down his back, down his legs. His face glistened with the ordeal of holding himself in. Sophie and Izzy stood apart, quiet; he with the look of the damned on his face, she with the evil shining out of her.

  Cancelli said, “It takes time to harden, you realize. You stand there, waiting for it.” He stared at Lila. “We won’t dirty your fancy garments, my dear wife. We’ll see you don’t take them down with you for the fishes. I got a couple boys will want to use you. Not me, I wouldn’t touch you. But Katz and Bobo, they like to play games together. You won’t need clothes for that, will you, darling?”

  She didn’t change expression. She was already lost, gone away, Jack thought. If worst came to worst she probably wouldn’t quite know what they were doing. Until they began their tricks, that is, then she’d know, if only in the agony of her body.

  The men put aboard the last of the sacks. Cancelli said, “All right, get the show on the road.”

  They all started toward the wharf, the Blatskys in the lead. There was no way to make his play, Jack knew, without getting nailed before he could die or bring it off. Izzy Blatsky stumbled and Simon cried out at him and gave him a shove which sent him half to his knees. Sophie jerked at his elbow, cursing him.

  Izzy came up standing. He turned. He cried, “It’s too much. Her… you … all of it.”

  They all turned to stare at him for an instant, so powerful was his cry. Then Simon aimed another blow at him.

  Izzy grabbed Simon, still wailing, “Too much… too much.” He jumped. He held onto Simon. They both went into the water.

  Jack had to take two steps before he reached Katz Manning. On the instant he saw that he had a chance. He hit Manning, went right on past him at Cancelli.

  Sophie Blatsky dived at him. Her head down, she came in like a football linesman.

  Jack said, “Lila! Into the river! Dive in!”

  Katz reached out one hand and caught Lila’s ankle as she ran. She fell. Cancelli had moved back one pace.

  He reached into his pocket and took out a small, snoutnosed, big-barreled revolver. He said, “All right. Take it here, then.”

  He was pulling the trigger when Jack rolled. The bullet splintered the wharf. Turned toward the shore, Jack tried for the edge, tried to get hold of Lila. Everything was in a whirl on the edge of disaster, and Death was so close he could smell his fetid breath.

  In the midst of this dreamlike occurrence he saw a strange sight. A small man had stepped from behind the brick fence, where it ended short of the wharf. He held a nickel-plated revolver in both hands.

  It was Max Somerwell, and he pulled the trigger, pulled it again. Jack drew Lila to him and kicked Katz Manning in the jaw, hard enough to break the bone. Covering her with his body, he attempted to get a bead on Cancelli.

  Sophie was howling gutturally, holding her middle. Blood ran between her fingers. Cancelli, half-concealed by the woman, was trying to shoot at Max. There were yells from the yard and Jack got a glimpse of Damon and another man running.

  He turned Lila loose then. He leaped across the space between him and Cancelli. He grabbed the gun arm as Cancelli tried to turn on him, and twisted. He felt the bone break. He shoved the muzzle of the revolver upward, kicked for the groin.

  Cancelli yelled something. Jack hit him with the edge of his hand with all the pent-up explosiveness which had been driving him to the verge of exhaustion.

  Cancelli went limp. Jack was still holding him when Damon and the other man got to them.

  Damon expertly made a quick examination. “You fixed him so he won’t stand trial.”

  “The woman,” Jack said. His voice was weak. “Sophie Blatsky. She killed Ted Colyer.”

  Damon said, “She’s maybe got a chance. Max made a lucky shot on her.”

  “Dirty cossack bastards,” she was screaming. “Dirty rotten capitalists. Yellow bastards!”

  Wynoski was looking into the river. “I guess Izzy took his boy to the bottom. I guess we need the morgue wagon more than the paddy wagon.”

  Damon said, “It’s a hel
l of a mess.” Then he laughed.

  Wynoski asked, “What’s so funny?”

  “That Malaney. Guarding those nothin’ prisoners. Just because he didn’t like us kicking Castle around, he misses the whole bit.”

  sixteen

  It was crowded in Jack Ware’s office and downstairs the bar was crowded also. Cyrus Camp was at the bar, drinking heavily, Brownie had reported.

  Eloise Camp was sitting on Jack’s desk, alongside of Rose Marie Coole. Damon was as near the latter as he could manage. Jack made drinks.

  Max Somerwell was saying, “It was because I knew about the lease. I looked it up and through—er—sources, I learned who held it. The revolver is one I have had in my desk for years. I was somewhat surprised when it went off.”

  Damon said, “The damn Spanish thing, it’s a wonder it didn’t blow you up. And that—uh—source of yours, I know him.”

  Max looked nervous. “I was only looking after the interests of my client, Miss Sharp.”

  “Sure, you were,” said Damon. “Hell, Max, don’t kid an old man. When you got mad at Jack you went to Camp and did the same thing we did, you investigated the leases. Lila told you about Alvin’s letter. You knew where to look.”

  “I refuse to say any more,” Max told him.

  Jack said, “In case I haven’t mentioned it, you’re re- hired, Max.”

  “Thank you.” The little man accepted a drink, peered near-sightedly at Lila’s profile, heaved a sigh and gulped.

  Damon said, “That Blatsky dame will wind up in the looney bin. She even had the tire iron and the marine diggin’ tool in her crate. She musta taken poor Ted by surprise and nailed him with the marine pick.”

  Max murmured, “I wish I had killed her.”

  “Bloodthirsty, ain’t you?” Damon was in high spirits. “I swear, us cops had nothin’ to do.”

  “You made the arrests,” said Jack. “Your job is safe. What more do you want?”