And then I turned and saw something funny. Lester, without his glasses, can't see five feet from his face. And then he was crying and that didn't help his sight a bit. He'd managed to get clear of the booth and grapple with the second man, and grapple is just the word I mean. He had both arms around him and it looked as though he was trying to climb up him like a kid climbs a tree.
I'd dropped my tray when I'd hit the first one. I circled Lester and his partner, waited until I got a clear shot at the partner's jaw, and smacked.
He just shook his head and I wondered if I'd lost my punch. I circled around the two of them again, waiting for another chance, and then I heard a scream, right in my ear, and the Heber woman brought down a hefty handbag across the guy's head.
It hurt Lester more than it did the guy because he shook Lester off with a sort of wiggle. But it bothered him enough to make him stand still and I got him by the wrist and then turned and threw him over my shoulder. It wasn't hard. I yanked and stooped at the same time and he went over in the old flying mare. He landed in a heap and I got there and kicked him in the face before he could scramble up.
The first guy was out cold, with blood streaming from his face. The ashtray, with all my weight behind it, had caught him across the bridge of the nose. He was a mess.
The second was rolling around on the floor and holding his arms wrapped around the lower part of himself.
The third didn't look well either. He was lying flat on his back by the piano and the piano player was staring down at him as though he didn't believe what he was looking at.
I went back to the booth and said to the two women and Lester: “Let's get out of here! Quick! Or we'll be mobbed.”
The Heber woman was crying out: “He was killing Lester! He was killing Lester!”
My Spanish-looking gal said: “My God, man! Will this happen wherever we go?” and I almost liked her then. Lester was fumbling around with his glasses, too excited to put them on and blind as a bat without them. I put them on for him and we started for the door. Rucci got in the way, just as we got to the door between the back room and dance floor and the bar, and I straight-armed him out of the way. He went whirling back and we got in the bar proper.
The first thing I saw was Crandall, standing at the bar and gawking at us. I said to Lester: “There'll be a cab outside. Grab it quick!”
And then I want to Crandall. I said: “It didn't work, mister, but don't give up.”
He grinned at me and said: “I won't.”
I started to pass at him and somebody grabbed my arm when it went back. I could see I was outclassed, that I couldn't whip the entire bar bunch, so I said:
“I'll be seeing you.”
He nodded, keeping his grin, and I dashed outside.
Lester and the women were just climbing in a cab. There was always one sticking around outside, waiting for a sucker. I climbed in after them and told the hacker: “Wheel her, boy! They don't like us here.” He grinned and said: “Yus, Chief!” and I saw it was the same good-looking kid that had driven us out there.
So did Hazel Heber. She leaned forward and cooed: “My, did you wait for us?”
He said: “Hell, no!” That stopped her. We kept on taking in the spots until about twelve and by that time I thought Hazel was drunk enough to tell the truth, if she knew it. I was half tight. My Spanish effect was lit like a chandelier. Lester was cold sober and watching his Hazel with fear on his face. We were in a booth in the Palace Bar, and I leaned across to Hazel and said: “Lester tells me you know the Wendel woman.” She giggled and said: “Li'l Hazel knows everybody. Knows 'em all, she does. Don't she?”
“Sure, Hazel, sure you do. What's she like?”
“She's swell kid. 'At's all Hazel knows; swell kids. You're swell kid; I'm swell kid.” She screwed up her face and focused on my Spanish. “She ain't swell kid. She's bum.”
Spanish said: “Why you big horse!” in an outraged voice and lifted her hand to cuff her. I caught her arm and said under my breath: “Easy, honey lamb! She's just stiff.”
Spanish said, in the same tone, which was high and carrying: “So'm I drunk. So're you drunk. Everybody's drunk. But I'm no bum.”
Hazel wagged a finger at her and insisted: “You are too a bum. I guess I know a bum when I see a bum.”
I wanted to laugh but this was business and no place for pleasure. I hustled Spanish off what she was sitting on and out of the booth and started her back to the Ladies Room. I said: “Look, kitten, go back and wash your face with cold water. Run cold water on your wrists. If you don't you'll never last out the night and we're just starting to have fun.” This has been a good argument for as long as I can remember. She fell for it. She looked up at me and said, in that gargling voice: “You come with me, Lover.”
“I can't go in the Ladies Room.”
She admitted this seemed sensible and weaved toward the back of the place. I sat down opposite Hazel and said:
“You were telling me about Mrs. Wendel.”
She frowned and said: “She's better than me, hunh? Is zat it?”
I said: “Hazel, you're the sun and the moon and the stars for me. You know that. Don't be silly. I was just wondering why this Wendel woman was getting a divorce.”
“Her old man was mean, that's why. Jus' like all the men he was. Mean. Mean, tha's what he was.”
“What did he do: beat her up?”
“Sure! Alia time. She tol' me. He used to swear at her and call her dirty whore and things like 'at. No woman stand that. No womanly woman stand that.”
I though possibly she was getting her case and Ruth Wendel's a bit mixed in her mind. I asked: “What grounds are yousuing on?”
She said proudly: “I got reasons, too, I have. Cruel and inhuman treatment. D'ya know what 'at man did to me?”
I said I didn't.
“Used to read paper at breakfast. Make me get up for it then read paper. Talked about bills all time. Front of people he talked. No woman stand that. No womanly woman stand that. Right?”
I said: “Right. And the Wendel gal is suing because her papa beat her up and called her dirty names?”
“Sure. She tol' me.”
She pounded on the table and called for another drink; she was drinking double-Scotch highballs, and Lester said in a worried voice: “Hazel, don't you think you've had enough for a while? Wouldn't it be better if you laid off?”
“Li'l Hazel never has enough. Not ever.”
I said to Lester: “Well, every man has his cross to bear,” and then my Spanish honey came staggering back and gasped: “Jesus, Honey, I'm sick,” to me.
She sounded sick, but a hell of a lot soberer.
I said: “Let's get to hell out of here and let young love have a chance.”
She gave me one of those kind of looks and said: “We can have a drink at my place. I want to lie down.”
Lester made a frantic attempt at getting his blonde menace on his feet, so they could go with us, but it was hopeless. The big tramp sat solidly on what she had plenty of and wouldn't turn a wheel. The last I saw of them she was up-ping another Scotch and Lester was staring after me with a pained and worried expression.
My girl sobered up in the cab going home, enough to be more than a little sore when I wouldn't go in her apartment with her. I said: “Now look, hon! I've got a busy day tomorrow. I'll give you a ring during the afternoon.”
She said: “Don't bother.”
“Make it easy on yourself,” I said, and turned and started down the hall, but she paddled after me and purred: “Don't you be mad at me, Sweet. You call me tomorrow afternoon.”
“Sure, Pet.”
“I'll wait by the phone for you to call.”
I left, hoping she wouldn't go hungry sitting by the phone and waiting for me to call. She was pretty but I didn't like her voice. I don't expect 'em perfect, at my age, but I don't want them saying sweet nothings in my ear and sounding as though they had adenoids while they do it. It's not that I'm so fussy but yo
u can hear a voice, even in the dark.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WENDEL had a long night letter waiting for me the next morning and I found out later he hadn't waited to wire New York but had called them on the phone. It said that his New York lawyers had advised him to consult Amos Mard, and that he was wiring Mard that I'd call to see him. That Mard and I should talk the situation over and decide what was best. And that I should keep in touch with him. I got on the phone, got Mard, and made an appointment for an hour from then, which barely left me time to dress and eat. Lester said, as I started out:
“I'd advise you to make sure Mard and Crandall aren't too friendly. They might work together on this.”
I had a headache and a hangover and I snapped back: “You should tell me my business.”
He grinned and said: “Okey, Shean,” and I apologized for the temper and left.
Amos Mard was a young fellow, barely thirty. Or so I thought. We talked for a bit, with me being careful not to say anything that might carry to the enemy camp, until finally he said:
“You know, Mr. Connell, this is a bit unusual. Your coming to me like this. Frankly, there's something wrong with the case, though I don't know what it is. I sense that. If it wasn't that I have personal reasons, I'd turn it down.”
“Does that mean you don't like Crandall?”
He shrugged and didn't answer but he'd said plenty. Unless Crandall threw things his way, Crandall would naturally be tough competition and a bad enemy for a young lawyer starting a practice. And Crandall didn't look to be the type to throw anything anybody's way unless there was more thrown back to him.
I said: “Okey, Mard, I guess I can let down my hair. Suppose we get down to cases. You'll be bucking Crandall and Gino Rucci and Christ knows who else. There's something screwy about the thing; there has been, right from the first. •
“Why do you think Rucci is interested?”
“He's either a good enough friend of Crandall's to take up the hatchet for him, or he's getting a cut. I'd say the last; money's a better reason for him being in this than anything else. The case is built on money, as I see it.”
“Why?”
He was doing the lawyer trick; sitting back and letting me do the talking. He was a shrewd-looking young buck, though, and I though he'd be a good man to have on our side. I said:
“The woman's going to sue for a settlement and plenty of alimony. Naturally Crandall will get a big fee or a cut on the settlement some way. He isn't working for nothing. That's undoubtedly why they wouldn't let her husband talk to her; they were afraid they'd get the thing straightened out and the divorce idea would be dropped. No divorce; no fee. No fee; no percentage for Crandall. They've probably got that poor gal's head so filled with ideas about her old man that it's spinning.”
He said thoughtfully: “You'd think she'd know him well enough not to believe lies about him. That is, if they're lies. Maybe she really has grounds for action.”
I said: “Now look! You may know the law but you don't know a hell of a lot about women. They'd rather believe the worst about a man than the best. That's always good. That's true with all of them. They never forget a thing he's ever done, if it's something he shouldn't have done. Their memory isn't so good the other way; they can forget the nice things he's done plenty easy.”
He grinned and said: “Hah! A philosopher.” I grinned back and said: “Hell no. A guy with experience, God help me.”
I told him what had happened, right from the start, and when I got to the place where I'd met the Chief and about the warning the Chief had given me he sat up straight in his chair. He said:
“Lord, man, d'ya realize what this means?”
“Sure,” I said. “It means you've got a chief here that knows what it's all about. That's all. Every town is the same. He's playing practical politics, which is something that takes a sense of humor and a strong stomach. He's right; this is a tight little town and he runs it right. A chump in that seat would have this place a mad house in twenty-four hours. Can't you see that?”
“But it means he's working with Crandall.”
“It means he's steering a middle course; trying to satisfy Crandall and the other wolves, and trying to do a job for the town at the same time. A bloody reformer in there would raise hell. I tell you; I've seen the same set-up before.”
He said he didn't agree and I went on with the yarn. When I came to the place where the man had taken the two pot shots at me he sat up again. He said:
“There's a point right there, Connell. Why would you lose your job right at that time? Why would Crandall try and force the Chief to run you out of town? Why would this attempt be made on your life?”
I laughed and said I guessed somebody didn't like me and didn't want me around.
He said: “It's the time element, man. I'm no detective, but that means something.”
“I'm a detective,” I said. “And I think you're right. It means something. But I'll be a dirty name if I know what.”
I told him what I'd done the night before and about the brawl at the road-house. And about Rucci calling and having me put on the spot. I finished with: “That's how I know Rucci is mixed in the deal some way. That proves it.”
“It seems funny to me, Connell, that he'd hire you like that and then fire you. It doesn't seem a reasonable thing to do.”
I said: “Well, you've got the picture, now. Suppose you make a date with Crandall and you and I talk with him. As Wendel's lawyer, you're entitled to try and arrange some sort of amicable settlement, at least. Crandall can't refuse that. Maybe we can find out something we can use.”
He looked discouraged. “Crandall's too cagy to give out anything he doesn't want us to know, Connell. You might as well know, the man's got one of the finest legal brains I've ever known.”
“He's stuck you, hunh?”
He said honestly: “I've never beaten him once. I've tried in seven cases.”
“Maybe this will be the time.”
“Maybe,” he said, and didn't sound hopeful.
He called Crandall's office then and we got an appointment in the next hour. Mard looked a little startled at this action; he acted as though God had condescended to reach down and pat him on the shoulder.
I wasn't startled one bit. I told Mard:
“Hell, guy, I told you there was dough in this case. That fat wolf will talk about dough any hour of the day or night. This kind of dough, anyway.”
Mard said he thought I might be right.
Crandall had a honey of an office. Just the best. A dignified young kid bowed at us when we went in, offered to take our hats, and said:
“Mr. Crandall is expecting you gentlemen. I will tell him you're here.”
Mard said: “Thank you!”
I said: “And tell the son-of-a-bitch to take that knife out from behind his back. We know him.”
The kid looked shocked and left. He came back and led us into a room that matched the reception room for class. Heavy rugs. Big chairs and an Oriental looking affair that was supposed to be a couch. Both the chairs and the couch were decorated with some wild looking covering. Bookcases were recessed into the walls, around three sides, and the fourth looked out on the street. The desk that Crandall sat behind was at least ten feet long and five wide and the top of it looked a foot thick. It was absolutely bare.
The place didn't look like an office, in spite of the bookcases and desk, and it took me a minute to understand why it didn't. It was simple. Instead of law books, with their uniform size and binding, the bookcase section held regular books instead of legal stuff. Crandall saw me eyeing this and grinned at me and said: “That's right, Connell! It's a fake office; just for atmosphere. But I've got a law library as well; Amos here, can tell you that.”
I said: “It's swell atmosphere,” taking the cue from him. The minute I'd gotten over my mad the night before, I'd been sorry I'd picked him in the Three C Club. Of course he'd made the—trouble for me and knew I knew it, but things l
ike that do no good and sometimes harm. They give bystanders the wrong impression. Amos Mard said: “I'm representing Wendel, Crandall.” Crandall raised his eyebrows and looked as though he was enjoying himself. He repeated: “Wendel?” as though it was a question he was asking.
Mard tossed the wire Wendel had sent him in front of Crandall. I'd read it; it only gave Mard authority to represent him. He'd sent another, right along with it, telling Mard to expect me and work with me. I gave Wendel credit for brains on this. Crandall picked up the wire, read it through, and handed it back to Mard. He said, grinning:
“Well that's fine now, Amos. I'm always glad to see a brother in the profession do well. But why do you show this to me?”
“I wanted to talk to you about a settlement. That is, if Mrs. Wendel decides to go through with her action and we decide not to oppose it.”
Crandall kept his grin. “Mrs. Wendell isn't a citizen of this state, Amos. She won't be for another month. Naturally she can't sue now. For that matter, she may never sue. She may change her mind; it's a woman's privilege, I've always heard.”
Mard started to get red in the face, which was something I'd been afraid of. The trouble with a young man, going up against an old-timer, is that losing temper business and I'd warned him. I broke in with:
“Now look, Crandall. There's no sense or reason in this screwing around. Wendel, naturally, doesn't want his wife to divorce him. That's understood. But if that's what she insists on doing, I don't think he'll fight it. There's no reason for you two to put on this snarling dog business for my benefit. If she divorces him he'll provide for her as a matter of course. Whatever's right. All we'd like to know is what's your idea of right.”
Mard turned and frowned at me. After all, he was the lawyer and supposed to be doing the bargaining. But I frowned back and kept on at Crandall with:
“Let's get down to earth on this. What's it going to cost Wendel if it goes through? If it's too steep he'll fight it. He can afford to fight if it will mean a reduced settlement and alimony payments. So let's keep it clean.”
42 Days for Murder Page 6