But not a sound, outside of that.
I got to the top and waited for Wendel, and I could hear him coming all the way. Not alone from the stairs but because of his breathing. He was wheezing like he had asthma. I whispered to him when he got to me: “For God's sake breathe slower.”
He whispered back: “I'll try.”
The tough part was coming. What we'd done was kid stuff, compared to waking his wife up and keeping her from waking up the household. I said:
“What pet name did you have for her?” He grunted, made a rattling noise in his throat that sounded like: “E-r-r-r,” and didn't say anything.
“You must have called her something besides Ruth.” He whispered: “I-I-I called her p-puzzums.” I said: “Oh Jesus!” and wanted to laugh in spite of the spot I was on, but I said instead: “Now when we get inside you get you face close to her ear and be ready to whisper in it. Then just put your hand over her mouth and whisper. For Christ's sake, don't let her make that first squawk. She'll come out of her sleep scared to death and she'll sing out sure as hell. So clamp down on her mouth until she knows who it is that's talking to her. Understand.” He said he did.
I went down the hall and got to her door and tried it. It was unlocked, and if I'd been a gal in that den of wolves that door would have been bolted and propped closed with a chair as well. But I thanked God for her trust in men and opened it.
I took plenty of time doing it; at least five minutes. And Wendel was at the back of my neck, breathing like a fire horse after a run. I finally got it cracked enough for us to lip through and I went first, to make sure my Sherlock Holmes stunt had been right.
It had been. It was a warm night; the front windows were open and letting in quite a bit of light, and the gal had kicked off the covers. I couldn't make a mistake; there was no doubt of it being Mrs. Wendel. I slipped to the other side of the bed, where I could help hold her if she came out of her corner fighting, and Wendel knelt down by her.
Her nightie was thin and not exactly where it belonged and knowing Wendel for such a Puritan I felt sorry for him. After all, a man and his wife should have secrets and she'd given hers away. I'd have been willing to bet his face was red and I wouldn't have taken the short end gambling that mine wasn't.
He put his hand over her mouth, ready to grab, got his face close to the side of her head, then reached over with his other hand and patted her cheeks.
And clamped down over her mouth.
She came out of it all in a bunch. She bridged herself like a wrestler trying to break a hold and started kicking. I'll give him credit. He hung on, now with both hands, but it was a grasp of desperation. His mind had given away under the strain and he was whispering hoarsely: “Puzzums! Puzzums! Puzzums!” over and over again.
I got one hand over his, on her mouth, and leaned across her, trying to hold her so she couldn't get free. She was bucking like a horse. Finally he quieted down and I took my hand away, and he got himself together and said:
“This is Tod, honey. I've got to talk to you.”
She kept quiet. He repeated his identification and added: “It's all right, honey. We won't hurt you; we just want to talk to you. Now will you whisper and not make any noise?”
Then he said: “Arrrgghh!” and it was no whisper. It was damned near a shout. Instead of trying to hold his hand over her mouth he tried to take it away, and she came right up with it, holding it with her teeth. She was shaking her head like a damned dog and she was screaming at the top of a plenty husky voice.
If I'd been him she'd never have sued for a divorce; she'd never have been able to sue or do anything else in this world. I'd rather have a wild tiger in the house than a woman who bites. I'd have lowered the boom. But he just jerked away and said: “RUTH!”
She went off that bed like a wildcat and she kept yowling like one. I said to the dope: “Come on! Quick!”
I led the way into the hall and there she was, pounding on the door of Crandall's room and making the night hideous with her voice. Wendel ran to her, took her by the shoulder, and said again: “RUTH!”
She turned and caught him fair in the nose with her fist and I could hear the good solid sound it made when it landed. He took a couple of steps back toward me and I grabbed him and pitched him toward the stairs and said: “Get going fast.”
He did... with me following. We went down the stairs, sounding like a herd of horses, and just when we got to the foot of them the lights snapped on and a guy said: “Hold it!”
It was one of the plug-uglies I'd met at the Three C Club. He was dressed in undershirt and shorts and a .45 Colts Automatic and the last impressed me because it pointed at me, where I stood above Wendel. The Wendel woman's screams above stopped short, and then Crandall's voice came from the head of the stairs saying: “Hold them, Barney!” Barney grinned and said: “Yeah!” The other guard came out of the door behind Barney and this one was dressed in just shorts. He had a mat of hair on his chest and looked absolutely indecent and he held a gun against his hip bone but so it pointed toward us. He asked Barney: “Everything under control?”
Barney jerked his head and said: “Yeah!” again. Crandall called down: “Tell 'em to turn around so I can see who it is. I can guess now.”
Wendel turned and I could see blood pouring from his nose. I turned also, and Crandall said: “Hagh! I was right. Hold them, Barney, and I'll call the police.” Barney said: “Yeah!”
Crandall was wearing about the loudest suit of pajamas I ever hope to see in this world. Purple and red. He looked like a big fat toad in them. He said to me: “You should have stayed out of town, Connell. You'll do time for this.”
I said: “Call the cops and shut your God-damned mouth.”
Barney said: “Turn around!” and then: “Now come down here and face the wall.”
He waved the gun toward the wall opposite him, and Wendel and I did what we were told to do. Barney's gun waving didn't take the muzzle a hell of a way out of line and there was the partner, behind him, to back him up.
It was no time for heroics.
He took my gun and sap and fanned Wendel, who was clean. He hefted my gun, which weighs forty-four ounces when empty, then slammed it against the side of my head. I rolled with the blow, taking away quite a bit of the punch, but it put me down to my knees. Wendel said:
“Here! Here! That's not necessary.”
He sounded calm and cool then. The shock of getting nabbed had straightened him instead of doing the other. Barney said: “You want some of it too, eh?”
“That isn't necessary.”
Barney made a half-hearted cut at him with my gun, missing him a foot, intentionally. I stayed on my knees, shaking my head to clear it, and Wendel asked: “Are you hurt?”
I managed to stand up and said: “No. But when I get that bastard with no percentage he's going to be.”
Barney laughed and said: “Yeah!”
Crandall called down: “I've called the station and they're sending over. Just hold them, men.”
I turned my head and could see Wendel's wife standing by Crandall. Wendel was already looking up at her; not saying anything. She saw us and ducked back out of sight and Wendel said to me under his breath:
“I'm getting over it, Connell.”
I said: “Well, it's time.”
And then we waited for the wagon.
There were four men in it and Barney, the guard, started out with calling the one in charge: “Ziggy!” He said: “Ziggy, these two birds busted in and we got 'em dead to rights. The old man will charge 'em with everything in the book.”
“Where is he?” this Ziggy asked. He was a big burly red-faced man and he'd have won in a beauty contest. The consolation prize.
“Up dressing. You got here quick.”
“I'm on the desk.”
He swung on me and said: “So you're Connell, eh?”
I nodded.
“You're the guy that's been raising so much hell? Start something now, why don't you?”
>
I said: “You loud-mouthed son-of-a-bitch! Take off that badge and gun and I will. I'm willing to bet your pals would like to see you take it, too.”
Two of the cops grinned and the other said: “That's resisting an officer, Ziggy. That's another charge.”
I said to him: “Another—, hunh?”
The first two cops kept their grins. I was getting a break; two against two. Even-Stephen. The cop got red and mumbled something and I said: “Spit it out, baby. Take off the jewelry and I'll take you on after Mister bastard here.”
Crandall said, from the stairs: “Quite a guy, eh, Connell? You know an officer can't brawl like that. I wouldn't blame either of these men if they subdued you by force after that. I think it would be justifiable.”
Ziggy came out with a sap. So did his pal. One of the other cops said: “Hey, Ziggy. Now there's no need of...” Ziggy cut at me with the sap then and I dodged it. The dodge took me in the other one's range and I didn't do as good there. The sap caught me across the ear and made me wobbly. Wobbly enough to let Ziggy catch me fair and square with his next try.
I came back to life in the wagon and the wagon was stopped in front of the jail. The wagon was only a five passenger sedan but they're all the same, whether they've got wire over the back of a truck or are just an ordinary car. They all take you to jail. I could hear Ziggy's voice say:
“Get 'em out,” and then I heard Kirby's voice drawl: “And what is this, Hunter?”
“Two guys charged with house-breaking, assault, and a bunch of other stuff. Connell is going to face a gun charge. The other guy is going up against aggravated assault. Crandall is coming down to charge them.”
Kirby said: “Just a minute. Aren't you supposed to be on the desk?”
“Wilson's taking my place.”
“Did I put you on the desk or Wilson?”
“Well, you put me.”
“Why aren't you there?”
“Well ... I ...”
Kirby laughed but it didn't sound funny. He said: “Somebody else is running the force, is that it? You get inside where you belong and you do it God-damned fast.”
I could hear his feet clumping away and then Wendel climbed out. I followed him and had a hard time making it; Ziggy's sap hadn't helped me much. Kirby said to the cops:
“We'll take charge of these men. I want to talk with them.”
He led the way, with MacIntosh following Wendel and me. We went in the office and Kirby sat us down and said to me: “What crack-brained stunt is this, Connell?”
The wallop hadn't helped me think, either. I said: Well, Wendel wanted to see his wife. So we went to see her.”
MacIntosh grinned and said to Kirby: “There's no charges filed against them, that I can see. Of course there's that old charge against Connell but that's County and I haven't any memory tonight. I don't see how you can hold them.”
The brain worked better then. I said: “Suppose you hold Mr. Wendel tonight and let me out. That's splitting the difference.”
Wendel said: “I don't understand, Connell.”
“You're safe in jail. I'm not. Not with this Ziggy loose.”
Kirby got red and said: “That wasn't my fault. I thought I had him out of the way.”
“His Master's voice,” I said. “Crandall's.”
MacIntosh stared at me and said: “Then you want out and Wendel wants in. That it?” I nodded.
Wendell said: “Connell, this is ridiculous. I demand that I be allowed to see a lawyer and have a hearing and bail set. I don't want to spend any time in jail.”
He looked away from me and at Kirby and I shook my head at MacIntosh. MacIntosh stood and said: “After all Connell knows what he's doing, Mr. Wendel. Or he's supposed to know. Suppose you let him play it his way.”
Wendel said indignantly: “Now Connell, I won't stand for this. I won't put up with it.”
MacIntosh nodded at me and then toward the door and I got up and said to Wendel: “Now look! I don't want to be tied down and have it known where I'm tied. It doesn't matter about you; they won't shoot at you in jail. I don't think Crandall will put charges against you and I know damn' well he will against me.”
He argued: “We both did the same thing.”
“They're afraid of me and they're not of you. It makes it different. And I want to try out something. I want to see if charges are filed against you, if you want to know.”
He shook his head, made a motion with one hand and grumbled: “Well, all right. I think it's a silly thing to do.”
“If it wasn't for me the police would hold you anyway, so what's the difference?”
He nodded then, said: “Well, all right.” I said: “I'll see you soon,” and went out in the hall. MacIntosh followed me out and said: “It's your play, Connell, but it doesn't make sense to me. You're safer in jail than out.”
“I could be followed when I got out; now I can make my sneak. I'll be back at the Palace if you want me.”
“There's going to be hell to pay for this tomorrow. You know that.”
“I want Wendel where he's safe. That's all. I want him where I can get him if I need him. It may be I'll want him in a hurry. If he gets out and runs into Joey Free, God knows where he'll be. With Joey drunk like he is, he's liable to start for either Mexico or Canada; he does things like that.
MacIntosh grinned. “He's a wild Indian; I know that. Kirby says he's a good egg. But wild.”
I said: “He's the old man of the mountains, that's all.”
And left for the Palace Rooms.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I CALLED Lester as soon as I got to the phone and he was jittery. He'd stuck around the house and saw us leave with the police escort and it had him worried sick. I said: “Never mind that. Get a cab and go out to the Three C Club and get hold of Joey Free. That is, if he's not in his room. Get him sober. It'll be a job but you do it. I'm going to need him in the morning. Get it?”
“Yes, Shean! But what if I can't get him sober?”
“Get him in shape to dig up some dough. That's all I ask. Wendel is going to want bail money and I don't want to get in touch with New York for it. Joey can dig it up in less time. This is going to break damned soon.”
Lester said, in a bewildered way: “But why will it break soon, Shean? She can't sue for divorce until she's been here six weeks, can she? She hasn't been here for over three, now.”
I said: “I can't tell you over the phone, kid. Get out and get Joey and get him right. Crandall's going to get action; he's going to figure out a settlement with Wendel right soon and Wendel's sick enough about the business to go for it. And a widow's share in the estate will run into money too. Think it over.”
I hung up then and let him think it over. I hadn't told Wendel, because there was no reason to worry him, but I was starting to think he had no business running around loose. I didn't know the New York law, but it seemed reasonable to suppose a widow would get a hefty share of what estate he'd leave ... if she suddenly became a widow, that is. And I wasn't under any illusions about Crandall... I figured he'd make Mrs. Wendel a widow and think nothing of it if it paid him to do it.
But I didn't think I could make Wendel see this argument. There was nothing I could prove as yet. There was nothing to do but protect him, as well as myself, and let things come to a head.
She'd been in town about half her time; the opposition had still three weeks to do their business. There'd been one murder in the forty-two days they had to work in ... and I didn't want to be the star in another. Or for my client to be starred. I wanted Joey to have bail all ready to put up so that I could get Wendel out of town if it seemed advisable.
Crandall had missed a bet when he hadn't done a lot of shooting there in his house. The action came so fast he didn't have a chance to study the angles. If he'd shot then he'd have been in the clear, being able to prove we'd broken in and all. He'd have been justified in thinking us burglars and acting accordingly. He'd think of that golden opportunity he'd missed,
that I knew, and he wouldn't overlook another chance.
And I didn't want Wendel running around the streets with Joey Free and giving Crandall that break again.
Lester called me in the morning and said: “I've got Joey and he's in pretty good shape. He sobered up quickly.”
“He's had a lot of practice,” I said. “Where'd you find him?”
“At the Three C. He was still thinking he was the old man of the mountain but when I told him what had happened he sobered up.”
“Where is he now?”
“Here with me.”
I couldn't go to the hotel and talk with him and Lester had my car. I couldn't remember the name of any bar in town, except the Rustic, and I didn't want to go there because of Gino Rucci owning a piece of it. But it was only ten in the morning and I didn't think Rucci would be checking up the place that early and so I took a chance. I said:
“Take him to the Rustic and meet me there. Pick a booth in the back. If you should see Rucci there, stand outside and I won't go in. Or that same cop that took us out of Crandall's last night. You get the idea, don't you, kid?”
“Why, yes,” he said scornfully. “Do you think I'm a fool?”
“We won't go into that now. I don't want to meet anybody that knows me. I'm depending on you to see I don't.”
“We'll be there as soon as we can.”
“And bring my car with you.”
“It's still at Crandall's.”
“Stop by and get it. I might want it.”
“As soon as I can, Shean.”
I went out the side way and eased over toward the Rustic. I went damned carefully, too. Looking for policemen that knew me, as well as any of the thugs I'd met at Rucci's Three C Club. And, so help me, I just passed a hole in the wall restaurant when somebody called:
42 Days for Murder Page 10