The Black Lizard Big Book of Pulps

by Otto Penzler

“He’s dead,” I told The Flame, felt the long envelope in my pocket bend as I knelt so—the envelope which Michelle Gorgon had asked me to deliver to his brother, Eddie. I drew it out. To leave it with Eddie now, there on his chest, would be a gruesome sort of humor, maybe. But it wasn’t that which made me stick it back in my pocket. Some one beside the Gorgon crowd might first find Eddie. No need to advertise this bit of killing yet. At least there was no need to implicate The Flame, if others knew about that money and jewelry in the envelope.

  No one but Fred, the bartender, had seen me come into the Maria Cafe, and Fred was off for the night. Wise men of the underworld don’t speak of the events which precede violent death, at least, to the police, they don’t. And certainly it wouldn’t take a lot of brain work on the part of either of the Gorgon brothers to guess who sent Eddie bye-bye.

  “Come!” The Flame went to the window and threw it open, and let in the cool night air. It felt good. I turned, looked the room over once for any sign of my visit, was satisfied with the inspection and reached the window in time to take the girl by the arm.

  “You forget, Florence, what I came here for. I want to know where Colonel McBride is. Is he alive?”

  “Yes, he must be. Let us get away from here first. Surely,” she looked at me as I still held her arm, “we can talk as well in the alley.”

  “Yeah, with every ash can concealing a gunman, for all I know? You trapped me twice. You—. Oh, I give you credit for saving my life, Florence. But you change so quickly that I can’t chance it. This may be one of your weak, or perhaps, from your point of view, one of your strong moments. Anyway, to love The Flame is to die,” and somewhat bitterly maybe, “and I put myself on that sucker list tonight, in the house of Colonel McBride when you popped out of the closet. Oh, I’m not blaming you, Florence. I’m beginning to think that label you’ve won is not just a moniker of the night. The Girl with the Criminal Mind.”

  She swung suddenly on me, her hands gripping my arms above the elbows, her eyes looking into mine. Anxious, fearful, haunted eyes. Different than I had ever seen her before. But then, The Flame was always different. Of course women are supposed to faint at violent death, but then, The Flame never ran true to biological or physiological, or what have you, form. Still the death of Eddie had knocked her, it seemed. Yep, The Flame was out of character, or maybe, in character. No one knew the real Flame, I guess, least of all me.

  “One question, Race, just one question now. Do you, do you love me?”

  “I don’t know.” I guess that was the truth.

  “Did you mean what you said, there in Colonel McBride’s house, when you thought I must be caught or killed? You, you said you loved me, you know. Did you mean it?”

  “Yes, I meant it then,” I told her, almost viciously. “And maybe I mean it now. It’s a queer thing though, Florence. No one can lay a finger to it. But love you or not, I don’t trust you. I don’t think you even trust yourself. I—”

  She half glanced at the body again, and shivered slightly. And I let her slip over the sill and drop into the alley. Yes, I let her. But I very nearly stepped on her heels, I dropped so quickly after her.

  “You better put out the light,” she told me. “I imagine that’s the way Eddie would have done it, if it were you lying in there. You see, the place is closed. They expect, or Eddie expected, to let the crime ride. Maybe it would be days before they were supposed to find you.”

  “Then you did trap me,” I cut in.

  “Ah,” she swung on me suddenly, “then you didn’t believe I trapped you. You tried to believe it, but couldn’t. That’s it, isn’t it?” She shook me by the shoulders. “You couldn’t believe it. Try as you might, you could not believe it.”

  “Couldn’t!” And maybe my laugh was queer. Maybe I didn’t want to believe it, but that I didn’t was a different thing, again. Inside of me, maybe, I denied it to myself. But I’m a reasoning man, and certainly I believed it.

  “You mean to tell me that you didn’t know Eddie was there!” I demanded.

  “No, I didn’t know. I don’t expect you to believe me. But I didn’t know until I heard him, saw him.”

  “But who told Eddie? Fred, the bartender?”

  “Fred didn’t know whom I was to meet, until you came. He didn’t know I was to meet any one until five minutes before you came. That he got in touch with Eddie, or that Eddie just happened to come here, would be impossible.”

  “And you didn’t have Eddie come to the apartment, your apartment, that night he jumped me from the window?” There certainly was disbelief in my voice.

  “No,” she said slowly, “I didn’t.”

  “Quite a coincidence, quite a coincidence. And I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “Nor do I.” She snapped that back at me as she slipped down the alley and we reached the street. “But I do believe in using your brains, just once in a while, Race. You can’t plug on always like you do.” And with what might have been a smile, “There won’t always be a woman, a woman with a criminal mind, to lift loving cups for you and—”

  “Florence,” I said, “what of Colonel McBride? You promised if I let you go—”

  “Oh, I may have lied to you, to get away. It might have been a promise I can never keep. But I’ll try, I’ll try. Michelle Gorgon knows where he is, and I—. Michelle Gorgon is friendly toward me.”

  “Yes,” I said, “he is.” And with an effort I stuck to my client. “What about Colonel McBride?”

  “Well.” She blazed up. “Michelle Gorgon wants information from him. He wants to know who is behind McBride, where McBride learns things, and—. Race, go to Michelle, tell him you’ll quit the case.”

  “Quit for that mountebank!” I sniffed. “I should say not. A client hired me, and—. But I’ll go to Michelle Gorgon all right.”

  “If you stay on the case, nothing can save your life now, now that Eddie is dead. Don’t you see? Michelle Gorgon loves me. And superstition or not, to love The Flame is to die.” Her lips curled, and her smile was more sad than sinister.

  “Death for me too, then.” I half laughed. I could feel her fingers bite into my arm, but she did not speak.

  “Florence,” I said. “You love this man, this Michelle Gorgon. You have been swept off your feet by his influence, his money, his air of superiority, and his admiration for—”

  She turned on me viciously. Then, after a moment, she said, almost softly:

  “But, yes, he attracts me greatly. To have him love me, want me. It is the ambition of my life.”

  She tried to go. I held her arm. But I couldn’t say anything. She looked straight at me and spoke again.

  “Race, use your head. When the day comes that you believe in me, absolutely trust me, take pencil and paper and go over this, all of this, from the beginning—from the very second that you stepped into the case. Think who is the best informed one you know, of you and me, and—” Then suddenly, “O’Rourke brought you into this, didn’t he?”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “No—No—But he must have. He must have. It couldn’t have been—”

  “It was—” And I stopped. I couldn’t trust her.

  “Rudolph Myer, maybe.” She thought aloud. Then, “No. That wouldn’t be logical. That wouldn’t—. But of course it was Rudolph Myer.”

  She turned suddenly, flung both arms about my neck, and kissed me. And she left me. Walked smack out of the alley just as a harness bull turned the corner and sauntered leisurely down the street, half a block away.

  As for me. I went back down that alley, hopped in the window again and turned out the light. I’d pay a little visit to Michelle Gorgon before Eddie’s body was cold.

  But I wasn’t to pay my little visit to Michelle Gorgon just then. Feet sounded in the alley outside, feet that hit heavily for a moment against stone, then moved cautiously toward that window. It was a cinch that those feet belonged to a heavy body that had dropped from the fence dividing the houses.

  It was
n’t the harness bull from outside then. My first impulse was to beat it by the front way. My second, to stick it out. It might be one of the Gorgon outfit, come to see if Eddie had disposed of me. There was only one way to find out, that was to wait and see what broke. Nothing dangerous in my position now. There I was, close to one side of the window, my back pushed against the wall, my gun in my hand. No, there was nothing to be alarmed about.

  A form blotted out the faint semblance of light from the window. Not light enough there to recognize a man, or anywhere near it. But light enough to barely make out the bulkiness of huge shoulders, and the whiteness of a face. For a moment I got a thrill. To myself I said, “The Second Gorgon, Joe Gorgon.” My finger squeezed a gun trigger slightly. I was beginning to dislike the Gorgons.

  A white hand crept over the sill. A split second later a pencil of light bit into the darkness, crept along the floor, picked out a lifeless foot, ran quickly up the body of Eddie Gorgon and smacked on the side of his face. I rather liked that. The dead gangster lay so that you could not recognize him. My friend at the window would have to come into the room if he wanted to identify the thing that had been Eddie Gorgon, feared racketeer.

  He did just that little thing. And what’s more, he didn’t like it overmuch. Not from any lack of moral courage, I guess, but from the physical effort. For although he started in the window without a moment’s hesitation, he didn’t like the bodily exertion, for I heard him grunt plainly.

  CHAPTER XXII

  O’ROURKE HAS A HUNCH

  He was in the room now, across to the body, leaning over and turning the dead face into the light of the flash. He whistled softly, muttered something to himself that didn’t seem like a curse, and I was smack behind him, my gun in his back.

  “Don’t move, brother,” I said, “unless you want to lie down beside your little playmate. Now—that flash. Good.” And the man laughed, and the light struck his face.

  Maybe I laughed too, but not with quite as much mirth. The hard, grizzled map I looked into was that of the “honest cop,” Detective Sergeant O’Rourke.

  “Well,” I said, “what are you going to do?”

  And I didn’t drop my gun. The first thing I thought of then was Rudolph Myer, a habeas corpus writ, and the amount of bail. Not that I didn’t trust O’Rourke, but he might be the efficient cop now, not the loyal friend. Through and through O’Rourke was a cop.

  “What am I going to do?” He ignored my gun, walked to the window, closed it, pulled down the shade and pressed the electric button. “It’s what are you going to do, and what did you do?”

  “I took your advice,” I told him, “and laid a bullet in one of the Gorgons. It was self-defense, and more. I was, was trapped here. And you put a tail on me, after you promised you wouldn’t.”

  “Well,” he said, “it don’t look like you were trapped. Let’s talk it out, Race. You and me are in the same racket and under the same boss, but working at odds. And I ain’t above telling you now, that I got you into the Gorgon mess. But that’s confidential.”

  “ You got me in. I thought—”

  “You thought it was Rudolph Myer, and so it was. That was my little plan. I didn’t want you to know. But no matter, now. Working the same game or not, here’s a lad been croaked. We can’t just pretend it never happened, you know. We’ll run it through as a matter of form. There’s big people behind you. McBride, if he’s alive.”

  “He’s alive,” I told O’Rourke. “Don’t charge me with this shooting. Let me put it in a form of a complaint. I went to the Maria Cafe, was attacked, and shot a man in self-defense—and I call on the authorities to investigate the attack on me. Then it’s the district attorney’s move against me. I’ll be ready with bail, and—”

  “Good stuff, and does credit to your honest nature.” O’Rourke grinned. “But Eddie isn’t going to be missed that bad. At least, by the police department. You may not know it exactly, but you’re just as much a part of the city’s police system, with their rights,” and with a little grimace, “and without their restrictions, as I am. I’ve got a lot of authority, and a big lad to take the blame, if things go wrong. We’ll let it stand as a gang killing for a little bit, at least, to outsiders.”

  “O’Rourke.” I cut in with a sudden idea. “Could you keep this quiet, just for a few hours, maybe, until—” And I went into the thing. “I want to see Michelle Gorgon. I want a good talk with him. I—. But if he knows I got his brother, well, it won’t give me a chance to work on this thing. Every—”

  “I know,” said O’Rourke, rubbing his chin. “How long do you want?”

  “A couple of hours.”

  “It’s after twelve,” said O’Rourke, snapping out his watch. “I’ll give you until morning, five o’clock, or if you can make it earlier, better still. But you can’t go to Michelle Gorgon now—not quite yet.” And very slowly, “His wife was moved last night to a private hospital down town. Do you know what that means, Race?”

  “No,” I said, “I don’t.”

  “But I think I do.” O’Rourke nodded vigorously. “Nothing can happen in Doctor Gorgon’s home. He’s through with her. She’s going to die.”

  “But she couldn’t. He wouldn’t dare murder his own wife. That would be the end. The—”

  “He murdered his wife years ago. But who the wife was—?” he scratched his head. “The best detective in the city has been to Italy, Race, and if that little Giovoni spoke the truth, there’s no evidence to show that Michelle Gorgon was ever married before, in Italy or any place else. I tell you, I’ve been working on Michelle Gorgon for over a year, and it wasn’t until this judgeship business came up and Colonel McBride was secretly called in by his buddy, the Deputy Commissioner, that I carried authority in it. The Commissioner himself is behind McBride. I tell you, this judgeship business is nothing to Michelle Gorgon’s murder racket. He has many enemies, of course. But when an enemy becomes big enough for him to notice—that enemy dies.

  “But if I couldn’t find out anything about Michelle Gorgon’s former wife, whose, at least claimed to be, father-in-law got rubbed out the other night—I have found out plenty about his present wife. More than any man in the world knows; more than Michelle Gorgon himself knows; more than the wife herself knows. Laugh that off.” There was a ring of pride in his voice.

  “And Gorgon’s wife—. What do you intend to do?”

  “I intend to talk to her. I understand she’s slightly loose in the upper story. And I know that she had a terrible accident, airplane accident, in which Michelle Gorgon didn’t get hurt, and I understand that she had a gentleman friend, for she was a very beautiful woman. There’s a story that Michelle Gorgon maimed her purposely, but like his other activities it can’t be proved. Anyway, she didn’t jump from the plane, but crashed with it. I want to talk to her before anything happens to her. That’s that. If that isn’t playing the game with you, Race, nothing is.”

  “But you promised not to put a tail on me, and—”

  “So that rankles. Well, forget it. I didn’t. No more questions about that, now. Let it drop. But the phone in Colonel McBride’s house leaked as soon as it rang. Anyway, we’ll forget who you came here to meet. But come on. We’ll have to chance the discovery of the body. You’d have chanced that anyway.”

  “Isn’t it a little late for a hospital interview?” I asked.

  “Sure,” said O’Rourke. “But if it were four in the morning I’d go anyway. It isn’t something, I think, that can be delayed overlong.

  “You know, Race,” O’Rourke told me, when we were safely out of the Maria Cafe and speeding to the private hospital in my car, “you’re a man of your word and I’m a man of mine. Remember that. We’ve got to work fast on this, before something else happens. I work for the city. I work against time. I use stool-pigeons. Play on crooks who have been, or think they have been, double crossed. Even ignore some small crime if the individual will give information concerning a bigger one. I thought I’d go any length t
o reach my ends, and I have—I did. I’ve stirred up thoughts of passion, hatred, and vengeance. Now and here’s a terrible thing for a lad who’s been an honest cop over twenty years to say. If you were to put a bullet between them cute eyes of Michelle Gorgon, I’d, well, I don’t ask you to do it and I don’t say I’d thank you for doing it, but I’d sleep easier at night and, and, by God! I might even go on the witness stand and perjure myself that I saw Doctor Gorgon draw a rod and heard him threaten to kill you.”

  “You’ve got a little hatred for this bird yourself, O’Rourke.”

  “Yes,” he said, “I have. But it isn’t so much hatred of Michelle Gorgon, but fear, fear of what I’ve done, fear of the uncontrollable fires I lit. But maybe the day will come, Race, when you’ll be wanting to put a little lead bullet between these same two eyes of mine.”

  I laughed and said:

  “It wouldn’t be a hard mark to hit.”

  “No,” said O’Rourke, very seriously, “it wouldn’t. But this’ll be the place. And it’s as respectable as it looks.” I stopped the car before the building, as O’Rourke talked on. “Ritzy too, and high priced. There’s a doctor’s name behind this institution that’s gospel to the medical profession; a lad to run it who hasn’t had ten minutes to himself to hobnob in the underworld since he graduated from medical school. It looks just like the sort of a place to faze the lowly Mick, known as Detective Sergeant O’Rourke. So, under those conditions, we’ll go through with it. In we go.”

  And in we went.

  Somehow O’Rourke seemed different to me. He talked more. Was it nerves? But surely, after his years as the most active detective on the police force, he wouldn’t get finicky over a few murders more or less. I guess, maybe, he was just the man hunter on the hunt. The eagerness gets under your skin, you know. Still, he seemed different. But then, every one seemed different. Maybe we were all feeling that sinister air of superiority of the Third Gorgon. And I grinned to myself—of the Second Gorgon now. After all, Eddie was one of them. Eddie was protected by his association and relationship. And you couldn’t get away from the fact that all Eddie needed now was a shovel and some loose dirt.