She'll Hate Me Tomorrow

by Deming, Richard

  “Where are you going?” Ross asked.

  “To shoot the sonovabitch.”

  “Whoa!” Ross said in a tone of command. “Come back here and sit down.”

  Pausing with his hand on the knob, Black stared belligerently at his employer for a moment, then reluctantly returned to his seat. Ross regarded him curiously.

  “Usually you try to put the brakes on me,” he said with ironic amusement. “This is kind of a switch.”

  “Well, nobody’s blowing the hell out of my night club.”

  Ross refrained from pointing out that it wasn’t Black’s night club. “You’d never get to Bix,” he said reasonably. “Now that he’s declared war, he’ll be surrounded by an army. We’ll handle it some less direct way.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know,” Ross admitted. “But two guns against Lawson’s army of hoods sort of precludes a frontal attack. We’ll have to devise some way to hit him on the flank.”

  Sam Black gazed at him in astonishment. “You mean you’re not going to wade right in with your customary disregard for odds? You’re actually going to do some thinking first?”

  “I always think before I move,” Ross said with a touch of irritability. “Usually I think fast, is all. This is going to take a little more concentration than usual. We have several hours to make counterplans. Get out of here and leave me alone for a while.”

  Black rose to his feet.

  “And don’t get any ideas about independent action,” Ross said. “I’ll be downstairs to brief you as soon as 1 decide what to do.”

  “All right, Clancy,” Black said stoically. I’ll be waiting with bated breath.”

  CHAPTER XIII

  AFTER SOME THOUGHT, Ross discarded all plans to prevent the bombing by setting a trap and taking the bombers in the act. He knew this would only delay matters until another time, and next time the bombing might come unexpectedly. He decided to let Lawson get in the first blow, then strike back before the racketeer knew what was happening.

  A hand grenade exploding in the center of an empty room can do a lot of damage, however. The furnishings of Club Rotunda were expensive, and in addition to tables and chairs, there were mirrors, draperies, the solid glass bar and the bottled stock on the back bar to consider. Metal fragments from an exploding grenade could wreck all this.

  Ross toyed with the thought of closing early and taking the precautionary measures of removing most of the furnitures and placing some kind of shield in front of the bar. But he knew that during the inevitable police investigation which would follow the bombing, the law would be bound to ask embarrassing questions about why he didn’t report to them when he’d been led to expect an attack. In the end, he decided to leave things as they were.

  He had no desire to risk the lives of any of the help, though. At midnight he went downstairs and briefed Sam Black on his plans. Black immediately spoke to Oscar and told the headwaiter he wanted all customers out of the place exactly at two a.m., and all employees out within five minutes after that.

  “But we have to clean up, sir,” the headwaiter protested.

  “Skip the cleaning,” Black said. “By five minutes after closing I don’t want a soul in the building.”

  Oscar’s eyebrows raised and his expression suggested that he realized the night club manager expected something unpleasant to happen shortly after closing time. But he had been associated with both Black and Ross too long to ask any questions.

  “I’ll see that the place is empty by five after, sir,” he murmured.

  The only direction from which the attack could come was from the front of the building. While several windows faced the alley, they gave access only to the kitchen, the rest rooms and the dressing rooms used by the floor show. On one side of the club was an office building, on the other a theater, and the club had joint walls with both of them. The only way a bomber could get a grenade into the main room was by hurling it through the plate-glass window in front.

  As soon as the last employee had departed and the club was locked up for the night, Ross and Black left by the rear door and climbed into their respective cars. They drove from opposite ends of the alley and rounded to the street in front of the club. Black parked his Cadillac at the north end of the block, facing south; Ross parked his Lincoln at the south end, facing north.

  With motors running, they sat in their cars and waited.

  Every time headlights appeared from either direction, both men dropped sidewise in their seats so that it would appear their cars were unoccupied. There were few cars on the street at that time of night, so this didn’t happen very often. Most of the time they merely sat and waited.

  It was three-thirty in the morning and both men had been up and down in their seats a dozen times when the car they were waiting for finally arrived. It came from behind Ross, its headlights sweeping through the Lincoln’s rear window as Ross lay below the line of vision.

  The gambler didn’t risk raising his head for a peek even when he heard the car brake to a halt in front of the club. He heard one of its doors open; there was the crash of glass, and then the car gunned away. Its motor was roaring at top speed before the dull explosion came from within the building.

  Ross came erect and shifted into drive just in time to see the bomber’s taillights swing left at the intersection where Sam Black was parked. Without switching on his lights, he took off in pursuit, his throttle to the floorboards. He made the intersection in time to see the red taillights turn right a block farther on. As he rounded the corner, he saw Black’s Cadillac begin to swing in a U-turn behind him.

  Apparently the driver of the bomber’s car felt that this maneuvering was enough to throw off any possible pursuit. Even this small bit of evasion was probably the result of habit rather than fear, as there was no reason for the car to expect immediate pursuit.

  After his second turn, the driver of the lead car in the parade dropped his speed to the legal limit and drove straight north for several blocks. At Green Street he turned left to Eighth Street, then north again. A block and a half behind him Ross followed without lights, and Sam Black brought up the rear another block and a half behind Ross.

  When the lead car began to slow down just short of the James Harvey housing development, Ross switched on his dimmers and closed the distance between them. The bomber’s car pulled over to the curb and parked.

  Apparently the occupants of the bomb car were so sure they couldn’t have been followed, they only glanced casually at the Lincoln as it neared. Ross drew abreast. Both men had gotten out of the car and were approaching another car parked immediately in front of it.

  Obviously the car used in the bombing was a stolen one; it was now being abandoned and the men were switching to their own vehicle.

  Ross pulled ahead of the second car, braked, and neatly backed in to the curb. The two men were still unsuspecting, probably assuming he was a resident of the development coming home late. Both men were on the street side of the car, the driver in the act of opening the front door and the other man opening the rear door to lay on the floor a box he was carrying, when Ross stepped from the Lincoln.

  Before either recognized who he was, they were covered by his.38 revolver.

  The two men stared at him stupidly. The driver was a small, slightly built man with narrow features and a weak chin. The other man had the battered appearance of an ex-heavyweight fighter. Both were strangers to Ross, but apparently they knew who he was.

  The driver said in a panic-stricken squeak, “Clancy Ross!” and the heavier man stared at him unbelievingly.

  Sam Black’s Cadillac slowly passed by, stopped ahead, and backed in to the curb in front of Ross’ Lincoln.

  Ross eyed the cardboard carton the big man still held in his hands. “Brought a whole case of grenades along, did you?” he asked. “How many left in the box?”

  The big man wet his lips and remained silent. After a moment Ross centered his pistol on the man’s belt buckle and drew back the hamm
er.

  At the loud click the man said hurriedly, “Five, Mr. Ross.”

  Sam Black asked, “Five what?”

  “Grenades,” Ross told him.

  “Hmm. Shall we make them eat them?”

  Ross shook his head. “Put them on the rear floor as you started to,” he ordered the heavy man.

  When the man had obeyed, the gambler glanced up and down the street and, seeing it was deserted, ordered both men to lean forward on their hands against the side of the car. While they were in this defenseless position, he shook down the heavy man. Black handled the driver. They found a pistol on each and tossed them into the back seat of the car.

  “Now both of you climb in front,” Ross said.

  When they were side by side in the front seat, Ross and Black slid into the back.

  “Shall we do it here?” Black inquired, producing his automatic. “Or let them drive down to the river where it will be more convenient to dump them?”

  The men in the front seat, facing forward, were very still.

  “We won’t do it anywhere until I get a little information out of them,” Ross said. “Where you boys from?”

  When neither answered, the gambler said, matter-of-factly, “That’s the last time I ask a question twice. Next time I don’t get an answer fast, I’ll blow holes in both your heads.”

  “Chicago,” the small driver squeaked.

  “Work for Whitey Cord?”

  “Yes, sir, ordinarily. But he didn’t send us on this job.”

  “Just loaned you out, huh?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “To Bix Lawson?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How’d you get here so fast?” Ross asked curiously. “Bix couldn’t have started planning this earlier than last night.”

  In a trembling voice the driver said, “He phoned Whitey and the boss had us take a plane. It’s only a couple of hours.”

  After a few moments of silence, Ross asked, “Know what we’re going to do to you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “We’re going to give you a sporting chance to get out of town alive. What do say to that?”

  The driver gulped and said, “Thank you, sir.”

  “Maybe you won’t feel so grateful when you learn what the chance is. I’ll give you boys two choices. The first is for the four of us to drive down to the river and for my partner and me to drive back without you. The other’s to do exactly as I say for about an hour and then get turned loose. Which do you pick?”

  “The second,” the driver said promptly.

  “You, too?” Ross asked the other man.

  “Yeah,” the big man said huskily.

  “Know where the Club Silhouette is?” Ross asked the driver.

  “No, sir.”

  “On Green, just this side of Grand. Take a run over that way.”

  The driver started the car. En route to their destination there was no conversation, but Sam Black furnished some sound-effects. Periodically he drew back the slide of his automatic part-way and let it slam home again. It seemed to make the men in front nervous.

  As they approached the club, Ross ordered the driver to double park in front and leave the motor running.

  “Take a look, Sam,” he said.

  Climbing from the car, Black went over to peer through the plate-glass front window. A night light over the bar gave him a clear view of the club’s interior. He studied it thoroughly before returning to the car.

  “Empty as a casket,” he announced. “What’d you expect? None of these joints have night watchmen.”

  “Ever hear of a night inventory?” Ross asked. “We don’t want any innocent bystanders on our consciences.” To the men in front he said, “Bix Lawson owns a half interest in this club. Plus half interest in a couple of others named the Ranch House and the Golden Dog. You, hefty. Know what you’re going to do now?”

  The big man shook his head.

  Reaching into the carton on the floor, Ross handed a grenade into the front seat. “You’re going to step out of the car long enough to heave this through that plate-glass window in front. If I don’t like your marksmanship, you get a bullet in the middle of the back. Everything clear?”

  “Yeah,” the big man said huskily.

  “Then get moving.”

  Pushing open the car door, the big man stepped out on the sidewalk. Carefully withdrawing the grenade’s pin, he sent it hurtling through the plate-glass window and leaped back into the car. The driver gunned the car forward and they were nearly to the corner before the explosion sounded.

  Almost as an echo to the explosion a siren sounded in the distance to the south of them. They rounded the corner on two wheels. Black gave Ross an inquiring look.

  “Must be heading for the Rotunda,” Ross said. “It certainly took them long enough. If they maintain that same rate of speed they’ll be getting up this way when our business is finished and we’re on our way home.

  He said to the driver, “Now you can head for the Ranch House over on Spruce Street.”

  Thirty minutes later the car returned to where the Lincoln and Cadillac were parked. After getting out of the car, Ross and Black stood next to it for a moment, studying the two men through the open window.

  “Has it occurred to you what Bix Lawson is going to think about all this?” Ross inquired.

  “Yes, sir,” the driver said. “He ain’t going to like it.”

  “That’s an understatement,” Ross informed him cheerfully. “Has it also occurred to you what your boss, Whitey Cord, is going to think of it?”

  “He ain’t going to like it either,” the small man said dolefully.

  “Uh-huh. If either one ever catches up with you, you’ll both end up wearing cement overshoes.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So what are your plans?”

  “To get out of town and head in the opposite direction from Chicago. We got to turn in this rented car first, though.”

  “You can stay in town long enough to do that,” Ross said generously. “Bix pay you in advance?”

  Sadly the small man shook his head. Now that it seemed the gambler and his companion had no intention of killing him, his courage was rapidly returning. “Maybe you’d want to come up with a small fee for what we did for you, Mr. Ross,” he suggested.

  Ross let his eyes freeze over and the man hurriedly said, “I was just kidding.”

  Tentatively he shifted into “drive,” glanced at the gambler to see if there was going to be any objection. When there wasn’t, he pulled away slowly, gradually increasing speed until, a block away, he had the gas pedal flat to the floor.

  CHAPTER XIV

  SAM BLACK SAID gloomily, “While you were impressing on those guys what Bix Lawson would do if he ever caught up with them, I kept wondering how he’s going to feel about us.”

  “Who cares?” Ross said.

  “I do. You think he’s going to pass off as a childish prank having three of his clubs wrecked?”

  “Do you think I should have shrugged off having my one and only club wrecked?”

  “I suppose not. But we might have settled for tit-for-tat and only messed up one.”

  The gambler regarded him curiously. “A few hours ago you were all set to blast your way through his encircling army and pump him full of bullets.”

  “A few hours ago I was mad. Now we’re more than even. He’s going to blow his top sky-high.”

  “I imagine,” Ross said cheerfully.

  “You haven’t got any sense,” Black complained. “Bix could raise twenty-five guns with a snap of his fingers. And our side? You’ve got a gun permit and I’ve got one. Period. That’s twelve and a half guns against each of us. I’ll be generous and let you have thirteen. I’m not about to go up against twelve guns alone. My heater only holds eight shells, with one in the chamber.”

  “Start carrying an extra clip and practice fast reloading,” Ross suggested.

  “Haw! And what do we do when Syndicate guns de
scend on us, too? Start aiming Oscar and the waiters and the cocktail hostesses?”

  “You worry too much.”

  “You don’t worry enough, Clancy. If the Commies passed at you, you’d declare war on Russia and expect me to handle Communist China. I’m going to see Sol tomorrow.”

  “Sol Levine, the pawnbroker?”

  “Uh-huh. I’m going to buy me two submachine guns and practice firing with both hands.”

  “Go on home and go to bed,” Ross said.

  “Home?” Black said with raised brows. “I want to check on the damage done to the club.”

  Ross gave him a disgusted look. “The place will be swarming with cops by now. The first thing they’d ask if you walked in would be how you knew there was a bombing. Even the idiots they recruit for the local force would know you don’t customarily drop by for routine checks at five in the morning. I’ll go back to the club alone.”

  “What makes you think they won’t wonder about you?”

  “I live there,” Ross said patiently. “Remember?”

  “Oh,” Black said. “Excuse me. It’s been a long day and I start to get stupid when I’m tired. I guess I’d better go to bed. See you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah,” Ross said, and headed for his Lincoln.

  Black crawled into his Cadillac.

  There were police all over the place when Ross returned to Club Rotunda. He came in by the alley door after parking his car in the club parking lot, and found the first floor ablaze with light. Sergeant Amos Morton, his nose plastered with adhesive tape, both eyes blackened, was in charge of the investigation.

  When the sergeant spotted Ross in the center of the room surveying the damage, he came over and stood in front of the gambler with his hands on his hips and his eyes glittering.

  “Morning, Amos,” Ross said mildly, fixing his gaze on the nose bandage. “I heard you had a little accident.”

  “Other accidents will happen to other people before I forget it,” the detective said through his teeth. “Where you been?”

  “Out. What happened here?”

  The sergeant glanced around, and the wreckage he saw improved his spirits. “Somebody must have tossed a grenade,” he said with a barely concealed smirk. “The night watchman from the office building next door heard the explosion, came to investigate and called in. Any idea who would do a thing like this to you?”