The Big Book of Female Detectives

by The Big Book of Female Detectives (retail) (epub)

  McCarthy and Cantwell came through the barred door with McCarthy carrying a small handbag, and McCarthy waved at the attendant and said “Thanks.”

  They went onto the street with McCarthy slightly in the lead and he saw a Yellow Cab idling in front of them at the curb. Its sign said: Occupied, and he stepped to one side and away from Cantwell and stared impatiently up the street for another. But that instant a gun crashed inside the cab and it lurched away from the curb.

  McCarthy, at the report, had jerked his eyes toward Cantwell and saw him start to pitch ahead. McCarthy was carrying the handbag in his right hand and in the instant it took him to drop the bag and get his gun from under his coat the cab was out in traffic, traffic so thick McCarthy couldn’t shoot without endangering people on the opposite side of the street. He cursed, picked up the bag with his left hand, and with the gun still in his right, bent over Cantwell.

  Cantwell was lying on his face, both arms stretched out straight ahead and with half his body off the sidewalk and in the gutter. Still holding the gun, McCarthy turned him over and saw he was quite dead. McCarthy came to his feet again in time to see the traffic man from the corner bearing down on him, in time to hear the traffic man shout:

  “Drop that gun!”

  McCarthy dropped the gun but still held the bag in his left hand. As the uniformed man came up he told him: “I was with him. It was somebody in that cab.”

  The traffic man snorted unbelief but clamoring witnesses, already crowding for their place in the sun, supported this story. The traffic man said:

  “Just you wait. There’s more to this than that.”

  McCarthy snorted in turn but waited…waited until the Homicide Squad had checked his story with the guard and attendant inside the bank…waited while Cantwell’s body was photographed and loaded into a morgue bus and taken away…waited and expected every minute to be questioned about the bag. He wasn’t.

  An hour after the shooting McCarthy stamped down the hall to his office, said to the blocky man who lounged outside his door:

  “Hello, Shannon! Didn’t expect to see you.”

  Shannon was red-faced, bristly black-haired, and twenty pounds or more overweight. His voice was harsh, bullying, but this was manner alone.

  He said, “You might have known I’d come to see you. What’s this about Frankie Giles? We ain’t got a thing on him but we sure as hell would like to have. We been watching him; damned lucky the department knows where he lives.”

  McCarthy opened the office, tossed the bag carelessly on his desk. He said, “If I don’t hear from my girl by the time it’s dark, I’m going to see him. It’s at 426 Rosemary Avenue you said, didn’t you?”

  Shannon said this was correct, and then: “You mean that Miss Chalmers is with that guy?”

  “That’s it.”

  Shannon said quietly, “I’m going in with you. I’ll take that Giles apart with my own two hands. Let me get Costello on the phone, Irish, he’ll want in on the party.”

  McCarthy said, “Fine. We’ll need him.”

  “How you going to work it?”

  “I’m just going in, is all.”

  Shannon laughed shortly. He said, “Well, five’ll get you ten that you’re carried out. You want it?”

  McCarthy said he’d give the same odds. It was five hours until dark.

  * * *

  —

  Frankie Giles’s house was set back from the street about half the length of the lot; the lawn was green, well kept, and spotted with shrubbery. The shrubbery was trimmed too low to offer concealment. Close to the corner, a street light showed the three men in the car every detail of the yard.

  McCarthy grunted, “No chance for anything but the front door. It was a screwy idea waiting until dark anyway.”

  Shannon’s harsh voice said, “Maybe and maybe not.” He waved, offered: “It may be screwy to have about twenty men stashed around the block to make sure Giles makes no sneak, but I can’t see it.”

  Costello, Shannon’s partner, said, “Shan’s right.” He was a mild man, as tall as Shannon but lacking that man’s temper and aggressiveness. He was both quieter and smarter.

  McCarthy grunted and kept the car rolling down the street and past the corner. He stopped, climbed out, and said, “Might as well try it now as later.” Costello said cheerfully, “Right. Let’s go.”

  McCarthy looked a little embarrassed. He said, “Now look! I don’t know that Giles has got the girl. I just got that notion. There’s no charge against Giles and there’s no reason for you birds to get into this.”

  Shannon reached out and pawed at McCarthy’s face. He said, awkwardly, “You damn fool!”

  Costello said, “If you’re right on this we’ll have Giles on a kidnap rap. I hate the guy’s guts, anyway.” He gave McCarthy a sudden direct glance, said, “And if you’re right and it’s a snatch, I want that guy to stand trial. None of this losing your head and shooting wild.”

  McCarthy didn’t answer this but swung up the walk to the front door. He was slightly in the lead, Shannon and Costello walking side by side behind him. He said:

  “I don’t see any lights inside,” and knocked, and the door swung open instantly and framed a tall dark girl. She said, “What is it?”

  McCarthy put out his hand and swept her to one side and went through the door, Shannon and Costello at his heels.

  The hall was dark, but only for a moment. As Shannon and Costello cleared the door the girl swung it closed. Then lights snapped on and they saw Arnold at the end of the wide hall, holding a riot gun. The muzzle of this bore on them as they stood grouped. McCarthy shot a glance behind him, saw the girl crouched almost on the floor, and said, “A plant!”

  He raised his hands without waiting for an order and Costello followed suit, but Shannon made no move.

  Arnold snapped, “Up!” and shoved the gun ahead.

  Shannon said, “Well, I am!” in an injured tone and raised his hands to shoulder height, and Arnold grunted, “Wise!” and, to the girl: “Come along the wall.”

  He held the gun steady on the three men as the girl crept along, keeping out of the line of possible fire, and as she passed him he said:

  “Tell Frankie to come here. You keep watch, Lil.”

  She said, “Uh-huh!” and passed through the door at the end of the hall.

  Shannon lowered his hands slightly and said, “What’s the idea?”

  Arnold said, “Shut up and keep those hands high.”

  In another moment Frankie Giles came through the back door. His coat was off and he held another riot gun.

  He said, “Let’s put ’em in the same room with the gal. If I’d done what I wanted and traded her for that stuff we’d be out of here right now.”

  Arnold said, “So you’ve said. You help on this.” He ordered the three: “Now come ahead steady. One at a time. I’ll shake ’em down, Frankie.”

  Frankie nodded. Arnold set the riot gun against the wall. He produced a small automatic from his pocket, motioned to McCarthy, and said, “Well, come on.”

  He made McCarthy stand well away from Shannon and Costello and against the wall, took the heavy gun from McCarthy’s shoulder clip, and grunted at the weight of it. He said:

  “It’s a cannon!” and at the same time took a step back and swung the smaller gun he held against McCarthy’s face. McCarthy rolled with the blow but went to the floor. Shannon and Costello both stepped ahead but Giles rapped out: “Hold it.”

  They stopped, Shannon breathing heavily and Costello a little white in the face.

  Costello said, “I’ll get you guys at the station and so help me God I’ll beat you to death. So help me God.”

  Giles said to Orrie Arnold, “Lay off that stuff, Orrie. That don’t do any good.” Arnold snarled back, “I’m doing this.”

  He searched Costello wit
h the same swift efficiency and took a gun, sap, and handcuffs from him. And then waved him back and Shannon ahead. He took the mate to McCarthy’s gun from Shannon and slapped at his face with this, but Shannon took a step back and the blow passed in front of him.

  Giles said again, “Lay off, Orrie!”

  Arnold turned on him and blazed, “I hate cops. Shut your mouth.” He returned the automatic to his pocket, put the three guns he’d taken from the prisoners on the floor by his shotgun, and picked this up. Giles said, “First door to the right, boys,” and backed into it. Shannon and Costello stood still and when Arnold waved toward the door, Shannon said:

  “What about McCarthy?” who was still lying on the floor, out.

  Arnold snarled, “Well, pick him up.”

  With McCarthy between them and with Arnold following, Shannon and Costello turned into the room to the right. With the exception of an iron camp cot and chair it was bare of furniture but it wasn’t empty.

  * * *

  —

  Marge Chalmers was sitting on the cot, leaning back against the wall with her hands tied behind her and a gag in her mouth. Her feet, also tied, were resting on the floor.

  A very small, very dark Filipino sat in the chair in front of her, holding a nickel-plated revolver pointed at her stomach. He shot one glance at the newcomers and then returned his gaze to the girl. He kept moistening his lips with a small pink tongue, and his eyes weren’t nice.

  Giles was standing with his shotgun over against the farther wall. He said, “Over here!” and motioned to the floor at one side and to the right of the cot. Costello and Shannon lugged the sagging McCarthy to the spot indicated, let him slump to the floor, and then Giles ordered:

  “You two sit on the floor.”

  They obeyed, watched McCarthy, who was lying on his side with his knees drawn up. His mouth was open and there was a slight trickle of blood leaking down his cheek and temple. The bandage he still wore on his head was awry, and his eyes were closed. Giles looked at him and said reprovingly to Orrie Arnold:

  “Why did you smack him so damn hard? Acts like it’s a fractured skull to me.”

  Arnold walked to McCarthy and kicked him in the ribs, though not particularly hard. He said, “The heel! If he’d laid off Cantwell, none of this would have happened. And I’m telling you, Frankie, you made a mistake in not trading this dizzy twist for that stuff. The boy friend would have popped for it and glad to do it.”

  Giles said, “You better go and see how Lil is making out. I know the place must be staked and she may have seen something.”

  Arnold looked undecided but finally said, “O.K.!” He went out the door and into the hall and, as he did, Lil cried out in the back of the house. The cry was indistinct but carried a definite note of warning. Giles stared at the hall door a moment, said to the Filipino, “Take this, Tommy, and watch them all.”

  He handed the Filipino the riot gun and the little dark man put the nickeled revolver on the floor and took the riot gun. He twisted his chair then, so that he could watch the three men on the floor as well as the girl. The move brought his side only a couple of feet away from Marge and she watched him with eyes very bright.

  Giles said, “I’ll be right back,” and followed Arnold from the room.

  Costello said, “Ain’t this a honey of a thing to run into? I ask you. That twist must have seen some of our cops.”

  The Filipino tilted his shotgun and said, “You shut up!”

  At the same moment Marge lifted her bound feet from the floor, braced herself against the wall, and kicked up and out. She was wearing high-heeled pumps and the heel caught the little dark man under the ear and he went over sidewise, chair and all.

  McCarthy half rolled from his position on the floor and went from that position to fall on the Filipino. He bumped the little man’s head twice on the floor, drew his fist back and struck him under the ear, then stood up and said to Marge:

  “Nice work, kid!”

  She gurgled against her gag, rolled her eyes frantically, and he went to her and unfastened the towel that made it. She tried to speak and couldn’t. He untied her hands and feet and she tried again to speak and again failed. Then she pointed up to his head and he said:

  “Oh, that! I was stalling.”

  Shannon had the shotgun the Filipino had dropped and Costello had the nickeled revolver. Shannon said, “Then suppose you quit stalling now,” to McCarthy and started toward the doorway, but Costello said, “Wait. How many is there, Miss Chalmers?”

  She had some difficulty in saying: “Giles and Arnold and a girl.” Costello said gloomily, “And me with this pop gun,” and stared down at the nickeled gun with distaste.

  Shannon said: “You dope! Ours are still in the hall.” He started toward the door and McCarthy told Marge:

  “If he makes a move, kick him in the face,” and followed, after motioning at the Filipino.

  Costello and McCarthy were about ten feet behind Shannon as he stopped and peered around the door casing. They saw him step clear of the door and into the hall and out of sight, then heard the shotgun crash. Then he shouted:

  “Come on!”

  McCarthy went into the hall with a sort of plunging dive that took him past Costello. He saw Shannon raise the shotgun again, saw the girl Lil outlined in the door at the back of the hall. She screamed, ducked back out of sight, and Shannon lowered the shotgun and said:

  “I got Arnold.” Arnold was lying in the hall, his hands gripped on his belly.

  McCarthy passed Shannon, went to where their three guns were still piled on the floor. He said, “That girl is back there with Giles. This is going to take doing.”

  Shannon dropped the shotgun, said, “Yeah. Him in a dark room and with the girl. He’s got it his way.”

  McCarthy started down the hall toward the door at the end.

  Costello said, “I’m with you,” and came alongside.

  McCarthy gripped him by the shoulder and jerked him back.

  With his body at floor level, and well to the side, McCarthy shoved open the door at the back of the hall. As he did so, Costello shot past his ear at a man outlined against a window. The man went to the floor, got up, and made another frantic scramble for the window and succeeded in getting half through it before Costello and McCarthy shot at the same time. He fell outside the house.

  Costello pointed with his gun barrel, said, “Arnold’s in the hall, and Giles is outside with a couple of slugs in him.” He raised his voice, said, “You in there. You twist, Lil. Come out in the light or we start shooting.”

  Lil came, white-faced and trembling. McCarthy said to Shannon:

  “Pfft for your twenty cops. Where are they?”

  They heard a hail from outside and Shannon bawled back, “O.K.! All clear. This is Shannon.”

  And then Marge screamed in a muffled way.

  McCarthy turned and raced down the hall. He got to the door of the room, saw Marge braced against the wall back of the couch and holding the Filipino’s right hand in the air above his head. He was on his feet and leaning over her, his left hand at her throat and straining to bring down the knife he held in his right.

  Marge was twisted on the cot, one hand at the dark man’s wrist and the other on his forearm. She was staring up at the knife and McCarthy could see her chest heave as she tried to scream again.

  Pat stood in the doorway, sighted deliberately and fired. The knife flew up in the air. The girl followed it with her eyes before she turned them toward the doorway. Both she and the Filipino still held their pose, but the Filipino turned his head as McCarthy reached him, and McCarthy smashed him across the face with his gun barrel as he did.

  The little dark man slumped down on top of the girl, and she rolled from under him and said, “I knew you’d come.”

  McCarthy said, “You bet!” He watched her face w
hiten as she said:

  “I thought he was out. He was just stallin’; just like you were.”

  McCarthy said, “I got all my fingers yet. This bird ain’t.”

  She stared at him a moment, and then her eyes went blank and she started to slip to the floor. He caught her, said, “It’s all over, kid.” Still holding her he turned and bellowed:

  “Hey, Shannon! Let that big lug of a Costello clean house and you bring me some water.”

  * * *

  —

  Shannon’s red face looked very good natured. He stood in the doorway and said, “I thought you’d want to know the score. Giles is going to die. Both of you hit him when he was perched on that window-sill.” His eyes widened and he stared at the table. “What’s that?”

  “That’s a bunch of unregistered bonds from a St. Louis bank job. I’m going to return them for the reward. This—” McCarthy pointed at a desk tray. He was still taking unset stones out of a little bag from his pocket and putting them on the tray. “This is a bunch of junk that was stolen in three different jobs in the East. There’s a guy named Plansky in the big house, that can tell us where. If he don’t, there’s enough big stones in the lot to pick the jobs, and they’ll be insured and there’ll be more reward money for me. All this stuff was fenced with Herman Wansner, who’s dead now.”

  Shannon’s grin faded away. He went to the desk, poked the unmounted stones with a stubby finger, and as he did Marge Chalmers said complacently:

  “And I get a cut in the reward. Pat’s going to be big hearted. Aren’t I the lucky girl?”

  Shannon said, “You are. Lucky to be alive. That Filipino that was trying to do you in is charged with kidnaping and assault and attempted murder. He’ll get plenty years in jail, but he pretty near got you with that knife.”

  Marge shuddered a little, asked, “What about the girl?” and Shannon shrugged, said, “Maybe a couple years is all. Women get a break, always.”

  McCarthy said, “I’d say I got a break on this. The reward money’s going to count up to heavy dough. I think I’ll trade the coupé in on a new job, for one thing.”