The limping goose

by Gruber, Frank, 1904-1969

  "Her name," Johnny went on, "was Alice Cummings and this was the last address we had of her."

  "Alice Cummings," mused the doorman. "Yeah, sure, I remember her. A good-looking babe "

  "Naturally. You wouldn't have remembered her if she hadn't been."

  "Oh, I remember her, all right. She had a little hard luck, I hear, and couldn't pay her room rent. Although you'd have never known it."

  "Poor Alice," sighed Johnny. "Alone in the great city, no money, only a cheap mink-dyed alley-cat fur coat to keep her warm."

  "She was wearing a real mink the last time I saw her," retorted the doorman.

  "When was that?"

  "The last time? Only a month ago."

  "You've seen her more than this once?"

  "Oh, sure. Standing out here, you're bound to see everyone you ever knew. I see this babe two-three-four times a year. Doin' all right, too, I guess. She was with young Carmichael six-eight months ago. Come out of the theatre there and it was rainin' so cabs was scarce and they came over here to grab one. I helped her in."

  "Carmichael," said Johnny, "that wouldn't be Billy Carmichael, would it?"

  "Naw. Young Jess—you know, son of old Jess Carmichael who made a potful in the grocery business."

  "Oh, him. Well, well! Sis is doing all right. Thanks a million."

  "Not a million. A buck'd be all right."

  "If I had a buck, which I haven't," retorted Johnny, "I'd invest it in the Carmichael Grocery Stores."

  "Yah!" said the doorman disgustedly.

  "Yah to you."

  Johnny signaled to Sam and they walked toward Seventh Avenue. "I'm glad to know the kid ain't starvin'," Sam said. "Wouldn't it be swell if she'd marry a fellow like this rich Mr. Carmichael?"

  "It would help to distribute the wealth," said Johnny, "but it seems to me I've seen this Carmichael lad's name in the gossip columns. He gets around. Mmm, let's take a little walk to settle our lunch."

  At Forty-eighth they turned right and walked to Fifty-second, then cut across to Fifth Avenue. Just beyond was the

  Beau Jester Club where you could get a nice hamburger steak luncheon for two for around $18.50

  The velvet rope was up at the door. "Sorry, sir," a head-waiter told Johnny, "we won't have any tables until around three o'clock."

  "Jess Carmichael said he'd meet us here today for lunch."

  "Mr. Carmichael? There must be some mistake. He nevei eats here on Tuesdays."

  "This is the Beau Jester Club, isn't it?"

  "Of course, sir, but on Tuesdays Mr. Carmichael always has lunch at the Harover Club."

  "He must have meant me to come over to the Harover Club, then. Let's see, that's on Thirty-eighth, isn't it?"

  "Oh, no, Forty-sixth, just east of Fifth Avenue."

  "Well, thank you."

  They walked back to Fifth Avenue and turned south. A few minutes later they entered the grimy building that hac housed the Harover Club since the turn of the century.

  Inside, an assistant doorman who kept the record of the club members who were in the building at the time faced them "Yes, gentlemen?"

  "Mr. Jess Carmichael. He's expecting us."

  "Your names?"

  "Fletcher and Cragg. But it's all right, we're having luncl with him. We'll look for him in the dining room."

  "Sorry, sir, but it's against the club rules. Mr. Carmichae will have to pass you. I'll have him paged for you." H( scribbled on a pad, banged a bell and called out, "Front!"

  A bellboy came forward smartly and the attendant handec him a slip of paper. "Page Mr. Carmichael."

  The bellboy went off and was gone a good five minutes while Johnny and Sam waited in front of the assistant door man's desk. Finally, the boy came back, accompanied by i red-faced, dissipated-looking man of about thirty. The bellboj indicated Johnny and Sam, and Jess Carmichael regardec them vaguely.

  "Do I know you chaps?"

  "Not yet," said Johnny. "My name's Fletcher and this L my partner, Sam Cragg."

  Carmichael nodded briefly. He did not offer to shake hands

  "If you're selling insurance "

  "We're not," said Johnny. "In fact, we're not selling a thing I came to see you for one reason only. To tell you how gratefu lam."

  "For what?" asked Carmichael, still suspicious.

  "My sister. You've been awfully good to her." 10

  Carmichael winced. "Fletcher, you said? Uh, I, ah, don't believe I know "

  "Oh, she doesn't use our name any more. When she ran away from home she changed it." Johnny paused for effect. "To Alice Cummings."

  And now Carmichael really winced. "Uh, ah, Alice, uh, Cummings."

  "No, no, just Alice Cummings. Not uh, ah, or mm. She's told you about me, hasn't she?"

  "No!" exploded young Carmichael. "She never mentioned a brother. And I don't believe you are her brother."

  Johnny made a clucking sound with his tongue. He appealed to Sam. "Tell the man, Sam, am I, or am I not, little Alice's brother?"

  "Yeah, sure," said Sam. "She's our sister—I mean, your sister ..."

  "Blackmail!" exclaimed Carmichael. "You're trying to blackmail me."

  "I've got nothing against blackmail," Johnny said. "A man does something he hadn't ought to do, he ought to pay for it. Shall we talk about it?"

  "H-how much?" gulped Carmichael.

  "Shall we go in and talk about it?"

  "No! Tell me how much, that's all I want to know."

  "I'll make a deal with you. A better deal than you deserve. I'll let you go your crummy way, on just one little condition. Alice's address. Right now—fast."

  "That's all you want? You're sure?"

  "That's all. Nothing more. Absolutely."

  "Chateau Pelham—Fifth Avenue."

  "Mr. Carmichael," Johnny said, "you're a scholar and a gentleman. I thank you."

  He started to turn away. A .shudder ran through Jess Carmichael and he suddenly reached out and grabbed Johnny's arm. "I—I don't get it."

  "You will," said Johnny and walked out of the club.

  Outside, Sam Cragg let out a roar. "Holy smoke, Johnny. That was raw!"

  "I didn't do a thing. I didn't say anything I couldn't repeat in a court. It's his conscience. He read a different meaning into everything. That's what a guilty conscience does to a man."

  "Where we going now?"

  "The Chateau Pelham, where else? And I hope she's in. I'm getting tired of walking. We'll ride back."

  ohnny said to the switchboard operator in the Chateau Pel-Lam, "Tell her Mr. Carmichael sent me."

  The operator repeated the information into the phone, then Lodded to Johnny. "Four-D."

  They rode up in the automatic elevator to the fourth floor, "our doors opened onto the corridor, one for each of the partments on the floor. Johnny pressed the door buzzer of "our-D.

  The door was opened by Alice Cummings, and Johnny mew why the hotel clerk at the Hotel Chesterton still remembered her. She was that kind of a girl. Blonde, tall. Her figure, lowever, wasn't much. Too much like Marilyn Monroe's.

  "Do 1 know you boys?" she asked in a voice that soothed, ike molten lava. Behind Johnny, Sam Cragg whistled softly.

  "We just left Jess at the club," Johnny said.

  "Sober?" Without waiting for a reply, she opened the door md Johnny and Sam went into the apartment.

  It was nice. It was worth around two hundred a month and wobably cost three fifty.

  "Can I get you a drink?" cooed Alice Cummings.

  "To cut a long story short," Johnny said, "four years ago rou bought a fur coat from the Arctic Fur Company . . ."

  The love and kisses faded from Alice's face. "What?" she cried shrilly.

  "Seventy-four dollars. That's what you owe. Y6u can give t to me in small bills."

  "Why, you lousy—" began Alice Cummings. Then she :aught herself. "What is this, a gag?"

  "The Acme Adjustment Agency does not jest, madam," laid Johnny severely. "I'm a skip tracer. You skipped wi
th the pelts and I skip-traced you. This is payday for A.A.A. Seventy-four dollars, lady. Cash. Checks not accepted."

  "Ha ha," said Alice humorlessly. "I laughed. The gag's a lowl. Now scram, boys, I've got a date."

  "With the cops," said Johnny. "You skipped with the coat md that's against the law."

  "It sure is, lady," chimed in Sam Cragg. "When you buy . mandolin you got to pay for it. You ain't allowed to hock t in Duluth."

  Alice Cummings whipped open the door. "Out, bums!"

  Johnny put his hand against the door and pushed it shut. The money—or the coat." 12

  "What coat? That rabbitskin wore out ages ago. I paid more for that junk than it was worth."

  "The Acme Adjustment Agency says uh-uh. And when Acme Adjustment says uh-uh, it means uh-uh. We're bloodhounds. We get the money from you or it gives blood. I mean it, sister. Seventy-four dollars on the line or I'll blow the whistle."

  "I haven't got seventy-four dollars. And even if I had it I wouldn't—"

  "Yes, you would. And it's still seventy-four dollars."

  "Now, wait a minute," the girl said, suddenly desperate. "You gave the name of Jess Carmichael so you'd get in. How —how did you know about him?"

  "We saw him, lady," cried Sam. "We talked to him at the Harover Club. He thought we was try in' to—"

  "Shut up, Sam," exclaimed Johnny. "But he's right, baby, it was old Jess himself who gave us your address."

  "Jess," whispered Alice. "So it's come to this."

  "Seventy-four," said Johnny remorselessly.

  She suddenly whirled and strode into the bedroom. She came out immediately, carrying a purse. "All right," she said angrily, "take your money. And I hope you choke on it!"

  She tore open the bag, brought out a wallet and skimmed out a sheaf of bills, all that were in the wallet. Johnny counted the money. He shook his head.

  "There's only fifty-seven dollars here, madam. Seventeen short."

  "That's all the money I've got in the place. I'll send you a check for the balance."

  "You weren't listening, lady. I said no checks."

  "Come back tomorrow, then!"

  The phone whirred and Alice scooped it up. "Yes?" She listened a moment, then her face showed sudden fright. "Mr. Carmichael. Y-yes, tell him to come up."

  She slammed down the receiver. "Get out of here. Right away."

  "Seventeen dollars, baby ..."

  "I told you I haven't got the money."

  "Maybe Mr. Carmichael can lend it to you."

  "No!" she cried. "He mustn't see you here. Go— now .. . !" In panic she whirled and looked wildly around the room. Her eyes focused on what looked like a table decoration, a bronze figure of a swan or goose, about four inches tall. She rushed to the table, scooped it up and came back. "Here, take this. It's got more than seventeen dollars in it. Take it and get out."

  Johnny took the statue and shook it. There was a slot on the back of the figure's neck in which coins could be in-

  rted. The figure was heavy and Johnny heard the cheerful ink of coins inside.

  "A piggy bank," he said.

  "A goose bank!" exclaimed Sam.

  "Get out now—please . . ." Alice started to push Johnny

  ward the door.

  "All right," he said. "I can take a hint."

  He opened the door and stepped out. Sam crowded his heels. l the corridor, Johnny pushed the button for the elevator.

  "Jeez," said Sam. "I feel sorry for the babe."

  "Don't. She's tough."

  The elevator door opened and Jess Carmichael stepped out. Johnny stepped in. Carmichael whirled.

  "Here, you! What are you ... ?"

  "Good-bye, now," said Johnny, pushing the "down" button, he door swung shut in Carmichael's face.

  Sam said, "A guy shouldn't be that rough to any babe."

  "Necessity," Johnny said. "Remember our three weeks are ? tomorrow. You know Peabody'd throw us out on the street, nd remember, you're feeling differently now since you've had big fat lunch. Think back how hungry you were."

  "I can eat again."

  They reached the lobby and stepped out of the elevator, he switchboard operator regarded them suspiciously and allowed them out with her eyes.

  'hen they reached their room at the Forty-Fifth Street otel, Johnny took off his coat and sat down on the bed. He tended the bronze goose bank and shook it. Nothing hap-med and he examined the slot by which the coins were put ito the bank.

  "Looks like they made this one-way," he observed. "But if te money went in, it's got to come out."

  "I used to be pretty good with a piggy bank when I was a id," said Sam Cragg.

  "So was I, but I'm out of practice." Johnny shook the bank ightily and a coin fell to the bedspread. He picked it up. n Indian head penny!"

  "Hey, I ain't seen one of those in a long time," exclaimed lm.

  "Nineteen hundred and seven," said Johnny, looking at the ite on the coin. "I thought maybe it might be rare, but I less this isn't old enough." He shook the bank for another 14

  moment or two and a dime fell out. A 1912 Barber head dime.

  "Her grandmother must have saved these coins," said Johnny. He continued shaking the bank and a third coin fell out. This, too, was a penny, dated 1902.

  "Why'd they have to make this thing out of bronze?" complained Johnny. "It's going to be more trouble than it's worth to get all the money out."

  "I can flatten it," offered Sam.

  "That might make the slot even narrower," Johnny sighed. "I guess the hard way's the only way with these banks."

  "I'm hungry again," complained Sam. "All that walking."

  Johnny picked up a five-dollar bill from the money given to him by Alice Cummings. "Here, go and get yourself another steak. You need it—you haven't been eating regularly lately."

  "Aren't you coming along?"

  "No, I've had enough to eat for a while. I'll keep at this."

  Sam hesitated, but his stomach won. "I'll be back in an hour," he said and went out.

  Johnny continued with the bank and extracted another dime and a penny, in the next few minutes. Both were fairly old coins, although not worn much.

  He got up to stretch a moment and the door was opened and Mr. Kilkenny, the skip tracer, entered. He was grinning wickedly.

  "Don't you knock?" Johnny asked angrily.

  "A skip tracer never knocks," Kilkenny said cheerfully. "Nobody loves a skip tracer and nobody lets him in anywhere, if they can keep him out." His eyes went to the roll of bills on the bed. "Well, well, Fletcher, you made a score, I see. Not from Miss Alice Cummings, though?"

  "Why not? I said I'd find her and collect, and I did."

  "Great," enthused Kilkenny. "I got to hand it to you. I wasn't going to drop by until tomorrow, but I happened to be across the street and saw your partner going by. The big moose!"

  "He'll be back in a minute," Johnny said uneasily.

  "Sure, but let's finish our business first. Seventy-four dollars, eh?"

  He reached past Johnny and scooped up the bills. He flipped through them quickly. "Hey, there's only fifty-two dollars here."

  "She didn't have enough."

  "Well, fifty-two is close enough. You got to knock off a little once in a while."

  "True," said Johnny, "and, like you said earlier, it don't really count if the client hasn't got the money. But this one did have most of it and I collected. So you owe me ten dollars."

  "Mmm," said Kilkenny. He pursed up his lips. "Okay, you won the bet. I'll give you ten credit "

  "Credit?"

  "Sure, on the bill you owe."

  "Now, wait a minute," said Johnny angrily. "I don't owe you any money."

  "Your partner does. Same thing. You helped spend the money, I'll bet, when you hocked the mandolin."

  "You're not going to get away with this," snapped Johnny. "I worked hard to collect that bill and I want my money."

  'Try and get it," said Kilkenny nastily. "Talk me out of it. You
said you could outtalk me. Go ahead. I'm listening."

  Johnny advanced upon the skip tracer. "There's a time for talking and a time for "

  "For action?" cried Kilkenny and slammed Johnny a savage blow with his fist. The punch caught Johnny on the cheekbone and knocked him backward over the bed.

  Kilkenny stood over him. "Too bad the gorilla ain't here. You want more?"

  Johnny hesitated. The big man outweighed him by at least forty pounds. He was too much for Johnny. He said, "Stick around until Sam comes back."

  "It ain't worth it," sneered Kilkenny. "But you'll be seeing me again. As soon as you get some more dough. . .."

  He went out, slamming the door.

  Johnny touched his cheek, found that it was already swelling and went into the bathroom. He doused cold water over his face, soaked a towel and, holding it against his face, returned to the bed. He picked up the bank and began to shake it with renewed zest. He would need these pennies and dimes and quarters now.

  When Sam Cragg returned, Johnny was just getting the last coin out of the goose bank. A penny.

  "I think we got gypped," he said. "There isn't seventeen dollars here."

  "It's all pennies and dimes and quarters."

  "And most of them old ones." Johnny scooped up the heap of dimes and quarters. "Here, count these."

  While Sam was counting the dimes and quarters, Johnny himself counted the pennies. After a few moments he said, "I make it ninety-eight pennies ..."

  "And twenty-four dimes and twelve quarters," said Sam. 16

  'Two forty, plus ninety-eight cents, plus three dollars—six dollars and thirty-eight cents."

  "The bank ought to be worth something," suggested Sam.

  "Sure, about forty cents." Johnny picked up the goose bank. It was quite heavy. He studied it a moment. "Nice-looking bird," he said, "but one of the feet is smaller than the other."

  "Do you suppose that means something?"

  Johnny shrugged. "It looks more like an imperfection in the casting. These things were made to retail for about forty-nine cents."

  Sam took the goose from Johnny's hand and set it on the dresser. It was somewhat wobbly on its feet and Sam wiggled it back and forth. "Look, it limps."

  Johnny tried the goose bank himself. "A limping goose." He studied the bank closely, finally took a nail file from his pocket and scratched at the bronze. He finally shook his head. "It's bronze, all right. I hoped for a minute that it might turn out to be gold."