The limping goose

by Gruber, Frank, 1904-1969

  "What does it say there?"

  "It doesn't say anything. Mr. Kilkenny gave you a receipt, of course?"

  "He gave me nothing."

  "Then I'm sorry, Mr. Cragg. Our collectors are instructed to give receipts at all times. If you cannot produce one, I'm afraid the account still stands. And since this is long delinquent, I must insist upon prompt payment."

  "Go ahead, insist. But I want to talk to J. J. Kilkenny."

  "The matter is out of Mr. Kilkenny's hands. I'm handling this and I want payment at once, or else..."

  "Or else, what?"

  "Or else I shall start immediate suit. Hey—wait a moment, here's a notation from J.J. Ah, yes, this alters things considerably. It seems, Mr. Cragg, that you pawned this instrument." Mr. Hammer beamed happily. "That, sir, is where you made your mistake. Selling property you did not own takes it out of the civil court and puts it into the criminal. Yes, Mr. Cragg, you've overstepped yourself. You will pay this bill—at once, sir—or I shall clap you into jail. What do you think of that?"

  "I think it's a lot of hooey," snapped Johnny. "Look, I haven't got time to shilly-shally around with you. I want to see Kilkenny, that's all."

  Mr. Hammer made an impatient gesture of dismissal. "Mr. Kilkenny is out of this, Mr. Cragg. It's no concern of his. But you, sir, are in serious trouble. I hope you are prepared to pay."

  "I'm not prepared to pay anything!"

  "In that case—Miss Trout!" Hammer rose swiftly to his feet. "A policeman ..."

  "Cut the comedy," snarled Johnny. "All I want from you is the whereabouts of J. J. Kilkenny."

  "And all I want from you is sixty-seven dollars!" Miss Trout appeared in the doorway. "Telephone for a policeman, Miss Trout."

  "Yes, Mr. Hammer!" The girl turned and headed for the phone on her desk.

  Johnny stepped to the door. "Put down that phone!"

  "Oh-ho!" cried Mr. Hammer. He whipped back to the desk drawer and drew out a short snub-nosed revolver. "Violence, Mr. Cragg? All the more reason to call the police. Miss Trout

  "Hold it," said Johnny. "Let's talk this over quietly."

  "We've talked, Mr. Cragg. Sixty-seven dollars, or the police."

  Miss Trout was already dialing. Desperately, Johnny cried, "I'll pay!"

  "Just a moment, Miss Trout," called Hammer. "But stand by. Very well, Mr. Cragg, let's see the color of your money." 58

  "First of all," said Johnny, "my name isn't Sam Cragg."

  "Oh, we're going to try that now, are we? Very well, Miss Trout, you may phone."

  Miss Trout began dialing once more.

  "I'll pay!" cried Johnny. He brought out a handful of bills.

  "Wait, Miss Trout," ordered Mr. Hammer.

  Miss Trout waited with her hand on the phone. Johnny counted out sixty-seven dollars and put the rest of the money back in his pocket, carelessly revealing that one packet of bills consisted of hundreds. Mr. Hammer noted it greedily.

  "Put the money on the desk, Mr. Cragg."

  Johnny held it in his hand. "Here's the money, now let's talk. Your Mr. Kilkenny is involved in the Jess Carmichael murder."

  "You're wasting time."

  "Alice Cummings," Johnny said, pointing to the file cards. "Look it up—you collected money from her yesterday. Miss Cummings happens to be the little lady in whose apartment Jess Carmichael was murdered. And your Mr. Kilkenny just happens to be in it up to his fat ears."

  The collection agent smiled thinly, but there was vague uncertainty in his eyes.

  "None of this will do you any good."

  "All right," said Johnny grimly. "Look at your cards—I dare you. If Miss Cummings's name isn't on one of them, I'll be willing to give you a hundred dollars."

  Hammer hesitated, then reached for the cards. "I'll just prove to you that you're ..." His fingers ran over the cards, stopped. His eyes narrowed and he shot a quick covert look at Johnny. Then he drew out the card.

  "Just who are you, Mr. Cragg?" he asked slowly.

  "First of all, I'm not Sam Cragg," Johnny said quickly, "and you'll find the card—Miss Cummings paid up in full."

  "Fifty-two dollars." Hammer's forehead creased. "It was accepted in full payment. Alice Cummings, mm." Hammer mused thoughtfully. "It is the same name, but there could be two women "

  "Uh-uh, there couldn't. How would I have known of her?"

  "That's a point. Oh, you could have known about Alice Cummings, all right; her name is in all the papers since yesterday, but you couldn't have known that our Mr. Kilkenny collected money from her yesterday."

  The door of the outer office opened and J. J. Kilkenny came in. Johnny's back was turned to the door, however. He said to Mr. Hammer, "Kilkenny's in it up to his ears. The least you can say about him is that he's a crook, but to me it looks like he's worse ..."

  Kilkenny crossed the short distance from the outer door to the inner and lunged into the room. His big hands reached out and grabbed Johnny. "What'd you call me, you little pipsqueak?"

  He whirled Johnny with his left hand and with the open palm of his right, rocked his head to the left, then to the right. Johnny, gasping in pain, hit the big man in the stomach with his fist and only bruised his knuckles.

  Mr. Hammer saved him. He was half Kilkenny's size, but he was Kilkenny's boss. He said coldly, "That'll do, J.J.I"

  Kilkenny released Fletcher, but he was not soothed, by any means. "You and me are gonna have this out."

  "You lay a hand on me again," Johnny said savagely, "and I'll cut you to pieces."

  Kilkenny's big right hand reached automatically for Johnny, but the latter stepped back nimbly.

  "Here, now," Mr. Hammer said authoritatively. "Let's get this straightened out. J.J., Mr. Cragg's made some serious charges against you."

  "Cragg?" exclaimed Kilkenny. "This ain't Cragg. He's Fletcher, Sam Cragg's keeper."

  "Keeper?"

  "Cragg's an ape, a muscle-bound gorilla. He can't talk unless this fellow tells him what to say."

  "I'll repeat that to Sam," Johnny warned.

  "You do. I'm itchin' to go another round with the ape and next time he may not be so lucky."

  "I've got news for you," Johnny said. "Sam can throw you all night long."

  "Now, wait a minute, you two," interrupted Hammer. "What's this all about? You—you announced yourself as Sam Cragg, now it turns out your name isn't Cragg."

  "I never told you my name was Cragg," Johnny retorted. "In fact, I tried to tell you it wasn't "

  "You gave your name to Miss Trout as Sam Cragg."

  "I told her it was about the Cragg account."

  "Which reminds me, that money in your hand you were going to give it to me."

  Johnny put the money in his pocket. "At the point of a gun, I was going to give it to you. I came here to find out about the moose"—indicating Kilkenny. "He's in the Carmichael murder case."

  "Who says I'm in it?" roared Kilkenny.

  "I say so. You came busting into my hotel room this morning with a gun and when I took it away from you "

  "Kilkenny!" cried Hammer. "Have you been carrying a gun?"

  "That ain't a bunch of violets in your fist," sneered Kilkenny.

  Hammer became aware that he was still holding the revolver in his hand and dropped it in the top desk drawer. "I keep that here for protection, that's all. But you know very well how I feel about collectors carrying firearms. You get in a jam and the police find you with a gun and—" He ran his finger across his throat. "Now, what's this about your breaking into this man's room this morning?"

  "His partner's Sam Cragg. We got a tab against him for sixty-seven round iron men."

  "I have Cragg's card here. He owes the money, all right."

  "That's all I was trying to do, collect it. Fletcher's a wise guy. That's why he's here now—trying to get out of paying an honest debt by getting me in trouble."

  "You're in trouble, Kilkenny," growled Johnny. "After we left the hotel this morning, you came back and tore the room ap
art. You stole the limping goose bank "

  "What's that?" cried Kilkenny. "The—the bank's gone?"

  "You took it, didn't you?"

  "No!" howled Kilkenny. "But I want it...!"

  "Why?" Johnny asked quickly.

  "Because the dame"—Kilkenny caught himself, then finished —"because the Cummings girl was short seventeen dollars and gave you the bank to make up. It's got seventeen dollars in it, money that belongs to me."

  "J.J." said Hammer, "just what are you talking about? You collected the money from Alice Cummings."

  "Go ahead," Johnny said, "explain that."

  Kilkenny tried. He swallowed hard and said, "I told you this bird's a wise guy. I ran down him and his gorilla friend over at the Forty-Fifth Street Hotel without a thin dime to their names."

  Johnny took the four hundreds from his pocket, ruffled them so that J. J. Kilkenny could note their denominations. "Go ahead, big boy."

  "Yes," said Mr. Hammer, "continue."

  Kilkenny went on, "One word led to another and he said he could collect deadbeat skips better than I could. I gave him the Cummings card and said I'd give him ten dollars if he could collect it."

  'Ten dollars," Johnny said quietly. "I said I'd run down a girl who skipped four years ago, for a measly ten bucks. Go ahead, big boy. But make it funnier."

  "Shut your trap," snarled Kilkenny. "Anyway, we made the deal and then he said the doll paid him only fifty-seven dollars."

  "And you didn't believe me and went back to her and found

  out she gave me a bank containing seventeen dollars. This was after Jess Carmichael was murdered."

  "That's a lie!" howled Kilkenny.

  "Is it, J.J.?" asked Mr. Hammer.

  "I told you he's just trying to get me into trouble."

  "Oh, sure," said Johnny easily. "With hundreds of dollars in my pocket, I made a deal with you to trace a woman who skipped four years ago—for a ten-dollar skip-tracer fee. And then I try to swindle you out of a piggy bank full of pennies. And"—Johnny paused, then suddenly shot at Kilkenny—"just why are you so anxious to get those pennies?"

  "Because I got them coming to me."

  Mr. Hammer came to a sudden decision. "I think, J.J., you and me have got some talking to do." He looked at Johnny Fletcher. "I don't think we need you any more."

  "Then I'll just be running along," said Johnny. "And don't forget, Mr. Hammer, ask old J.J. here why he wanted me to try to collect a little old bill from Miss Alice Cummings—just about the time Jess Carmichael was going to be murdered in her apartment. And ask him "

  "Get out of here!" yelled Kilkenny hoarsely, making another lunge at Johnny.

  Johnny evaded him and chuckled. He ducked through the office door to the outer room. With his hand on the hall door he called back, "The Times publishes the best want ads, J.J.l"

  He went out quickly.

  13

  Eddie Miller left Room 821 shortly after Johnny Fletcher tore out to see James Sutton at the Barbizon-Waldorf. He left Sam Cragg to try to clean up the mess made by the person or persons who had ransacked it and stolen the limping goose bank.

  Sam had the room about straightened out, when the phone rang. He took it off the hook. "Sam Cragg talking," he said.

  An excited voice said, "Are you the friend of John Fletcher?"

  "Johnny Fletcher, yeah, him and me are buddies."

  "Well, I'm sorry to tell you," the voice went on, "your friend's suffered an accident."

  "An accident!" cried Sam. "Holy cow—what happened to him?"

  "He was dashing across Madison Avenue, against the lights, I might add, when he ran directly in front of my car

  "You mean you're the guy who run him down?" howled Sam.

  "I'm afraid so, but as I was just telling you, it was really his fault. However, I've taken him to my place and I've sent for a doctor "

  "A doctor? How bad is he hurt?"

  "It looks like one of his legs is broken and I'm afraid there may be internal injuries."

  "Where're you at? I mean, where do you live? I'm comin' right over."

  "I think that would be wise. It's, uh, ten hundred one Madison Avenue. Apartment C...."

  "Ten hundred one Madison—Apartment C. I'll be right there. Tell Johnny I'm on the way."

  Sam slammed the receiver back on the hook and rushed for the door. He tore out, forgetting even to lock the door. Fortunately the elevator was on an upper floor and came down immediately.

  In the lobby, Sam encountered Eddie Miller. "I just got a phone call that Johnny's been run down by a car," he told Eddie excitedly. "His leg's busted, or somethin'. I'm going over to see him."

  "Gee, I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Cragg," sympathized Eddie. "What hospital...?"

  But Sam was already heading for the door.

  He tore out of the hotel, signaled to the taxi waiting in the hack stand some yards away. A taxi, doubled-parked nearby, whipped in front of the other taxi and skidded to a stop in the vacant space in front of the hotel. The door flew open.

  "Hop in, mister?" said the driver.

  Sam sprang into the taxi and it roared away. It was then that Sam discovered there was a man already in the cab. "Oh, excuse me, mister," he said. "I just got word that my best friend was run over and I gotta see him right away . . . It's ten hundred one Madison Avenue."

  "Sure," said the man beside Sam. "We'll take you there. Leonard, step on it."

  The man beside Sam was almost as heavy as Sam and probably several inches taller. He needed a shave, but the growth of beard did not quite conceal some scars on the heavy features.

  "This is doggone decent of you, mister," Sam Cragg said. "Me and Johnny's been pals for sixteen, maybe seventeen years and there ain't nothing we wouldn't do for each other."

  "That's the way friends should be."

  The cab crossed Seventh Avenue instead of turning and Sam exclaimed again. "Why didn't you go up Seventh?"

  "Too much traffic," replied the cabdriver. "Faster this way."

  Sam did not protest again. The cab turned north on Twelfth Avenue and after a few blocks took the ramp leading up to the West Side Highway. It roared along the drive.

  "How'd your pal get hurt?" asked the man beside Sam Cragg.

  "He was crossin' Madison Avenue and got hit by a car. 'Tain't like Johnny. He's pretty quick."

  "Maybe somebody ran him down on purpose," the man said suggestively. "Has he got any enemies?"

  "Johnny? Naw. Everybody likes him. Except Mr. Peabody, the manager of our hotel."

  "He may have an enemy he doesn't know about," the man pursued. "For instance, your friend may be sticking his nose into somebody else's business."

  "Then the guy whose business he's sticking his nose into had better watch out," retorted Sam loyally. "Johnny'll make a monkey out of him."

  "You're real good friends, you and Fletcher."

  "Yeah, sure, like I told you, we been buddies since—" Sam stopped, shooting a sharp glance at the man beside him. "Hey, how'd you know his name was Fletcher?"

  "Why, you said so."

  "I didn't, I called him Johnny." Sam looked through the window, saw that they were nearing Ninety-sixth Street. "Hey —we're going too far."

  "Relax, chum," said the man beside him.

  He took a revolver out of his left coat pocket and showed it to Sam. "Just sit nice and still and enjoy the ride."

  Sam gasped in astonishment. "Why, you ..."

  "Easy!"

  Sam groaned. "This is a phony. I'll bet Johnny isn't even hurt."

  "He isn't. Now, that's off your mind, sit back and take it easy."

  "You're the one telephoned me. Yeah, your cab was nice and handy outside."

  "That's right. I phoned you from across the street. Sucker, aren't you?"

  "Put away the roscoe, mister, and I'll show you."

  "No, thanks. I've heard about you. This is the old equalizer. I'm as big as you are with it."

  "You're as big as me without it."

/>   "This makes me a lot bigger."

  Sam glowered. "What's the idea? I ain't got a nickel on me."

  "Your chum, Fletcher, has something we want." 64

  "Hey," exclaimed Sam. "The limping goose bank—that's what you want, ain't it?"

  "That's right, fat boy."

  "Fat boy!" cried Sam indignantly. He started to twist around, but the man beside bim reached across and stabbed him sharply with the muzzle of the revolver.

  "Fat boy, I said. Now, let's just be nice and quiet until we get out to—out where we're going."

  Sam slumped back in his seat. Gloomily he stared out of the window. The taxi rolled over the Henry Hudson Bridge, along the Saw Mill River Parkway and some thirty-five or forty minutes later, turned into a narrow dirt road that ran through a heavy growth of young trees. The road was a rutted, bumpy one and Sam bounced about considerably. So did the man beside him, but he never relaxed his vigilance and the gun muzzle was always ready to swing quickly on Sam.

  After five minutes along the rutted, winding road, the cab entered a small clearing and pulled up before a rustic lodge built of weathered, peeled logs.

  "End of the line," said the man beside Sam cheerfully. "Climb out now."

  Sam got out of the taxicab. Leonard, the driver, stayed behind the wheel. "I better go back and get the boss, Sid."

  "The boss knows the way out," the man called Sid said.

  "Yeah, sure, but he don't want us to call him and I think he ought to know that we got the fat boy."

  "We still got to get Fletcher."

  "Do we need him?"

  "We need what the boss wants and he's got it."

  "I don't like the idea of bringing two of them out here."

  "I don't like the idea of being here," Sam interrupted. "I been thinking it over. You brought me here against my will. That's kidnaping and I can get the FBI after you."

  Sid grinned. "You wouldn't do that, would you, fat boy? I'm scared already. Let's go inside and talk things over. Maybe we can work out a compromise."

  Leonard, the cabdriver, did not seem too happy about things, but he got out of the taxi and followed Sam and his fellow thug, Sid, into the log cabin.

  The cabin was small, but nicely furnished in rustic style. There were only three rooms, a fairly large living room and a bedroom and kitchen opening off it.