Everybody Had A Gun

by Richard Prather

  Sader added, "I told you it takes one minute for the elevator to reach the floor. That light"—he nodded toward it—"goes off when the elevator stops. We have about twenty or thirty seconds left."

  Seconds left for what? Why was this guy so anxious to get rid of me now, when a minute ago he wouldn't budge? My brain was vibrating like jiggled jello and I was getting nothing but a headache. I didn't trust Sader from one atom to another, but I couldn't figure this. It could be Breed or some of his men on their way down, and it could also be some of Sader's chums. Or, for all I knew, it could be a real gorilla. Whatever it was, I didn't like Sader's abrupt about-face.

  He said quickly, "Are you leaving, Mr. Scott?"

  The guy was too anxious, rushing me too fast. I said, "I'm curious about this, Sader."

  He licked his lips, and I thought he got a little paler under his tan. He reached out slowly and picked up the keys. He said, "Then I'm leaving. You'll have to let me leave, Scott." His voice was tight, and he licked his lips again, but he walked stiffly away from the desk and stopped at the corner of the room, and I heard the scrape of the key in a lock.

  I stared at him. I was pretty sure he didn't know me well enough from our very brief association to be sure that I wouldn't shoot, and as far as he was concerned he was taking a chance on a slug in the back. While I looked at Sader, just swinging the door open, I thought of that elevator and wondered if some of Breed's men were coming to this party—and right then a picture flashed through my mind of Breed somewhere, snarling and saying, "If that ass, Scott, sticks his nose in my business just once more, he'll be the late Shell Scott."

  Sader started out into the darkness beyond the door, and if I'd felt like it I could have shot him in the back of the head. I almost felt like it. The two other guys against the wall suddenly scrambled after him and out of the door, their coats still down off their shoulders.

  I let them go. All I wanted right now was to get Iris and me to a reasonably safe place—if there was one for me in L.A. any more—but I was afraid if we followed Sader out the door we might be stepping into some kind of trap. Even as I watched it, the door slammed shut and decided that angle for me. The door had probably locked, but even if I didn't have to shoot off the lock, I didn't like the idea of stepping into that darkness.

  I snapped at Iris, "Baby, I've been confused long enough. What the hell is this all about?"

  "Sader will kill us," she said. "He wants to kill us."

  This gal was stuck on that line. I told her, "You said that before—and I was already convinced. Now, why?"

  "He shot that man in the paper-that Lobo."

  I opened my mouth to ask her what that had to do with us, and then I noticed the light over the door on my left blink out.

  Chapter Seven

  "COME ON!" I grabbed Iris by the arm and ran with her back out the door I'd first come in. I shut it quietly behind us and we were in darkness. I left her for a moment, stepped to the dumb-waiter, and threw the doors wide open. At least Iris could get out of the way.

  Sure. Next week, maybe. My groping hand found a mess of space and a rope. Cookie or the boss had retrieved their property.

  It had been five or ten seconds since the light winked out. I stepped back to Iris and grabbed her arm with my left hand. This whole party was making a little more sense now, and whoever the visitors were, I was pretty sure they weren't going to kiss us. If I remembered the setup of the club, we were now almost at the opposite side from the elevator, with the main room straight ahead through some draperies.

  "Iris," I whispered, "where's the entrance from here into the club?"

  She didn't answer, but pulled me by my left hand through the darkness. I hoped she knew what she was doing; I'd have hated kicking a gong around right now.

  She stopped, and when I put my hand out I could feel the drapes I remembered. I pulled at them and looked through the opening in the middle.

  Over at the right of the darkened club, the electrically operated door of the elevator was about half open, light spilling out of it from its one dim bulb, shining part way across the main room of the Pit. We couldn't stay where we were. I grabbed Iris by the hand and slipped through the curtains and into the room as guys started coming out of the elevator.

  I didn't have to tell Iris to be quiet; we could both see the men on our right in the light from the elevator, even though they couldn't see us—yet Four guys came out, and four guns were in their respective fists.

  What I wanted to do—the only thing I could think of doing now—was to get to the far side of the club and around to the far side of the elevator while the four guys were going to our right. I put my mouth up to Iris' ear and said, so softly she must have had to strain to hear me, "Get to the far wall of the club. Can you lead the way without banging anything?"

  She squeezed my hand, moved out in front, and started pulling me after her. The faint light from the elevator didn't reach this far across the room, and I could have banged into a table or chair before I ever saw it. I hoped Iris knew her way around well enough to get us across. There was carpeting under our feet, so we moved soundlessly enough as long as we didn't bang anything, and we might be O.K. if nobody found a big light switch.

  I figured if we could get around the club and to the elevator before the four guys finished—Damn! There were five guys.

  The fifth one came out of the elevator and stepped around to his left and stopped right on the fringe of the light that had outlined him. I didn't see a gun in his hand, but it wasn't tough to imagine one.

  Iris slowed up and pressed my hand and I yanked my head around from where I'd been staring to my right and looked at her almost indistinguishable outline ahead of me. Then she moved slowly to her left and I followed. I put out my hand and it brushed against a cloth-covered table. Then she started moving faster, making time till we reached the far side of the club.

  I got my mouth up against her ear again and said, "Take a right now, honey. Keep it going. Those boys won't be in Sader's office long."

  Apparently there wasn't anything in front of us now, and in five seconds we were across the room and about fifteen feet from the elevator. The guy who'd remained behind was on the opposite side of the elevator from us, leaning up against the wall. I could barely see him, close as he was to the light, and I knew he couldn't see us. Not yet. But I'd have to get closer if we wanted out. I started ahead and shoved Iris back as she tried to follow me. Then I bent over and moved forward.

  I was ten feet from the guy when he moved. I sank down to my knees, with my revolver centered on his middle just in case. But nothing happened. I dug in my pants pocket with my left hand, found a coin, and pulled it out. I could make out the form of the guy a few feet from me, his right profile toward me, but I couldn't tell who he was. I drew back my left hand, then tossed the coin by him and twenty feet beyond as I got my feet under me, ready to jump forward.

  The coin hit with only a tiny thump on the carpeted floor, but I didn't have to wonder if the guy heard it. He let out a little grunt of surprise and whirled away from me toward the sound. He'd hardly stopped moving when I jumped forward, took one more big step, and jammed the muzzle of my gun into his back.

  He went "Uh!" and I hissed at him, "Not a sound, friend! Not a damned sound."

  He froze and I whispered, "Iris. Make it snappy." As soon as I said it I wished I hadn't used her name, but it was too late to worry about it. I couldn't hear her footsteps, but I knew she'd be coming up behind me as the guy in front of me started to crane his neck around.

  I'd stepped back and pulled the gun away from him as soon as I was sure he knew what the score was. When a gun's touching a man he always knows just where it is—and knowing where it is, if the guy knows what he's doing, gives him a fifty-fifty chance of batting it aside before you can pull the trigger.

  But he wasn't trying anything. He just twisted his head around far enough to see what was going on. I was curious myself about who he was. He had absurdly tiny black eyes i
n a thin, flat face I'd seen before, but I couldn't remember where I'd seen it. He remembered me from somewhere, though.

  "Scott," he said softly. "So you're one of Sader's guns now, huh?"

  Iris touched my shoulder from behind and I was so jumpy I almost squeezed the trigger. I've stoned the hammer and sear of my gun till it's got an easy one-pound pull, and I almost squeezed a bullet through the guy. But I held back and told him, "Turn around."

  He turned obediently away from me and I lifted the revolver, slipped my finger outside the trigger guard, and slammed the gun against the base of his skull.

  He didn't make a sound on the way down. It was the only way I could think of to keep him quiet for a while, and I'd tried to sap him as gently as possible. He wasn't going to like me when and if we met again, though. There's really no such thing as a gentle sap.

  Iris and I got into the elevator and I snapped at her,

  "Work this damned thing."

  We had a long trip ahead of us and it might possibly last for eternity. She jammed a long red fingernail at a button on the wall and the door started closing like a snail with a hangover. As it crept shut a dim flash of light on the left caught my eye and I looked toward the drapes we'd come through. Light was behind them now; somebody'd found some switches. And just before the door finally eased shut, light flooded the interior of the club.

  The door was shut; we were inside the elevator; but nothing seemed to be happening. There wasn't any point in whispering now so I asked Iris, "This thing moving?"

  She nodded and her voice was twisted in her throat when she answered, "It's slow."

  That was a neat understatement if I've ever heard one.

  Iris was still wearing the half sweater and the dark blue slacks. She still had the happy tilts and the proper curves, and at close range like this it was something to see and remember. But I couldn't concentrate as much as I'd have liked to; there was still plenty I wanted to know. We'd be in here for another fifty seconds or so, and if I was going to die when we went over the top, I wanted to know what the hell I was dying for.

  "Baby," I said, glaring at her, "start talking. Rough in the high points and give me the details when that's out. And fast!"

  She took a deep breath and spoke, oddly, in the calmest voice she'd used so far. "Sader killed Lobo."

  I remembered that. "What's that got to do with you? And with me?"

  "I found out about it and—"

  "How? Never mind—go on."

  "And Sader found out I knew. He was going to kill me; I know he was. He almost said so, said I was dead! I—Shell, I. . ."

  "Damn it, go on. Whatever it is, it's done."

  "I learned of the murder last night. When I came here for my check this morning, Sader guessed—found out—that I knew about it. He threatened me, and I was scared to death. You do understand, Shell?"

  I must have looked ready to yank her arms off, because she blurted the last part out in a breath: "I told him I'd seen you and told you everything I knew. That you knew about the murder, too. That you'd help me. You'd know, if anything happened to me, who did it and why."

  I stared at her. "Me? Why me?"

  "I saw you talking to Marty at a table here one night two or three months ago and asked him who you were and he told me. I knew you were a detective. And then you've been so much in the news, in the papers lately—about that Hollywood blackmail thing. Well, you popped into my head."

  I felt like popping her head. Popping it good.

  I said weakly, "Did it have to be me?"

  She said violently, almost ready to burst into tears, "No, it didn't have to! I was scared, and—well, it's done"

  There wasn't time for more conversation. The elevator had stopped and the door started sliding open. I grabbed the revolver tight in my slippery little hand and shoved Iris behind my back. Why, I don't know. I should have held the bird-brain in front of me.

  Nobody was in front of the elevator door. The boys downstairs might not have found the guy I'd sapped yet, but probably they had. And they either knew of the exit Sader had used, or they didn't. I'd soon know.

  I stuck my head into the alley. That was safe enough. Bullets wouldn't hurt it. Not my head.

  The alley was empty. The black Plymouth still stood in front of the door, but nobody was in it. And there was no sign of Sader. So far, so good, but I wondered how long our luck could last. I stepped toward the car. With a little more luck. . .But we weren't getting that much. The keys weren't in the car and I sure wasn't going to fiddle around crossing ignition wires now.

  Iris edged out the door behind me. "Wait here a second," I told her. Then I sprinted to my left down toward Clark's Cafeteria. A few feet from the end of the alley I stopped and slid forward slowly till I could peek out onto the street. In front of the cafeteria was another black car, a long Cadillac, and inside it was a man I didn't know and another one I did.

  The guy I knew was in back: Collier Breed himself. I didn't see him right at first, but on the sidewalk next to the car I saw his trademark, so to speak. Two partly smoked cigars smoldered on the sidewalk, and I knew Breed was probably puffing nervously on another that would shortly follow the first two out the window. At a buck a crack, that can get expensive, but it was his one extravagance; nobody loved money more than Breed. He was sitting in the back seat, puffing away industriously, and I could barely make out his florid face behind the clouds of smoke. And that explained where the rest of the boys downstairs had come from.

  I saw it all in one quick look, slid back into the alley and ran back to Iris. I grabbed her arm and hustled her away from Clark's and pell-mell down the alley. There weren't any explosions and no roofs caved in, and we made it clear to the alley's end at Sixth Street. I hauled Iris around to the left and we kept going. It was a little hard to believe that couple of minutes before we'd been creeping though the darkness of the Pit, and now we were breathing the cool air of Sixth Street, a part of the pedestrian traffic.

  At Olive Street I looped Iris' arm through mine, turned left, and started walking rapidly back toward Seventh. She gave me a startled glance, but I said, "Keep talking. Give me the rest of it—all of it."

  She kept up a stream of words as we reached Seventh and crossed the street. To the left, second door from the corner, was a pawnshop. And that's where I was headed.

  We hit the pawnshop. And went inside, and every time Iris started to question me I shut her up and kept her spilling the dope I was interested in. I wanted to know everything she did before this deal went any further.

  While she talked I looked around the pawnshop for what I wanted. The little white-haired owner bustled up to me trying to crack his knuckles. I dug a five-dollar bill out of my wallet and handed it to him, then picked a pair of high-powered binoculars from underneath a sliding glass counter.

  I want to use these for a minute," I told him. "You'll get them back."

  He sputtered a little, but I turned away from him, slipped the leather strap over my shoulder, and walked to the window in front of the store. By edging to the left of the window I could look back to my right and see the alley and Clark's Cafeteria and the black Cadillac parked in front of it.

  The little white-haired guy came up behind me and Iris, trying to sell us the store. Possibly I shouldn't have been so free with that five-dollar bill. I waved him away. "Look," I said. "We want a little privacy, O.K.? Just got engaged."

  He gave me a wide-eyed look, but faded away from us. Iris had finished telling me most of what had happened the night before and was looking at me like a pup expecting a whipping. I thought about what she'd told me while I turned the binoculars on Breed's car and focused them.

  Boiled down, it appeared she'd been a little late getting out of the club Sunday night—or rather, this Monday morning—after the club closed. Mia had left about ten minutes before, and Iris had just finished removing her make-up and was ready to leave, herself. Then she'd heard loud voices from inside Sader's office, like the beginnings of one he
ll of an argument, and though she couldn't make out many of the words, she'd heard the name Lobo repeated a few times. That meant nothing to her because she'd never heard of any Lobo. She'd stood listening for a little while with woman's natural curiosity, but she'd begun to feel uneasy about eavesdropping, even unintentionally, she said. Then, when the argument was waxing pretty furious, all of a sudden everything stopped. No more yelling, no more noise, no nothing. Just quiet. It had frightened her and she beat it out of the club. Once outside, she realized that in her nervousness and haste she'd left her bag down in her dressing room, and her pay check was in her bag. She'd stood at the juncture of the alley and Seventh Street for a minute or two, trying to make up her mind whether or not she should go back down into the Pit and get the purse.

  Then things had got a little more complicated. A car, with its lights out, turned into the alley from Sixth Street and stopped in front of the elevator door. Right after that two men came out of the elevator half carrying another man. That was as far as she'd taken it.

  I made sure the pawnshop owner wasn't near enough to listen, and said, "This guy, Iris. He was dead?"

  "I don't know. That is, I didn't then. I thought maybe it was just a drunk, but I knew there hadn't been any customers when I left. Anyway, it scared me. It was dark in the alley and the men were so quiet. I was frightened, even if I wasn't sure what was going on. I left right then and caught a cab home—I had a little money in the house for the fare."

  "O.K. What about Sader? What's the rest?"

  She was twisting her fingers together nervously now.

  She said, "This morning, in the daytime and everything, I thought I'd been silly, imagining a lot of crazy things—and I wanted my check. I knew the club was closed, but I called there and Marty answered. I told him what I wanted and he said to come on down. Well," she swallowed, "I got the bag and stopped in Sader's office to say hello and thank him. He was reading the morning papers when I came in, and I could see the big headlines. 'Lobo Murdered' was all I needed to see. All of a sudden what I'd heard and seen the night before made sense. I remembered the argument, and the name Lobo, and the men carrying—" She shuddered. "I guess I looked scared to death and I must have been staring or pointing at the newspaper. I'm a little confused about it now, but I suppose I blurted out something to Sader."