The James Michael Ullman Crime Novel

by James Michael Ullman

  At five, Jon strolled into The Den. The cocktail-hour crowd was coming in, and Eric lounged near the door. He motioned to Jon, and led him to an isolated table. He had something to say, apparently, that he didn’t want overheard.

  “Three people,” Eric said, “have been looking for you.”

  “For instance?”

  “I’ll give you the easy one first. One of your two majority stockholders. Mike Bonella. He phoned several times, and dropped in during the lunch hour. He seemed agitated.”

  Jon hadn’t seen Mike since his birthday. He hoped to leave town without getting involved with Mike too. Howard was right. Mike wouldn’t understand any association between Jon and Schatz, and he must have heard about it by now.

  “Okay. Who are the other two?”

  “Sharp dressers, with ugly faces. Very shiny shoes. Eyes as warm as ice cubes. They were here a few hours ago. They looked and smelled like hoods, the Syndicate, the Outfit, and they scared the girls half to death.”

  “What’d they want?”

  “First, they looked around. Then one asked if you were here. I said you weren’t. He said it was nothing to worry about, they just wanted a social chat, they’d be back later.”

  Jon didn’t like the sound of that. “I don’t think,” he said slowly “I’ll be around later.” He recalled what Train had said about not letting just anyone know where to find him. This would be a good time to begin. “Tell you what. I’m supposed to go west day after tomorrow, but for the record, if anyone asks, say I’ve already left. I’ll pack and move to a motel. You can tell anyone who seems to have legitimate business I’m there, but if those two guys come back, don’t tell them. And don’t tell Mike.”

  “You,” Eric drawled, “get more mysterious by the minute. Is this another trip selling dresses for Schatzmueller, the phantom entrepreneur?”

  “That’s right. The winter line.”

  “It’s some coincidence,” Eric said thoughtfully, “all these things happening at once. The dress business. The emissaries from gangland. The big term policy you took out on your life last week from my brother, the insurance salesman.”

  “Absolutely remarkable. How’s Bess making out?”

  “Very well. She’s catching on fast, and the girls seem to like her.”

  “I’ll warn you, you may have a delicate situation on your hands. You remember my friend Molloy, the all-American from Wisconsin? I phoned him this morning. He’s coming to Chicago in a few days.”

  “What’s so delicate about that?”

  “He’ll drop in here and try to talk to Bess. She won’t like it. She has a real mad on for the guy, never mind why. I don’t know what’ll happen, but Molloy has as much right to be in the place as anyone else. Just don’t let him sit too near the cashier’s cage.”

  “Thanks for the tip.”

  “One more thing. While I’m gone, arrange for someone to escort Bess home every night. And if those two hoods come back and say so much as a word to her, give her a thousand dollars and tell her to take a plane to California, rent an apartment under another name, and wait there until she hears from me.”

  * * * *

  Jon moved to a motel that evening. He expected a call from Schatz. He’d given Eric very specific instructions that Schatz was to be told where he was staying, but no call came.

  Before turning in, Jon phoned Eric. Had the hoods returned? Yes, Eric said. They asked about Jon again. Eric told them Jon had left town, selling dresses. The hoods seemed to accept that. They didn’t even look at Bess. They walked out, and everything’s fine.

  In that mistaken belief, Jon went to bed.

  The next day began quietly enough. Jon breakfasted in the motel dining room and then took his car to a gas station across the highway, for servicing. He walked back to his unit. As he opened the door, the phone rang.

  It was Uncle Howard.

  “Have you,” Howard asked, “seen the Turf edition of the Telegram?”

  The Telegram was an afternoon paper, but its first edition, the Turf, was on the stands in the Loop before nine every morning. Howard always read the Turf at his brokers office.

  “No. Why?”

  “You should. There’s an interesting item in the cafe column. Like to hear it?”

  “The way you ask, I’m not sure. But read it anyhow.”

  “Okay. I quote. Undercover cops have picked up a weird gangland rumor. ’Tis said the son of a financier who vanished years ago has teamed with his father’s best friend. The purpose: to seek the father’s body, dig it up, and collect on the old man’s insurance. How ghoulish can you get? End quote.”

  Schatz, Jon reflected, had garnered some free advertising, all right.

  “I agree,” Jon said. “It’s an interesting item. You want your twenty-two thousand back?”

  “Of course not. I told you I won’t ask more questions, but I’m worried about Mike. Sooner or later, someone will tell him about that item. He knows what you and I know: that you settled your insurance claim years ago. I assume you hope certain other people don’t know that.”

  “Do me a favor, Howard. Call Mike. Tell him about the item. Tell him to ignore it, not to discuss it, I’ll explain everything later.”

  “Why don’t you do it?”

  “It’s complicated. Let’s just say that after all he’s done, he’s one guy I can’t lie to, no matter how good the reason.”

  Howard thought this over. “Okay. But I don’t think it’ll work.”

  Schatz didn’t phone, he came in person. A little after noon, he rapped on the door, hobbled in on his cane, and sank into a chair.

  “I thought,” He said, “we should have a final talk, before you go to Vegas. So I can explain how I want things handled.”

  “Where’s Pearl?”

  “Moving my possessions to a new place. I came in a cab, she’ll pick me up later.”

  “You’ve seen the item in the Telegram?”

  “Oh, yes.” Schatz smiled. “It’s a real break for us. Our man may not have heard the rumor before. Now, if he reads the Telegram, he’ll know why we want to talk to him. It’ll put him at ease.” He looked around. “I don’t suppose you have anything to drink.”

  “Sorry. Not a drop.”

  “I thought so.” The old man pulled a pint of gin from one pocket, a small bottle of vermouth from the other. He set them on a little table. “Bring the pitcher on the dresser, and a pair of tumblers. There’s an ice machine outside.”

  Jon went out and got ice. It wouldn’t do to display anger over the newspaper item. He was supposed to be looking for a tax-free million in diamonds, not stewing over his reputation.

  Stirring with a finger, the old man mixed martini in one tumbler and poured it into the other. He sipped.

  “Now,” he announced, “for the surprise. On the trip West, Pearl’s going with you.”

  “Pearl?”

  “Yes. It’ll relieve the tedium, and she’ll help you. She’ll be very persuasive, if newspaper files are guarded by impressionable young men. And I thought the trip would do her good. She hasn’t liked it being cooped up the last week or so. She needs fresh air.”

  Jon recalled what Train had told him about Pearl once. She had a record a mile long as a juvenile, including a long list of morals offenses. Rumors in the underworld had it that she did a lot more than help Schatz sell dresses; that she was paid primarily to perform unique personal services.

  “I see. Just so I know the ground rules—how are we supposed to travel? As man and wife?”

  “You begin as a big garment industry executive and his secretary. How you end up is no concern of mine. In any event, Pearl will have the names. She’ll give them to you, as required. When you reach Vegas, she’ll know where to call me to get more names.” Schatz twirled the tumbler. “You were smart moving out here. It’s why I risked coming
to see you. I don’t think our man expected that, although even if he’s watching, he’ll never follow us to where I’m going. We’ve planned a quite elaborate route.”

  “I had another reason for moving here. Two hoods were looking for me yesterday. I decided I’d rather not see them just now.”

  The old man frowned. “I don’t understand it. I told Gardino all he needs to know.”

  “Maybe he’s decided he wants to know more. Why don’t you phone him, and ask if there’s anything else on his mind?”

  “No, no.” Schatz seemed vaguely troubled. “While you and Pearl are out West, I’ll stay in hiding. I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

  “That’s another thing. All this secrecy. When will you trust me a little? I think the real reason you want Pearl with me is to watch me, while I’m so far from home. I spend my money. I risk my life, but you won’t tell me where you got the list, where you live, or anything else. I’m fed up with it. I don’t think I’ll continue on this basis.”

  “You’ll continue,” Schatz said blandly. “You’re too involved to stop. I’m sorry, it’s self-protection. Find this man, give me his name, and I’ll tell you about the list, and what he took from your father.”

  “It’s idiotic. It’s also dangerous, your hoarding this knowledge. I’ll warn you again. I don’t think our man’s the negotiating type. It worries me that I won’t know how to reach you when I’m away.”

  “I’ll be safe. I’ll be armed.”

  “You’re an ex-convict. You can get in trouble, owning a gun.”

  “Better illegally alive than legally dead. When I open my door, I’ll be in my wheel chair, the gun under a blanket. I won’t let anyone in unless I recognize the face, although I can’t imagine who’d find me. I don’t expect to see anyone but delivery boys with food and drink.”

  Jon came to a decision. Schatz’s life, such as it was, was more important than concealing Spook’s description. “I’ll tell you this much,” Jon said. “The man I saw walk out of the brownstone with my father is a big guy, in his late forties or early fifties. Six feet tall, at least two hundred pounds. He’s got a small mouth…”

  At the door, someone rapped.

  Schatz put his drink down. “Now who,” he wondered “could that be? Pearl won’t be here for another hour.” Jon called, “Who is it?”

  A woman yelled, “Chakorian? Is this Chakorian?”

  “It is. Who are you?”

  “You don’t recognize my voice? Open up, Jon dear. It’s your Aunt Elvira.”

  * * * *

  She wore a rumpled blue print dress and a wide-brimmed straw hat. A newspaper jutted from under her arm.

  Jon closed the door and said, “Hello, Aunt. You’re looking well.”

  It was a blatant lie. She looked terrible. Her face was lined and gray. Bags hung under her eyes, and her nose was laced with blood vessels. Jon hadn’t seen her since the day she’d stalked out of Juvenile Court, but Howard had told him she still lived in the bungalow, soaking up booze like a blotter.

  “You look fine too, Jon. I’ve read about you. The athlete. The soldier. The young businessman. I think it’s wonderful.” She turned to Schatz. “And what a pleasant surprise, Mr. Schatzmueller, finding you here.”

  Schatz nodded, viewing her with distaste. The few times they’d met in the old days, they didn’t get along very well.

  “Who,” Jon asked, “told you I was at this motel?”

  “Your beatnik bartender. He didn’t want to, but I persuaded him it was urgent family business. He said you’re a dress salesman now for Schatzmueller’s company.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Is it? I don’t think so.” Grinning, she sat on the bed. “It’s the diamonds. You’re looking for the diamonds, both of you. For the diamonds, or for whoever got them.”

  “Aunt, that’s crazy. I can assure you…”

  She unfolded the newspaper and waved it “What about this? The Telegram? You settled your insurance claim. Howard told me years ago. It’s obvious now. Your father had the diamonds with him when he disappeared, and now you’re trying to find the people who killed him, to blackmail them. Or maybe the diamonds were so cleverly hidden that they’re still with your father’s remains. Of course if I’m wrong, there’ll be no harm done when I go to the newspapers, and tell them about the diamonds. It won’t make any difference, will it?”

  “The newspapers?”

  “Yes. Whatever you’re doing, I want a share. I’m entitled to it, not mentioning the diamonds all these years. If I don’t get a share, I’ll go to every newspaper office in town. The television stations, too. I’ll…”

  Schatz, who’d been studying Elvira closely, held up his right hand.

  “Wait.” His mouth twisted in what he meant to be an engaging smile. “You’re right, dear lady. There’s more to our venture than appeared in the Telegram. Perhaps it’s best, after all, that we confide in you. But first, would you like a drink?”

  She was suspicious. “Of what?”

  He nodded to the gin and vermouth. “Martini. With Gordon’s gin.”

  “Well, that,” she conceded, “might be all right.”

  “Jon,” Schatz said, “get another glass.” He poured a stiff jolt of gin into the tumbler holding the ice, following it with the merest flick of vermouth. “We’ll give your aunt a drink. Let her wet her whistle, so to speak. And then we’ll negotiate.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Pearl walked to the edge of the diving board. She cut a stunning figure, her ample curves displayed in a tan bikini. She paused a moment, outlined against a cloudless sky, and then plunged into the water and swam to the pool’s shallow end with slow, powerful strokes. She made four more laps before climbing the ladder and strolling to a poolside chair on which Jon reclined, garbed in bathing trunks. Sunglasses and the rim of a cap shielded his eyes.

  “That does it,” she announced solemnly. She’d been uncommonly solemn since they left Chicago four days earlier. They were at a motel on the outskirts of Tucson now. “In another hour, it’ll be a hundred and ten. I’m going back inside to watch television or something.”

  “I,” Jon said, “could suggest a better way to pass the time.”

  “I’ll bet.” She pulled off her bathing cap; her golden hair tumbled over her shoulders. In a few years, she’d begin to flesh out. Pearl had a ravenous appetite. But at the moment, the little bikini merely emphasized that from any angle Pearl was a remarkably endowed young woman.

  “What is it about me,” she went on, “that you like so much? My build? My face? My personality? Or what I know about Schatz’s names?”

  “Why worry so about those names?”

  “Because there’s something fishy about you.” She reached for a towel and began drying herself. “I think Schatz made a mistake, going to Chicago to see you. If we find this guy, you’ll try to double-cross him somehow.”

  “You’ve got me wrong. And you do yourself an injustice. You…”

  “Skip the small talk. All I know is you’re trouble. First you, then your goofy aunt. Why Schatz took her in on this is beyond me.” Pearl draped the towel around her neck and sat down. “What time we eat?”

  “Six.”

  “And tomorrow morning?”

  “We haul out by five. They’re predicting another scorcher. We have to check that rancher Cobb, and then reach Phoenix by early afternoon. The more mileage we can put behind us before the sun gets high, the better.” She opened her purse, extracted a cigarette and lit it. “The black Ford. The one you thought followed us this morning. You see it again?”

  “No. Probably my imagination.”

  “This is getting on your nerves, isn’t it?”

  “No more,” Jon said, “than it is yours.”

  Pearl’s lips compressed. He’d hit a vulnerable point, something he’d sensed less th
an an hour out of Chicago. Pearl was afraid. She was all fear. That’s why her voice was so strained, why she smoked so much, why she didn’t want to talk to him. She didn’t want to give herself away.

  “It’s silly, isn’t it,” she said finally. “After all, there’s two of us. He couldn’t do anything to two of us.”

  She closed her purse, gathered her things, donned a terrycloth robe and hurried back to her unit.

  They dined at a steak house on East Speedway. Pearl had two Manhattans, a king crab appetizer, salad with Roquefort dressing, a sixteen-ounce sirloin, baked potato with sour cream, a beer and a slice of cheese cake. Afterwards, they wandered through a few shops in Ash Alley and returned to the motel.

  Pearl didn’t even say good night, but Jon felt he was getting somewhere. Her remark about Spook tackling both of them had been the first crack in her defenses, and at dinner she’d been pensive, observing him when she thought he wasn’t looking.

  Before turning in, Jon walked to a bar and phoned Train. The next name was Alexander Cobb, rancher, who lived in a remote area. After Cobb, they’d go to Phoenix, where Pearl would give him five more names. After Phoenix, they’d head for Vegas.

  It was, Train said glumly, a helluva fouled-up operation, but the fact that Vegas would be their headquarters if they didn’t find Spook on the way was significant. Train had now learned that in June, Schatz and Pearl had been away from New York nearly four weeks, destination unspecified, but on two occasions the old man phoned his office from Vegas, long distance collect. The key to the list, whatever it was, must be there.

  About that girl—couldn’t Jon make any progress? Sorry, Jon said, she’s as communicative as a sphinx, and your file on her is out of date. She won’t even let me hold her hand. She’s scared as hell, though. Maybe I can break her down a little tomorrow.

  Train expressed concern too about Aunt Elvira, a concern in which Jon shared. Elvira was in on the deal now, a 20 percent partner with Jon and Schatz. The old man had fed her a few drinks and induced her to put up ten thousand dollars of her own, swelling the bribe kitty to fifty thousand. She’d balked, until Schatz disclosed that their goal was the full missing million, and that the lead was hot because Jon had seen Spook in Florida.