The Complete Casebook of Cardigan, Volume 1: 1931-32
Page 39
Cardigan said: “What the hell?” He took a step, took the case and bracelet. He snapped the case shut, dropped it into his pocket. The little Italian looked mystified.
“Thank you very much,” said Cardigan. “Where did you get this bracelet?”
The Italian laughed good-naturedly. “Was watcha call good joke on Babe! Ho-ho! Ask-a da Babe.” He held his stomach and shook with honest mirth.
“Well, you?” Cardigan shot at the burly man.
Babe’s face was mottled. His lip shook.
“Geez, guy, I didn’t steal it. I’m a truck driver. I come up from the East Side today with an empty truck except for some picks—a half a dozen picks I had. We’re on a job on Eight’ Avenue—where the new Hotel Morris is goin’ to go up. Well, I get there. Tony jumps up to the truck to chuck the picks out. When he jumps down that thing drops from his overalls and I ask him what it is. He says it’s a gadget he got for his wife at dinnertime. There’s a funny look on his mug, but I don’t think much about it. Well, it turns out the thing was in my truck, just layin’ there. Tony found it.”
“How’d it get there?”
Babe looked uneasy. “Listen, mister—I ain’t a crook, see. Neither is Tony. But, hell, when a thing like that drops out o’ the sky—a thing worth a thousand bucks and a guy wants to give me and Tony two hundred a piece—gosh!”
Cardigan chuckled drily. “Two hundred, eh? You know how much it’s worth, Babe?”
“Huh?”
“Fifty thousand dollars.”
“Fifty thou—”
“Exactly.”
THE burly man’s face flamed. His eyes settled on Kinnard, then swung back to Cardigan. He said: “This guy said it was a thousand. I thought he was on the up-and-up because he said we’d all meet here at a jeweler’s and the jeweler’d buy it for a thousand.”
“He’d fixed it up with Goldfarb. How did the thing get in your truck?”
“I don’t know. This guy follered me home from work and nailed me on the doorstep. I told him I didn’t have it. He said he knew it was in my truck. Then I remembered Tony and I said maybe I could get it. I said I’d have to call a guy. I said I’d call the guy and then meet him later. He propositioned me. So I called Tony—he lives downtown—and Tony said he’d come across. Then I met this guy in a speak in Fortieth Street. I told him. We called Tony again and told him to come here.”
“Where were you at noon today?”
“There was a traffic jam on Sixth Avenue. Some guys were takin’ pictures I was tied up under the ‘El’ for about ten minutes—”
“Thanks,” Cardigan cut in. He turned to Kinnard. “So, that was it, eh? You dropped it from the rear platform of the ‘El’ train when you saw you were cornered. You dropped it in this guy’s truck. When Garrity hauled you down to the street you saw the truck—the number of it and the name of the construction company. You went up to Eighth Avenue this afternoon, just before quitting time. You saw the truck, you followed the driver home. Swell, Kinnard—very swell!”
Kinnard bit his lip to silence.
Cardigan said: “You guys—you, Babe—you, Tony—better scram out of this. You going to rat on these guys, Kinnard?”
“No. To hell with them. Let ’em go.”
Cardigan nodded. “That’s pretty white, Kinnard.”
Babe grabbed his hat. “Come on, Tony. This ain’t no place for us.” He heaved across the room, yanked open the door. He reared backward with a hoarse outcry, fell against Tony. Both men toppled to the floor.
Cardigan had taken out the bracelet and was looking at it. His eyes darted upward. He saw Micah standing in the doorway—small, plain Micah. There was a gun in Micah’s hand, a strained look on his face, a strange gleam in his eyes.
“You will put your hands up,” he said. “Not a move out of anyone.”
Cardigan blinked. It was hard to believe his eyes. But the man was Micah, and there was a gun in his hand. Entering swiftly, Micah closed the door.
“Now,” he panted, “we’ll see. Kinnard, you have a gun. Take it out. Help me cover these men. Take the bracelet from Cardigan. Quick! I listened. I heard. We’ll have to hurry, Kinnard.”
Kinnard did not move. He seemed shocked, rooted where he stood, at this pale, panting apparition of a man. Goldfarb groaned. Tony and Babe remained where they had fallen. Cardigan stood holding the bracelet in one hand, the case in the other.
He said: “Micah, you’re mad. Put that gun down, man. I’m Cardigan. You’re—”
“Oh, yes, oh, yes,” Micah sing-songed. “I know who you are. Kinnard, will you hurry up! Don’t stand there like a fool!”
Kinnard shook his head slowly. “I’m caught, Micah. There’s no use. The job was a flop and I couldn’t get away with it. I’ll take my medicine. I’m not strong on gun work. Take my advice. Beat it.”
Micah panted: “What! You’re turning me down! You think I’m going to let this go? You’ve got to come, Kinnard. If you let yourself get arrested, you’ll tell about me. One way or the other, they’ll know about it—and we may as well have the bracelet. I’ve got to have my share. My sister—she needs more doctors—that damn firm is firing me—I need money. Don’t you understand? Don’t you see I’ve taken a step I can’t undo? I’ve got to go through with it, I tell you! Money—doctor bills—my sister.”
“I’m not going, Micah. I won’t squeal on you. You better lam out of this.”
Micah’s voice strained: “But I have to have money! You said—you remember what you said—one third—”
“For God’s sake, beat it!”
MICAH shook. The gun in his hand shook. His glazed eyes burned on Cardigan and he took a jerky step forward, held out his left hand. “The—the bracelet, Cardigan—give it to me.”
Cardigan watched the gun’s black muzzle come toward him. “Micah, you’re out of your mind. You can’t get away with this.”
“Give—me—the—bracelet.” The words ached out of his mouth. Anguish was scratched across his face. “I’ll have to—kill—you—if you don’t. Money—I need money—for my sister. Ten years with that firm—and they fire me—fire me.”
“Micah—”
“Don’t talk! God, don’t make me kill you!”
Kinnard was leaning across the table. His hand rose. He switched out the light. There was the gun’s roar—the stab of flame. Somewhere in the dark there was a choked cry.
Cardigan struck out. His fist collided with something that gave. He stumbled and fell on top of Micah. Micah’s gun exploded a second time and glass broke. Cardigan got hold of the gun, ripped it from Micah’s hand. “Lights!” he yelled.
There was stumbling in the dark. Then the droplight sprang to life. Goldfarb stepped back from it, stumbled, said: “Ach!” as he looked downward.
Kinnard was lying on the floor. His head was bleeding.
“Micah shot him!” Goldfarb cried.
Cardigan was holding Micah up. He dragged him across the floor and looked down at Kinnard.
“Accidents happen, huh?” Kinnard said, and grimaced.
“I—I didn’t mean it!” cried Micah.
“Shut up,” growled Cardigan. “Goldfarb, get a doctor. Hurt bad, Kinnard?”
“Yeah. I guess I’m going….”
Micah gibbered and Cardigan swung him around and shook him violently. “You fool! How did you get mixed up in this anyhow?”
“My sister—money—doctors. The firm was firing me. I did recognize Kinnard. I knew he was the man robbed me. But I began to think. I thought that if I said I wasn’t sure, they’d let him go. Then I could go around to him later and tell him. I did that. I went around and told him. I wanted one third for my silence. The pay-off was to be here tonight. So I came—and then— You see, Cardigan, I needed money—lots of it—for my sister—and there was no way. I’ve been honest all my life. All my life. Until now. Ten years with the firm—and—and—” He covered his eyes.
Cardigan stepped away, shook his head. It was this sort of thing that
often cropped up in his business—men down to bedrock, men who turned criminals over night for a reason that no law would recognize. Cardigan had read the letters in Micah’s room. He knew.
Goldfarb was saying: “I call the doctor but—but”—he was pointing—“Kinnard won’t need one yet—ever.”
Kinnard was staring at the ceiling. His mouth was slack.
Cardigan said: “You, Goldfarb—go downstairs to the store. Tony, Babe—you too. The cops are there now.”
Nightsticks were beating on the pawnshop door. The three men went down. Micah was staring at the man he had murdered. Cardigan took a breath, crossed the room, gave Micah back the gun he had ripped from his hand. He didn’t say anything. He walked down the stairs slowly, listening. Reached the store. The thunder of the gun upstairs seemed to shake the building. Cardigan saw flakes of plaster dribble from the store ceiling.
“What was that?” Goldfarb choked.
Cardigan said: “Use your head.”
Table of Contents
The Complete Casebook of Cardigan, Volume 1: 1931-32
Copyright Information
Introduction by Will Murray
Death Alley
Hell’s Pay Check
Six Diamonds and a Dick
And There Was Murder
Phantom Fingers
Murder on the Loose
Rogues’ Ransom
Lead Pearls
The Dead Don’t Die
The Candy Killer
A Truck-Load of Diamonds