Point of Contact

by J. T. Edson

  Brad wore his best tuxedo and looked every inch the wealthy young man he tried to avoid appearing at work. After seeing the change made by dyeing his hair a rusty red, Haynes had decided against risking a false moustache. Alice had to admit that he looked very different and ought to get by. For her part, she had blonde hair piled on top of her head in an elegant fashion. The borrowed cocktail gown, gloves and jewelry gave her just the right air to get by; especially as she was to be Brad’s ‘wife’, an ex-show girl from Las Vegas. When dealing with a man as suspicious as Rutland, they could take no chances of detection. So it had been decided that neither of them would carry a gun. If they succeeded in tricking Rutland, the arrest would be made by a posse of deputies.

  On hearing from Tierney that Rutland was at the Queen of Clubs, Brad and Alice went there by taxi-cab. Almost every contingency had been taken care of. If they had just a little luck, they ought to bring the plant to a successful conclusion.

  Fourteen

  ‘Maybe we should get out of Gusher City, Andy,’ Sadie Rutland told her husband as they stood at the almost deserted bar in the Queen of Clubs. From the expression on her face, she might have been making casual conversation, but there was worry in her voice.

  ‘Not until we’ve made some travelling money,’ Rutland replied. ‘We’ve got the nut to cover. The kind of shills we use don’t set us back just a saw-buck a night.’

  ‘I know that. But if Peraro comes—’

  ‘He’ll not be here tonight and we’ll pull out tomorrow!’ Dressed in a tuxedo, Andy Rutland might have been a prosperous cattleman in town for a spree. Big, tanned, jovial-featured, he gave off an air of out-doors living. His wife, a voluptuous red-head, dressed expensively and possessed a distracting charm which prevented even the most suspicious mark from wondering how she had come to make such a match.

  ‘What if the law knows about Tommy Cortez crossing you?’ Sadie insisted.

  ‘You heard Tragg,’ Rutland snorted. ‘He reckons it’s a grudge killing tied in with those—’

  ‘What is it?’ Sadie demanded, seeing her husband tense slightly.

  Without making her interest too obvious, Sadie looked along the bar. A pretty blonde girl and an exceptionally handsome, well-built man with rusty-red hair had come up. Even as Sadie watched, the man bought two drinks. He peeled a five dollar bill from a very well-filled wallet, telling the bartender to keep the change. Working with the precision of an adding machine, she assessed the cost of the newcomers’ clothing and reached a satisfactorily high figure. Then she saw Virg Grayne approaching the couple. Recognition showed on the comedian’s face as the big red-head turned towards him.

  ‘Why hi there, Virg,’ the young man greeted. ‘I haven’t seen you since the night you opened at the Dallas Country Club.’

  Already interested, the Rutlands listened attentively. They knew the class of clientele drawn by the exclusive Country Club at Dallas. Certainly Grayne displayed the deference a professional night-club entertainer reserved for influential customers.

  ‘Hello, Mr. Scratton,’ Grayne replied.

  ‘Have a drink, Virg, and meet the wife. Loma, this’s Virg Grayne, an all-right guy.’

  ‘Hi, Virg,’ the blonde drawled. ‘Say, did we take the bookies today, or did we take them? We had five grand on Rio Hondo in the Houston Stakes. It just breezed home.’

  ‘Lorna’s real lucky for me,’ Scratton announced, hugging his wife. ‘Say Virg, where’s the action in. this town?’

  ‘I don’t know, and that’s the truth,’ Grayne replied. ‘Gusher City’s the toughest town I’ve ever seen for finding any.’

  ‘You mean there’s no poker-game, no crap shooting a man can do?’ Scratton demanded. ‘Damn it! Here’s me riding a winning streak and you’re saying I can’t find a game to play it on. Say, why don’t you get some of your friends together?’

  ‘Not me,’ Grayne interrupted politely but firmly. ‘You play way too rich for my blood. What I will do, though, is ask around the staff and see if any of them know a game.’

  ‘Do that, Virg. Do that!’ the big red-head enthused. ‘Have another drink.’

  ‘I’ll take a rain check on it,’ Grayne smiled. ‘I’ve another show to do.’

  ‘What about it, Andy?’ Sadie inquired as Grayne left the couple.

  ‘I like them,’ Rutland admitted. ‘Rio Hondo paid off at four to one and-he looks like he’s got most of his winnings with him. We’ll feel him out, anyways.’

  However the feeling-out process was not rushed. Rutland studied the potential victims with interest. Everything about them met with his approval. Nothing they wore had come from the ready-to-wear racks of a five-and-dime store.

  That hair-style did not originate from a cheap salon in the low-rent part of the city. The man looked completely at ease in the opulent surroundings of the club. Although the girl did not sound to have the same type of upbringing, she too appeared to be used to places like the Queen of Clubs. That meant she was most likely a show-girl who had married well. Unless Rutland missed his guess, they were the real thing. He still meant to take his usual precautions.

  At her husband’s nod, Sadie accompanied him along the bar. She stared pointedly at the red-head and looked embarrassed when he turned her way.

  ‘Excuse me staring,’ Sadie said in her most winning manner. ‘But aren’t you Brick Ballantine?’

  ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, ma’am, but I’m not,’ the redhead replied, plainly pleased to have been mistaken for Hollywood’s current top beef-cake star.

  ‘I told you so, Sadie! ’ Rutland boomed. ‘Just because the gent was talking to Virg Brayne don’t make him a movie star. You’ll have to excuse my wife, friend, she’s always thinking somebody’s a movie actor.’

  ‘No harm done,’ Brad Counter replied genially. ‘I’ve been mistaken for him before. When folks tell me I look like him, I always say, “No, he looks like me.”’

  Laughing, Rutland said, ‘I hope that you and your good lady’ll have a drink with us to show there’s no hard feelings.’

  ‘You have one with us first,’ Brad offered. ‘Or to save arguing, we’ll have one with you then you have one with us. That’s neighborly. I’m Davey Scratton and this’s my wife, Loma.’

  ‘Sadie and Andy Montgomery,’ Rutland introduced. ‘I run a cattle spread up in the Panhandle. Four whiskey sours, bartender.’

  ‘You don’t look like a cattleman, Davey,’ Sadie remarked. ‘No, ma’am. We had a spread one time, but had to give it up. Every time pappy put down a fence-pole, he struck a gusher. Ma got riled, she said the oil we got on our clothes played hell with her spin-dryer. This’s a sort of honeymoon vacation for us.’

  ‘Some vacation,’ Alice sniffed. ‘This’s one dead town. I can’t wait to get back to Las Vegas.’

  ‘Lorna was in a show there,’ Brad declared. ‘We met at a crap table in the Sands and it was love at first sight.’

  ‘I’d just made four passes,’ Alice went on. ‘Lord, I’ll not be sorry when you’ve finished your business so’s we can go somewhere that’s got some action.’

  ‘Are you staying in town?’ Rutland asked casually.

  ‘At the Beverly Arms,’ Brad replied.

  ‘We tried to get in there, but it was booked up,’ Sadie answered. ‘Don’t you have that phone call to make, Andy?’

  ‘Sure do,’ Rutland agreed. ‘I’ll tend to it right now.’

  Leaving his wife to keep the conversation going, Rutland went to one of the telephone booths in the lobby. There he found the number of the Beverly Arms and dialed it. He knew that he was speaking to one of the most expensive hotel-apartment buildings in the city and the answer he received was all he could desire. Mr. and Mrs. David Scratton did stay there, but had left for the evening. Grinning his satisfaction, he hung up and returned to the barroom.

  At the Beverly Arms, the night-manager who had taken the call reported it to Lars Larsen. Then, with a sense of relief, he watched the huge deputy leave the building.
While willing to do Brad Counter a favor—his family being major shareholders in the corporation that owned the hotel—the manager did not approve of having peace officers on the premises. Going out to his car, Larsen called Central Control on its radio and announced that the plant appeared to be going according to plan.

  ‘Why don’t you and Sadie join us for a bite to eat, then we’ll go and see what’s doing around town,’ Brad suggested when Rutland rejoined them.

  ‘We’d like to,’ Sadie replied. ‘But we’ve got a previous engagement. Or have we, Andy. Is the game still on?’

  ‘Game?’ Alice and Brad said in one breath, then she went on, ‘Do you know where there’s a game?’

  ‘Dang it, Sadie, you shouldn’t have said that!’ Rutland snorted. ‘You know they don’t like it shouted around they’ve got the game going.’

  ‘Aw, Lorna and Davey are all right,’ Sadie protested. ‘How about taking us along to it?’ Brad asked.

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ Rutland answered reluctantly. ‘It’s kind of private—’

  ‘You think we’re maybe a couple of crooks?’ Alice demanded.

  ‘No, nothing like that,’ Sadie soothed her. ‘Why can’t we take them, Andy?’

  ‘No reason,’ Rutland admitted, then gave a shrug. ‘Hell, why not. Maybe they’ll change my luck. I’ve dropped ten grand in the game, so they shouldn’t object to us bringing a couple of friends.’

  ‘Way our luck’s been running, we’ll get it back for you,’ Brad grinned. ‘What kind of a game is it?’

  ‘Open craps, with a banker in case you can’t get enough action on the outside,’ Rutland replied. ‘It’s a high game.’

  ‘That’s how we like ’em,’ Alice stated.

  ‘Let’s go powder our noses before we leave, Loma,’ Sadie suggested.

  In turning, the woman seemed to slip. She stumbled against Brad and grabbed at him to prevent herself from falling. In the brief seconds that they were close together, she ran her hands swiftly from beneath his armpits down to the level of his trousers pockets. It was, Brad conceded, one of the neatest bump-frisks he would ever encounter. If he had been carrying a gun in a shoulder, waistband or pocket holster, Sadie would have located it.

  Gasping apologies and laying the blame on the slippery floor, Sadie accompanied Alice to the ladies’ powder-room. During the process of powdering their noses, Alice allowed the woman to see that she carried only the normal feminine items in her handbag. Like Brad, she could not have concealed a gun from Sadie’s scrutiny.

  Collecting their hats and the women’s wraps from the cloakroom, Rutland watched Brad tip the girl with a five dollar bill. Once again the deputy had passed a test. An ordinary peace officer, working on a tight budget with the tax-payers’ money, would not be likely to tip so lavishly.

  Outside the club, they waited while the parking lot’s attendant brought up Rutland’s four-door Chevrolet hardtop car. Once inside, Alice handed around her cigarette-case and flicked a flame from her lighter. That also set the transmitter into operation, sending its signal to the waiting trucks. Returning the lighter to her handbag, she left it open on her knees.

  Alice and Brad began to realize why other attempts to trap Rutland had failed. While waiting for the car, Rutland had made a surreptitious but thorough examination of the street mating note mentally of every vehicle parked in the vicinity. He maintained his watch while driving off, alert for any sign of being followed. At his side, Sadie kept the deputies diverted with a constant flow of conversation. If Alice and Brad had been strangers to Gusher City, they would have been unable to keep track of where they were being taken. As it was, they realized that Rutland was steering them towards the upper-middle income district bordering the Leander and Upton Heights divisions.

  After passing along a dark section of street, Brad noticed that another car was following them. In the Chevrolet’s driving mirror, he saw the other vehicle’s headlights flicker in what might be a signal. For a moment anger filled the big deputy as he wondered if somebody was trying to be smart and tail them against Jack Tragg’s orders. However Rutland showed no sign of concern, although aware of the car.

  On reaching a better lit area, Brad realized that the other car was a Chevrolet identical in make and color to the one in which they rode. Everything became clear. It was just another part of Rutland’s security arrangements. The car behind them belonged to the steer-mob. Slipping behind them like that, he would hold the attention of anybody tailing Rutland and his victims. Confirmation of the theory came when, in another darkened section, Rutland made an unexpected turn down a side street and the other Chevrolet did not follow. Instead it continued in the original direction and would decoy away any pursuit.

  Satisfied that he had escaped any possible surveillance, Rutland drove the car through a residential section and brought it to a halt before the garage of an apparently unoccupied house standing in its own small grounds. It was a neighborhood to arouse confidence, prosperous and more law-abiding in aspect than anything in the Bad Bit would have been.

  ‘So far so good,’ Alice thought as they went to the house’s front door and, thinking of Buck Shields, went on, ‘This’d be a hell of a time for the scientifical wonders to go back on us.’

  Fifteen

  ‘These folks’re friends of mine,’ Rutland told the broken-nosed, bulky man who opened the door to his knock. They’re o.k.’

  ‘I dunno,’ the doorkeeper answered. ‘I’ll have to ask the boss if they can come in.’

  Allowing the newcomers to enter, he closed the door and went across the hall. Despite the darkened conditions of the premises, the building was occupied and furnished. Light glowed from the door opened by the bulky man and noises rose as he addressed somebody inside.

  ‘Watch it! The point is five and here they come!’ a dry, emotionless voice could be heard saying, accompanied by the rattling of shaken dice. ‘Coming out! And he’s made it with a three and two. Pay the lucky bettors.’

  A tall, slim man in a tuxedo emerged, closing the door. Everything in the by-play which followed went off smoothly. While speaking to the Rutlands, the ‘boss’ eyed Alice and Brad in a calculating manner and accepted their bona fides. To an unsuspecting dupe, it would have seemed that he had no connection with the couple. At last he nodded his agreement and led the way across to the game-room.

  Like the rest of the house, the room was furnished. In its center was a single-dealer crap table of the kind seen in smaller casinos, illuminated by the shaded light which hung over it. Heavy drapes covered the windows as a means of preventing inquisitive neighbors from seeing what went on inside. Fat and prosperous, the banker was behind the ‘book’, sufficient money piled before him to attract the interest and avarice of any gambler. Gathering the two dice in the light metal ring of his crap-stick, the gangling stick-man drew them to him and picked them up ready to pass to the next shooter. By his side, the dealer paid off ‘bets’ made on the last throw. Four men and two women, well-dressed in tuxedos or cocktail gowns, formed the players. Knowing them to be shills, hired locally to give the game an added air of respectability and steady business, Alice studied their faces. She did not recognize any of them and hoped that it would be mutual.

  ‘Come on, folks!’ chanted the stickman. ‘If you don’t bet, you can’t win. Get it down now. Double up and beat the book. Watch it! Here they come. They’re coming now! And the point is nine.’

  Letting out a yelp of delight, the plump woman who had thrown the point accepted the two dice and began to shake them in her right hand. Around the table, bets on the result of the come-out roll were settled and the ritual continued.

  Despite the limited number of ‘players’, the table offered few places at which the newcomers might stand. Alice and Brad found themselves separated from the Rutlands, being placed on the side farthest from the door. To Brad’s left stood the stickman and dealer, with Alice to his right at the end of the table and around the corner from the ‘banker’s’ position. The Rutla
nds faced the banker along the table, being positioned so that they could watch the shills and the ‘victims’. Two of the shills, a man and the plump woman who was shooting, stood between the dealer and the Rutlands, the others lining the table on the opposite side.

  ‘Perhaps Mr. Scratton would like to examine the dice before he starts playing?’ the ‘boss’ suggested. ‘It’s a rule of our game, sir.’

  Accepting the two cubes that the stickman passed to him, Brad knew that trying any test would be a waste of time. However he went through the motions of making the pivot test, holding the dice lightly between the balls of his thumb and forefinger by two diagonal corners. Although he tried all four combinations of corners, the dice did not turn as they would have if they were loaded.

  ‘Would you care to try the water test, sir?’ asked the boss.

  ‘Shucks, no,’ Brad replied. ‘If you weren’t on the level, you’d never have let me do this much.’

  Placing a dice into a tall tumbler full of water and watching if it sank with or without turning over was another test for loaded dice. If one sank with a different side uppermost each time, it was possible to see which faces had loads in them.’

  Brad decided that the mob were using ‘electric’ dice—with minute steel discs concealed in the spots of the four faces the operators did not want to favor and the required opposing sides left unaltered—working in conjunction with an electro-magnet hidden beneath the green baize covering of the table. In which case neither the pivot nor water tests would reveal the secret. Even if he asked for a magnet as a means to detect the steel loadings, he would learn nothing. He knew that the dice handed to him would be honest. The ‘work’ would not make its appearance until later in the game.

  Having ‘convinced’ their marks of the game’s honesty, the steer-mob got down to business. Once more the stickman resumed his chant and the plump woman went through the ritual of shaking then throwing the dice so that they struck the padded side of the table and bounced back to show her point. Everything was arranged so that the deputies would be forced to play as the Rutlands wanted. All the other ‘players’ looked to be fully occupied with transactions amongst themselves, so Alice and Brad had to make wagers against the book. While the shills had been supplied with money to make a pretense of betting, Rutland intended that his marks would deal directly with a member of his organization. That way he could keep a check on how much the ‘Scrattons’ lost.