My Business is Murder

by Kane, Henry

  I was alone at a corner table, sipping a stinger and waiting for Herb Wiley. I had showered and shaved again and I was dressed in one of my dark blue suits. Some of the sun from the shore had hung on to me and I was, somehow, rested and relaxed. I was just about ordering the second stinger when Herb showed up.

  Herb Wiley was one of the vice-presidents of Coronet. Herb had been a football player at Harvard and he had served in the Army with me. Herb had some distinguished streaks of grey in his hair now and he was slightly gone to fat, but he carried a lot of weight down at Coronet and he was a bright, alert executive who earned his keep.

  We did small talk all through the meal but when the liqueur showed up, I said: “Where’s the file?”

  Herb said, “I don’t need a file.”

  “You know the case?”

  “Know it thoroughly. I reviewed the file.”

  “What do you think of it, Herb?”

  “Cut and dried.”

  I smiled and shook my head. “The police say: open and shut. This guy says: cut and dried. Seems I haven’t got a chance.”

  “Chance?”

  “To upset it.”

  “I wish you had. They’d run me a testimonial with speeches, if I could haul back two hundred thousand out of left field.”

  “That ten percent deal still go?”

  “It’s a standing rule, Pete. Any investigator that can show us where a fraud was pulled—ten percent of the money recovered is his fee.”

  “Brother, you just hired yourself a man.”

  “Glad to have you. But if you’re talking about the Adams case … there just isn’t a loophole. Matter of fact, our own investigators only reveiwed it about a month ago. Routine. We do one check-up about a year later.”

  “How’s Adams fixed right now?”

  He grinned with square teeth. “You mean could we recover our two hundred thousand?”

  “I mean something like that.”

  “You show me fraud and we pay you at once, that’s how good Adams is.”

  “Really?”

  “He owns that club out in Jersey, owns it outright; he owns a showplace out at Lido, owns it outright; he’s got a yacht; he’s got property here in the city; and he’s got a load of stock. And he made practically all of it during this past year. Quite a man, Eddie Adams.”

  I sipped on a sticky after-dinner drink. I said, “What about the gun, Herb, that killed Dorothy Adams? Supposed to have belonged to this Henry Moore.”

  “Belonged all right. Registered in his name and the bullets that killed her came from the gun. Paraffin tests showed that he fired it. Mrs. Adams, before she died, told her story clearly, and identified Henry Moore to the police, or should I say the corpse of Henry Moore. There’s just no out there, Pete. None whatever.”

  “And Matt Bennett was a witness?”

  “No witness was needed, really. Mrs. Adams’ story would have been enough. Bennett was merely corroboration as was Adams himself. Certainly, Adams was guilty of no crime. He shot a burglar in his own home, a man who had already critically wounded Mrs. Adams.”

  “What about the open door downstairs?”

  “Can happen, can’t it? People leave doors open.”

  “But it was Adams himself who left that door open.”

  “So what? The attempted burglary occurred at two o’clock in the morning. Adams came home at one. He may have been overtired. As a matter of fact, it’s the police theory that he may have been a little tight though they can’t prove that.”

  “Anybody fix his whereabouts for that evening?”

  “Of course. At about that period his Diamond Circle was going out of business.”

  “Failed completely, didn’t it?”

  “That’s right. Suddenly lost its lure for the customers. Happens. Real live joint, that circle. Knew a show-gal there once, a nymph by name Olga Owstrowski. Wow, and wow-ee?”

  “Blonde?”

  “Yeah. Were you there too?”

  “No, but the name, Olga …”

  “Shaped out of heaven, was Olga.”

  “What do you mean by nymph?”

  Herb tried to look wicked, which was about as successful as painting circles under the eyes of a cherub. “Guess,” he said.

  “Know what became of her?”

  “Don’t know a thing. Never knew anything about her, really, except her hobby.”

  “And what was that?”

  “Men. What else?”

  “Okay. Let’s get back to the Diamond Circle.”

  “Well, Adams poured a lot of money into it, trying to recoup. But he finally gave up.”

  “What’s that got to do with his whereabouts of that evening?”

  “He had an office right above the club.”

  “So?”

  “He was there, practically all of that evening, right up until midnight, working on his books.”

  “Any corroboration of that?”

  “None necessary. There was no reason for any suspicion. Furthermore, it couldn’t possibly be disproved.”

  “Why not? Figures to be an elevator man, something, maybe a secretary he was working with.”

  “Uh uh. The office was one flight up, a walkup, separate entrance from the club. Adams had a key to the outside door, downstairs; and to the office door proper, upstairs. And he worked alone that evening, no secretary. I’m wondering, Pete, whether you’re not pushing where nothing can fall. If ever a case was cut and dried, this is it.”

  “Yeah, maybe, maybe so.”

  The waiter came with the check and I grabbed it. Outside, I said, “Can I drop you somewhere, Herb?”

  “You can drop me at home.” His forehead creased. “You driving? I thought you didn’t drive in town.”

  “I’m going across to Jersey.”

  “Jersey?”

  “A little unfinished business.”

  Unfinished business got me to the Stardust Room at ten-thirty. I left my car in the roadway with the lights on. And I left my hat in the car so I had nothing to check. I walked through the dimness to the stairway, and up the stairway into the bar. It was seething with more customers than the lobby of the Garden on fight night. I moved to the carpeted stairs and ran down. I knocked on the door of the office of The Manager. It was opened by Frankie Gold. I shoved in and hit him quick. I caught him flush on the chin and he fell, face forward like he’d been hit with an elephant gun.

  The door had a barrel bolt and I shot it.

  I’m an old hand at my business. I worked fast and silently. I removed his tuxedo jacket, his tie, his suspenders, the gun from his holster and a silk handkerchief from his jacket pocket. I used the tie to knot his wrists together behind him. I used the suspenders to bind his ankles. The handkerchief became a silken gag across his mouth. I lifted him, laid him out behind a long leather couch and tossed his jacket over him. Then I picked up the gun, crossed to the polished black door, and reached for the knob—but it had no knob. It was the type of door with one knob and that one on the inside. Smart man, Matt Bennett. I used my own handkerchief now. I put it across my mouth, held it with my left hand and rapped on the door with my gun muzzle.

  Matt Bennett called: “Yeah?”

  My voice came from deep in my throat, choked against the pad of the handkerchief. “Open up, boss. It’s Frankie.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I got somethin’ stuck in my t’roat. Open up.”

  The door opened and I jammed the gun in his stomach. You could feel it going in. Good living had softened up Matt Bennett and you go soft first in the belly. “What …?” he said. “What …?”

  “Where’s Frankie?”

  “Sleeping. I borrowed his gun.”

  “Sleeping?” Then it hit him. His face lost a little color and he backed away. “What do you want?”

  “Nothing.” I kicked the door shut with my foot.

  “You didn’t keep your promise, Matt.” I put my handkerchief away.

  “What promise?”
/>   “About my being here. About out little chat.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Never mind how I know. You didn’t did you?”

  He kept his mouth closed.

  I waved the gun. I said, “You’re going to talk, Matt.”

  His eyes moved with the gun. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  I sighed. I said, “Matt, you know me pretty good. I’d dare. And I wouldn’t be taking any chances. It’s Frankie’s gun. I plug you, wipe it off, stick it in his mitt, shoot another bullet out of it and blow. Nobody knows I’m here. Now it’s Frankie’s party and let him try and talk his way out of it. You wouldn’t be able to help him. Because you’d be slightly dead.”

  Matt Bennett was nothing if he wasn’t a reasonable man. The bit of color left in his face disappeared entirely. He said, “What do you want?”

  “Where’s Eddie Adams?”

  “On his yacht.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “He’s got one of those gimcracks. Ship-to-shore phone.”

  “What’d you tell him?”

  “Told him you were here. Told him what you told me and what I told you. That’s it, Pete. I work for the guy. I wouldn’t hold out information on him. But what’s the excitement? I don’t get it.”

  “Doesn’t he trust you, Matt?”

  “Sure he trusts me.”

  “Then why’d he send Olga?”

  “Send Olga for what?”

  “To negotiate with me. Eddie must have used that ship-to-shore phone again. She offered me ten thousand dollars to lay off. I’m asking you—why?”

  There was sweat on his face now. Earnestly, he said, “I don’t know why, Pete. I swear to you.”

  “She told me the publicity wouldn’t do this joint any good. You think that’s a reason? You’re an ex-lawyer.”

  “You know how we operate here. It’s like living on the side of a volcano.”

  “Very poetic. But just because I’m nosing into an old deal—how does it come up publicity? Figure that one for me.”

  He shrugged. “You might blow it up to something. Why the hell are you asking me? I didn’t make the offer, did I?”

  “Look, pal. What happened up there in Mamaroneck?”

  “Nothing that the cops haven’t got. I gave it to you straight, Pete. I swear.”

  I looked at him, looked at the gun, looked back to him. “Matt, I play hard, and you know it. I want to know what happened up there. It’ll be confidential, I promise you.”

  “You’ve got it straight, I tell you.”

  “Maybe I have, but if I haven’t, you’re it, Matt. You. If you’re handing me stuff on the bias, I wouldn’t want to be you. I wouldn’t want to be you for nothing. Last call, Matt.”

  His eyes were wild, and there was fear in them but he said, “You’ve got it straight, Pete. You know what I know. Believe me.”

  I believed him.

  I said, “How long has he been married to Olga?”

  “Four months.”

  “That the chick used to be at the Circle?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Owstrowski, that the one?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You ever sleep with that, Matt?”

  His complexion was better, and his eyes had stopped rolling. “No. Loves it like candy, that one. But she picks her people.”

  “Never picked you, did she?”

  “No. Maybe I don’t have sex appeal. She thinks there ain’t a guy in the world wouldn’t want to have her. Maybe she’s right. So … she donates her favors … where she pleases.”

  “Did all right with Eddie, didn’t she?”

  “Smart chick, no question.”

  “You got a gun, Matt?”

  “What? What’s that?”

  “You got a gun? Here?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Don’t use it.”

  “I don’t intend to.”

  “I mean now. I’m leaving. If you’re not mixed up in anything, don’t start mixing now. Check?”

  “Check.”

  “Go back to your desk and sit down. If you want to make a ship-to-shore phone call, make it. You’re on your own now. I’m leaving, and I don’t want you to start buzzing any of your hard boys outside. Check again?”

  He went to his desk chair and fell into it. His smile was an automatic exposure of teeth. “Good-bye, Mr. Chambers. And don’t worry about my hard boys.”

  “I’m not worrying.”

  I went out and let the door slam behind me. I wondered for a moment how they got in without a knob, decided it must work on an electric apparatus with a button on the outside, moved to Frankie Gold stiffly, slumbering behind the leather couch, dropped his gun beside him, and went out and up the carpeted stairs.

  The throng at the bar had not diminished. I pushed through, squeezing against people, said, “Pardon me,” pushed some more, and then a warm hand spread over my hand and tugged gently and I turned to face Olga Adams, née Owstrowski, smiling sweetly. She wore a red dress that began deep beneath her shoulders and ended in a wide swirl on the floor. She said, “Busy little boy, aren’t you?”

  “Always trying to earn a buck.”

  “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “No thanks.”

  “You just beg for trouble, don’t you?”

  “Do I?”

  “I saw you come in. I figured you’d be going out with marks on your face.”

  I took my hand out of hers and touched my check. “How’s it look?”

  “Good as ever. Let’s sit, eh? Let’s sit and chat a couple of minutes, eh?”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “Then let’s just chat, eh?”

  “Not here.”

  “Where?”

  “Outside. In my car. With the motor running.”

  “Real careful, aren’t you?” Her blue eyes looked up to mine, and fluttered. “But can I trust you?”

  “Let’s find out, Mrs. Adams.”

  “You twisted my arm.”

  Outside she waited on the marble steps, while I got the car. Wind whipped in the Jersey air like the spring breeze had come to a boil. The sky was thick with clouds of rain and thunder talked in the distance. I drew up by the stairs and opened the door of the car. She ran down and got in beside me. I leaned over, touching her, pulled the door shut, rolled a short distance, stopped, braked, kept the motor running. I fixed the rear view so that I could see who was coming out of the Stardust. I said, “All right, let’s chat, Mrs. Adams.”

  She kept her distance, huddled in the opposite corner, but her voice was soft. “You can call me Olga.”

  “What’s it all about, Olga?”

  “I saw you come in.”

  “I could have called down to Matt.”

  “So?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Why …?” She seemed to be thinking. I grabbed a quick glance at her. There was a little frown between her eyes and she was rubbing a finger at her nose. For a moment, behind all the careful makeup, I could see the little girl. For a moment, in the dimness, it was the round face of a spoiled little girl, a cute little girl, a little girl running to school, blonde hair flying, a little girl who had not grown up yet to curves that had the boys panting around her, tongues hanging out. For a moment I had an inexplicable affection for her. Then my eyes went back to the rear view. She said, “It’s a good question.” She was silent another minute. Then she said, “I don’t know. I wish I did know. If I’d called down they’d have been waiting for you. Anything could have happened.”

  “You against violence?”

  “No. That’s got nothing to do with it.” She was closer to me now. I could feel the heat of her thigh. “I don’t know. You’re a guy trying to hustle a buck. I suppose that can’t be held against you. A little bit, you’re beginning to aggravate me. A little bit. Not all the way. Not yet.” Her voice dropped. It was almost a whisper. “I
think maybe you can earn your buck, maybe you can earn your dirty blackmail, and maybe you can get away with it. I’ve been thinking. I’ve got a small hunch it’s not just money you’re after.”

  “No?”

  “No. That’s my hunch, and it’s a pleasant hunch.” Her hand rubbed at my knee. “Tell me the truth, did you know about me?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Did you know I was Eddie Adams’ wife? That part of your play?”

  I let it go. I didn’t answer.

  She said, “Did you know I danced at the Circle?”

  “I know now.”

  “Danced.” She chuckled. “I walked around, practically naked. You’ve got to have a certain special qualification to walk around practically naked, and do nothing else.”

  “Must be,” I said.

  “Okay, that’s my hunch. You want to pick up some dough and you also want to work your points. Maybe you’re going to come out all right, all around. Anyway, that’s why I didn’t call down to Matt.”

  I did two prim nods and a blink. “And me thinking you don’t believe in violence …”

  “Not yet, I don’t. The hand on my knee moved upward. “You’ll know about it when I come around to that. I’ll let you know. I rattle before I strike. I rattle good and loud.”

  “You rattling now?”

  “Now I’m purring which may be worse.”

  “You build yourself up pretty good, little girl. Do any dramatics when you went to school?”

  “How do you know I went to school?”

  “I can tell by the way you talk.”

  “Would have loved to be an actress. Spent all my time in the movies … my town didn’t have legitimate plays. Wound up on the stage, all right, walking around naked with feathers.”