I watched him. He was gonna bust out crying most any time. I helt myself off of him and unzipped my suitcase. I taken out a stack of fives and throwed them at him. He caught the little bundle one-handed.
"Git!"
He was blubbering when he walked away from me, scraping his big feet on the pavement. He never knowed how lucky he was, I reckon. Iff'n I ever seen El again he was a dead duck. I just couldn't stomach him no more, not never. He'd brung me nothing but trouble, this here whole mess of trouble. I was glad it never taken him long to git out of my sight.
But with all that had happened to my plans to kill the big nosey stranger, and losing Donald and his money to boot, I felt lower than a snake's belly in a wagon rut. I set down in the sand against the tree to rest a spell and try to figger out what to do. I put my bag of money between my feet and just set there brushing sand into little piles around me and then brushing them out flat again, and thinking. But like I told El, I still couldn't git no idee of what to do or where to go. Seemed like all I could do was hang around here, so's Donald could maybe come back and find me. I shore did hope so.
Pretty soon all them lights was out around the doors and it got so dark, about all I could see was the white sand around me. Everything was quiet as a graveyard in this part of the fairgrounds. I reckon I must of dozed off a little bit, setting there with my shoulders propped against the tree.
Then there was a gun barrel poking hard into the side of my neck. Funny how I knowed right off what it was, when I couldn't even see it. Guess that's something you just seem to know without being told. But I was told, besides.
"It's a .45, Junior," somebody behind me said. "If I were you and had all that loot, I'd have a room in one of the better hotels. All right, on your feet!"
I dug my hands deep into the soft sand on both sides of me and gripped a fistful of sand in them so hard my knuckles ached. Me, Junior Knowles, gitting trapped asleep, right off the sidewalk! I shore called myself some bad names while I got up and stood there with my fists in the air and waiting. I never looked around to try and see who was holding that there pistol. I awready had a dern good idy who it was. And I figgered my suitcase setting there had give me away, it being just like Donald's which he had done took.
"Keep your hands higher, and take two steps forward-Now, hold it right there."
He patted up and down on me and jerked my blackjack out of my hip pocket. Then he taken my pistol and the roll of bills Id been a-using to pay for little things that come up while we was chasing around this Dallas. He clucked his tongue, like at a little kid.
"Concealed weapons! The law wouldn't like that, Junior."
All I could think was how bad I wanted to kill him.
"Walk slow out to the curb, Junior. And just make one move I don't like--I'll carry your bag. You look a bit weary."
I done just like that there feller said, holding my fists up high and walking slow and easy in the dark toward the street. He shore had him a mean voice. His gun wasn't touching me no more, but my back skin wrinkled up while he talked. I figgered he'd just as soon bang a bullet into me as not. Now he had the whole fifteen thousand dollars I had made! I hated myself as bad as him, for not killing him the first time I laid eyes on him a-coming in that back window of that there tourist cabin.
When I was next to the curb out at the street, he said, "Hold it right there, Junior." I stood still, and a big car with the top down come a-floating down the street in the dark without no lights on. It run through my mind that a man cain't live forever nohow and it shore looked like my time to kick the bucket. Just a question of who done it, this here feller or them Dallas cops. Or I could even git hung by a mob iff'n the people in Dallas was mad enough about that little gal. I shore never wanted to git hung.
I turned a mite to one side, like I was looking at the car rolling up. But I twisted my head around slow to try to sneak a look at him. I figgered he just might take his eyes off'n me for a second to look at the car or maybe say something to the driver. And right then whoever was driving turned them car lights on. I seen him good, then.
He was close behind me and he blinked his eyes in them bright lights. Quick as a cat I throwed a fistful of sand in his eyes just as he opened them again. I jumped to one side when he started cussing and swinging at me blind with the gun barrel. He had dropped my money bag and was a-wiping at his eyes hard with his other hand. The driver must of seen what he done, cause the car lights was turned out just as I kicked the big feller in the groin. I heard the gun slide on the sidewalk when he dropped it and grabbed with both hands at where my shoe must of just about ruined him. He groaned something pitiful, but I never had time to finish him off right then.
I jumped back to the car and leaned over toward the driver and slung my other handful of sand into where I thought his face ought to be. It was a face there, awright, but it wasn't no his. It was a hers and she was a-trying to open a purse in her lap when the sand blinded her. I grabbed the purse away from her and throwed it in the back behind her, and then I turned around and caught the other one just trying to git back on his feet. Slick as a whistle I swung a real haymaker at his jaw. He quit groaning and grunting and went down again like a pole-axed steer in a slaughter chute.
Still moving like greased lightning I felt along the edge of the sidewalk for his pistol. I found it easy and come up with it at the side of the car, sticking the end of it in the gal's face. She had got most of the sand out of her eyes now and I seen how pretty she was, but I had just been too smart and fast for both of them. And now I was boss again in this here ruckus.
"Set there, gal. And just set there!"
I kept a eagle eye on her while I got my bag and throwed it behind her on the floor of the car. Then I drug the big smart aleck, who wasn't smart enough to tangle horns with Junior Knowles, over to the curb. He groaned once't, but he was helpless as a old cow in labor and derned near as heavy. Stuffing him in the back seat of the car was like manhandling a bale of cotton onto a wagon bed. I taken my blackjack and pistol and my roll of money out of the side pockets of his fancy coat. Then I got in beside the gal.
"Where's Donald at, gal?"
She just lifted them slick eyebrows and said, "Donald? Who's he?"
I turned around and whomped down on nosey's head with the gun barrel. Maybe that would get better results than my blackjack had the last time. He quit moaning and got real quiet and the gal taken the hint.
"Where's my brother at?' I said, waving the pistol close to her face.
"He's at my house."
"That's better, gal. Git moving! I got a hankering to see him."
She started the big car and rolled it down the street. I tapped her on the shoulder with my gun and she cut her eyes at me. "One peep, gal, just one, will git you a bullet through yore pretty little stomach!"
She just nodded and rolled out the gate and started home.
When we stopped in front of the house with them big white posts I knowed the answer. Mr. Dixon had my brother Donald! Might of killed him for all I knowed. But most likely he was gonna turn him over to the police.
"Mr. Dixon yore paw, gal?"
She nodded and kept twisting around to look at the feller I was gonna kill.
"Anybody here besides him and my brother?"
"How would I know?" she said.
"Git out."
She did, while I checked on her boy friend. His head was bleeding right good. I was gonna kill him in some special way. Soon as I come out with Donald we'd take care of that first off.
I made the gal go up to the door and motioned her to open it up. She couldn't git the key in, so I taken it away from her and done it myself. I opened the door slow and easy and pushed her in with the gun barrel and stuck her keys in my pocket. We went down a long hall and she must of been weak the way she helt herself away from the wall with one hand. Scairt, I reckon. She opened another door, so I shoved her in and stuck my head in after. What I seen give me an awful jolt.
Donald was laying on the fl
oor in the middle of a puddle of blood. Hard to tell it was him he was so cut up. His whole face put me in mind of a rag soaked in blood and piled up on itself. A old man in a chair looked up and see me. He had a long whip and drawed it back for a cut at me, so I yanked the trigger.
A hole come in the old man's face on one side of his nose. Must of went all the way through 'cause blood was running down on the chair out of the back of his head. The gal screamed and clawed at me and I swiped at her with the gun. It caught her real solid alongside the head. She flopped on the floor without no noise a-tall. I would of emptied my gun into her, but I'd made plenty of noise awready and I was worried about Donald.
He was still alive, breathing red bubbles. I had to git him out of there to a doctor. I looked for something to wrap around him, and taken a fancy cloth off of a big table in another room. I rolled Donald in it as gentle as I could. Blood soaked right through but I got my arms under him and toted him out to the gal's car. Then I seen red and cussed a blue-curdling streak.
That big nosey feller was gone! Gone again! How in tarnation could he move after me bashing his head so hard? I thought he must of got some help, till I seen my bag of money was still there. He couldn't of got far by his lonesome. I looked all around close to the car, but I never had time to spend on that whole big yard with all them flower beds. He might git at me before I seen him, too. I figgered I better git out of there and git Donald to a doctor. I could come back and kill that feller later.
Donald was so still I was scairt maybe he'd died since I brung him out. I felt the big blood vessel in his neck and thought I could feel his heart a-pumping. Slow, but some. I fished the gal's keys out of my pocket and jumped in the car. For a minute I set still, shaking all over like I was cold. Then I got holt of myself and started the engine. I gunned it out of there.
Chapter 16
Lieutenant Fred Campbell
THIS entire case was nothing less than a studied insult to Dallas.
My hunch was that this business was the work of well-trained thugs from the East, but there was nothing tangible for the tie-up. I was sure of absolutely nothing. In fact, everyone else and his brother seemed to know more about developments than I did.
And here I sat. Cooling my heels in the living room of the late Mr. Galin Dixon--who was shot through the face by someone. What was it the Dixon girl had said? "Junior shot my father, Lieutenant. On account of his brother. But I can't tell you about it right now. Mr. Brown was badly hurt and I must look after him." Yes, those were her words.
Then she had scurried off upstairs. I should have stopped her. No man could watch Miss Dixon hurry up a flight of stairs and keep his thoughts on legitimate business. Now that she was out of sight I went over it again.
Junior--there must be thousands of Juniors in Dallas. I couldn't recall any of the local bad boys with that monicker, however--Because of his brother? Whose brother? Junior's? Miss Dixon's father's brother? My own brother, maybe? Maybe I was going psycho--Mister Brown?
Mister nothing. Bill Brown. Fugitive from a hotel room full of ransom money. I wanted to talk to that one. I said so the next time Miss Dixon made the quick trip down for items to comfort the injured Mister Brown.
"No," she said. "He really doesn't feel up to talking now. He didn't sleep last night. He's napping a bit now. We'll just have to wait."
This little drama was giving me a pain that would keep me awake, too; but I didn't tell her. I waited. And thought about the case.
The Dixon maid had been paid off by the mob, probably. We'd find out about that when we found her. The little girl gone, the money paid without protest. And then, after it was all over the Dixon tribe had condescended to call on the Department for a little help. Mighty decent of them to dump all their negative information in my lap. Damned decent.
Mary Ann Dixon, dead. Galin Dixon--dead. The killers--gone. One suspect available--and where was he? Now resting comfortably--napping, that is--in Galin Dixon's bed. And he doesn't wish to be disturbed! By God!
The goat? The Homicide Bureau, and that meant me.
Well, we'd see about that!
Miss Dixon came down the stairs again and broke up my pointless soliloquy.
"Mr. Brown will speak to you now, Lieutenant."
"Well, will he now? Shall I knock, or just go right in?" You'd have thought this Bill Brown was an executive granting five minutes to a tie salesman, instead of the number one entry on my list.
"Oh, please knock; but I'll go in with you, Lieutenant."
"That won't be necessary, Miss Dixon. Our conversation may--"
"Just follow me. And please be brief. The nurse wants to give him some broth shortly."
"Why, I wouldn't want him to miss that! Lead on, Miss Dixon."
I followed her up the stairs, wondering how any woman could appear so cold and make me feel so uncomfortably warm and guilty in her presence. I went into the room behind her and found I was almost tiptoeing in spite of my low regard for this Brown who was in her protective custody.
I didn't like his looks. Envy? Maybe. But that's how I felt. His head was wrapped in bandages, but his grin was insolent. I had a feeling it was faked; that he wasn't as carefree a tramp as he looked. He was stretched out in the large canopied bed as if he owned it and had never slept in a boxcar in his life.
All in all he was a typical no-good if I ever saw one.
"Miss Dixon said you'd like to talk to me, Lieutenant."
"She was right. To get to the point, I'm interested in kidnapping, extortion and murder. Considering my position, you'll agree that's normal. I'm particularly interested to know just how you fit into these things."
"Sure, Lieutenant--I fit like this: in the employ of Miss Dixon. She and her father hired me to find the kidnappers for them."
I see. And I'm employed by the citizens of Dallas--to find kidnappers for them.'
"Meaning I'll have help? Or competition?"
"Meaning neither, Brown. Right now, with no malicious intent to shock a sick man, understand, I am seriously toying with the idea of labeling you the kidnapper. Which would naturally terminate your employment and lead to locking you in jail."
"A mistaken idea, Lieutenant. I'm no kidnapper."
"I've got the evidence to convict you. Has that occurred to you?"
"I'll admit I gave it some thought. But it won't hold."
"A mere difference of opinion."
"No. More than that. Too many loose ends. You'd never cover them all up, Lieutenant."
"When I'm through, Brown, you'll know I gave it a good try."
"You want to know something, Lieutenant Campbell? I've changed my mind about you, somewhat. It may cost me money, but I think I'll tell you what I know."
"It's good of you to offer. I was about to forget my manners and come right out and ask you."
Brown told me. An absorbing yarn that didn't touch my own theory at either end or in the middle. The trouble was it was just impossible and involved enough to have some truth woven in among the fantasy. A pay your money and take your choice kind of story.
I thought perhaps the licks on Brown's head had stimulated his imagination. I knew he was holding out on me. But at least I had something to go on, and if none of it checked out I could still put him in a cell. I reached for the phone on the bedside stand and put a call through to our man covering the bus station.
"Al, check the station for a fat and slouchy individual as follows: sore red nose, appearance of a dust-bowl farmer, wearing a dirty undershirt under his coat, Levi's, no socks. Call me back here." I read him the number on the base plate, hung up, rolled a cigarette and waited.
The nurse hurried in cheerfully with a bowl of chicken broth. I recalled I wasn't eating with my usual regularity. She started feeding it to Brown and the slob winked at me. He was getting real service and he knew it. But it was to get better.
Miss Dixon came in and took over.
"I'll feed him, Nurse," she said.
"Yes, ma'am." The nurse's reluctan
ce was disgustingly obvious as she left the room. I became more and more irritated. What the hell they saw in him I didn't know. The phone rang and I jumped to answer. It was Al. I listened to his report. A strike!
"Okay, Al. Find out if his name is Mercer--Elsworth Mercer." It was. "Hold him. Take him in and book him for investigation. Don't let anyone get near him before I can see him--Right. I'll be down--What the hell is that, Al? Al? Hello! What the--"
It sounded like Al had thrown the phone against the wall, and I heard shouts fading away after a moment, then nothing except a faint rustle of normal bus station activity. Then a shot! The guy must have made a break for it! I breathed a prayer that Al wouldn't throw a slug into some bystander. A faint echo of a woman's scream followed the sound of the shot.
I grabbed the directory and got the number of the ticket office, broke my connection, dialed it and got a busy signal. Twice. Three times. I hung up. If Al didn't call me back, his family was going to get hungry.
Brown was obviously disgusted. "Cops!" he said. "I guess El heard you guys talking about him and your boy Al just let him walk away."
I resented his sarcasm, but I had no way of knowing how near right he was.
"Something happened--I don't know what. Al will call me as soon as he can. If Mercer gets clear where are you supposed to meet him?"
"Now Lieutenant, that's unreasonable. Didn't I put him on the spot for you?"
"If I recall your words, you said a man of that description was involved and just might possibly be loitering around the station. He could be any hobo you might have known."
"And run, and get shot?"
It was true. No sense antagonizing him.
"Remember this, Brown: you don't get clear in a job like this simply by throwing someone else to the lions."
"Forget it. And don't worry--I'm clean."
I grunted. Why didn't Al call? I had to use that phone in case some more of Brown's fairy tale was straight. I risked missing out with Al and called headquarters. Nothing there from Al. There was a lot to say, but I made it as brief as possible.
I relayed the description of the Cad to get out to the roadblocks; the description of the so-called Junior, a caution about his quick trigger; instructions for a re-check on all motels, hotels, hospitals, rooming houses, clinics, doctors, quacks, chiropractors--hell, practically everybody in the city, as the clerk at headquarters insinuated. I hung up.
The Whip Hand Page 12