Run, Killer, Run

by William Campbell Gault

  “He was certainly handsome,” Tom said quietly.

  “I guess. He simply didn’t register with me.” She lighted the cigarette and blew smoke toward the ceiling.

  “Nannie’s probably attractive to women, too, in his way,” Tom went on casually.

  Nothing showed on her face. “Nannie’s rich.”

  So was Lois, Tom thought, and wondered if he should voice it. And wondered if Lisa knew. And wondered how many other things he hadn’t known about his friends, about his wife.

  He said, “You’re exceptionally quiet. Something’s wrong?”

  “The gun is wrong,” she said. “It scares me. Were you going after Nannie with it?”

  “It’s for protection only.”

  “I’ll bet.” Her voice was strained.

  “You don’t think I should be armed with a man like Luke Neilson following me around? Lisa, it isn’t the gun that’s made the difference. Something else is bothering you.”

  “It’s not only the gun, no. It’s you and a gun. Aren’t you in enough trouble, now? Tom, stay away from Nannie Koronas. With or without a gun, stay away from him.”

  The same warning Jean had given him. But where else could he find the truth of Lois’ death? He said nothing.

  Lisa was pouring herself another cup of coffee when the door chime sounded. She looked up quickly. “That isn’t from the lobby. That’s from the hall, up here. I’ll bet it’s that damned Ames — ”

  “Do you have to answer it?”

  She nodded. “It might even be Nannie. You can hide in that closet off the entrance hall. Come on.”

  He followed her to the entrance hall. He squeezed in among the coats of the guest closet as she went to the front door.

  “Well, Ames, this is unexpected. Come to take me to dinner?”

  “If you want.” The voice was soft, casual. “Hope I’m not disturbing any of your plans.”

  “Nothing serious. Go in and mix yourself a drink. I’ll get into something a little dressier.”

  Tom tried to remember if they’d closed the sliding door to the kitchen. If Gilchrist saw the dirty plates on the table, on the table set for two….

  Silence. There was a cedar odor in the closet; the soft fur of a jacket was close to his cheek. Silence.

  And then Ames’ voice: “Are these the lunch dishes in the kitchen?”

  “That’s right,” came dimly from the direction of the bedroom. “Sloppy Lisa. Dinah didn’t come today.”

  “Who was here for lunch?”

  “Not Nannie, so don’t worry about it.”

  Silence. Then footsteps on the linoleum of the kitchen floor. And silence again. Then Lisa’s voice: “Mix me one while you’re at it, Ames.”

  No answer. Silence.

  “Ames — did you hear me?” Her voice sounded louder, closer. “Ames, what in the world are you doing, snooping?”

  In Tom’s hand, the .38 trembled. He put his other hand out to grasp the doorknob on this side.

  From the living room: “Ames, what in the world are you — ”

  Tom felt the doorknob turn and he lifted the gun in his hand. The door opened, and he faced a tall, blond man dressed in dark blue gabardine.

  Gilchrist took a step backward, his eyes on the gun.

  Tom said hoarsely. “That’s right, keep moving back. You’re too God-damned nosy, Gilchrist.”

  The blond man backed into the entrance hall, his eyes still on the gun. Then Lisa came in from the living room. She stared at the gun, too.

  It was Lisa who broke the silence. “Tom, that isn’t necessary. Put it away, Tom. You’re among friends.”

  Gilchrist lifted his gaze to meet Tom’s and a partial smile came to his tanned, thin face. “That’s right. Lisa and I aren’t married, you know. We’re only friends.”

  “You might be her friend,” Tom said, “but if it’s all right with you, I’ll pick my own. Don’t worry, I’m leaving.”

  Gilchrist’s poise was back. “I’m not worried. But I think you’re making a serious mistake about me. I’m on your side.”

  “Oh? How do you know who I am? We never met.”

  Gilchrist was silent a moment. Then, “She called you Tom. I guessed the rest. I heard you were in town.”

  “I’ll bet you did. You might even have sent a man to look for me, a man who posed as a cop, huh? That could have been your work. You’ve got too much nose, Gilchrist.”

  Gilchrist said evenly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Somebody’s been lying to you.” He looked away for the first time. He looked at Lisa.

  She shook her head. “Not me, Ames. You know it.”

  Tom said, “How are you on my side, Gilchrist? What do I mean to you?”

  “You were one of Nannie’s best outlets. And I’ll bet he cheated you plenty. To say nothing of sending you to jail. Is that where your loyalty lies, Spears?”

  Confidence had returned in force to Ames Gilchrist. His whole attitude was relaxed; his gaze no longer deigned to drop to the gun in Tom’s hand.

  Tom felt behind him for the front doorknob, his eyes on both of them.

  Lisa said, “You’re being very stupid, Tom. You’re turning down what could be a valuable friend.”

  “I’ll pick my own, as I said before, Lisa. You’d have done better to string with Nannie.”

  Gilchrist’s voice was calm. “Is that who you’re sticking with? Have you looked him up, yet, Tom?”

  Tom didn’t answer. The knob was in his hand, now, and he swung the door open, and stepped out into the hallway. He could see the elevator door was still open, the cage was still at this floor. He moved quickly down that way, his eyes on the open door to Lisa’s apartment.

  He started to tremble before the elevator had reached the first floor. He was no gunman; violence sickened him. The edge of his pre-steak drunkness was now a sour taste in his mouth, the memory of Lisa in that big bed made him feel unclean.

  Lois hadn’t left him feeling that way. Nor had Jean. Maybe, he thought, I’m semi-moral. Or maybe I’m just fussy.

  A steady stream of traffic went by on Sunset. Why hadn’t Jud told him Nannie was in trouble? From a drugstore a block down, he phoned Jud again. This time he was home.

  “This is Tom, Jud. You all right?”

  “What the hell happened to you, Tom? What — where — ”

  “I’m in a drugstore on Sunset.”

  “Nannie’s been looking for you. He wants to see you.”

  “I’ll bet he does. It’s not mutual.”

  “Are you crazy? What’s the story, Tom?”

  “I don’t know all of it, yet. But I don’t want to see Nannie.”

  A silence, and then, “Where are you? I’ll pick you up.”

  “I don’t want you to stick your neck out, Jud.”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  “And I don’t want to see Nannie.”

  “He won’t be with me. Where can I pick you up?”

  Tom hesitated, and then gave Jud the address on Kenmore. “I’ll be watching for you. It’s the rear apartment on the right on the first floor.”

  He caught a cab at the next corner and took it to within two blocks of the apartment. He came up Kenmore slowly, on the opposite side of the street, scrutinizing all the parked cars he passed and those farther up the block. There was no gray club coupe in sight.

  Jud was an organization man, as loyal as a Tammany Democrat. Jud was in the lower echelon; he couldn’t be making much more than eighty a week, a workingman’s outlet. It would be logical that all he would know about the Eastern infiltration would be through rumor; Nannie didn’t confide in the boys at Jud’s level.

  But Jud was still an organization man and that had been a risk, giving him the Kenmore address. Who else could he trust, though? Jean, he could trust and Delavan. Maybe.

  The apartment was as he had left it. From the apartment above came the laughter of a party and the measured tread of a dancing couple.

  Delavan had brought
milk with the groceries; Tom warmed a glass of it in a small pan and sipped it slowly. When he heard the front door open, he went to the apartment door.

  Jud came down the dimly lighted hallway alone, his lanky figure swathed in an oversized topcoat. Jud was always cold at night.

  He came in and Tom closed the door.

  Jud stood there a moment, looking around the apartment, and then he smiled at Tom. “Cozy. Did you rent it?”

  Tom shook his head. “It belongs to a friend. When did Nannie get in touch with you, Jud?”

  “Yesterday.” Jud reached into one of the topcoat pockets and brought out a fifth of whisky. “Figured you could use a snifter.”

  “Not now, thanks. What’d Nannie want?”

  “He wanted you to get in touch with him. What’s happened between you two?”

  “I don’t know,” Tom said. “But I’m not making any moves to get in touch with him until I know more than I do now.”

  Jud shrugged. “Well, you know him better than I do, Tom. I only saw him once in my life, the first month I worked for him. But he’s got a pretty fine reputation. If you don’t want a drink, I do. I’ll never get used to these California nights.” He took the bottle with him to the kitchen.

  Tom followed him out. “Didn’t you hear any rumors about Nannie getting some competition?”

  Jud shook his head. “I heard the heat was on, that’s all. Who confides in me?”

  “I will. Nannie was — sleeping with my wife.”

  Jud was peeling the plastic from the cap of the bottle, and he stopped now, to stare at Tom. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

  “That’s number one,” Tom went on. “And number two is this — he paid Joe Hubbard to come and defend me in St. Louis. And Joe, I’ve been told by experts, butchered the case. For a lawyer at Joe’s level it had to be deliberate, the way he butchered the case.”

  Jud continued to peel away the plastic. “Who told you all these things? Friends, Tom?”

  “Friends.”

  Jud removed the cap and poured about an ounce and a half into a small glass. “You’re sure of that?” He added some water from the tap.

  “I’m as sure of them as I am of Nannie.”

  Jud sipped his drink, not looking at Tom. “If Nannie’s gunning for you, this is a hell of a place for me to be. But it doesn’t figure, Nannie gunning for anybody.”

  “He’s hired the gun,” Tom said. “A big piece of muscle from Chicago, a man named Luke Neilson.”

  Jud frowned. “You’re wrong on that, Tom. Luke’s one of his collectors. He collects from me.”

  “And follows me. And follows the private investigator who’s working for me.”

  “Investigator? You hired a shamus? Are you crazy? You should know you can’t trust those stinking — ”

  “I can trust this one,” Tom interrupted. “Damn it, Jud, I have to trust somebody.”

  They went into the living room, and Jud sat on the davenport. He leaned forward, his drink in the fingertips of both hands. “I think you can trust Nannie Koronas. Don’t ask me why; it’s just a feeling I have. I don’t know about Nannie and your wife, but if it’s true, he wasn’t doing anything that others weren’t doing.” Jud looked up challengingly. “Right?”

  Tom nodded.

  “Okay, then, maybe some of the others got axes to grind, too. Did that occur to you?”

  “What others, Jud?”

  “How do I know? Rumors, I get and what you’ve told me about these ‘experts’ you’re consulting. I don’t know who the people are. Whose place is this?”

  “A friend’s.”

  “Sure. Maybe. But I don’t know him. This I know, Nannie’s got dough and influence and he never cheated me out of a dime. You made a good living off of him.”

  “I brought in a lot of business.”

  “Sure. Some of these used car salesman bring in business, too. But they didn’t make your kind of money.”

  Tom smiled. “Okay, Jud, you’re a party man. You’ll ride with city hall. And you think Luke Neilson’s only a collector. But two people are dead, one of them my wife. And I was convicted for her death. So maybe I’ve got more reason to distrust Nannie Koronas than you have.”

  Jud nodded. “Maybe. And you’re my friend. But I won’t work against him. For you or anybody else, Tom.”

  “I’m not asking you to. I’m trying to put together the pieces of a murder puzzle. All I wanted was the pieces you have.”

  “I’ve only got one — Nannie wants to see you.”

  “He didn’t want to when I was in jail. He never even wrote me a letter. He didn’t come to the trial. His interest in me is kind of late. And doubtful.”

  Jud finished his drink and stood up. “All right. Then there’s nothing more I have to say.”

  “You can say this — you can tell me you’re not going to tell Nannie where I’m staying.”

  “I told him yesterday I didn’t know.”

  “But if he should ask you again?”

  Jud looked at Tom and away. “I’m no pigeon.”

  Tom smiled. “That’s where the pigeons roost, Jud, at city hall.”

  “What the hell kind of remark was that?”

  “A rotten one. I’m sorry, Jud. I’m not forgetting you were the first one I ran to when I came back to town. Don’t forget your whiskey.”

  “You keep it,” Jud told him. “I think you’re going to need it worse than I will.” He went to the door, and out.

  Chapter 9

  IN THE apartment above, now, there was more than one couple dancing. They must have rolled back the rug; Tom could hear the slide and beat of their feet on the bare floor.

  In the kitchen, he studied the bottle Jud had left and then poured a half ounce into a glass. He sipped it slowly. Cheap whiskey. What loyalty did Jud owe Nannie; he could make as much in the aircraft plants. But he’d have to punch a clock in the aircraft plants.

  Jud’s loyalty was automatic, like a dog’s. Jud was loyal to the man who fed him. When Tom had come to him for haven, Jud had assumed Tom was still one of Nannie’s boys. Now that Jud knew he wasn’t …? It had been stupid, letting Jud know this address.

  Laughter, overhead, the crash of a glass. Tom put the bottle of whiskey into one of the cupboards and went back into the living room to smoke a cigarette.

  It was late, and he was tired. Though nights afforded him the cover of darkness, there was the disadvantage of increased police suspicion at night. And the lack of covering daytime crowds.

  Besides, where could he go next, except to Nannie? And he had decided against that.

  He undressed slowly and filled the bathtub with water as hot as he could bear it. He lay in it until it cooled, seeking solace for his edginess, an external opiate for his growing sense of futility.

  The party upstairs was quieting down when Tom climbed into bed. But sleep avoided him; he thought back on all those he’d met since Jean had first brought him back to town. He thought back on what these people had told him and tried to form a pattern from it, a pattern that would point to a killer. What pattern there was seemed to point toward Nannie Koronas.

  He would prefer Ames Gilchrist as his personal suspect; there was a man whose background Delavan should check. And the girl, too, Lisa Prentice. She probably knew a lot more than she’d admitted to Tom. He’d talk to Delavan about both of them tomorrow.

  He fell asleep thinking about Jean Revolt.

  In the morning, he was wakened by the sound of a radio across the hall, a platter program for early morning risers. This didn’t seem to be an apartment building where anyone worried about disturbing the neighbors.

  The sense of futility he’d taken to bed with him hadn’t diminished. He stared at the faded beige paint of the ceiling, wondering if it wouldn’t be smart to continue the flight he’d planned when he’d broken from the warden’s yard.

  But he’d need allies, again, if he wanted to get enough money and the forged credentials necessary to leave the country.
Going to Mexico wouldn’t be hard; from there it would be possible to go almost anywhere else in the world.

  And live how the rest of his life? Live in fear the rest of his life? If he had to. Any kind of living outside the walls was better than inside.

  He rose and went into the kitchen to put some water in the coffeepot. He turned on a low flame under it and went into the bathroom to shave.

  His haggard face stared back at him; even without the glasses it would require some searching to find the pre-prison face of Tom Spears.

  He was safe enough from casual discovery; he would be safe in any town where no one was searching for him. That would be any town but this one. Run, sheep, run….

  He was no sheep. He was a man. Bedraggled and harassed, fearful and sought, a noncombative citizen of an aggressive world. But a man, and he couldn’t run away from himself.

  He bathed his face with cold water after his shave. He held a cold wet cloth to the back of his neck, striving to chill some of the lethargy from his body and mind.

  He made the coffee strong and drank it black. He counted the money in his wallet and learned that he was down to thirty-nine dollars. He would need to buy a few shirts, which would cut his capital still lower.

  He dressed and put the .38 in the waistband of his trousers and went out into a gloomy, cool morning. From a filling station phone on Sunset, he called Delavan’s number, but there was no answer. Then he called Jean.

  She answered almost immediately and he said simply, “Tom. Anything new?”

  “Nothing. Have you seen Leonard today?”

  “Not since yesterday afternoon. Why?”

  “He was coming over last night, and he didn’t. Nor did he phone. Are you phoning from that apartment?”

  “No. A filling station.”

  “Tom, you fool!”

  “I got sick of sitting. I learned some things. Could I see you?”

  “You’re in Hollywood?”

  “Right. Without a car.”

  “Go back to the apartment. I have the address. Go back right now, Tom.”