Run, Killer, Run

by William Campbell Gault

  The street was quiet and deserted as he climbed into the Ford and backed it out of the driveway. Good solid neighborhood of solvent taxpayers and committee-sought citizens, older homes and older trees, winding, peaceful streets. And a tarantula in the middle in a blood-red new house.

  Olympic to Westwood and Westwood toward Nannie’s. All men had their Achilles’ heel; the vanity of Ames Gilchrist could be his. But what could be proved? What did he have the law could work on? Nothing.

  Headlights came up from behind, swung by; he kept the Ford at an even thirty-five miles an hour and stuck to the right hand lane.

  On Wilshire, he was stopped by the light. A preponderance of new cars in the solid flow of traffic on Wilshire and a heavy sprinkling of cars in the luxury class. Traffic alone was almost enough of a problem for the ten thousand men in the Department; how much time was left for murder?

  And this hadn’t been their murder, this first one. It hadn’t happened in the city on wheels. Extradition would be granted quickly; this Department had enough troubles of its own.

  He should check the airport, and he couldn’t. Because he couldn’t identify himself. The light changed and he moved across Wilshire into the college town of Westwood.

  Climbing and then the flat house to his right, and he turned in on the green macadam drive. The glass brick of the walls winked back at him as his headlights moved across them. There was a light on in the study where Jud had eaten.

  Nannie sat there in a big chair, staring into a small coal fire in the fireplace.

  The white-jacketed deaf man opened the door and said, “Mr. Koronas is in the den. He said if you came, you should go right in.”

  Nannie glanced up as Tom entered the study. His eyes looked peaceful and drugged. “Staying here tonight, Tom?”

  “If I may. I’ve been over to see Gilchrist.”

  Nannie said nothing, his gaze on the fire.

  Tom asked, “May I use this phone?”

  “Of course. I’m glad you’re staying, tonight, Tom. I hate to be alone, without friends.”

  Tom dialed the number of Jean’s friend. When he had her on the phone, he said, “Phone the police right now. Tell them Ames Gilchrist has a Buick with special tires, tires with a star tread.”

  “Great, Tom. Oh, fine. Where are you now?”

  “At Nannie’s. I’m staying here tonight.”

  “Oh.” A long pause. “Tom, why?”

  “Because he’s my friend, and I think he’d like the company. I’ve mistreated him long enough.”

  “All right. You — love me?”

  “I love you. Take care of yourself.”

  “And you, too. Be so careful.”

  “Yes. Good night, darling.”

  When he replaced the phone in its cradle, he looked over to see that Nannie’s eyes were closed.

  Tom came around to sit in a chair nearby. He lighted a cigarette and stared at the fire.

  Nannie said, “Tom Spears, running to the law. Now, I’ve heard it.”

  “It’s murder, Nannie. My wife.”

  “Yes. Of course, that makes it different, I suppose. You love this Jean, eh?”

  “I do.”

  “Hubbard’s girl friend. They were engaged, weren’t they?”

  “Yup.” Tom inhaled the smoke slowly, deeply.

  “I should have married,” Nannie said. “But who’d buy a cow, the milk I had? I should have married and had some kids. Oh Christ, why didn’t I ever have any kids?”

  Tom stared at the fire.

  Nannie asked, “Learn anything except what kind of tires Gilchrist’s Buick has?”

  “Nothing definite. Would Neilson do some work for me, tomorrow? How much influence have you still got around town, Nannie?”

  “Neilson will do anything I tell him to do. I still have friends in some spots in town. What do you want?”

  “Airline reservations for the time my wife was killed. I want to see who was out of town. The only way the killer could have got there in time was to take a plane. Damn it, it would need to be the same plane, almost. I took the next one.”

  “They’ve been checked,” Nannie said sleepily. “I wanted to know who killed her, too, Tom. There were some names that looked suspicious, one that turned out to be a complete phony, even the confirming telephone number was phony. But where can you go from there?”

  “Were the seat listings given?”

  “I got ‘em through the stewardess. The phony name sat up front, Lois in the rear of the plane. Lois was going back to St. Louis to put the house up for sale. One of her sudden whims, I learned later. She was going to put it into jewels and furs, to cheat you out of any community property rights.”

  “Would that do it?”

  “I don’t know. She thought so.”

  “Who told you this, Nannie?”

  Nannie started to answer, and then his head swiveled and he stared at Tom. “You don’t think — ? It couldn’t have been — ?”

  “What was the phony name?”

  “K.T. Arnold.”

  “And the name in the flanking seat?”

  “I don’t remember. I still have the list, but what difference would — Oh Lord, how stupid can I be? You know, Tom, I never even thought of that.”

  “Maybe,” Tom said slowly, “none of it will come to anything. The town is full of phony names.”

  Nannie leaned back again, and his voice was quieter. “I’ll have Luke get the list, as soon as he comes in. It’s worth a try, Tom. What else did Gilchrist tell you?”

  “He knew I was here to see you. Do you trust your help?”

  “I do. He must have had a man watching outside. Or maybe a man following you. Damn it, I can’t stay awake, and I’ve got to.”

  “No, you don’t, Nannie. Tomorrow will do as well. I’m going to bed.”

  Nannie’s voice was just a whisper. “Tomorrow — ? How many tomorrows are there?”

  Chapter 13

  IN THE big bedroom in the north wing of the big house, Tom lay in the dark, hoping tomorrow would be the brightest he’d had in months. Every man outside the walls had some bright tomorrows to keep him going, the workless week ends, payday, vacations. Inside the walls there was the single tomorrow that meant freedom; all the tomorrows after that one had to be better.

  With Nannie, every tomorrow was lagniappe. Though none of them but the last one would bring him any peace.

  Tomorrow could be another dead end for Tom, too. He’d learned some things and they had helped to form a picture but the truth of the picture was unproved.

  The sight of Nannie lingered in his mind, the sick and wasted image of what had been a big and confident man. Jean had been wrong about Nannie; the measure of the man was his concern for his friends at a time when most men are completely self-concerned.

  In the hall, outside, he heard quiet footsteps and a little later, the sound of running water. Somewhere, a door closed. From outside came the sound of young voices, singing, and the clatter of an antiquated car. Students, with no thoughts of tomorrow. The voices grew dimmer and Tom slept.

  Nannie showed no outward signs of pain at breakfast. His eyes were dull; Tom guessed he was drugged. Neilson ate with them and Nannie had the seating list.

  The passenger in the flanking seat was named Albert Buechner and he had given a hotel as a local address. His home address was St. Louis.

  “That looks like a blind alley,” Nannie said.

  Neilson was frowning thoughtfully. “I smell something, boss. That name has an odor. Let me check it this morning.”

  Nannie’s dull eyes showed no interest. “What do you smell?”

  “A rat, I think. A rat named Al. Remember Al, boss? He wanted to make a deal?”

  Nannie nodded. “I remember. A Gilchrist stooge.”

  “That’s right. And nosy, too. I’ve met him a couple places when I was looking for Golden Boy, here.” Neilson’s thumb indicated Tom contemptuously.

  Tom kept his voice even. “He might be the one w
ho came to see Jean. He posed as a cop and scared me out of the house. Or was that one of yours, Nannie?”

  Nannie shook his head, looking from Tom to Neilson and back. Then he said, “I wonder if Jean would go along with — No, I suppose we couldn’t even ask her that.”

  “I’ll ask her,” Tom said, and stood up. “I’ll phone her right now.” He went to the study, out of their hearing range.

  She sounded sleepy. She said, “Trouble?”

  Tom took a breath. “No. A favor, Jean. I want you to go along with one of Nannie’s men and identify somebody.”

  “Tom, for heaven’s sake, you can’t expect me to work with — ”

  “No, I can’t. I’m asking you to, though. It could be the man who posed as a policeman.”

  Silence for seconds, and then her quiet voice. “Do you want me to come there?”

  “No. I’ll have him pick you up. I want to get this Ford out of here, anyway. He can drive that. Gilchrist might have given the police the number, though I’m almost sure he didn’t see it. But it’s no time to take chances.”

  “Tom, you sound — hopeful.”

  “It’s a very small hope, but it’s the first, honey. Neilson will pick you up.”

  A silence, again. And then, “All right. God, I hope you know what you’re doing.” She gave him the address.

  In the kitchen, Nannie’s eyes were on Tom from the moment he entered. Tom nodded, and looked at Neilson. “You’d better take that Ford I was wheeling.” He told him Jean’s address.

  Neilson looked at Nannie. “That’s Hubbard’s girl friend, you know, boss.”

  Nannie nodded. “Nobody knows it better than I do, Luke. Pick her up.”

  “Okay.” Neilson rose. “I’d better get to work. Nannie, don’t worry, will you? It’s no good, worrying.”

  A shadow of a smile came to the emaciated face. “I’ll try not to worry, Luke. Thank you.”

  Neilson took the keys from Tom without looking at him, and went out.

  Nannie said, “Do you believe in God, Tom?”

  “I don’t know. I try to.” Tom sat down and sipped his coffee. “It helps, if you can.”

  “Oh, sure. And a slug through the brain would help, too. I could do it to Hubbard. Why can’t I do it to me? What the hell is keeping me going?”

  “I guess what keeps us all going, Nannie. Hope.”

  “Hope. Christ.”

  Tom said quietly, “Maybe you’re thinking of us, Nannie. And if there is a God, that won’t hurt you any with Him.”

  “If there is a God,” Nannie answered, “He isn’t likely to forget I murdered a man. Maybe it’s better for me if there isn’t a God. I’d rather rot than burn.”

  Tom lighted a cigarette and tried to keep his gaze away from Nannie.

  The ghost of a smile, again, and Nannie said, “Well, I suppose I should figure it happens to all of us. But damn it, this is happening to me.” He put a hand on the table and rose. “Let’s go into the den. I’ve got some Satchmo you’d like.”

  In the study, they sat with a pot of coffee, listening to the magic horn and gravel voice of America’s most beloved musician. And then some Pee Wee Hunt corn and Ellington with some blues. Nannie sat there quietly, soaking in it; Nannie want no dirges.

  They were still sitting there when Neilson and Jean came.

  Jean stood in the doorway to the study a moment before following Neilson into the room. Then she moved swiftly to Tom’s side.

  Tom rose. “Well?”

  She nodded. “The same man. What does it mean, Tom?”

  “It means he was lucky. He was on the right plane. Jean, I want you to meet my best friend. This is Nannie Koronas.”

  Jean nodded, hesitated, and then moved forward to accept Nannie’s proffered handshake.

  Neilson said, “I think I can place the guy, now, Nannie. Used to work for Jethroe in Chi, and when Jethroe got run out, he went to St. Louis. That’s Gilchrist’s stamping grounds, you know.”

  Nannie nodded. “I know.” He looked at Tom. “But I still don’t get it.”

  Tom said, “He isn’t the first to come out, Nannie. How many scouts have come out from the East, checking the local situation with an eye to moving in? We remember quite a few of them, don’t we, Nannie?”

  Nannie’s dull eyes were thoughtful. “I do.”

  “So,” Tom went on, “he hung around a while and got to know who the boys were and who they were sleeping with. But the big thing he learned was how loyal the boys were to you, Nannie. That was the report he was probably going to take back. And then he had a stroke of luck.”

  A flicker in the dull eyes. “He took the right plane and happened to get the right seat. And when the stewardess came along, checking the passenger reservations, he heard his seat-mate confirm the phony name.”

  Tom nodded. “And that was the wedge.”

  Neilson said, “You gentlemen aren’t making sense to me.”

  “I hope we’re making sense to us,” Nannie said. “Luke, this Al Buechner, he plays it heavy? What’s his reputation?”

  “I’m not sure, boss. It’s a long time since I heard his name. Anybody can be cracked, I guess, if he’s hit right.”

  Jean’s face stiffened, and Nannie didn’t miss it. He said gently, “It’s Tom’s neck, Jean.”

  “Yes, and there’s a police department in this town. They’ve already picked up Ames Gilchrist.”

  Tom smiled. “Well, that helps. That’s a weapon. If we can get the others up here before Gilchrist talks himself out of the can, we might have an edge.”

  Neilson said, “You’d have some chance of getting Buechner up here without using a gun.”

  Nannie looked at Tom. “But I think K. T. Arnold will come, if I explain it’s about my will. That should do it.”

  Jean said quietly, “Are Mr. Neilson and I outsiders? I’m sure he’s as much in the dark as I am about your conversation.”

  “We’ll explain it all at lunch,” Nannie said. “The sun’s out, and we’ll have lunch on the patio. Four good friends, constructing a rat trap.”

  Chapter 14

  JEAN’S COOL reserve held through lunch, while Luke and Nannie and Tom considered all the angles. They’d need Buechner, they decided, but what could they induce him with?

  “The organization,” Tom suggested. “You know Jethroe, don’t you, Nannie? Isn’t he out in the Valley, breeding chinchillas, or something? Retired, isn’t he?”

  Nannie nodded. “Retired and breeding chinchillas. I know him quite well.”

  “Enough to ask him for a favor?”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  “So he’d give Buechner the word on you, that you can be trusted and you tell Buechner that you’re looking for a live wire to take over the organization.”

  “That stinks,” Neilson said. “The guy can’t be that dumb.”

  “If I promise him the organization,” Nannie said, “I’ll deliver it. His boss in the clink; he’s going to listen, isn’t he?”

  Neilson said, “You’d give Buechner what’s left of the organization just to get Spears off the hook, to help a man who wouldn’t even come near you until yesterday?”

  “To help my friend,” Nannie said. “You don’t know the whole story, Luke.”

  “I’ll say I don’t,” Neilson said. “But it’s your outfit, Nannie, and I guess that’s enough for me.”

  Tom looked at Jean and saw that some of the chill had left her eyes. He smiled at her. Her answering smile was weak.

  Nannie rose slowly and stood for a moment, looking down at Jean. “You’re doing better, this time,” he said quietly. “If you have any boys, I suppose it would be horrible to name one Nannie? Put the punk behind the eight ball, right from the start.”

  She managed a smile. “I’ll give it some thought. We’ll give it some thought.” She looked at Tom and down at the tablecloth.

  Tom said, “Is that just a nickname, Nannie?”

  “For Amos. Nannie’s better. I’ve got to make
some phone calls.” He went into the house.

  “Great guy,” Neilson said. “Nobody asked me, though. Who wants a drink? I do.” He rose. “I’ll get the stuff.”

  Jean looked at Tom and away. She picked at the tablecloth absent-mindedly. Tom offered no conversation.

  Finally, Jean looked up again. “I suppose I could be wrong.”

  “You were wrong enough on Joe Hubbard. Where was your Carrie Nation complex then?”

  “He was an easy man to be wrong about. He had you fooled. You’re so damned bright.”

  “Lately. Does that bother you? Don’t you want a man around the house?”

  “I wanted a lamb, I guess. Shut up. Joe was a man.”

  “You shut up. About him, anyway. Honey, I’ll be any damned thing you want me to be except certain. I don’t intend to be certain about anything.”

  Neilson came out from the house, wheeling a portable bar. Tom went over to help him get it across the rough flagstones.

  Jean said, “Make mine whiskey, bourbon, double.”

  Tom winked at her and reached for a bottle.

  • • •

  In the study, Nannie said, “Just Luke and I will be out in the open. You kids want to listen in, there’s a small closet next to the fireplace.” He looked at Jean. “Though maybe you shouldn’t. This K. T. Arnold sometimes uses some strong language.”

  Jean smiled. “I can take it. Haven’t you overlooked one big factor? Whatever they admit here isn’t important if you can’t take it into court.”

  “Not even a wire recording of it?”

  “I don’t think it would be admissible evidence. They can be doctored too easily. Any smart attorney knows that.”

  Nannie said thoughtfully, “Then we’ll have only the ambition of this Al Buechner. That’s the man I’ll have to sell.”

  “And immunity, too, you’ll have to sell him. It would take some talking. How can he be sure you won’t doublecross him?”

  “I’ve never crossed anybody in my life. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Jethroe told him that. You see, Jean, Jethroe’s one of the old-fashioned kind, too, an honest gambler. That’s why he was run out of Chicago; he didn’t have a gun in the organization.”