Run, Killer, Run

by William Campbell Gault

  Tom said, “Jean, I think we can leave this safely in Nannie’s hands. Shall we inspect the closet?”

  There was the sound of a door chime, and Nannie said, “This might be the right time for that.”

  It was a ventilated closet and one of the air inlets was over the door to the study. “Perfect for eavesdroppers,” Tom said, and pulled her close.

  Her lips clung, her slight body trembled. “Oh, Tom, what kind of way is this to work?”

  “My way. Nannie’s way. I’ll sell you on him, yet.”

  “I’m half sold. I — ”

  From the other side of the door, Nannie said, “Quiet. They’re coming in, now.”

  The pressure of the gun against Tom’s waist had irritated the skin. He took the gun out and put it in his trouser pocket.

  Jean whispered, “You won’t need that, Tom. Give it to me.”

  He shook his head.

  Then, from the study, he heard Nannie say, “Well, Mr. Buechner, we meet face to face for a change. I hope it will be to your advantage. And Lisa. Why so unhappy, Lisa? You can see I’m dying. And think of all that lovely money I’ll be leaving behind. Four million, Lisa. For just a little information you should have.”

  Lisa said, “I thought there was an angle. I told you, didn’t I, Al? You don’t know this bastard.”

  A voice Tom didn’t recognize that must belong to Al Buechner. “Take it easy, Lisa. Let’s hear the man out. Fred Jethroe has never steered me wrong yet.”

  “You can listen to him, then,” Lisa said. “I’m going.”

  Nannie’s quiet, courteous voice: “If you prefer, Lisa. You should listen, because we’ll be talking about you. For your own protection you should listen — but of course, if — ”

  “I’ll stay,” Lisa said after a few seconds. “Try to keep the ham out of it, though, eh?”

  “I’ll try, Lisa. Won’t you both sit down?”

  Silence, the scrape of a chair and then Lisa said, “What’s the muscle doing here? Do we need him?”

  “I’d prefer to have him here,” Nannie said. “Is it all right with you, Mr. Buechner?”

  “He doesn’t bother me,” Buechner said. “I’ve seen enough of him.”

  Luke Neilson laughed, and there was a moment’s silence.

  Then Lisa said, “All right, let’s get on with it.”

  Nannie’s voice was low but clear. “Fair enough. We’ll start with you, Lisa, and go back to a time when I was in Frisco and you got a call from Lois Spears.” A pause. “Do you remember the day?”

  “I might. Keep talking.”

  “Lois didn’t know I had you set up. She probably figured the girl who answered the phone was a maid, or something. Anyway, she left the message about going to St. Louis, and why. You told me that, yourself. Stupid of you.”

  “There wasn’t any reason to keep it a secret.” A faint tremor in Lisa’s voice.

  “Wasn’t there? Why, then, did you take the same plane and use the name K. T. Arnold? I think I can tell you why. Because to a stewardess, and especially on this run, it doesn’t seem unusual for a girl to use only initials. And if somebody else should check it, later, they’d naturally figure it for a man. Like I did, at first.”

  Buechner: “Don’t look at me, Lisa.”

  Lisa’s voice was harsh. “You damned fool; why do you think he wanted us both here at the same time?”

  Nannie said, “I told you you could leave. The offer is still open, Lisa.”

  Silence.

  Nannie went on quietly. “You thought I was going to marry you until you heard about Lois. And it must have burned you to think a girl as rich as she was was going to get the money you had designs on. So you took the plane, knowing I’d be out of town for a week.”

  A pause, and then someone said, “It’s time for your pills, boss.” It was the white-jacketed man. Silence and then the sound of water from a carafe pouring into a glass. Jean’s hand came over to find Tom’s.

  Nannie’s voice: “This was a break for you, Al, because that was the plane you were on. And you knew her right name and heard her give the phony one. And you knew Tom Spears’ wife was on the plane. And you were bright enough to add one and one. The thing is, Al, did you follow her all the way to Lois’ house in St. Louis?”

  Nothing. Silence. Jean squeezed Tom’s hand tightly.

  Then Al’s careful voice. “Jethroe didn’t tell you I was any kind of a pigeon, did he, Mr. Koronas?”

  “No, he didn’t. As a matter of fact, I don’t know too much about you, Al. Working for Jethroe would be on your side; working for Ames Gilchrist definitely isn’t.”

  Silence. Jean moved closer to Tom.

  Nannie, then: “A thing I hesitated to bring up, Al — you undoubtedly know that impersonating a police officer can be a very serious offense.”

  Buechner said, “Heat, huh? You don’t miss much, do you, Mr. Koronas?”

  “I try not to miss anything. I hate to call copper, but I’m not sure Miss Revolt shares my feelings about the law. I can promise to keep her off your neck, I think, though.”

  “Mmmm-hmmm. What else can you promise, Mr. Koronas?”

  “I was going to promise you the organization, but I’ve been thinking about that. It doesn’t seem fair to some of the old, loyal members. How does a hundred thousand dollars in cash, in non-taxable cash sound to you?”

  “It listens real good, Mr. Koronas. Of course, nobody can spend talk, huh?”

  Some hysteria in Lisa’s voice. “Al, for God’s sake, don’t you see what the man’s doing? Ames will be free in a few hours, and I don’t have to tell you how he feels about me, Al. You wouldn’t live to spend the money.”

  “That’s a point. He feels about you a lot. Lot of boys do. Sister, face a fact; Ames is getting awful fed up with your catting around.”

  Luke Neilson, then: “Al, did you drive Ames’ Buick over to the Revolt girl’s place? Did you borrow it that afternoon?”

  “Hell, no. What gave you that idea?”

  Luke’s calm voice: “A cop out of the West Side Station. You might lay low for a couple of days, Al.”

  Lisa: “They’re lying, Al. Damn it, don’t you see — ”

  Luke: “If you want, I’ll phone him for you, Al. I know him pretty well.”

  Al said quietly, “Don’t bother. A hundred grand. You couldn’t raise the ante, huh?”

  “I could. And the way it will be, it’s money you lent me over the years and I finally made it up to you, if you want to declare it. I’ll swear to that. How much raise, Al?”

  “Hundred and a half. Because I’ll want to be a long way away from here and it’s tough getting a job in a country where you don’t know the language, right?”

  Nannie chuckled. “Right. Did you follow Lisa all the way to Lois’ house, Al?”

  “Well, now, I haven’t seen any money, Mr. Koronas, and a man has to be careful, these days. Not that your reputation isn’t sound enough, understand, but — ”

  Nannie said, “I’ll have the money brought in. I’ll wait until you can get a messenger to take it wherever you want it taken. And then we’ll phone the police together. Isn’t that safe all around?”

  “That’s real efficient,” Al said. “That’s big time operating. Well, Mr. Koronas, I did follow her to the house. And when — ”

  Lisa said, “Shut up, Al.”

  A long silence and then Nannie’s voice. “Lisa, that gun is pointing at me. What can I lose? You’d be doing me a favor. Are you trying to scare me with a gun?”

  Lisa said, “Don’t move, Luke. Or you, Al. Don’t move a muscle.”

  Luke’s voice: “A .32, isn’t it? Is that the one that got Delavan, Al?”

  “Who knows?” Al said. “That one I can’t swear to, though I guess we’re all sure enough about it. Ames probably dumped the body and got panicky and named me to the cops. I never trusted him, nor her, either. But a man has to eat. Lordy, how I could eat on a hundred and fifty grand.”

  “Stop talking
, Al. Shut up.”

  A moment’s silence and then Lisa’s voice again. “All right, Nannie, stand up. You big son-of-a-bitch, I want to see you topple. Stand up, or I’ll shoot you in the chair.”

  There was the scrape of a chair and Luke’s shouted “No, Nannie, no!” And there was the sound of two shots filling the room.

  Tom came out, the .38 ready, but Luke’s fist was faster. Luke swung his big body in a complete arc and brought one ham-like fist whistling around with the swing of his body. It caught Lisa Prentice flush on the mouth, and she went back over the chair behind her and through the full-length window. Luke went through the window after her.

  On the floor near his overturned chair, Nannie moaned, and blood flecked his lips. Tom knelt beside him, and Nannie said, “One kid for me, huh, Tom? One Nannie, to go on living?”

  “I promise.”

  Nannie smiled, and blood ran down from a corner of his mouth. “In the lungs, I think.” He shook his head. “The nicest thing the little bitch ever did for me. I wish — ”

  Tom never learned the last wish. Nannie’s eyes closed and a horrible shudder shook his wasted body and when the eyes opened again they were staring into eternity….

  In the canyon house, Jean and Tom sat in the kitchen. The table had been moved over to the window again, and there was a fifth, well gone, between them.

  “Slobs,” Jean said. “Nannie dead and we run out before the law comes and now we sit and drink.”

  “You don’t have to, Jean. I have to, but you don’t have to.”

  “I guess I do, Tom. How wrong I was about him. What made you think of Lisa as the killer?”

  “Her greed and learning that Nannie meant to marry Lois. Lisa thought that it was just a question of time with Nannie and she’d be really set up. And the way she lied about Nannie’s being out of town. I mean, she knew he was in Frisco, but she wanted me to get a different idea. And why was Ames worried about me if he wasn’t trying to protect somebody else? And who would that be? Lisa, because he needed her to get the inside story of Nannie’s operations.”

  “Tom, were you and Lisa — ?” She stopped. “I mean, did you — ”

  He said quickly, “Here comes Neilson. We’ll get some story, now.”

  The Gray Chev pulled into the parking area and stopped as Tom went to the front door. Neilson’s bland face looked grim as he came along the walk.

  Tom asked him, “Did Lisa crack yet?”

  “Wide open.” Neilson took a deep breath. “She’s nailed for Nannie’s death, anyway, so she may as well open up. I guess it was just as well Nannie went the way he did, eh?”

  Tom held the door wide for Luke to enter. “That’s right. How about Al?”

  “He’s talking like a gentleman. And taking care of Gilchrist at the same time.” They were in the kitchen, now, and Neilson’s gaze went to the bottle on the table.

  Jean said, “Neat?” and reached for a glass.

  “Neat,” he said. He slumped into the chair at the end of the table.

  Jean poured him a double shot. “Lisa killed Delavan, then? He must have learned about her trip to St. Louis and gone up to question her?”

  Neilson nodded, and gulped the whiskey. “That’s right. And she got scared and shot him. And Ames was sucker enough about Lisa to want to dump the body for her. Well, there’s only one safe spot to do that — Topanga Canyon. And there’s only one way to get to Topanga from Los Angeles. He had to go past here. Then he hit the fog when he came into Santa Monica. Coming down from the bluff it was worse and he figured he might not make Topanga. And even if he did, the Coast road would be lousy with cops handling the jammed traffic, so he dumped Delavan here. Which made it look like a warning, and also loused up the case for the law.”

  Jean poured another drink into the empty glass. “And Tom? Don’t you think Tom should give himself up, now?”

  Neilson shook his head. “Not tonight. I’ll get a lawyer, first, a good lawyer this time, a guy smart enough to know how to deal.” He paused. “A guy like Nannie.”

  Jean grinned wryly. “Okay, Luke. I know when I’m told off.”

  Neilson said nothing, staring at his glass.

  Jean said softly, “Why don’t we drink to Nannie? Why don’t we get good and stinking drunk?”

  If you liked Run, Killer, Run check out:

  Million Dollar tramp

  Chapter One

  The address he’d given me was in a run-down district on Figueroa Street. The stairs leading to his second floor office were served by a doorway that opened off the street between a pawn shop and a doubtful cigar store.

  There was a worn wooden handrail, slick with new varnish, and ancient wooden paneling on the walls below the handrail level. Above it, the walls were plaster and could have used a coat of paint.

  I went up the steps, through the odor of new varnish and old dust, and paused at the top to see which way the numbers ran. His number, 206, was only a few yards to the right of whereI stood.

  HEIRS, INCORPORATED read the lettering on his door. And below it, PLEASE ENTER.

  Usually, in this neighborhood, that portion simply read WALK IN. Willis Morley was making an admirable attempt to rise above his environment.

  The name and the district had led me to expect some dry and emaciated old fogey, bent over a ledger, or greedily counting his money. Willis Morley was nothing like that. As I came into the small waiting room, I could see through the open doorway that led to his office; Morley was sitting behind his desk in there.

  His face was round and pink and his hair snow white. His tweed suit held many colors but the predominant color seemed to be orange. He would have made a perfect Santa’ Claus for a Hollywood bookie’s Christmas party.

  He smiled at me through the open doorway, and his bright blue eyes twinkled. He asked, “Mr. Puma?”

  “At your service,” I answered. “Mr. Morley?”

  “Correct. Come in, Mr. Puma, and be seated.” He stood up and held out his hand. His body matched his face, round and plump.

  I went over to shake his hand and then sat in the chair on the customer’s side of his desk. The office was clean. It looked clean and would have smelled clean, I was sure, if the window hadn’t been open.

  “Another smoggy day,” he said, sitting down.

  “Is there another kind?” I asked.

  He smiled. “Not in Los Angeles, not any more.” He leaned back in his chair and studied me candidly. “You come well recommended, Mr. Puma.”

  “I’m pretty good,” I admitted. “Who recommended me?”

  He named an attorney I knew.

  I asked, “Are you an attorney, Mr. Morley?”

  For the first time, he frowned. “Not exactly. I’ve—had a rather extensive legal education but I never achieved a degree in law. Do you only work for attorneys, Mr. Puma?”

  I shook my head. “I—uh—I mean, the nature of your business intrigued me. Do you look for missing heirs?”

  He nodded. “At times. Though that kind of work would comprise less than a third of my total income. I’m a loan broker, Mr. Puma. I lend money to needy heirs against the time when they will no longer be needy.”

  “I get it,” I said. “You keep ‘em living until their benefactor dies, is that it?”

  For the second time, he frowned. “That was rather crudely put, but more or less describes my major service.” His smile was thin. “I didn’t plan to have you investigate me, Mr. Puma.” He looked past me. “A good number of the heirs aren’t waiting for anyone to die, of course. They are legatees whose legacies are due at some previously determined time in the future. There is little risk involved in a loan to borrowers in this category, naturally. The others …” He sighed.

  I smiled. “The others pay a much higher interest rate.”

  “Certainly.” He looked at me blandly. “Nobody is forced to come to me for money, Mr. Puma.”

  “You’ve got a point,” I admitted. “In this—less rewarding third of your business, this se
arch for missing heirs, I suppose you hire one of the large detective agencies, one of the national agencies?”

  He nodded and stared at me.

  I stared back.

  He stood up and went over to close the window. “Damned smog,” he said, his back to me.

  I said, “Don’t get the wrong idea. I can always use a day’s work. But it does seem strange that you didn’t phone that agency first.” I paused. “Or maybe you did—and they were too reputable to handle it?”

  He sat down again and looked at me without emotion. “I was warned that you were insolent and arrogant. Are you trying to prepare me for an exorbitant fee?”

  I shook my head.

  He picked up a slide rule from his desk and considered it, while he said, “Mr. Puma, there are several national detective agencies and hundreds of small ones”—he paused—“like yours. A number of them seem to be prospering. They wouldn’t be unless their many clients had a reason for not taking their business to the police departments in their home towns.”

  “True enough,” I agreed.

  He took a deep breath. “Your reputation is not exactly—impeccable.”

  “By my standards, it is,” I said. “I guess my standards are as good as most.”

  “I’m sure they are. And I’m sure I’ve had less trouble with the police than you have, Mr. Puma. So mine must be at least equal to yours. Wouldn’t you call that a fair judgment?”

  I grinned at him. “I guess. What’s the slide rule for?” He smiled. “I use it for figuring percentages. Very handy gadget. Shall we get down to business, Mr. Puma?” “I’m all ears,” I told him.

  A girl was missing, he told me, a twenty-eight-year-old girl who was into him for almost forty thousand dollars. In seventeen months she would be thirty and come into her inheritance.

  “And you get your forty grand,” I said. He nodded.

  “Plus interest,” I said, “and maybe interest on the interest, to say nothing of your broker’s commission. That could be quite a package. That might take one hell of an inheritance.”

  He looked at me coldly, his lips pursed primly. “Are you moralizing, Mr. Puma?”

  I shook my head. “I’m trying to get the picture. If the debt is bigger than the inheritance, she’d have reason to be missing.”