“Change of policy, Mr. Stoeger. You see there have been rumours going around town about accidents here that don’t happen—but are supposed to have happened and to have been kept out of the paper. I’m afraid my grammar’s a bit involved there. I mean that we’ve decided that if the truth is printed about accidents that really do happen, it will help prevent false rumours and wild stories.”
I told him I understood and thanked him.
I drank more black coffee and worked a while on the Bonney-Harrison-Smith murder story and then sandwiched in the Roman candle department story and then went back to the big story.
All I needed now was——
Captain Evans of the state police came in. I glared up at him and he grinned down at me.
I said, “Don’t tell me. You’ve come to tell me that I can, after all, run the story of Smiley’s and my little ride with the two gangsters and how Smiley captured one and killed one. It’s just what I need. I can spare a stick of type back in the want ads.”
He grinned again and pulled up a chair. He sat down in it, but I paid no further attention; I went on typing.
Then he pushed his hat back on his head and said quietly, “That’s right, Doc.”
I made four typing errors in a three-letter word and then turned around and looked at him. “Huh?” I said. “I was kidding. Wasn’t I?”
“Maybe you were, but I’m not. You can run the story, Doc. They got Gene Kelley in Chicago two hours ago.”
I groaned happily. Then I glared at him again. I said, “Then get the hell out of here. I’ve got to work.”
“Don’t you want the rest of the story?”
“What rest of it? I don’t need details of how they got Kelley, just so they got him. That’s, from my point of view, a footnote on the local angle, and the local angle is what happened here in the county to George and Bat—and to Smiley and me. Now scram.”
I typed another sentence. He said, “Doc,” and the way he said it made me take my hands away from the typewriter and look at him.
He said, “Doc, relax. It is local. There was one thing I didn’t tell you last night because it was too local and too hot. One other thing we got out of Bat Masters. They weren’t heading for Chicago or Gary right away. They were going to hole up overnight at a hideout for crooks—it’s a farm run by a man named George Dixon, up in the hills. An isolated place. We knew Dixon as an ex-crook but never guessed he was running a rest home for boys who were hiding out from the law. We raided it last night. We got four criminals wanted in Chicago who were staying there. And we found, among other things, some letters and papers that told us where Gene Kelley was staying. We phoned Chicago quick and they got him, so you can run the whole story—the other members of the gang won’t keep that hotel date anyway. But we’ll settle for having Kelley in the bag—and the rest of our haul at the Dixon farm. And that’s local, Doc. Want names and such?”
I wanted names and such. I grabbed a pencil. Where I was going to put the story, I didn’t know. Evans talked a while and I took notes until I had all I wanted and then I said again, “Now please don’t give me any more. I’m going nuts already.”
He laughed and got up. He said, “Okay, Doc.” He strolled to the door and then turned around after he was half-way through it. “Then you don’t want to know about Sheriff Kates being under arrest.”
He went on through and was half-way down the stairs before I caught him and dragged him back.
Dixon, who ran the crook hideout, had been paying protection to Kates and had proof of it. When he’d been raided he’d thought Kates had double-crossed him, and he talked. The state police had headed for Kates’ office and had picked him up as he was entering the courthouse at six o’clock.
I sent out for more black coffee.
There was only one more interruption and it came just before we were finally closing the forms at half-past eleven.
Clyde Andrews. He said, “Doc, I want to thank you again for what you did last night. And to tell you that the boy and I have had a long talk and everything is going to be all right.”
“That’s wonderful, Clyde.”
“Another thing, Doc, and I hope this isn’t bad news for you. I mean, I hope you were deciding not to sell the paper, because I got a telegram from my brother in Ohio; he’s definitely taking that offer from out West, so the deal on the paper is off. I’m sorry if you were going to decide to sell.”
I said, “That’s wonderful, Clyde. But hold the line a second. I’m going to put an ad in the paper to sell it instead.”
I yelled across the room to Pete, “Hey, Pete, kill something somewhere and set up an ad in sixty-point type. ‘FOR SALE, THE CARMEL CITY CLARION, PRICE, ONE MILLION DOLLARS.’”
Back into the phone, “Hear that, Clyde?”
He chuckled. “I’m glad you feel that way about it, Doc. Listen there’s one more thing. Mr. Rogers just called me. He says that we’ve discovered that the Scouts are going to use the church gym next Tuesday instead of this Tuesday. So we’re going to have the rummage sale after all. If you haven’t gone to press and if you haven’t got enough news to fill out——”
I nearly choked, but I managed to tell him we’d run the story.
I got to Smiley’s at half-past twelve with the first paper off the press in my hands. Held carefully.
I put it proudly on the bar. “Read,” I told Smiley. “But first the bottle and a glass. I’m half dead and I haven’t had a drink for almost six hours. I’m too keyed up to sleep. And I need three quick ones.”
I had three quick ones while Smiley read the headlines.
The room began to waver a little and I realized I’d better get sober and quickly. I said, “Good night, Smiley. ’Sbeen wonnerful knowing you. I gotta——”
I started for the door.
Smiley said, “Doc. Let me drive you home.” His voice came from miles and miles away. I saw him start around the end of the bar.
“Doc,” he was saying, “sit down and hang on till I get there before you fall down flat on your face.”
But the nearest stool was miles away through the brillig, and slithy toves were gimbling at me from the wabe. Smiley’s warning had been at least half a second too late.
Night of the Jabberwock Page 19