Too Many Crooks

by Richard S. Prather

  I had a swallow of my bourbon, then Frye was back. He tapped me on the arm. "Come on."

  "Where?"

  "You wanted to see Norris, didn't you?"

  I followed him as he walked into the dining room. This early, only a few tables were occupied. It would be another three hours before the place filled. But at one table, just inside the door, two men sat picking at broiled lobster. One was skinny, with a bald spot in the middle of his head, and the second was the other guy I'd met so briefly on Dane's porch. Everybody was here except Renner.

  Frye walked past them and headed for a table against the wall. Three men sat there. One, with his back to the wall, was staring at me. The chair on this side of the table was empty. On my left, Skinny and his friend looked up and grinned happily at me as I walked by. I didn't stop, and I didn't grin happily at them.

  When I reached the table, the man on the other side of it said, "You're looking for me?"

  "If you're Jim Norris."

  "That's me. Sit down."

  I pulled out the chair and sat. Meeting a man on his own ground is like betting against a man's own trick; the percentage is all against you. Norris was seated with his back to the wall, and I sat with my back to Skinny and his pal. On my left and right were a couple more of Norris's buddies.

  Seated, Norris didn't seem tall, but he was stocky. A well-cut blue sheen-gabardine coat rested smoothly on his wide shoulders and he wore a pink tie with a huge Windsor knot. His features were even, but knobby cheekbones and a sharp thin nose, plus an almost pointed chin, gave his face an angular look. His eyes were blue, but the lids were pinkish, inflamed, and small granules rested on them like dandruff. It looked as though he'd strained his eyes, but his appearance made it improbable that he'd strained them from too much reading. I was guessing, but my first impression was that Norris's reading was probably confined to the Racing Form.

  He said, "OK, OK. What's with you? You see me. Make some words."

  "You're in a hell of a hurry for a man who wasn't even supposed to be here."

  "I was here, but that don't mean I got to see every slob who asks for me. I don't like to be disturbed till I've et."

  "I understand you're the Seacliff Development Company," I said.

  "I'm it? Hell, no. I got interest in it, just like these gentlemen."

  He pointed at the men sitting with us. The one on my left looked like a horse, a mean, starved horse, with a bulbous nose, thick blubbery lips, and enough shaggy black hair on his neck to do for a mane till something better grew there; the other was big, dark, and grinning, and from the beat-up appearance of his chops, I figured that every time he shot a guy he filed another notch in his teeth. Both mugs were staring at me.

  Norris continued, "OK. So what?"

  "So a lot of people don't like your methods."

  "That's too bad. Nothing illegal about it. People want to sell a place, we're glad to buy it. All legal. Happens every day."

  "Sure," I said. I looked around the room, then back at Norris. "Suppose I came in here with a hundred grand or so, dropped it in front of you, had you sign some papers, and bought the place. Nice and legal."

  "That's just the way it is."

  "I wasn't finished. And suppose, if you didn't feel like selling, I broke your arm, knocked you down, and kicked all your teeth down your throat. And I played with you like that till you decided you wanted to sell. You'd still call that legal, wouldn't you?"

  His face was flushed by the time I got through. "Listen here, Scott," he said slowly. "It's time I told you something. Your presence here is—" He searched around in the great emptiness of his skull for the right word, found it, and smiled. "It's obnoxious to me. If you got a lick of sense, you'll go through the door and get clear out of Seacliff. You don't, no telling what might happen to you."

  "Like what happened to Whist, maybe?"

  He jammed his teeth together and stared at me for several seconds. Finally, he said, "Not like that at all. Whist died accidental. If you should die sudden, I got a feeling it won't be no accident. Now, you said all you wanted to say?"

  "Not quite. I came out here to tell you it's no good. I don't care if you want the beachfront property for rezoning or for building sand castles." When I said "rezoning" his eyes went wide, then narrowed again. "You may have muscled three or four people, but you can't muscle the whole town. Not even if you've got a few people here in your pocket. Even cops."

  "Got no cops," he said levelly. "I got . . . friends." He looked at the grinning mug and the horse, then past my shoulder to the boys eating lobster.

  I went on. "As long as nobody tumbled to what you were up to, you could make a little progress. But too many people know about it now, and a hell of a lot more are going to. So think about it. And one last thing. Dane's place is off limits for you and all your boys."

  "Sure. You'll shoot 'em all like Renner. You got machine guns in your ears. Since we're talking frank, Scott, I'll be frank. You must be dumber than you look. How many men you got with you? An army? Gander around."

  I looked around the dining room. Still the same tables filled. Skinny and friend at one; two men at another; four sharply dressed guys at a third. That was all besides our table. The only thing was, they were all men.

  "Yeah," said Norris. "Not a customer in the joint. Just—well, friends of mine."

  "All that proves is you've got a lot of ugly friends. But you can't think that you can go on muscling people. Not now that the story's spreading. Unless you're out of your mind."

  "Show him out, boys."

  "Yeah, Boss." Two men speaking as one. They stood up as Norris said to me, "Or would you rather leave quietly?"

  "I'll leave quietly."

  He laughed. That pleased him, because he figured he had me buffaloed. But there was no reason to stick around, and I wouldn't accomplish anything by getting my head bashed in, except getting my head bashed in. I stood up.

  Norris said, "Just one thing, Scott. I meant it when I told you to leave town. You leave tonight, you'll be OK. Keep your nose in, you'll get it—you know?" He got up and walked around the table and stopped beside me. I was surprised at how small he was. When he was sitting down, he hadn't looked big, but now I saw he couldn't be more than five-three or five-four. He put a hand on my arm and said pleasantly, "I got no hard feelings with you, Scott. That's straight. Live and let live, I say. You don't give me no more trouble, we can get along fine."

  I should have kept my mouth shut, but now that I was reasonably sure Norris himself had sent Renner around to bat Dane on the head, it was as if my mouth popped open all by itself. "Nuts. You know we can't get along, Norris. I just don't like guys who beat up old men and muscle old ladies. So take your paw off me." I glanced around. "And keep your apes out of my hair."

  Norris reacted with surprising restraint. He stepped back. "OK, Scott," he said softly. "That's the way it is."

  I turned to go and the other men at the table started to walk with me but Norris snapped, "Let him alone, you jerks."

  I walked out of the dining room and stopped by the tuxedoed dandy. "Cadillac?" he said.

  "Yeah. Black convertible." While he unhooked the wall phone and spoke into it, I looked back into the dining room. The men were still at their tables. I hadn't really expected any of them to follow me, but it made me feel better to see them all still there.

  The waiter tapped me on the shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said apologetically. "We've been having trouble with the phone to the parking lot. I'm afraid you'll have to pick up your car."

  "OK. Thanks."

  I walked outside and headed down the drive to the lot, a hundred feet away. It was on the other side of the brightly lighted tennis courts, and a couple was playing a set, batting the ball back and forth with insane energy.

  The lot was lighted up like a football field, and I had no trouble spotting my car among the dozen or so parked there. I glanced over my shoulder, but I didn't see anybody near me, just another car being driven down from the lou
nge to the lot. A uniformed attendant leaned against a light standard.

  He said, "Sorry about the phone, sir. We'll have it fixed in half an hour or so."

  "No trouble. You ought to set up a wigwag system or run up flags."

  The thought hit me then that in a swank spot like this it was strange no bellhop was handy to run down for the cars. The warning tingled along my nervous system, but it hadn't penetrated all the way yet. I just knew there was something screwy. I glanced over my shoulder again. The other car was turning to come down the lane where I was walking, and its lights were out.

  And before I even realized what that meant, all the lights went out. Everything, every light in the entire lodge, over the tennis court, in the bar—and here in the parking lot.

  I could hear the car motor now as the driver accelerated, obviously trying to run me down. In the sudden blackness, I couldn't see a thing, but I could hear the car near me and I jumped to the side, spread out in the air, straining to get out of the way before it hit me. I felt the fender slam into my leg and it wrenched my body around and sent me sprawling to the asphalt as car brakes squealed shrilly alongside me.

  Pain ripped through my leg and my left shoulder as I hit the ground and rolled. Footsteps slapped the asphalt nearby as I tried to get my feet under me, my brain spinning. I was face down on the ground, and as I tried to push myself up my left arm buckled. There was a scraping sound near me, light flashed momentarily, and something slammed against my head. Pain exploded in my skull, but I was still conscious enough to hear other men running. Then a hand grabbed my coat, jerked me over. There was faint light from the moon and stars, enough so that now I could dimly see the features of the big guy who'd been sitting with Norris, and I tried to move toward him, drive my right fist toward his mouth, but I saw his hand swinging toward me like a shadow in the darkness, and then there was sudden blackness, deeper, more intense than before, and then nothing at all . . .

  Chapter Seven

  Standing at the top of the steps before the Manning Memorial Hospital, I finished my cigarette and flipped it away. The blue Chrysler was still parked at the curb; the other guy still leaned against his lamppost. I slipped my .38 from its holster and dropped it into my coat pocket. I kept my hand on it as I walked down the steps. Just before I reached the sidewalk the door on this side of the Chrysler opened and a man stepped out.

  "Scott," he said. "Just a minute, huh?"

  He was about my age and size, maybe a little slimmer, and much better looking. He was a helluva pleasant-looking man, not at all like the punks I'd met so far. But then, a lot of punks don't look like punks. I stopped and said, "I don't want any conversation, mister."

  "This won't take long," he said. "It's for your own good."

  "Everybody's damned interested in my welfare, one way or another." I looked into the car behind him. It was empty.

  He leaned back against the closed door. I said, "OK, speak your piece. But don't come any closer."

  He looked me over and said, "Take your hand out of your pocket, for God's sake, and stop acting like a Junior G-Man." He grinned pleasantly, held out his arms, and turned around. He was in shirtsleeves and slacks. "No gun, no nothing," he said. "Never carried a gun in my life."

  "How did you know I was coming out? You couldn't have intended to wait here all night."

  "Norris was anxious about you, Scott. Wanted to be sure you were all right, you know. So he asked Dr. Greeley to let him know when you were well enough to leave. Naturally, Greeley was willing to keep your good friend informed."

  "Naturally. OK, spill it. And who the hell are you?"

  "My name's Zimmerman. I work for Norris."

  Zimmerman. I remembered what Dane had told me about the smooth, persuasive bastard who had talked to him about selling out.

  "Norris asked me to tell you the facts of life, Scott. You could as easily have been killed as worked over a little. You're still alive only because there'd be a pretty big stink if you were knocked off. Not only from the cops here, but in L.A." He paused. "I'm from L.A. and I know you're thick with the cops there, so it'd just be trouble. But whether or not it's too much trouble depends on how much trouble you give us. So don't give us any. See how simple it is?"

  "Sure. All anybody has to do is agree with everything the mobsters say, and all's well. For you guys. Norris must know he can't keep on the way he's been going. I told him as much."

  "And what did it get you?" He grinned. "I know what you told him, and you're wrong there, too. Not one person out of a thousand in town has any idea what's going on. Sure, there's a little operation here. Maybe you know some of it, maybe you don't, but there's nothing you can do about it. After what already happened, you ought to have sense enough to blow. You can't be so stupid—"

  I hadn't been conscious of pressing my teeth together, but now I could feel the muscles wiggling at the sides of my jaws. I reached out and grabbed the front of Zimmerman's shirt and bunched it up in my left hand with a little skin as I yanked him closer to me. He pulled his head back but didn't move his arms as I said, "I'll tell you this, friend. I'm not real bright sometimes. Some ways I am stupid. So Norris tried the absolute wrong way to get me to blow, and he knocked the last bit of sense out of my head. Maybe some other way he could have convinced me, but not by having me slapped around. I just don't take kindly to getting sapped." I shoved him back toward the car, let go of him, and said, "Go back and tell your boss to find a hole."

  For a few seconds I thought Zimmerman was going to jump me. His face didn't change much, except that his lips thinned a little, while his eyes went wide and froze on my face. But that little change in his expression made him look like a different man.

  What impressed me most, though, was what he did with his right hand. He'd brought it up from his side and held it just an inch out from his belly, the hand steady, curled slightly with the thumb tucked down brushing his shirt and all four fingers loosely extended. It was an odd gesture for a man who never carried a gun in his life. I was looking at his face, but I saw the hand slowly clench into a fist, then drop to his side and relax.

  He sighed shakily, got himself calmed down, and said evenly, "Scott, there's no use getting yourself pushed. Be smart. Suppose I hadn't come here to talk. Suppose I was here to push you." He grinned and stuck his index finger at me and wiggled his thumb. "Pop, pop," he said. "And I just drive away. Scott, you ever see me before?"

  I didn't say anything, but he kept talking.

  "For all you know, I could be a shoe salesman. Next guy you meet might be a shoe salesman. Or he might not. How you going to tell? We all know what you look like, though. Might be half a dozen of us, might be half a hundred. How you going to know?"

  I said, "Maybe I won't know. But everybody gets a fat look from here on in. And I won't forget your face, friend. I already know what Norris looks like."

  "Oh, yeah, naturally you'll stay away from him. You wouldn't get within a hundred yards of the lodge now."

  Somebody was walking down the sidewalk toward us and I glanced to my right at another man a few feet away, then moved over toward the rear of the car where I could see both guys. Nobody stood against the lamppost. The man nodded and Zimmerman said to him, "Hi, Slim. What's new?" The man stopped, chatted a moment about the weather, then walked on.

  Zimmerman opened the car door and said, "You never saw him before, either, did you, Scott?" He climbed into the car. "So beat it," he said. "Now. Tonight. You've got no chance at all." He started the car and left.

  I stood on the sidewalk for a moment looking after him, then glanced behind me. Nobody was in sight. I walked half a block to the hospital parking lot and found my car. Before I climbed in, I unlocked the trunk and checked the stuff inside it. I carry about three thousand dollars' worth of equipment along with me in the Cad, gadgets I sometimes need on a job, from infrared and electronics equipment to a miniature camera and extra cartridges for my .38. Probably the boys hadn't looked in the trunk. Everything seemed undisturbed
.

  I got into the car and drove two blocks to a service station. While the car was being gassed, I used the phone inside to call Emmett Dane.

  He was surprised to know I was out of the hospital. "You all right, Shell?"

  "Fair enough. A few aches and pains, but navigating. What's been going on, Em? Any trouble?"

  "Nothing serious. New guy took Renner's place and came out here. Asked me if I'd changed my mind about selling. I told him he was trespassing on private property and to get the hell off. Then he told me you were in the hospital."

  He asked what had happened to me and I told him the story. He said, "Shell, you know I'm sorry. You want to pull out, it's OK by me. Wouldn't blame you."

  "What are you going to do, Em?"

  He didn't answer for a minute, then he said, "Well, yesterday I bought me a gun. Been shooting at sea gulls. Haven't done more than scare them so far."

  That was about what I would have expected him to do, and that was my answer. I said, "Better confine your shooting to sea gulls, Em. Incidentally, what about Baron and Lilith? They had any trouble?"

  "I don't know, Shell." His voice was worried. "They're both in a sweat. What happened to you, after Whist getting killed, and that mess here with Renner, has sort of put them in a panic."

  "You talk to the cops?"

  "Yes. Lilith told me both she and Baron went down, too, and had a long talk with the chief. I guess Baron finally goosed him into moving a little. He's checking all these guys, and every sale so far, but the hell of it is, he tells us he hasn't got enough yet to put anybody in jail."

  "I'll give him some more—a signed complaint against Norris, for one thing. Which will mean Norris will have to go to the immense trouble of posting bail. Look, Em, I'll come over later, but I think now I'll talk a bit with Baron and Lilith. Where would I find Baron?"

  "He's probably still in his office on Main. Usually there till around eight."

  I told Dane I'd see him later, looked up Baron's phone number, and called his office in the Diamond Building. He answered, and after the expressions of surprise and sympathy were out of the way I said I'd like to see him. He told me to come right up.