Deep is the Pit

by Dixon, H. Vernor

  Marty got a pair of gloves from his rooms, slipped them on, and went to the post office. He paid for a plain, stamped envelope, sealed in two one-hundred-dollar bills, and addressed it to a Mugger Flynn in the Fillmore district. Scappy Logan had not been paid for his final service, so could not be used again. Mugger would do just as well. He worked for the police, or the underworld, or sometimes the two at the same time. Anyone could buy him, but his information was usually reliable and accurate or he would have been dead long ago.

  The following day, while having lunch with Frank Stannard at the University Club, Marty excused himself for a moment and went to a telephone. He dialed a number and in a few seconds Mugger said, “Yeah?”

  “Mugger Flynn?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You picked up two centuries in the mail today. There’ll be another hundred on the way this afternoon if you have what I want.”

  “It’s your nickel, pal. What’s on your mind?”

  “I’d like the word on Red Martin.”

  There was a brief silence, then Mugger asked cautiously, “Who’s this?”

  “Is that important?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Another century, huh? Well, Red ain’t been seen around. The cops and the F.B.I. are lookin’ for him, but they ain’t seen him.”

  “They’re looking for him in this area?”

  “Yeah. They ain’t seen him, though.”

  “Fingerprints?”

  “I don’t think so. If it was fingerprints they’d of had him by now. Guy must’ve been in the Army, and you know how them jerks was fingerprinted. That can’t be it.”

  “Anyone else looking for him?”

  “You name him.”

  “Tony Arturo.”

  There was another short pause, then Mugger said, “That’s right.”

  “You know Arturo personally, don’t you?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “O.K. Here’s what I’d like to know: Is Arturo still looking, or has he dropped it?”

  “Now, there you got me. I wouldn’t know about that.”

  “Find out. Call him up — he’s stopping at the Stannard Hotel — and tell him you’ve heard Red Martin’s in town. See if he’s interested and if he’ll try to buy anything else from you.”

  “Make it two centuries and I’ll do a better job.”

  “No dice.”

  “Aw — ”

  “O.K. Another two hundred. I’ll call you back this same time tomorrow.”

  Marty returned to the dining room and rejoined Frank at their table. The transition of talking to an underworld character one moment, then stepping back into his role of successful businessman had been too swift. It was a minute or more before he could bring his mind to bear on what Frank was talking about.

  Frank was saying, “I just got back from talking with Albert Bentley in New York.”

  “Oh?” Marty leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingertips together, again the successful executive. “I didn’t know you had gone anywhere.”

  “New York. I flew back as soon as I got up here from Santa Barbara. Bentley called me down there, the morning after the opening of the Wilton Plaza. You know, beating around the bush. I had a hunch something big was in the air, so I hopped a plane and went back to see him.”

  “I thought he was in Beverly Hills.”

  “Sometimes. Most of the time he spends in New York. Anyway, we got together.” His green eyes danced with enthusiastic lights as he continued, “To sum it all up in a few words, Marty, you and I have a chance to move in on the Bentley chain.”

  “You?” Marty grinned. “I thought you weren’t interested in the hotel business.”

  “I’m not. It’s strictly the deal that interests me. This is big. If I can pull it off it will be one of the biggest deals made in years. Interested?”

  “I don’t know. What’s it all about?”

  “Bentley is old. He’s tired, run down. In fact, he seems to have aged badly just recently. He wants to get out. He can’t take the responsibility any more. Now that you’ve proved what you can do, he thinks you’re the fair-haired lad to take over.”

  Marty was flattered, but shook his head. “I’m not interested in running anyone else’s chain for him.”

  Frank nodded his approval. “I know. That isn’t what I have in mind. I’m thinking in terms of a merger. You have two excellent hotels to bargain with, both successful and outstanding money-makers.”

  “Bentley has them by the dozens.”

  “But not all of them good.” He hunched his chair closer to Marty and tapped an emphatic finger on the table. “Here’s the idea: Bentley wants to get out and he believes you can separate the chaff from the wheat and make the chain a paying proposition all the way around. Now, on the other hand, I owe you a little debt of gratitude. I’ve heard how you busted up the affair between George and the Kimball woman. Good. So you throw in your two hotels for a merger and I’ll pick up the difference in cash and some little gilt-edged items. George will be in it, too. Perhaps Karen may also wish to get aboard. But when and if the deal is completed, you will be head man. My interest is solely in the financial aspects of the deal, not in the hotels as such. And Bentley wants to retire. So you will not only be personally running the largest chain of hotels in the country, but you will also have a heavy ownership interest and the full backing of the majority owners.” He chuckled as he asked, “Now, does that appeal to you?”

  Marty’s brain spun wildly with the implications of the idea. If the deal could be settled satisfactorily, with Stannard backing, of course, he would be the biggest man in the business in one huge leap. It was fantastic, unbelievable, a dream. Yet Frank was offering it to him and, in all probability, could put it across.

  Frank chuckled deeply as he saw how Marty’s brain was working. He reached across the table to slap his arm. “You let me handle it all the way. That’s my department. I’ll bring you in whenever it gets into hotel technicalities. Is that all right with you?”

  Marty managed to mumble, “Sure. Do it your way.”

  “We’ll put it across. Don’t worry.”

  “My God!”

  “My sentiments, too. Now, there is one other matter. I’d like to get Bentley in town for more exploratory discussions, but I’d rather start it on the social level. He was at your wedding, you remember. So it would be only natural for Karen to invite him out for your first wedding anniversary. That comes off next week.”

  Marty said wryly, “I’d forgotten it.”

  “Will you ask Karen to send the invitation?”

  “Maybe it would be better if I invited him myself and made a surprise party of it.”

  “Good idea. Let me know the details.”

  “You bet.”

  Marty stared into space, smiling, looking into a diamond-studded future. But he thought of Dotty and Tony, and fear and hate mingled in his eyes.

  He sent another two hundred dollars to Mugger Flynn that afternoon and telephoned him the following day. But he first took certain precautions. Mugger could conceivably have gone to the police and dickered for a higher price than Marty was paying, in which case they would be all set to trace any calls to Mugger. Flying squads could be stationed in every business district of the city. Those boys could move fast. So Marty used a telephone booth, one of a whole section of booths, in the St. Francis Hotel. He waited until the section was crowded and the operators were too busy to pay attention to any one person, then called Mugger.

  Mugger complained, “It ain’t been easy gettin’ the dope you want. If I knew who you was I could do a better job.”

  Marty growled, “Quit stalling. What did you find out?”

  “Well, like I say, it ain’t been easy. A man’s gotta take his time to get what you want.”

  Marty’s gloved hand tightened on the telephone. He was positive that the call was being traced, which would give him but a few minutes to talk in safety. Yet, even though Mugger had sold out, his information would be correct. That
was his peculiar code and the only one that kept him alive. Marty said quickly, “I’ve sent you four C’s, Mugger. Start talking and talk fast or you’ll never enjoy spending it.”

  “Oh, tough guy.”

  “You’re so right, pal. Now, what did you find out? Did you call Arturo?”

  “Yep. Had a hard time gettin’ him. I kept callin’ him at the hotel, but no dice. Each time I told the operator it was important, so once when Tony called the hotel for somethin’ he left a number for me to call.”

  “Do you remember the exchange?”

  “Yeah. It’s the Marina district.”

  Marty thought, Dotty’s apartment. “Did he answer?”

  “No. Some doll.”

  “I see. So?”

  “So she put him on and I told him who I was and said I had the word on Red Martin. I asked what he’d pay for it. He didn’t seem interested. Offered me a lousy C note. Now, you know, pal, that ain’t buyin’. Any word on Red Martin’s worth more’n that.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Just about. I told him I had word Red was in town and he kind of laughed and said he’d send the money,”

  “He didn’ try to buy anything more?”

  “No.”

  Marty hung up at once. He took off the gloves he had been wearing, put them in a pocket, and stepped out of the booth. He walked down the busy passageway and paused to look over the lobby just as three plain-clothes men hurried by him toward the telephone section. One of them was Riley, the efficient lieutenant of detectives who had investigated the robbery of the Stannard. He nodded briskly to Marty as he went by. Marty followed them back to the telephone section, where they had started questioning the operators, who offered no help at all.

  Marty tapped Riley on the arm and asked, “What’s up?”

  Riley replied, “Just looking for a guy. How long have you been here?”

  “A few minutes.”

  “Used a telephone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then maybe you saw him. A redhead. About your size.”

  Marty thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I can’t say that I remember a redhead.”

  “Here. This’ll give you an idea what he looks like.”

  Riley took a paper from his pocket with the printed portrait of Red Martin stamped on it. It had been originally drawn by an artist, obviously done solely from oral descriptions, but it was a remarkably close likeness. Marty studied the picture and felt chilled. He glanced up to catch an astonished expression on Riley’s face.

  The lieutenant took the picture from him and compared it with Marty. He exclaimed, “Well, I’ll be damned! You know, this looks a hell of a lot like you in some ways, Mr. Lee.”

  Marty appeared surprised but not too interested. “It does? I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Sure. Kind of the same shape head, set of the eyes and nose and chin. Different around the mouth, though. Yeah. Lots different. He’s bulkier, too, and a redhead. And green’s the color of his eyes. That we know for sure.” He burst into a laugh and slapped Marty on the back. “But it isn’t too far different. Take my advice, Mr. Lee, and don’t go hanging around too many banks. You look too much like this Red Martin.”

  “Oh, the bank robber.”

  “That’s the guy. Now, if you don’t mind — ”

  “Sure. Be seeing you.”

  Marty walked away. He returned to the Stannard Hotel and to his office. He wanted to be alone to put together the pieces of information he had acquired. However, there was a visitor waiting for him in the office, young Henry Cleaver of the F.B.I.

  He shook hands with Marty, smiling pleasantly, apparently well satisfied with the world as he found it at that moment. Marty sat down behind his desk and waved Cleaver to a chair.

  Cleaver crossed his knees and said happily, “Well, we’re getting closer, Mr. Lee.”

  Marty frowned and asked, “Closer to what?”

  “To Red Martin, the bank robber.”

  Marty smiled and leaned back in his chair. “Oh, yes. I remember, now. You figured he was the one who robbed the hotel.”

  “We’re almost positive of it. Now, we don’t ordinarily give out information, but you may be able to help us, so I’ll tell you what’s up. Yesterday, an underworld stooge tipped us off that Red Martin had called him from somewhere here in the city and was going to call again today.”

  “Well, that certainly sounds like progress. And this person knows the bank robber?”

  “Yes. Of course, he could not say positively that it was Red calling, but he said he would give two to one on it. We believe him. It’s an interesting development in other ways, though. Red wanted information on your guest here in the hotel, Mr. Tony Arturo, This stooge got that information, which he was to give to Red today, but he also passed it on to us. Somehow or other, Tony has got a lead on Red Martin. Red must have had a hunch about that, too, as he would never have called this particular stooge otherwise. So we figure this way: Red is worried about Tony. He knows it was a blunder knocking Tony over and now he knows Tony is getting closer to him. He has to do something about it before the roof falls on him. Tony will be satisfied to get back the eighty-five thousand he lost, and in all probability Red can afford to pay him back. We think that may happen.”

  “Sounds plausible.”

  “Yes. It could work out that way. But you see, of course, that in such an eventuality those two will have to meet somewhere. That, Mr. Lee, could well be here in your hotel,”

  “Really?”

  “We think so. This Red is a cagey person who always plays it on the safe side. The best meeting place for a man in his position is either a railroad depot or a hotel. Crowds and exits, you see. So this hotel would be a good place.”

  “Why not a railroad station?”

  Cleaver shook his head. “That would have to be prearranged. Red is not the type to let anyone know where he’s going to be at any definite time. The hotel is more likely. He can choose his own time, drop in here when he pleases unannounced, and surprise Tony in his room without a squad of hired gunmen around. Then he can pay off Tony and get out in relative safety. I don’t say that’s the way it’s going to be, but it’s a good possibility and we have to act on it. There we need your co-operation.”

  “Glad to help, any way I can.”

  Cleaver chuckled as he asked, “Do you need a new desk clerk, Mr. Lee, one you don’t have to pay?”

  “You?”

  “Yes, sir. I assure you that I can handle it without blunders. The night shift, of course.”

  “Well, I don’t know — ”

  Cleaver said quickly, “You don’t have to worry about trouble in the lobby. Besides, I wouldn’t dream of trying to take Red alone. If he comes in here while I’m behind the desk I’ll naturally let him go on to the upper floors. Then I’ll call the police, who will be already briefed on what to do, and trap Red upstairs where no one in the hotel will even know what’s going on.”

  “Sounds to me like a bad time element there.”

  “Oh, no. Let’s say it takes the police and some of my agents, as well, about ten minutes to get here and another five to get in position upstairs. That isn’t bad. Red and Tony should have a lot to talk about. He would be in Tony’s room at least a half hour, possibly more. As I say, it may not work out exactly this way, but it could. Now, if you’re willing — ”

  Marty stood up, scratched his head thoughtfully, paced the floor behind his desk for a few minutes, then turned to smile at Cleaver. “O.K. I don’t like the idea of turning the hotel into a shooting academy, but I think it’s my duty as a responsible citizen to assist you every way I possibly can.”

  “Thank you. You won’t regret it.”

  “I hope not. When will you start here?”

  “Tonight. We can’t waste time.” He got to his feet and shook hands with Marty. “Shall I check in with you?”

  “Yes, that would be better. I’ll introduce you to the night manager and tell him what it’s all ab
out. Incidentally, Mr. Cleaver, I know something about that second call of your Red Martin. I was at the St. Francis a little while ago when some policemen tried to trap him there in the telephone section.”

  “Well, say, that’s quite a coincidence. I don’t imagine the trap was a success.”

  “No. It looked as if the bird had flown.”

  “We figured that would happen. Red will never be caught except in a trap of his own making. Oh, by the way, no word of this to Tony Arturo, you understand.”

  “Naturally.” Marty smiled broadly at Cleaver. “You know, this will be the first time I’ve ever had an F.B.I. man working for me. Rather a peculiar switch, in a way.”

  Cleaver laughed. “Don’t be too rough on me, boss. I’ll be seeing you.”

  As soon as Cleaver had gone, Marty dropped back into his chair, crossed his arms behind his head, and cocked his heels up on the desk. There was no longer any doubt that Dotty was going to get even with him through Tony. But what, so far, had she told him? Probably just enough to convince Tony that she knew Red Martin and how to get in touch with him. He doubted that Tony already knew Red Martin’s true identity. If he knew that he would never have wasted even a sum as small as a C note with Mugger Flynn. Yet he was probably convinced that Dotty knew what she was talking about and could put her finger on Red. But why the stalling? Why hadn’t she told Tony at once? There had to be some odd reason for that. Marty shrugged and dismissed it from his mind for the moment. He could think of it later.

  The big thing, now, was to plan Dotty’s execution, and Tony’s. He had to go, as well. It would not be worth the risk to take a chance on what Tony knew or did not know. Besides, Tony would add a note of perfection to the plan. Without him it would be difficult, but with him it would be simple. Marty smiled thinly. After a moment he was laughing. If only Frank Stannard and the F.B.I. knew that they, themselves, had suggested the ways and means and signed the warrants of death.

  Chapter Fourteen