by Jack Usher
“I’ve been thinking about it,” she said evenly. “Are you asking?”
“I’m asking.”
“What about the little girl at the Casa? The piano player?”
“What about her?”
“I hear you’ve been dating her.”
“That’s what I’ve been doing. Dating her.”
Chris Baker wet her lips, looked into his eyes steadily, and said, “All right, Pelchek. We’ll try it.”
“Good.”
“You don’t give much, do you?”
He shrugged, and she took a deep breath.
“I’d like to put on something different. Some perfume and stuff, too.”
“Moment of truth?” His brows rose cynically.
Christine’s eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced up at him. “Why, yes. I guess it is.”
He rose on one elbow, lit a cigarette and looked at his watch. The momentary glow of the match etched the girl’s slender body in dark relief against the white sheet. She lay on her stomach, chin in hands, watching him.
“What time is it?”
“Almost midnight.”
Through the open windows he could see the patio, bathed in silvery moonlight, the reflection of a million desert stars glinting from the polished surface of the pool. Enough of the light filtered into the room to paint the girl’s face and shoulders a translucent ivory.
“You’re not going to let Cal die, are you?” She inched up and let one soft palm rest on his chest.
“Not if I can help it.”
“This is a hell of a place for me to be worrying about it, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.”
“I remember when Cal first came home from Korea. He used to refer to you as ‘a big, stubborn, hunky son of a bitch.’ Are you?”
“Only when it shows,” he said. “He and I didn’t get along very well. Argued a lot.”
She was silent, moving only to take a drag from his cigarette. Letting her head fall to his shoulder, she slowly expelled smoke against his neck.
“Steve?”
“What is it now?”
“It’s been a long time.”
“I could tell. Why me? Stranger in town, and so forth?”
“Maybe. Anyway, no one ever had it so good. Did they?”
“We’re good.” He ground out the cigarette and reached for her.
“Don’t hold me for a minute.” She placed a finger against his lips. “And don’t talk, either,” she said, arching her back so she could look in his face. “I won’t ask you to tell me anything about the case. Only, is there anything I can do? Now?”
“Nothing, Except go see your brother if he’ll let you. When you can help, I’ll let you know.”
“Promise?”
“I said so.”
She let herself slide down slowly, covered his mouth with hers. “Love me again before you go?”
It was a question, and he answered it.
CHAPTER 10
THEY were shadow figures, coming from between the lines of cars in the dark parking lot. They had been waiting for him, and only the faint scuffling of their shoes in the gravel warned him. Four of them. It was a little after two o’clock in the morning.
The man with the chain hit him first, driving him to his knees. A foot caught him in the kidney as he started to rise, the pain and force of the blow forcing a gasp from his lips. Perversely, he didn’t attempt to call out, but again tried to gain his feet. This time the chain bit into the juncture between neck and shoulder and drove him to the ground, head and face striking the graveled surface. Rough hands hauled him to his feet and slammed him against the side of a car, fists thudding into his head and body. Through dazed eyes he caught the glint of metal and, with the last of his waning strength, tried to twist away. A hot pain scared his left side and he dimly heard one of them hiss agitatedly:
“No blade, Chelo! He said no blade!”
The hands loosed him and he grabbed at his side, feeling a quick rush of warm wetness. He tried to focus on his assailants. Only one form emerged through his foggy vision. A slender figure that appeared to be weaving and swaying. He saw an arm draw back, something swinging. The left side of his head exploded.
He didn’t know how long he lay in the parking lot. It was still dark when he raised his face from the dirt and gravel. His left side was on fire and he could feel blood running down the side of his neck. Grasping his left side, he got to his feet and lurched toward the hotel. He gained his cottage, picked up the phone.
“Give me Mary Perrini’s room,” he said thickly.
“I don’t think she—”
“Get me her room, goddammit! This is Pelchek in thirty-six!”
“Yessir.”
He heard her phone ring twice.
“Who is it?”
“Steve.”
“Oh, Steve! I just got in bed. What’s the matter? Your voice sounds—”
“Does that operator ever listen in?” he interrupted.
“I don’t think so. I can tell when the line’s open, and it’s closed now. What’s the—”
“Put something on and come down to my place. Now. And hurry!”
Five minutes later she ran down the walk, dressed in flat sandals, red shorts, and light angora sweater. She took one look at him as he leaned against the doorjamb, bloody and disheveled, then grabbed his arm to steady him.
“Deep?” she asked, peering at his red-stained side.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“After I get you on the bed I’ll call the doctor.”
“No.” He put his hand laboriously in his pocket, pulled out his car keys. “Take me to the hospital. Can you drive?”
“Yes.” She took the keys. “Are you sure, Steve? Hadn’t you better lie down?”
“No. The hospital.”
The biting sting of antiseptic brought him out of it. He tried to raise his head, but a cool hand on his forehead held it down.
“Be quiet, Steven. The doctor is almost through.”
It was Elena. She moved around until her face was in view. She’d been crying. She was in a robe, her long black hair hanging in a single braid over one shoulder. Another girl came in sight, looked down at him. Mary Perrini.
“How bad, kid?” he asked her.
“Nothing, Steve. For a hunky, that is. Guys at home get more bruised at a taffy pull.”
Elena looked at the girl as if she were crazy, and Pelchek smiled painfully. He let his eyes flick back to Mary.
“She should see a wedding at home, huh?”
Elena started to say something when the doctor interrupted. A young man, he finished what he was doing to Pelchek’s side, moved up to the patient’s shoulder.
“Not too bad, Mr. Pelchek. You have a slight concussion from the blow on the head. At least, you should have. Also, a lacerated scalp above the right ear, severe contusions between the neck and left shoulder, and a seven-inch cut, not very deep, in the left side, somewhat below the rib cage.” He looked at Pelchek, eyebrows raised and a small smile on his face. “You’re a mess, fella, but nothing fatal. I did some sewing on your side. You’d better let that rest for a few days. Barring complications, I’m sure you’ll live. It’s a good thing you have a hard skull.”
“Has anyone reported this yet?” Pelchek looked at Elena.
“No, Steven. I told the girl on night duty not to say anything until I could talk to you.”
“Help me sit up,” he said. The girls looked at the doctor, who nodded, and they assisted him to a sitting position.
“Do you have to report it?” he asked the doctor. He fought off momentary dizziness.
“I suppose I could let it go.” The doctor turned to Elena. “Will Wilson keep her mouth shut?”
“Yes, Doctor. She won’t say a word about it. In fact, she hasn’t even started her written report yet.”
“All right, Mr. Pelchek. You weren’t here.”
“Thanks, Doc. Would you let me have a few minutes with M
rs. Baker and Miss Perrini?”
“Certainly. I’ll be in the ward if you need me.”
“They’re beginning to play rough,” Pelchek said when the door had closed behind the doctor.
“Did you recognize any of them?” Elena asked.
“No, I didn’t. But I’m sure they were all Mexicans.”
“Oh, no!” Elena whispered.
“Yeah, I’m sure. One of ’em was called Chelo. Does the name mean anything to you?”
“Chelo? That’s a nickname, Steven. There must be a half-dozen Chelos in Las Milpas.”
“Then that’s no help.” He paused for a moment, glanced at Mary Perrini. “You’d better get back to the hotel, Mary. I don’t want you mixed up in this.”
“Yeah? Well, I haven’t been so homesick since I read where twenty-five Polacks tried to crash the Knights of Columbus’ dance back in Homestead. Whaddya mean, go back to the hotel?” She put a hand on his shoulder and grinned. “Let me be a spy or something.”
“What can you do with her?” He looked at Elena.
“Steven’s right, Mary. It would be bad for you if—”
“Listen, honey,” Mary broke in. “You have plenty to worry about without thinking about me.” She turned to Pelchek and said seriously, “What can I do, Steve? There must be something you need done.”
“All right. One thing. Then you get completely out of it. Okay?”
“Scout’s honor,” she promised.
“Elena, where does Al live?”
“He lives in an apartment in the back end of the pool hall, Steven. At least, I think he does.”
“Good. All right, Mary. I want you to go down there and see him. Tell him what’s happened. Ask him to nose around and see if he can find out who made up the goon squad. And who hired ’em. Elena will tell you how to get there. Okay?”
“Sure. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than go to a poolroom at four o’clock in the morning. Snooker anyone? A little eight-ball? Kelly pool, two bits a cue? Why, I…”
“You’re crazy.” Pelchek shook his head. “Will you do it? It’s important.”
“I’ll do it,” she said. “What else?”
“Nothing. Take the car back, park it, and forget all about this. If anyone asks you, you don’t know a thing.” He looked at her abbreviated costume. “Elena, can you lend her a coat?”
“Yes. I’ll get one from my room.” She started to leave.
“Wait a minute!” Pelchek stopped her. “Did you see your grandfather?”
“Yes, I did.”
“So?”
“He agreed to take you out there, Steven.”
“That isn’t enough, now. Do you think he’ll take me in?”
“Take you in?”
“I’m a sitting duck at the Casa. Besides, I can’t make a move from there without everyone in town knowing about it. It’ll be better if I’m out of circulation until I can move around.”
“He’ll take you,” she said, positively.
“Can you borrow a car again?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. You’re taking me out to your grandfather’s as soon as it gets light.” He looked at his watch. “That should be in about one hour. Go dress now. And don’t forget to bring back something for Mary to wear.”
Elena left the room and Pelchek slid off the table. He picked up the dirty, blood-encrusted shirt from a nearby chair, tried to put it on.
“Here,” Mary said, helping him thread his arms through the sleeves of the torn garment. “How was your date?” she asked him quietly.
“My date?”
“Yes, Steve, With our Miss Baker.”
“Oh. We got along.”
“She got to you, huh?” Mary smiled, head cocked to one side.
“I guess she did.”
“It figured,” she said lightly. “Anyway, I knew it was open season when I saw her pin you at the pool. You were dead.”
“You know something, Mary? I think you’re about the best damned woman I’ve ever come across.”
“Why, thank you, Steve,” she said. “Some day I’ll ask you to testify for—”
She was interrupted by the doctor entering the room. “Who told you to get on your feet?”
“I had to, Doc,” Pelchek replied, leaning against the stainless-steel table. “I need another favor, besides.”
“What is it?”
“I want you to give Mrs. Baker what medication and bandages she’ll need to keep me going until I heal some. Can you do it?”
“I guess so. If you’ll promise me something.”
“What?”
“That you’ll take it easy for at least forty-eight hours.”
“I won’t move a muscle, Doc. Now, what do I owe you?”
“You don’t owe me a thing. The city pays me. Besides, I like what you’re doing for Baker. Get back down, now, until she gets back. She says you’re going for a ride, and I want you on your back until you go.”
“Okay,” Pelchek said. “You’re the doctor.”
When the medical man reached the door he paused. He turned and looked back.
“Whatever it is you’re going to be doing… lots of luck.” He left the room.
“All right, Steve,” Mary said. “Down you go.”
She helped ease him down on the table. When he was flat on his back she bent over and kissed his bruised face carefully.
“This is probably the last time I’ll ever have you in a horizontal position.” She shook her head sadly. “The first, too. Telephone calls and appointments!” She frowned heavily, then clucked.
Elena Baker drove out the highway south, Pelchek riding beside her.
“I saw Chris last night,” he said.
“Mary told me.” She looked straight ahead, hands on the wheel.
“She says she wants to help.”
“It’s a little late, isn’t it?”
“Maybe, but we may need her. I want you to call her when you get back. Tell her what happened. It may stir up something. But don’t tell her where I’m staying,” he said.
“All right, Steven.” The girl turned off the highway, headed down a dirt road leading to a group of distant foothills. “When did you leave her place last night?” she asked.
“Late.”
“How did those men know when you’d be coming back to the Casa?”
“How in hell do I know? They’d probably been waiting for me since dark.” He looked at her quickly. “You figure Chris Baker—”
“I don’t know,” she broke in hotly. “She hasn’t been a friend to Cal or me since we married. Maybe she’s trying to find out something for Allen. I wouldn’t trust—”
“What you say may be true,” he interrupted. “I doubt it, though. There wasn’t time to set it up.”
Elena Baker sniffed.
“All right!” he said sharply. “Maybe I’m wrong. Right now we’re interested in helping your husband, aren’t we?”
“Yes.”
“Then let me worry about how it’s being done,” he said.
“Of course, Steven. I won’t mention it again,” she said.
The rest of the ride was made in silence, the girl paying more and more attention to her driving as the country road entered the hills.
Soon the sagebrush dotting the sun-baked land was of a larger variety than that of the plains below. It grew in profusion among the large boulders that almost filled the long arroyo they had entered. The early morning sun, already hot, stilled the air, only the sound of the car’s engine breaking the desert’s silence.
Elena guided the car over a small rise at the head of the arroyo, expertly avoiding the rough places in the little-cared-for road. She began to slow down.
The road ended at a group of unpainted, weather-beaten structures. They lay at the foot of a larger range rising from the foothills, and were at the beginning of the twenty acres of flatland belonging to Esteban Aguilar.
She pulled up in front of an adobe ranch house, got out and turned
to Pelchek.
“I’ll only be a minute,” she said. She went to the door, opened it, went in.
He looked over the small ranch yard. Saw a chicken house with a fenced run, a dozen occupants already scratching and feeding across the hard ground. There were several old but sturdy-looking outbuildings and a dry watering trough, its seams open from disuse. A wooden lean-to, housing a Ford of Model-A vintage, and a small corral, still intact but empty. Behind it all, land that had been tilled.
Elena came from the house, accompanied by a very old man. A diminutive figure, burnt to a deep brown by years under the baking sun and dressed in a dark woolen shirt and faded blue Levis. He wore the trade-mark of his time and locale—high-heeled, exquisitely tooled boots. He was bareheaded, black hair neatly parted to belie the years attested to by the myriad wrinkles in his face.
Elena was speaking to him in Spanish as they approached the car, changed to English as they arrived.
“Grandfather, this is Steven Pelchek,” she said, one hand on the old man’s arm, the other on the open window sill. “Steven, my grandfather, Esteban Aguilar.”
“It’s an honor, sir.” Pelchek opened the door of the car, swung around and slowly allowed his feet to slide to the ground. He held out his hand, looking directly at the smaller man.
Aguilar met his gaze, steely old eyes holding it momentarily. He took the proffered hand, gesturing with his left arm to include the entire basin and his domain.
“This is not much, boy. Whatever it is, it is yours,” he stated simply. He spoke with no accent. “Help Mr. Pelchek into the house, chiquita.”
The man indicated the vacant side of the booth and Pete Romero slid into the space. Just before dawn, the all-night restaurant was nearly deserted. He waited impassively for the man to speak.
“How dared you disobey my orders?” The man’s face was white with anger, eyes marble-like and fixed, his voice a flat monotone.
“It was too late to call ’em off. I had it all set up before you phoned,” Romero answered sullenly. “Besides, he won’t be poking his nose around for a while.”
“What about the men?”
“Paid off and out of town.”
“How many did you deal with?”
“One. He can’t talk. I can bury him.”
“Where did Pelchek go? Of course, you know they didn’t kill him.”