by J. T. Edson
Alice and Brad refused the offer of a drink and returned to their car.
‘He’s clean,’ Alice said. ‘Not through any real sense of right and wrong, but because getting involved with Colismides’ bunch would ruin his career. These young intellectuals are all the same once they sniff money and social standing.’
‘It’s called the evils of wealth and position,’ Brad replied cheerfully. ‘They’re the finest cure for intellectualism that I know. Only the long-hairs who got into the movies or television stay that way after they’re rich. To have been persecuted by McCarthy beats talent any time at getting good reviews from the critics. The unsuccessful ones become beatniks and say they’ve opted out, so that nobody will guess that they haven’t made it.’
‘My,’ smiled Alice. ‘Aren’t we the deep thinker today?’
‘I’m not just a pretty face,’ Brad modestly replied.
Alice studied Brad in the rearview mirror and realized how little she knew about her partner’s private life. In the month that they had worked together since the end of the Cord case, she and Brad had seen little of each other socially. After logging off watch, they tended to go their separate ways and mingle with their old circle of friends. She wondered if getting to know Brad better might not prove interesting.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘That closes another lead, unless we can locate the other name on our list.’
Although they found the address given by the newspaper, nothing came of their trip. The man involved had long since left and the owner of the building stated she neither knew nor cared where he had gone.
‘And that,’ Alice said, returning to Unit S.O. 12, ‘is that. What now?’
‘Let’s go in and log off,’ Brad suggested. ‘Then we’ll go shoot in your new gun.’
‘That will please the range supervisor,’ Alice replied.
‘We’ll go down to the Combat Club, I’ve paid my dues and they’ll let us shoot a few there.’
‘I’m on,’ Alice said. ‘And in return, I’ll cook you a meal when we’re through.’
On the indoor range of the Rockabye County Combat Club, Alice tried her hand with the Colt Commander. Though she found the gun kicked hard, she could master it, but knew it required a few adjustments before she dare risk carrying it on duty. The experience with the car had shaken Alice more than she cared to admit and, seeing the need for a more powerful weapon than the Cobra, she decided to master the big automatic.
‘You can get a decent accurizing job done here in Gusher City,’ Brad told her as they drove in his M.G. towards Alice’s apartment. ‘I know the owner, and he’ll give you priority.’
After the meal, Brad and Alice sat in her comfortable apartment and talked for a time. At the door, on leaving, he took her hand in his, squeezing it gently.
‘You’re a good cook, boss lady,’ he said.
‘I like appreciation,’ she replied. ‘We’ll have to do this more often.’
‘Why sure,’ Brad agreed. ‘Goodnight.’
While walking to the elevator, a thought struck Brad and brought a smile to his lips.
‘I wonder if the boss lady would take me before the County Commissioners’ Disciplinary Board if I’d kissed her just now?’
Twelve
Even though Green Valley was not the most quietly-dressed district in the city—fringing the area inhabited by students, artists, musicians and other lovers of culture not noted for their conservative taste in clothes—the man who entered the post office caught the eye. Tall, broad-shouldered, good looking, he wore a two-tone green and white shirt with a hula-hula dancer painted on each side and hung outside a pair of light blue slacks. White tropical shoes, a white fedora worn with an alligator-skin band, and dark glasses finished a charming ensemble of taste and dignity.
‘How much, honey-chile?’ he asked the woman behind the counter, offering her a parcel and handling it with some care.
While weighing the parcel, the woman glanced at its address. A sudden, cold feeling hit her as she read:
‘Miss A. Fayde, Chadwick Building, Shale St., Gusher City.’
Fighting down her fear, the woman gave thought to how she might stall the man long enough to bring in the police. ‘Do it right!’ her mind screamed. ‘Make him suspicious and he might either start shooting or throw this thing at you.’
‘I’m afraid this isn’t wrapped securely enough, sir,’ she said. ‘Er—I’ve a roll of scotch tape here. If you’ll just take the parcel over to that table—’
‘Be a good guy and do it for me, honey-chile,’ the man requested.
‘I’d like to. But it’s against regulations and I’d have trouble with my union if I did. Take the tape and run some around the edges, please.’
‘Sure thing. I wouldn’t want it to come open in the mail.’
No sooner had the man turned, than the clerk whispered her news to the girl sat next to her. Rising, the girl went from behind the counter and flew to the nearest telephone, dialing the number of the police complaints board.
‘R.P. 10, proceed to Green Valley post office,’ said the Cen-Con dispatcher. ‘Observe and follow W.M.A.—’
On went the message, describing the man who handed in the package. In car R.P. 10 the shotgun jotted down the details while the driver headed towards the post office.
‘We shouldn’t have any trouble spotting this one, even down here,’ grinned the shotgun after acknowledging the message.
So smoothly had the wheels turned that the radio patrol car came into sight of the post office just as the gaudily-dressed man emerged. Keeping at a distance, the car followed the man, informing the dispatcher of the route taken.
‘Suspect entering the La Paloma Hotel on Emsdem,’ said the shotgun into the microphone. ‘Do we follow and take him?’
‘Negative. Ensure suspect is staying at hotel and follow if he leaves. Maintain watch and await arrival of deputy sheriff. “Code One?”’
‘“Code One”. Over and out.’
‘Why’d you reckon he dressed so loud, Ben?’ asked the driver.
‘Maybe figures to change into something quieter. That outfit sure caught the eye and’d be all a witness remembered. I’ll check him out. If you hear shooting—’
‘I’ll call the police,’ answered the driver, making his invariable reply to his partner’s warning.
Brad Counter drove alone to answer the call. Perhaps not alone, for a Winchester Model 17 riot gun rode at his side on the passenger seat. While Brad carried his automatic, as a matter of habit, he knew there might be a fight ahead and so followed the old-established peace officer rule of also taking a more suitable pacifier than even his big handgun. Just before the call reached Cen-Con, one of the deputy teams had brought in a young woman found in a cellar and showing signs of recently having undergone an illegal abortion. No other female deputy being available, Alice had gone to handle the questioning of the girl and had not returned when the call from Green Valley came in. Rather than delay his departure, with the risk of losing the suspect, Brad took out his pet riot gun and a box of shells, then, with McCall’s permission, drove alone to the La Paloma Hotel.
‘He’s still inside,’ drawled the R.P.’s shotgun after Brad had identified himself. ‘You made good time.’
‘I came “Code Three” most of the way,’ Brad replied. ‘What’s the score?’
‘Name’s Olliphants—on the register; got his wife with him. We called the house and asked for a policewoman.’
‘She’s coming now,’ Brad said, nodding to where a uniformed policewoman approached on a motor-scooter. ‘What kind of joint is the La Paloma?’
‘Not bad for this part of town. No dollar-a-week flop, and if you wanted romance you’d have to bring your own.’
By that time the policewoman had joined them and the driver had come from a nearby drugstore where he had gone to give the car a legitimate excuse for parking in the vicinity of the hotel. An indignant clerk behind the desk spluttered his objections as a policewoman, two patrolmen
and a blond giant in plain clothing, but carrying a riot gun, entered the building. He started to demand information. What kind of place did they think he ran? Did the La Paloma look like the kind of trap which—
‘The pass key to Olliphants’ room,’ Brad interrupted.
‘I can’t do that!’ objected the clerk, who doubled as day-manager.
‘It’s your door.’
‘Huh?’
‘If we knock, there could be shooting. So we aim to go in without knocking,’ Brad explained. ‘So that means we kick the door open—or use the key.’
After taking one glance at the grim set of Brad’s face and the cold determination showed by the uniformed officers, the clerk reached for and handed over the key. He watched the peace officers enter the elevator, then went into his office to write a stiff letter of complaint to the County Commissioners. With the composing completed, he followed his usual practice of placing the letter in his desk, to leave it until the following morning when he destroyed it.
Guns in hand, the uniformed officers watched Brad insert the pass key and turn it. Having, they assumed, mailed a bomb to Alice Fayde, the man calling himself Olliphants would be likely to resist arrest, given the chance. They did not intend to give him that opportunity.
Praying that Olliphants had not bolted as well as locked the door, Brad turned the key and shoved hard. His prayers received a favorable answer, for the door opened. Lunging through, Brad swung up the riot gun with his right hand, catching its fore-grip in his left and aiming the barrel towards where Olliphants stood stripping off the gaudy shirt.
‘Law here!’ Brad barked. ‘Freeze like that!’
Even had Olliphants contemplated a fight, he could not free himself from the shirt quick enough to make it. Anger and amazement twisted his face and he stood very still. A wise decision, for a riot gun and three revolvers—two with calibers far exceeding .38 Special—lined on him, their owners fanned out so that none blocked another’s line of fire.
‘Hey!’ he yelped. ‘What’s the—’
Before he could say more, a woman burst out of the bedroom. All she wore being a pair of brief black panties and garter belt, her rich, full figure might have been appreciated by the male officers at another time. Skidding to a halt, the woman stared at the newcomers, let out a screech, grabbed with her hands in an attempt to cover her bare bust, and fled back into the bedroom. Keeping out of the line of fire, the policewoman darted after her and closed the door.
‘Say,’ Olliphants drawled, seeming to have recovered his composure. ‘If this’s about that parking ticket I ducked last time I flew in, you boys are doing it the hard way.’
‘Just stay like that,’ Brad ordered. ‘Search him, one of you.’
Making sure that he did not come between the other officers and Olliphants, the shotgun obeyed Brad’s order. Although no weapon showed on the man, he might be carrying a snub-nosed revolver in his pants pocket, using a holster on the lines of the Gaylord 8-Ball pattern.
‘He’s clean,’ the shotgun announced.
‘What’s your name?’ Brad demanded.
‘Olli—Oh hell, what’s the use. It’s Farley, Charles Farley. What’s—’
‘What was in the parcel you tried to mail to Deputy Fayde?’
Olliphants, or Farley, threw a startled look at Brad, then towards the bedroom door from beyond which the brunette’s strident voice yelled to be told what the hell the cops thought they were doing, busting into a respectably married couple’s room.
‘You’ve got the wrong two guys,’ he began. ‘I’ve—’
‘Don’t snow me!’ Brad warned. ‘The postal clerk made you as soon as she saw Alice’s name and address on the parcel.’
Once more the man directed a glance towards the bedroom door.
‘Hold it down a mite, will ya, mac?’ he hissed urgently. ‘I don’t want Myra to hear. Say, you think maybe I sent Alice a bomb?’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Brad. ‘That’s just what we think.’
‘Hey! You’re not kidding. Why in hell would I send Alice a bomb?’
‘That’s what we’re hoping you’ll tell us.’
‘So I know Alice. She’s a nice kid, we dated a few times is all. Only Myra wouldn’t understand—’
‘What’s in the packet?’Brad asked.
, ‘A cuckoo clock. So help me, I’m leveling. Alice wanted one. It got to be a joke between us. She’d say, “I’m cuckoo over cuckoo clocks.” And I’d promise to get her one. So when I got transferred on to European flights, I picked one up in Switzerland. It’s been kicking about my pad for weeks, but when I caught this relief flight to Gusher City, I brought it along. Look, I’ll open up the damned packet for you if you like.’
‘I was just going to suggest it,’ drawled Brad. ‘Can I use your phone?’
‘Feel free. Only can I get dressed?’
Nodding, Brad went to the telephone and dialed the Sheriff’s Office number. After a short pause, Alice answered at the other end.
‘Do you know a man called Charles Farley?’ Brad asked.
‘Tell her Chuck, the fly-boy,’ Farley put in.
‘Yeah, that’s him, Chuck,’ Brad said. ‘Describe him.’ While listening to Alice’s description, he checked it against the now-grinning man. ‘It fits. Did you ever tell him you’d like a cuckoo clock?’
‘Cuck—!’ Alice gasped. ‘Yes, I did—Oh no! You don’t mean—’
‘I sure do,’ grinned Brad. ‘Now I hope we can make it to the post office before the Bomb Squad start work. If not, you’re likely to have a mightily well-oiled cuckoo clock.’
The brunette appeared at the bedroom door as Brad hung up. Indignation showed on her face and she wore the white blouse, uniform skirt, tunic and hat of a major airline’s hostess.
‘All right, Chuck,’ she shrilled. ‘If this’s about those watches—’
‘Myra baby!’ Farley yelled back. ‘Just for once in your dog-blasted life shut your lovely little yapper.’
‘Who do you think you’re talking to, Chuck Farley!’ Myra screeched. ‘All you pilots—’
‘For Pete’s sake let’s get out of here,’ moaned Farley. ‘Let’s de-fuse that bomb.’
‘Bomb?’ squawked Myra. ‘What—Where—?’
‘I’ll see you at the field,’ Farley promised, taking up a uniform shirt. ‘Do I need an escort into the bedroom so’s I can change my pants?’
While Farley changed into his uniform, Brad called the post office and asked the Bomb Squad to hold up operations until he arrived. A short time after, covered by three handguns—although he never knew of it—Farley opened the parcel and proved it contained nothing more than a cuckoo clock with conventional, harmless, works. He might have showed annoyance at the law’s actions, but decided it would be unwise to do so as this might interest them in Myra’s comment about watches.
After seeing Farley in the R.P. car and headed to the airport, Brad thanked the Bomb Squad men and apologized for turning them out on a wild-goose chase.
‘Now me,’ said one of the bomb disposal experts, ‘I’d sooner turn out a dozen times on false alarms than miss one and have it explode in somebody’s face.’
‘Which same, nobody ever got hurt on a false alarm,’ commented his partner and started to gather up the equipment.
On returning to the Sheriff’s Office, Brad found a subdued-looking Alice alone in the squad room. She listened to his story of the incident and nodded.
‘That’s just like Chuck,’ she said.
‘He’s too fat, and, with the clothes he wears, must be color-blind,’ Brad grinned.
Suddenly Alice swung to face Brad. ‘I only knew him for a short time. We dated when he came in on a flight and I happened to be off watch. It never went anywhere, and it’s all over as far as I’m concerned.’
‘I should think so, too. He’s not your type at all.’
‘Oh?’ Alice said. ‘And what might my type be?’
‘I don’t know,’ Brad admitted. ‘But it’s going
to be interesting trying to find out.’
‘And what’s that mean?’ asked Alice.
‘Not on the tax-payers’ time, boss lady. But, happen that invitation to supper’s still open, I’ll be around real soon to take you up on it.’
‘It’s open,’ Alice assured him.
‘There’s one thing, though,’ Brad drawled, taking her hand and gently squeezing it. ‘If that damned clock’s anywhere in sight when I come, I’ll use it to shoot in your Commander.’
Over the communicating door between the squad room and Watch Commander’s office hung the hot-shot speaker, used to relay messages of general importance around the building instead of taking the time necessary to pick up a telephone and select the correct extension number. The hot-shot network could be operated through the building as a whole, or relayed to the department concerned. In the interests of Jack Tragg’s plan, the message which boomed out of the speaker came only to the Sheriff’s Office.
‘Deputies Fayde and Counter. Investigate report of member of Colismides’ gang seen entering Elite Supermarket on Trail Street in Evans Hill Division.’
Thirteen
‘Boy Scouts yet!’ growled Brad, cutting off the red light and siren as they approached Trail Street, on the edge of the city.
‘Humiliating, isn’t it,’ Alice replied with a grin.
It had been a boy scout who called the complaints board and claimed to have seen a member of the Colismides’ gang; this did not prevent the deputies being sent to check out the report. Without waiting for further details, Alice and Brad left the Office and rode the elevator to the ground floor. Collecting their car from the parking lot, they set off for Trail Street and Alice used the radio to learn the full facts of their mission.
Although her idea had been to try to trail the man, should he be one of the gang, to his hideout, Alice received different orders from Jack Tragg. Any tail job was risky, with the one being followed likely to see those after him and then lose them or make a fight. Jack elected to work on the principle of a thief in the hand being worth a whole bunch of undetected mobsters. So he told his deputies to arrest the man and bring him in for questioning. Other units stood by in the vicinity ready to lend a hand, but Alice and Brad were to move in and make the arrest. If Jack felt any qualms about sending a woman on such a mission, he hid them. Alice and Brad worked as a team, knew the risks and accepted them. Part of Jack’s plan depended on their goading the Colismides’ gang into moving against them. If the man proved to be one of the gang, his arrest—or death resisting it—would be a further twisting of the needle already thrust home by the scornful declaration during the television interview.