My moustache was coming along, and in another week I decided it would be safe enough to return to San Luis Beach. I was determined to find Brett’s killer, and the more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that Gorman was at the bottom of it.
I didn’t say anything to Veda about what I had in mind. I knew she didn’t want me to go back. I didn’t know what I was going to do with her while I was in San Luis Beach. She couldn’t go with me. That would be asking for trouble. I didn’t want to leave her in this lonely shack. It was a problem, and it had to be solved before I could get after Brett’s killer.
It was on the sixth night of our stay at the shack that it happened. We were sitting in front of the fire, listening to Bob Hope on the radio. Veda was mending a shirt of mine and I was whittling some clothes pegs for her. It was a domestic scene: the kind of scene you’d expect to find in any home. I was laughing at a crack from Hope when I glanced up, and the laugh nipped off as if a hand had caught me around the throat.
Veda looked over her shoulder; a quick movement that froze to stillness.
He stood in the doorway, a sad look in his moist eyes, his nose a little more hooked, his mouth smirking.
“Pretty nice,” he said. “Like home. I thought you’d be up here. I saw her watching me through the store window. I reckoned to give you a surprise.”
“Hello, Max,” I said.
“Does she still walk in her sleep?” he asked, came in and shut the door.
It was then I saw the .45 in his hand.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE KETTLE began to boil and steam came from the spout in a thin and persistent jet. The kettle lid lifted and clicked back, lifted and clicked back again. Veda took the kettle off the stove, then sat back and picked up her sewing again. A muscle twitched in her cheek, pulling her mouth out of shape, but she gave no other sign that she was aware of Max. It was like someone seeing a ghost standing at the foot of the bed, and refusing to admit it is there.
“Better put that knife down,” Max said. “You might cut your-self.”
I hadn’t realized I still had the knife in my hand. I suppose I could have thrown it at him, but I’m not good at that sofa of thing. I dropped the knife on the floor.
“I don’t expect you’re pleased to see me,” Max went on. “Two’s company and three’s a crowd.”
“Yes,” I still found it difficult to breathe evenly.
“I thought there was no harm in looking you up. It’s not as if I was staying long.”
“Well, we are a little cramped for space.”
He eyed Veda and smirked.
“Don’t suppose you mind that. A girl doesn’t seem to get in the way like another man.”
“That’s right,” I said.
“I could do with something to eat. Maybe Miss Rux might put something together. Anything will do. I’m not fussy.”
Veda laid down her sewing, got up and opened the store cupboard. The .45 pointed at the centre of her spine. It was an odd feeling, sitting there, seeing the gun threatening her. If I’d held the knife in my hand now I would have thrown it.
“It’s been a long day,” Max said. “I’ve covered a lot of ground looking for you.”
I didn’t say anything.
He sat down at the table away from us and put the gun on the table within reach of his hand. While Veda cooked bacon, he smoked.
“You two have had some excitement, haven’t you?” he said. He seemed friendly enough, apart from the gun. “They think you’re in Mexico. I thought you were too until I saw Miss Rux. My home’s in Altadena. After you took Gorman’s ring I quit. There didn’t seem much work around so I went home. I live with my old lady and sister.”
“That must be nice for them,” I said.
“We get on. The trouble with my old lady is she drinks too much. It costs a lot to keep her in liquor.”
I couldn’t see much in that for me so I didn’t say anything.
“When I was a kid I used to come out here with my old man,” Max went on. He seemed to like the sound of his voice. “He had a still four, five miles from this one. When I saw Miss Rux I guessed you’d be out here somewhere. It took me a couple of days to find you. You’d be surprised how many stills are hidden around here.”
“Is that right?” I said and shifted in my chair.
His hand hovered over the gun. In spite of the ingratiating smirk he was nervous.
“If you have a couple of eggs to spare, miss, I can use them,” he said to Veda. “And a drink too. Kind of snug here, ain’t it? You two’ve done all right for yourselves. Radio too. That’s useful. I bet you’ve kept abreast with the news. I bet you’ve had many a laugh at the cops. You’ve played it pretty smart.”
Veda broke two eggs into the pan.
“Would it worry you if I got out my cigarettes?” I asked. His hand dropped to the gun.
“I shouldn’t. I’ve seen that trick on the movies. It wouldn’t be safe.”
“Look, let’s not fool around any more. What do you want?”
Veda straightened and looked across at Max. There was a pause. The atmosphere became so taut you could hang a hat on it.
“Well, I reckoned you two would want to keep together,” he said. “It seemed to me you wouldn’t want to be separated. The way I see it is like this: Miss Rux is a nice-looking frail. You two have been alone together for some days. Well, a guy doesn’t whittle clothes pegs all the time when a frail like Miss Rux is around. I reckoned you two wouldn’t be tired of each other so soon.”
“Suppose you cut out that stuff and get to the point.”
“Sure, but I wanted you to know how I figured the thing. You know what the cops are: separate jails for males and females; no thought for lovers or husbands and wives. You know how it is.”
“Keep talking,” I said and there was a snap in my voice that made him grip the gun.
“Well, I read about you collecting twenty-five grand off Brett. That seemed to me to be an awful lot of dough.”
We waited while he smirked. The writing was on the wall now, but I wasn’t going to help him out.
“You see my old lady needs money,” he went on. “She kills a bottle of gin a day. Sort of like medicine to her now. That’s something I haven’t got – money.”
“That’s all right,” I said. “I can stake you if that’s what you want. I’d be glad to. A hundred bucks would buy a lot of gin; more than she could handle.”
He rubbed the tip of his hooked nose with a dirty finger.
“It would, but I wasn’t thinking of a hundred bucks.” He shifted forward on the edge of his chair. “It’s like this. You two want to keep together. You don’t want to be bothered by the cops. No one but me knows you’re up here. It struck me you might want me to keep my mouth shut as well as giving the old lady some gin.”
“If you put it like that I guess you’re right.”
“That’s the way I saw it.” He stifled a nervous giggle. “No one – I don’t give a damn who it is – wants to be tried for murder. It’s a serious thing. I knew a guy who stood trial for murder. He got a good lawyer, and he spent a lot of money trying to convince the jury he didn’t kill the guy. The trial lasted six days. He fought every inch of the way, but they stuck him in the gas chamber in the end. That’s a horrible end. It takes three minutes to choke to death. No one wants to risk that.”
The eggs hissed and spluttered in the boiling fat. It was the only sound in the room for a minute or so.
He went on: “So I reckoned you’d come across in a big way to avoid that kind of trouble.”
“Did you get around to a figure?”
“Yeah – I thought twenty-five grand would be a fair price.” His hand lifted the gun. “Look at it this way—”
“You’re crazy!” I exclaimed, leaning forward to glare at him.
“That’s all the dough we’ve got. How do we get away if we haven’t any dough?”
Again he rubbed the tip of his nose.
“I didn’t
reckon that was my funeral. I kept turning it over in my mind, and I couldn’t see how I could go wrong.” He stubbed out his cigarette and lit another. He didn’t raise his eyes off us for a second. “Of course, I didn’t expect you’d part easily, and I thought you might try a trick or two. So I fixed things up before I left. There’s a note for my old lady telling her where I’ve gone and who I’ve gone to see in case I run into trouble. She may be a rum-dum, but she’s no fool. She’ll know what to do with that note. So don’t let’s have any trouble.”
“You haven’t anything to sell. Suppose I did give you the twenty-five, there’s nothing to stop you turning us in when you’ve got it.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” he said seriously. “I like you. There’d be no sense in double-crossing you. Give me the money and I’ll forget you exist.”
I began to understand how a rat feels when the door of the trap snaps shut.
“No, you wouldn’t. You’re forgetting the thirty grand reward. You wouldn’t pass that up, Otis.”
He gave a little start and looked away. He hadn’t forgotten.
“I’ve got to get back. You’d better part, Jackson. You haven’t any alternative.”
Veda dished up the eggs, flicked the bacon on the plate. She reached for the whisky, poured a liberal shot into a glass.
“Straight or water?” she asked. Her voice was as harsh as emery paper.
“Straight,” he said, watching me. “What do you say, Jackson?”
“Give it to him,” Veda said curtly.
I turned to stare at her. She gave me an awful little smile that just flickered at the comers of her mouth, then she walked across the room with the plate of food in one hand and the whisky in the other.
“Well, all right,” I said as taught as a banjo string. That smile tipped me. She reached the table as I stood up. Max had the gun pointing at her, but as soon as I moved he shifted it to me. That movement gave her the chance. She threw the whisky in his face, dropped the plate and grabbed his gun hand. The gun went off. I crossed the room with two jumps and hit him on the point of his jaw. His head snapped back, and he fell out of the chair. I grabbed up the gun, but the punch had settled him. I forgot him when I looked at Veda. She was leaning against the table, very white, her hand pressed to her side. Blood trickled between her fingers.
“Veda!”
“It’s all right. It’s nothing. Tie him up!”
“Let me look.”
“Tie him up!”
There was a ferocious expression in her eyes that shook me.
“Right,” I said and went through his pockets. He had a .25 in his hip pocket; no money and a flabby wallet I tossed on the table. I took off his belt, twisted his hands behind him and tied them. I tied them so tightly that his flesh bulged over the belt. Then I went to Veda. She had pulled up her sweater and was looking at a shallow furrow along the top of her hip.
“It’s nothing,” she said. “Get me a wet cloth.”
While I washed and strapped the wound, neither of us said anything. I poured her a drink and one for myself.
“That was nervy of you,” I said. “You took a chance, but there was nothing else for it. He wouldn’t have let me get that close.”
“Do you think he left a note for his mother?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s bluffing. I don’t know.”
The muscle twitched in her face.
“We’ll have to find out.”
“What the hell are we going to do with him? It means we’ll have to get out of here, Veda.”
“Never mind that — it’s the note that matters.”
“Yes.”
I went over to him and shook him. It took a little while to bring him round. I had hit him a lot harder than I intended. Finally he began to groan. After a minute or so he opened his eyes. When he saw me bending over him he went the colour of a dirty sheet.
“All right, Max,” I said. “You’ve played your hand. It’s our turn now. Where do you live?”
“I’m not talking!”
“Yes, you are. I don’t want to beat you, but you’re talking. We’ve got to get that note of yours. If we get that we can keep you here for a week or so, then when the heat’s off us we’ll turn you loose.”
“I’m not talking!”
I stood him up and began to hit him with my fists. Every so often I asked him where he lived and he told me to go to hell. He had a lot of pluck, and I didn’t get any fun out of wading into him. He passed out after I’d clipped him a shade too hard, and I drew back, blew on my knuckles and glared down at him in disgust.
Veda stood against the wall, her face empty and as white as chalk.
“You’re wasting time, Floyd.”
I threw water into his face, shook him alive.
“Where do you live?” I got set to sock him again.
He mumbled curses at me.
“Wait!” Veda said.
I drew away from him, turned to look at her. She had snatched up the poker, and as I watched she pushed it into the fire.
“We’re wasting time,” she said, and again that awful little smile flickered at the corners of her mouth.
We stood there staring at the poker until it turned red-hot, then she pulled it out.
“Hold him,” she said.
“Look, Veda . . .”
“Hold him!”
I grabbed Max and he screamed. She came slowly towards him, her lips off her teeth.
His head was rigid with horror. Looking over his shoulder, I had a sudden cold, empty feeling inside me.
“I’ll talk,” he said suddenly, and his knees sagged so I was holding his weight. He nearly pulled me over. “Don’t touch me. It’s the fourth house on the Altadena road on the left as you go in. The house with the white gate. The note is under my pillow.”
She dropped the poker and turned away. I saw a shudder run through her. I shoved him into a chair, snatched up the poker as it began to burn a hole in the wooden floor.
“I’ll go now,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Watch him. Don’t take any chances with him.”
“He’ll be here when you get back. Hurry, Floyd.”
I touched her shoulder, but she shrank away.
“I’ll huffy, kid. Don’t go near him. Just watch him.”
I picked up his .45 and shoved it into my hip pocket, put the .25 on the mantel. As I reached the door, I glanced back. Max was huddled up in his chair, staring at Veda, who stared back at him.
Then I remembered something, came back, opened the store cupboard and took out two bottles of whisky. Max gave a strangled sob, but I went quickly to the door without looking at him.
Outside it was starlight and cold. The moon was only just coming up above the foothills. I stood for a moment, rubbing my aching knuckles. I thought about the expression on Veda’s face. I hadn’t any doubt that she would have burned him as she said she would. The thought sent a chill up my spine. I shrugged it off, and went quickly around the shack to the Buick.
I got on to the Altadena road after twenty minutes fast driving. The clock on the dashboard showed ten-twenty as I drew up outside a house with a white gate. It wasn’t much of a place, but then I didn’t expect a palace. The moonlight lit up the burned patch of garden, the rickety gate and the fence that looked like a giant saw with half its teeth missing. I was scared the gate would fall to pieces if I touched it, so I stepped over it, and walked up the hard mud that made a path to the door. There was a light showing through tattered blinds that covered the downstairs window. I climbed the three wooden steps, fumbled for the bell and rang it.
The smell of garbage and wet clothes drifted from the yard in the rear and made me wrinkle my nose. I thought of Veda alone up there in the hills, and the cringing horror that had been in Max’s face. I thought of the Buick cluttering up the road outside this house. If a prowl car passed they’d know I was in there and they’d surround the place silently and then yell for me to come out. There was nothing I cou
ld do about that. It was one of those things.
Shuffling feet came down the passage, the door opened. I couldn’t see anyone, but guessed by the smell of stale gin that she was there somewhere in the dark.
“Is Max in?”
“Who wants him?” The thick, clogged voice came from a throat like oil from a bottle.
“The name’s Dexter. Are you Mrs. Otis?”
“That’s right.”
“Max told me about you. I understand he’s looking for work. I have something in his line.”
“Well, he ain’t in.”
I tried to see her, but it was too dark. It was an odd feeling to lie to this voice and not see who owned it.
“That’s too bad. I came late hoping he’d be in. When will he be back?”
“I dunno. Maybe soon. I dunno.”
“I’m paying good money. He said if ever I had anything to let him know. Can I wait? I won’t be this way again.”
“I’m going to bed.” There was a surly note in the voice now. “I dunno when he’ll be back.”
“I have a couple of bottles of Scotch in the car. It wouldn’t be hard to pass the time.”
“You have?” The voice became alive. “Well, think of that! You come in. There’s nothing to drink in this damned house. Max’s always promising to bring in a bottle, but he never does. You come in, mister.”
“I’ll get the Scotch.”
I went down the steps, climbed over the gate, collected the two bottles and came back. She had opened the living-room door and light from an oil-lamp filtered into the passage. I walked into a smell of dirt, stale food, cats and unwashed clothes.
Ma Otis stood behind the oil-lamp and stared at me with bright black eyes. She was short and fat and dirty. She had the same hooked nose as Max had, but there the resemblance ended. There was nothing sad about her eyes, although they were moist. A straggle of grey hair fell over one eye and she kept blowing it away. She could have pinned it back without much effort, but I guess she preferred to blow at it.
“Let’s sit down,” I said. “This is an aristocratic liquor. It must be: it says so on the label.”
She giggled at that and licked her lips. Max had called her a rum-dum, and a rum-dum she was. She fetched a couple of dirty glasses and poured herself a drink that would have floated the hat off my head if I had drunk it. She didn’t bother to be polite or make conversation, and as soon as I was sure she had no other interest except to empty the two bottles I kept feeding her the stuff, and waited for her to pass out.
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