Fast One

by Fast One (retail) (epub)

  Kells said: “Let's go over and see how Faber is making out.”

  Borg climbed back into the car and they went on up Franklin to La Brea and down La Brea to Fountain. At the corner of Fountain and Harper they parked under a big pepper tree.

  Kells turned around and spoke to Granquist: “You take the car—you can drive it, can't you?—and go down to the Ambassador and wait for us.” He reached into his pocket, fished out a key. “Go up to my room and pack all the stuff that isn't already packed. Call up the Santa Fe and tell 'em to send the reservations there. If we get everything cleaned up tonight we'll drive down to San Bernardino and lay low tomorrow and get the Chief out of there tomorrow night.”

  Kells and Borg got out of the car and Granquist climbed over into the front seat. She said, “Be careful,” without looking at Kells. She shifted gears and let the clutch in a little way and the car moved ahead.

  Kells said: “Beery'll be calling in a little while. Tell him to come up to the hotel as soon as he can.”

  Granquist nodded without turning and the car moved ahead swiftly.

  Kells and Borg crossed to the west side of Harper and walked slowly up toward Sunset Boulevard. Kells' limp was pronounced.

  Borg asked: “How is it?” He bobbed his head at Kells' leg.

  “All right.”

  They went slowly and without speaking up Harper, and a little way below the Villa Dora, Faber stuck his head out of Borg's car. They went over to it and Kells got into the tonneau and sat down; Borg stood outside, leaned on the front door.

  Faber said: “Nothing yet.”

  Kells sat for several minutes staring absently at a long scratch on the back of the front seat. Then he said: “Let's go in and see what we can find.” He leaned forward.

  Faber lifted the flap of the right side pocket, slipped a black Luger out onto the seat beside him. He turned and looked at Kells and nodded at the gun. Kells reached over and took the gun and stuck it into the waistband of his trousers, pulled the point of his vest down over it.

  “We're going in to try to find a hundred and fifteen grand in cash,” he said. “I don't know who's got it—we'll have to try the mailboxes and see if we can get a lead.”

  Borg said: “We probably won't.”

  Kells opened the door and started to get out.

  “Why don't you wait here and I'll see if I can find anything?” Borg took a light-colored cigar out of his outer breast pocket and bit off the end.

  Kells looked at him a moment sleepily, nodded, sat down.

  Borg went up the street and disappeared into the Villa Dora. He was back in a few minutes with a soiled envelope on which he had scrawled the names of the occupants.

  Kells took it, looked at it, asked: “Are you sure this is all?”

  “Yeah.” Borg nodded. “It's a big joint, but I guess the apartments are big too—there are only twelve mailboxes.”

  Kells studied the names. Then he said: “MacAlmon— that's Bellmann's silksock ward heeler. I thought he lived in Beverly Hills.” He stared at the envelope. “That'd be a tricky piece of business—if MacAlmon was go-between on the white stuff. I can figure his tie-up with Max Hesse—if Hesse is really the buyer—but how the hell would Crotti get to him?”

  Faber looked interested at the mention of Crotti's name. He said: “Maybe this would be more fun for me if I knew what it was all about.”

  Borg said: “Crotti's delivering a load of C, and the hundred and fifteen we want to locate is what somebody up there”—he jerked his head toward the apartment house— “has got to pay for it with.”

  “Oh.” Faber turned to Kells. “Count me out—I don't want any part of Crotti.”

  Kells smiled slowly. He said: “Okay.”

  Faber started to get out of the car and then he looked at Kells' hands; Kells had slipped the Luger out of his waistband, was holding it loosely on his lap.

  Borg said: “Aw, for God's sake, cut it out.” He looked from Kells to Faber.

  Kells was smiling faintly at Faber. He said very seriously: “Your cut on this lick is ten grand. You've got one coming now—an' you can have it, but you'll have to stick around until this is over.” He put his hand into his pocket and slid out a roll of bills, pulled one off and held it toward Faber.

  Faber looked at it a little while, then he grinned sourly, said: “Well—if I've got to stay I might as well work.” He took the bill, folded it carefully and put it into his watch pocket. “Deal me in—ten grand'll buy a lot of flowers.”

  “Me—I want to be cremated.” Borg was staring soberly into space. “No flowers, but plenty of music.” He glanced at Kells. “You know—Wagner.”

  Kells said: “Let's go and see if Mister MacAlmon is in.”

  He and Faber got out of the car and they all went up the street and into the Villa Dora.

  * * * * *

  MISTER MACALMON WAS in. He stood in the middle of his high-ceilinged living room with his hands in the air.

  Kells said: “I'm sorry about this. I haven't anything against you or Hesse—if Hesse is in with you? But I've got plenty against Crotti and plenty against your whole bloody combination. I've been double-crossed to death. I'm goddamned tired of it—an' I need the dough.”

  MacAlmon was almost as tall as Kells. His thick brown hair was combed straight back from a high narrow forehead, and his eyes were dark, sharp.

  He said: “This is plain robbery. How far do you think you're going to get with it?”

  “Don't be silly.” Kells looked at the stack of currency on the table. “I'll have the federal narcotic squad on their way out here in two minutes—and I'll see that you're here when they get here. Then all they'll have to do is wait for the stuff to come in. When you're pinched on a dope deal that's this big, see who you can get to listen to a squawk about money.”

  Borg was leaning against the outer door spinning the blunt revolver around his forefinger. Faber had waited outside.

  Kells went to the telephone on a low round table, picked it up. “I've never called 'copper' on anybody in my life,” he said. “But here it is....” He spun the dial.

  MacAlmon put his hand down. He said: “Wait a minute.” He sat down in a big chair and leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. He looked at Kells and his face was flushed and he tried very hard to smile. “Wait a minute.”

  Kells said into the telephone: “Information—what's the number of the Federal Building?” He waited a moment, said, “Thank you,” pressed the receiver down with his thumb.

  MacAlmon said: “How would you like to make twenty-five more?” He inclined his head toward the money on the table.

  “This is enough.” Kells shook his head. “All I want is a fair price for the time I've put in. This is it.”

  MacAlmon leaned back in the chair. “The stuff that's being-delivered here this afternoon is worth exactly twice what's being paid for it, to me—my people,” he said. “I don't care who gets the money—if you'll hold off until the transfer has been made and the stuff is in my possession I'll give you a twenty-five grand bonus.”

  Kells said: “No.”

  Someone knocked at the door.

  Borg pressed his lips together and let his eyelids droop, shook his head sadly. He held the blunt, black revolver loosely in his hand and looked at Kells.

  Kells framed the word, “Faber,” with his lips. Borg kept on shaking his head. Kells took the Luger out of his belt and crossed the room and stood close to the wall; he nodded slightly to Borg.

  Crotti and two other men came in. One of the men was carrying a big pigskin kitbag; one carried two. Crotti looked at MacAlmon and then he turned his head and looked at Borg. He hadn't seen Kells. The man with one bag put it down on the floor, straightened. Borg closed the door. Kells said: “Hello.”

  The man who had been carrying one bag took one step sideways. At the same time he jerked an automatic out of a shoulder holster, sank to one knee and swung the automatic up toward Borg. Borg's gun roared twice.

 
Crotti had taken two or three steps forward. His head was turned toward Kells and his black wide-set eyes were big, his thick red mouth hung a little open.

  The man with two bags still stood just inside the door. His small face was entirely expressionless; he bent his knees slowly and put down the bags. The other man looked up at Borg and his face was soft and childlike and surprised; then he toppled over on his side.

  MacAlmon was standing up. Kells moved toward Crotti. Borg was staring at Crotti: he moved suddenly forward, very swiftly for a fat man, and took the revolver barrel in his left hand and swung the gun back and brought it down hard on the back of Crotti's head. Crotti was still looking at Kells. His eyes went dull and he fell down very hard.

  The man with two bags had turned and put his hand on the doorknob. Kells said, “Hey,” and the man turned and stood with his back against the door.

  Kells went to the door swiftly and reached past the man and turned the key in the lock and took it out and put it in his pocket. He went back to the table and put down the Luger, scooped the money up and stuffed it into his pockets. He glanced at MacAlmon, indicated the three kitbags with his eyes.

  “Now you've got it. What are you going to do with it?”

  MacAlmon was staring down at Crotti. Borg was watching the man at the door. Kells said: “We're off!”

  Borg went to the man at the door and patted his pockets, felt under his arms.

  They went out through the kitchen, out through the service entrance into the hall. They heard someone pounding at the front door as they went out. They went down the hall, down the back stairs and out a side door to a small patio. At the street side of the patio Borg stood on a bench and looked over the wall. He shook his head and stepped down, said: “Faber's gone.”

  Kells said: “Maybe we can get through to the next street.”

  They went to the other end of the patio and through a gate to a kind of alleyway that led down to Fountain. They went down the alleyway and turned west on Fountain. They went into a drugstore on the corner and Kells drank a Coca-Cola while Borg called a cab.

  While they were waiting for the cab Kells bought some aspirin, swallowed two tablets.

  Borg said: “That's just a habit. That junk don't do you no good.”

  Kells nodded absently.

  In a little while the cab came along.

  * * * * *

  KELLS AND GRANQUIST and Beery, and Borg sat in Kells' room at the Ambassador.

  “Here's the laugh of the season...” Beery tilted his chair back against the wall. “The apartment at the Miramar was in Fenner's name. We had the maid service cut out—none of the help ever saw you there...”

  Kells finished his drink, put the glass on a table.

  Beery went on like a headline: “Fenner is being sought for questioning in connection with the Woodward murder.”

  Borg chuckled.

  “And there's a warrant out, for him for Bellmann's shooting on the strength of the confession they found on Woodward.” Beery tilted his chair forward, reached for his glass. “The Woodward one is being blurbed as 'The Through the Window Murder.'”

  Kells asked: “Who found the body?”

  “Some glass from the window fell down into the driveway and somebody went up to find out who was carrying on.”

  Granquist said: “There must be something there they can trace to us.” She didn't look very happy.

  Kells glanced at her, grinned at Beery. “Miss Pollyanna G will now recite—”

  She interrupted him: “Let's go, Gerry—please...” She stood up.

  Kells said: “Buy us all a drink, baby.”

  He went on to Beery: “They'll probably trace us through Doc Janis—or telephone calls—or something.”

  Beery shook his head. “They'll be tickled to death to hang the whole thing on Fenner.”

  “Do you think they'll be so tickled they'll drop the case against me entirely?” Granquist turned from the table, came toward them with three tall glasses between her hands.

  Kells said: “Shep and I will find out about that in about a half hour.”

  “And we'll find out what happened at MacAlmon's after you left.” Beery stood up and took his drink from Granquist.

  Someone knocked at the door.

  Granquist froze, with a glass held out toward Borg; Beery opened the door and a porter came in.

  He smiled, nodded to Kells. “You want your luggage to go down sir?”

  Kells said: “Yes. The trunk's to go on the Chief tomorrow night. Put the other stuff where we can load it into a car.”

  The porter said: “Yes, sir.” He tilted the trunk and dragged it out through the door. Beery went back and sat down.

  Borg had taken his drink from Granquist. He said: “What I want to know is how the hell am I going to get my automobile.”

  Kells turned from the desk. “Will you please stop wailing about that wreck?” he said. He held out a singly folded sheaf of bills and Borg reached up and took it.

  Kells went back to his chair, sat down and tossed another sheaf of bills in Beery's lap.

  Beery looked down at it a moment, and then he picked it up and stuck it in his pocket, said: “Thanks, Gerry.”

  Granquist gave Kells one of the tall glasses. “Stirrup cup.”

  They all drank.

  The porter came back into the room and loaded himself down with hand luggage, went out.

  Kells said: “We're all in a swell spot. The baby here”—he nodded toward Granquist—“is still wanted for Bellmann's murder—maybe. Shep and I have got to go down and okay our signatures on Fenner's confession—and maybe they'll want to talk to me about Woodward, or what happened at MacAlmon's, and if there's been any squawk from MacAlmon's they'll be looking for Fat.” He grinned at Borg.

  Beery took a long envelope out of his inside coat pocket, turned it over several times on his lap. “If this doesn't square any beef they can figure,” he said, “I'm a watchmaker.”

  The porter came back into the room for the last of the hand luggage. They all finished their drinks and went out to the elevator, down to the cab stand.

  They took two cabs. Kells and Beery got into the first one; Granquist and Borg got into another, and all the hand luggage was put in with them. Kells told the driver of the second cab to keep about a half-block behind them when they stopped downtown.

  Then he went back to the other cab and got in with Beery and said: “Police Station.”

  * * * * *

  BEERY SIGNED THE affidavit and pushed it across the desk to Kells.

  Captain Larson blew his nose. He said: “You understand you both will be witnesses for the state when we get Fenner?”

  Kells nodded.

  “An' this Granquist girl—she's a material witness too.” The captain widened his watery blue eyes at Beery, leaned far back in his swivel chair.

  Kells read the affidavit carefully, signed.

  Larson said: “What do you know about the Woodward business?”

  “Nothing.” Kells put his elbow on the desk, his chin in his hand, stared at Larson expressionlessly. “I lost Fenner's confession shortly after it was signed—before I could use it. Woodward evidently got hold of it someway and was trying to peddle it back to Fenner.”

  “If Fenner was in his place at the Miramar when Woodward was shot, how come he left the confession there?” Larson was looking out the window, spoke as if to himself.

  Kells shook his head slowly.

  Larson said: “I suppose you know you're tied up with all this enough for me to hold you.” He said it very quietly, kept looking out the window.

  Kells smiled a little, was silent.

  Beery leaned across the desk. “Fenner killed Bellmann,” he said. “That's a swell break for the administration. It'd be even, a better break if all the dirt on Bellmann that the Coast Guardian published was proven to be fake—wouldn't it?”

  Larson turned from the window. He took a big handkerchief out of his pocket, blew his nose violently, nodded
.

  Beery took the long envelope out of his pocket and put it on the desk and shoved it slowly across to Larson.

  “Here are the originals of the photographs and a couple of letters. You can burn 'em up and then challenge the Coast Guardian people to produce—or you can have 'em doctored so they'll look like phoneys.”

  Larson looked down at the envelope. He asked: “Who are the Coast Guardian people?”

  Kells smiled, said: “Me—I'm them.”

  Larson slit the envelope, glanced at its contents. Then he put the envelope in the top drawer of his desk and stood up; Kells and Beery stood up, too. Larson reached across the desk and shook hands with them. They went out of the office, downstairs.

  Kells said: “It looks like MacAlmon hasn't squawked— maybe he got away with the junk after all.”

  They passed the Reporters' Room and Beery said: “Wait a minute—maybe I can find out.” He went in and telephoned and came out, shook his head. “Nothing yet.”

  Their cab was across the street. Kells looked up First Street to where the second cab had been parked on the other side of Hill Street. It had gone. He stood there a moment looking up First, then he said, “Come on,” and crossed the street, asked the driver: “What happened to the other cab?”

  The driver shook his head. “I don't know. It was there a minute ago an' then I looked up an' it was gone.”

  Kells got into the cab, stared through the open door at Beery. His face was hard and white. “We were going to an auto-rental joint over on Los Angeles Street and hire a car and driver to take us down to San Bernardino. But she didn't know the address—they couldn't have gone over there.”

  Beery said: “Maybe they were in a 'no parking' zone and had to go around the block.”

  A short gray-haired man came out on the steps of the Police Station and called across to Beery: “Telephone, Shep—says it's important.”

  Beery ran across the street and Kells got out of the cab and followed as fast as he could. That wasn't very fast; his leg was hurting pretty badly. When he went into the Reporters' Room, Beery was standing at a telephone, jiggling the hook up and down savagely, yelling at the operator to trace the call. Then he said: “All right—hurry it—this is the Police Station,” hung up and looked at Kells.