The Paul Cain Omnibus

by Cain, Paul

  I dialed a number.

  Neilan was a short chubby man with a strangely long face, a high bony forehead. He and Frank had been partners in a string of distilleries for almost five years. He said: “When did you get here, Red?”

  “Bella called me up and told me something had happened—I live around the corner.”

  I was sitting near the door that led in to the kitchen. Bella was sitting in the middle of the davenport, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, staring vacantly into the brightness of the heater. Gus was sitting in a straight backed chair in the middle of the room.

  Neilan had been walking around looking at the pictures on the walls. He sat down straddling an arm of the davenport.

  “So you were so drunk you don’t remember?” Neilan was looking at Gus.

  Gus nodded. Bella looked up at him for a moment and nodded a little and then looked back into the fire.

  There was a light tap at the door and it opened and a big man came in quietly and closed the door behind him. He wore glasses and his soft black hat was tilted over the back of his head. I think his name was McNulty, or McNutt—something like that. He said: “Ed’s downstairs with a couple of the boys.”

  “They can wait downstairs.” Neilan turned his head a little and looked at Bella out of the corners of his eyes. “So Gus was so drunk he don’t remember?”

  Gus stood up. He said: “Goddamn it! Pat—I was so drunk I didn’t know any better, but I wasn’t so drunk I don’t know it was me. Lay off Bella—she was in here.”

  “She didn’t say so.”

  Bella said: “I was nearly asleep and I could hear Gus and Frank talking in the kitchen and then they didn’t talk any more. After a while I got up and went out in the kitchen—Frank was like he is now, and Gus was out—with his head on the table.”

  Her chin was in her hands, and her head bobbed up and down. Gus was sitting down again on the edge of the chair.

  Neilan grinned at McNulty. He said: “What do you think, Mac?”

  McNulty went over to Bella and reached down and put one big finger under her chin and jerked her head back.

  “I think she’s a liar,” he said.

  Gus stood up.

  McNulty turned as if that had been what he wanted. He hit Gus very hard in the face, twice.

  Gus fell down and rolled over on his side. He pulled his knees up and moaned a little.

  McNulty took off his coat and folded it carefully and put it on a chair. He went to Gus and kicked him hard in the chest and then kicked his head several times. Gus tried to protect himself with his arms. He didn’t make any more noise but put his arms up and tried to protect himself. He tried to get up once and McNulty kicked him in the stomach and he fell down and lay quietly. In a little while, McNulty stopped kicking him and sat down. He was panting. He took off his hat and took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his face.

  I looked at Neilan. “I called you,” I said, “because I thought you’d give Gus a break… .”

  He said: “You ought to of called the police. They’d be after giving Gus a break, and your lady friend here”—he jerked his head at Bella—“with a length of hose.”

  Bella was leaning back on the davenport with her hands up to her face. She stared at Gus and tried to look at McNulty. McNulty smiled, said: “Sure—why don’t you call a cop? Frankie had everybody from the Chief down on his payroll—they’ll have to go back to working for the city.” He was out of breath, spoke unevenly.

  Bella stood up and started to go towards the door, and Neilan stood up too, and put one hand over her mouth and one on her back. He held her like that for a minute and then he pushed her back down on the davenport.

  McNulty got up then and stooped over and took hold of the back of Gus’ shirt collar and pulled him up a little way.

  McNulty said: “Come on, boy—we’ll get some air.”

  Gus’ shirt collar started to tear and McNulty cupped his other hand around the back of Gus’ neck and jerked him up on his feet. Gus couldn’t stand by himself; McNulty stood there holding him with his arm around his shoulders. Gus’ face was in pretty bad shape.

  McNulty said: “Come on, boy,” again and started guiding Gus towards the door.

  Neilan said: “Wait a minute, Mac.”

  McNulty turned and stared vacantly at Neilan for a minute and then pushed Gus down in a big chair. He sat down on the arm of the chair, took out his handkerchief, and wiped Gus’ face. Neilan went out into the kitchen. He was out there two or three minutes without making any noise, then he snapped off the light and came back. He turned off the lights in the living room too, and it was dark except for the faint yellow light from the heater.

  Neilan went back and sat down at the end of the davenport, out of the light. The light rippled over Bella’s face, and after a while, when my eyes were used to the darkness, I could make out dark shapes where McNulty and Gus sat—and Neilan.

  It was so dark and quiet except for the sharp sound of Gus’ breathing. There wasn’t anything to look at except Bella and she was leaning back with her eyes closed and her face very still.

  It got on my nerves after several minutes and I said: “What’s it all about, Pat?”

  Neilan didn’t answer, so I leaned forward in my chair, but I didn’t get up. I sat there with all my muscles tight.

  Then I heard something moving out in the kitchen. I don’t know whether anybody else heard it, but I know there was a sound out there like something moving across the floor.

  I stood up and I couldn’t speak. I didn’t hear the sound again but I stood there without moving, and then Bella started talking. She talked in a conversational tone, with her head back, her eyes closed:

  “Frank came here to see me. He’s been coming to see me every night for four nights. He brought along a lot of lousy whiskey and got Gus drunk, and he got drunk too. He got Gus drunk once before and tried to sell me an idea. He wouldn’t give up.”

  She stopped talking a moment and the light beat up and down on her face. She was very beautiful then.

  “He made a crack tonight while Gus was in the bathroom about telling Gus about Red and me…”

  She opened her eyes and looked towards me in the darkness a minute, and then closed her eyes and went on: “I was scared. I called Red while they were raising hell in the kitchen and he came over and I let him in. We listened to them for a few minutes from in here in the dark, and then when Frank got to talking about what a great guy Red was, and started getting dirty about it, Red went in there very quickly and killed him. I guess Gus was too far gone to see it or know anything about it.”

  She stopped talking again and it was quiet.

  “Then Red beat it and I stayed in here a while and then I went out like I told you and woke up Gus. He thought I did it, I guess. I called Red again… .”

  Neilan got up and went over and switched on the lights. McNulty got up too and stood there blinking, staring stupidly at Bella.

  I went over and got my hat and coat and put them on. I stood looking at Bella for a while after I had put on my coat. She was still leaning back with her eyes closed. She was one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.

  Neilan opened the door and McNulty and I went out into the hall. It was very cold there after the intense heat of the room. Then Neilan closed the door and the three of us went downstairs.

  There was a small touring car at the curb, with the side curtains on. There were two men whom I had never seen before in the front seat, and another man standing on sidewalk. The engine was running.

  McNulty opened the door and got in the back seat, and then I got in, and then Neilan. There wasn’t anything else to do. I sat between them, and Neilan said: “Let’s go.”

  We went down the street slowly. The man who had been standing on the sidewalk didn’t get into the car; he stood there looking after us. I t
urned around a little and looked at him through the rear window; as we turned the corner, he went on back up the street, the other way.

  When we got out of town a ways we went faster. It was very cold.

  I said: “Hurry up.”

  Neilan turned and grinned at me. I could see his face a little as we passed a street light. He said: “Hurry up—what?”

  “Hurry up.” The cold was beginning to get in to the pit of my stomach, and my legs. I wanted to be able to stand up. I wanted it standing up, if I could.

  Neilan glanced out the rear window. He said: “I think our taillight’s out.”

  The car slowed, stopped. We were pretty well out in the country by that time and the road was dark.

  Neilan said: “See if we’ve got a taillight, Mac.”

  McNulty grunted and reached up and opened the door and heaved himself up into the door. He stooped and put one foot out on the running board, and then Neilan reached in front of me very quickly. There was a gun in his hand and he put it close to McNulty’s back and shot him three times. The explosions were very close together. McNulty’s knees crumpled up and he fell out of the car on his face.

  The car started again and the man who sat next to the driver reached back and slammed the door shut hard. Neilan cleared his throat.

  He said: “Frank’s number has been up a long time. He’s been tipping our big deliveries, South; we haven’t got a truck through for two months.” I could feel the blood getting back into my arms and legs. I wasn’t so cold and I could breathe without pain.

  “McNulty was in it with him. McNulty was in the outfit downstate. We found out about that last night.”

  We rode on for a little while and nobody said anything.

  “If the dame sticks to her beef,” Neilan went on, “the scarcer you are, the better. If she doesn’t, Gus’ll stand it. You can’t do yourself any good around here any more anyway.”

  Pretty soon we stopped at a little interurban station where I could get a car in to the city.

  I had to wait a while. I sat in the station where it was warm, and thought about Bella. After a while the car came.

  Red 71

  Shane pressed the button beneath the neat red 71. Then he leaned close against the building and tilted his head a little and looked up at the thick yellow-black sky. Rain swept in great uneven and diagonal sheets across the dark street, churned the dark puddle at his feet. The streetlight at the corner swung, creaked in the wind.

  Light came suddenly through a slit in the door, the door was opened. Shane went into a narrow heavily carpeted hallway. He took off his dark soft hat, shook it back and forth, handed it to the man who had opened the door.

  He said: “Hi, Nick. How is it?”

  Nick said: “It is very bad weather—and business is very bad.”

  Nick was short, very broad. It was not fat broadness, but muscled, powerful. His shoulders sloped heavily to long curving arms, big white hands. His neck was thick and white and his face was broad and so white that his long black hair looked like a cap. He hung Shane’s hat on one of a long row of numbered pegs, helped him with his coat, hung it beside the hat.

  He stared at Shane reproachfully. “He has been waiting for you a long time,” he said.

  Shane said: “Uh-huh,” absently, went back along the hallway and up a flight of narrow stairs. At the top he turned into another hallway, crossed it diagonally to an open double doorway.

  The room was large, dimly lighted. Perhaps fifteen or eighteen people, mostly in twos or threes, sat at certain of the little round white covered tables. Three more, a woman and two men, stood at the aluminum bar that ran across one corner.

  Shane stood in the doorway a moment, then crossed the room to where Rigas sat waiting for him at a table against the far wall. Several people looked up, nodded or spoke as he passed; he sat down across the table from Rigas, said: “Bacardi,” to the hovering waiter.

  Rigas folded his paper, leaned forward with his elbows on the table and smiled.

  “You are late, my friend.” He put up one hand and rubbed one side of his pale blue jaw.

  Shane nodded slightly. He said: “I’ve been pretty busy.”

  Rigas was Greek. His long rectangular face was deeply lined; his eyes were small, dark, wide set; his mouth was a pale upward-curved gash. He was in dinner clothes.

  He said: “Things are good with you—Yes?”

  Shane shrugged. “Fair.”

  “Things are very bad here,” Rigas picked up his cocktail, sipped it, leaned back. Shane waited.

  “Very bad,” Rigas went on. “They have raised our protection overhead more than fifty per cent.”

  The waiter lifted Shane’s cocktail from the tray with a broad flourish, put it on the table in front of him. Shane looked at it, then up at Rigas, said: “Well… .”

  Rigas was silent. He stared at the tablecloth, with his thin lips stuck out in an expression of deep concentration.

  Shane tasted his cocktail, laughed a little. “You know damned well,” he said, “that I’m not going to put another dime into this place.” He put down his glass and stared morosely at Rigas. “And you know that I can’t do anything about your protection arrangement. That’s your business.”

  Rigas nodded sadly without looking up. “I know—I know.”

  Shane sipped his drink, waited.

  Rigas finally looked up, spoke hesitantly: “Lorain—Lorain is going to get a divorce.”

  Shane smiled, said: “That’s a break.”

  Rigas nodded slowly. “Yes.” He spoke very slowly, deliberately: “Yes—that is a break for all of us.”

  Shane leaned forward, put his elbows on the table, put one hand down slowly, palm up. He stared at Rigas and his face was hard, his eyes were very cold. He said: “You made that kind of a crack once before—remember?”

  Rigas didn’t speak. He gazed wide-eyed, expressionlessly at Shane’s tie.

  “Remember what happened?” Shane went on.

  Rigas didn’t speak, or move. Shane relaxed suddenly. He leaned back, glanced around, smiled faintly.

  “I back this joint,” he said, “because I thought you might make it go. I don’t like you—never have—but I like Lorain, have liked her ever since we were kids together. I thought she was an awful chump when she married you and I told her so.”

  He sipped his cocktail, widened his smile. “She told me what a great guy you were,” he went on, “an’ she stuck to it, even after you’d dropped all your dough, and hers. Then she told me you wanted to take over this place, an’ I came in on it, laid fifteen grand on the line.”

  Rigas moved uncomfortably in his chair, glanced swiftly around the room.

  “Since then,” Shane went on, “I’ve chunked in somewhere around five more… .”

  Rigas interrupted: “We’ve got nearly twelve thousand dollars’ worth of stock.” He made a wide gesture.

  “What for?” Shane curved his mouth to a pleasant sneer. “So you can be knocked over, and keep the enforcement boys in vintage wines for a couple of months.”

  Rigas shrugged elaborately, turned half away. “I cannot talk to you,” he said. “You fly off the handle… .”

  “No.” Shane smiled. “You can talk to me all you like, Charley—and I don’t fly off the handle—and I’m not squawking. But don’t make any more cracks about Lorain and me. Whatever I’ve done for you I’ve done for her—because I like her. Like her. Can you get that through that thick Spick skull of yours? I wouldn’t want her if she was a dime a dozen—an’ I don’t like that raised eyebrow stuff. It sounds like pimp.”

  Rigas’ face turned dull red. His eyes were very sharp and bright. He stood up, spoke very softly, breathlessly, as if it was hard for him to get all the words out: “Let’s go upstairs, Dick.”

  Shane got up and they crossed the room together, went out throug
h the double door.

  On the third floor they crossed an identical hallway, Rigas unlocked a tall gray door and they went into another large room. There were two large round tables, each with a green-shaded droplight over it. There were eight men at one of the tables, seven at the other; Rigas and Shane crossed the room to another tall gray door.

  The stud dealer and two players looked up from the nearest table, one of the players said: “H’ are yah, Charley?” Then Rigas opened the tall door and they went into a little room that was furnished as an office.

  Rigas pressed the light switch, closed the door and stood with his back to it for a moment. His hands were in his coat pockets.

  Shane sat down on the edge of the desk. Rigas crossed to the desk slowly and when he was near Shane he jerked his right hand out of his pocket suddenly and swung a thin-bladed knife up at Shane’s throat.

  Shane moved a little to one side, grabbed Rigas’ arm near the elbow with one open hand; the knife ripped up crosswise across the lapel of his coat. At the same time he brought his right knee up hard against Rigas’ stomach. Rigas grunted and one of his knees gave way and he slumped down slowly, sidewise to the floor. The knife clattered on the glass desk-top.

  As Shane slid off the desk, stood over Rigas, the door opened and a very tall, very spare man came a little way into the room.

  Shane glanced at the man and then he looked down at Rigas and his eyes were almost closed, his mouth was a thin hard line. Rigas groaned and held his hands tight against his stomach, his chin tight against his chest.

  Shane looked up at the tall man, said: “You’d better not let this brother of yours play with knives. He’s liable to put somebody’s eye out.” He spoke with his teeth together.

  The tall man stared blankly at Rigas.

  Shane went past the tall man, to the door, went out and across the big room. All of the men at the tables were looking at him; all of them were very quiet. Two men were standing up at the nearest table.

  Shane went out and closed the door behind him, went swiftly down two flights. He found his hat and coat and put them on. Nick came up from the basement as he was knotting his scarf.