by Joe Barry
Did Paul ever say anything to you about expecting a lot of money soon?”
A curtain slid shut behind her eyes. The pause before she answered was almost imperceptible. “Why, no. Paul never confided in me very much.”
Rush contemplated beating the truth out of her, then decided that she’d like that. “Okay,” he said, “that’s about all you can tell me now. I may want to call on you again for something.”
Leslie got up and came over to lean against the desk. “Do that,” she said. “Call on me any time. I want you to tell me all about your adventures.” She hesitated and invitation was heavy in her voice. “I like men who do things.”
“I’m sure you do,” Rush said.
“Yes,” she said, “I do.” She leaned forward and her blouse fell away from her full breasts. “Maybe I can think of something you’d like to know.” Rush wondered where an eighteen-year-old girl had learned the degree of sultry suggestion that she put into her voice.
“I’m sure you can,” he said.
Leslie frowned and straightened up. “You’re through with me for now, then?” she asked.
“Yes,” Rush said.
She left then, and Rush watched her through the door and waited until he heard the outer door slam before he buzzed for Gertrude. She came to stand in the doorway, an amused light in her eyes.
“You got it all, I suppose?” Rush asked. “Everything except her tone of voice, sweetheart.” Gertrude grinned irritatingly. “I don’t suppose you want me to add comment when I transcribe it?”
“That won’t be necessary, Toots. If she ever comes up here when you’re alone, pump her. She may know something.”
“She won’t tell me. That’s a babe that hates women.”
“Maybe. She’s a strange wench.”
“You,” said Gertrude, “can say that again.”
“I’m going,” Rush said. “I’ve got a headache and I haven’t had a bite to eat all day. You can blow, too, if you want to. It’s four o’clock and if anybody wants me badly enough they can find me at Barney’s after I eat.”
“Okay, sweetheart. I was going to leave anyway. I got an appointment at the hairdresser’s.”
Rush started to say something about being pushed around by his own hired help but his head throbbed and he felt the walls pressing in on him.
8
With the help of a handful of aspirin before eating and a large brandy after eating, Rush was feeling almost himself as he turned into Barney’s. His watch read seven-thirty.
“Has Merwin been in?” he asked Barney.
“Haven’t seen him all day, Rush,” Barney said. “You looking for him?”
“Yes and no. If he’s through with the job I put him on, I want to see him. Otherwise, no.”
“What’ll you have, Rush?”
The large brandy was pleasantly warm in Rush’s mid-section. “I think I’ll have another brandy, Barney.”
Barney poured his drink and Rush stood at the bar sipping the brandy and thinking of nothing at all. He felt strangely at peace with the world. An odd thing, since he had gone practically no distance toward earning the thousand dollar bills that the elder Germaine had dangled before him. His peace didn’t last. It was broken by a sullen voice at his shoulder.
“I ought to fog you on sight, you twerp,” said Wilmer.
Without turning, Rush spoke to Barney. “Turn on the ventilation, Barney, the place is beginning to stink.”
Barney grinned and said nothing.
Wilmer gritted his teeth. “Nobody ever pushed me around like this morning and lived to tell about it,” he said.
Rush turned to him. “You’ve been reading the wrong books, Wilmer. Just keep quiet and forget you know me and I won’t muss you up.”
Barney heaved a sigh of pure pleasure. This sounded promising. He looked to make sure that a bottle was handy to his right hand, and leaned forward to listen.
Wilmer had gone white, his lips compressed in a thin, bloodless line. “Nobody can talk to me like that.” His hand stole toward his shoulder holster and Barney reached for the bottle. “I’m going to let you have it right now.”
“Put down the bottle, Barney,” Rush said. “I can handle this insect alone.”
Wilmer’s hand moved another inch, and in that second Rush’s hand moved two feet. Palm open, it slapped against Wilmer’s cheek knocking him away from the bar. In the next second Rush had grabbed Wilmer’s right hand, jerking him off balance, and twisted the arm over his shoulder, elbow down, and tugged sharply.
Wilmer looked up from the Boor, a dazed expression on his face. Rush walked over and took his gun away from him.
“Jeez, Rush,” Barney said, “you’re getting faster’n ever with that.”
“He was too easy, Barney. He just thinks he’s tough.” He turned to Wilmer. “Get up, punk.”
Slowly, with murder in his eyes, Wilmer got to his feet and walked over to the bar.
“Look, Wilmer,” Rush said. “Your boss wants me alive. He’ll be very unhappy if you hide in dark alleys and shoot at me. I’ll be unhappy, too. So unhappy, that the next time, I’ll break both your arms.”
“Give me my rod,” Wilmer said.
“Sure,” Rush said. He flipped the catch and extracted the magazine. He pushed back the slide and took out the cartridge in the chamber, tossing the emptied gun back to Wilmer. “There you are. Now run along. I’m tired of you.”
Wilmer took the gun and left. Rush turned back to his brandy which he drained at a gulp.
“The fact is that I’m just tired. Good night, Barney. I’m going to bed.”
“Night, Rush. Watch yourself. That punk will bump you if he can.”
“I’ll be careful, Barney. Good night.”
Rush walked out into the street and looked for a cab. There were none in sight. A walk, he decided, would do him good, so he started off afoot toward his apartment house. He’d find a cab along the way.
He had covered a bare two blocks when footsteps fell in time with his and figures appeared at each shoulder. The pressure on his right side could only be a gun.
“Okay, chum. Take it easy. You’re going for a short ride.”
A large black sedan with the usual drawn curtains drew up beside them and Rush’s escorts urged him toward the door that opened for them. Rush got in with no show of resistance. It would have been foolish to fight back. The odds were too tough. Besides he wanted to find out who wanted him badly enough to snatch him on a downtown Chicago street. In the car a loose black cloth sack was thrown over his head and the motor roared into action. The drive was a long one but from the number of turns they took Rush figured the distance covered was circular rather than in a straight line. After a time he gave up counting the turns to right and to left; there were too many of them. The ride finally ended and Rush was shoved out of the car and led up a long flight of steps to a door, through the door, down a hall which echoed hollowly to their steps, and up another flight of steps. They went through another door into a room so full of smoke that Rush could smell it through the sack over his head.
A vaguely familiar voice spoke.
“Okay, boys, sit him in the chair over there. Break it up, fellows. We got business to attend to.”
Rush heard cards being slapped down on a table top and the rattle of chips being stacked. Steps moved closer and a chair was scraped across the floor.
“Is this the guy you wanted?” asked the voice.
“I can’t tell,” said a second voice and again there was the tug at Rush’s memory. “Take off the sack so I can see.”
Hands fumbled at Rush’s neck and the black cloth slipped over his head. He blinked for a moment in the light and then his eyes focused.
“Hello, Wimpy,” he said.
“My god, Rush Henry!” The exclamation came from a heavy-set man in racetrack clothes standing in the edge of the pool of light shed by the shaded bulb which hung from the ceiling.
“How’s tricks, Wimpy?” Rush asked.
> Wimpy was embarrassed. “Jeez, Rush. I didn’t know it was you this guy wanted to snatch.”
Rush’s eyes searched the gloom outside the ring of light and learned why the second voice had been so familiar. It was the tall man in black, still wearing the string tie.
“Glad to see you again, Mr. Brin. What can I do for you?”
“You know my name?” The tall one stepped closer, astonishment in his eyes.
“We have mutual acquaintances.”
“Yes?”
“I was introduced, quite by accident, to a Mr. Bernard Jago this morning. He mentioned you. An inventor, he called you.”
“Jago? Inventor?” Brin’s astonishment grew.
“Yes. Something about a repeating rifle or air-gun or something.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brin said flatly.
“You don’t know Jago?”
“I know him. I don’t understand about the invention.”
“I didn’t think you would. It was a little dream of Bernard’s, I imagine.” He looked at Wimpy. “What’s on the program, Wimp?”
Wimpy actually blushed. “Well, Rush, uh, it’s like this. This guy here comes to me with a grand and a job he wants done. He wants a guy snatched and brought up here so he can beat some answers out of him. He didn’t say who the guy was and my boys are new, you know, with the draft and all, and they didn’t know you, and a grand is big dough these days, so what the hell, Rush?”
“Yeah, you can’t blame a guy for trying to pick up an honest dollar or two, can you?”
Wimpy beamed. He knew his pal Rush would understand.
“But Wimpy, what now? Who’s going to beat what from me?”
Wimpy was embarrassed all over again.
“Uh, Rush, I—”
Brin took over. His eyes were bleak and suddenly seeing the deadly intent in their depths, Rush realized why so many people feared this man. He no longer looked like a rather odd undertaker, he looked like a cobra coiled to strike. “I’ll take care of Mr. Henry,” he said. He drew a short, ugly blackjack from his pocket. “I’m quite expert with this. A few broken fingers and he will be glad to answer any questions I ask.” He took a step forward and without warning slapped Rush alongside his jaw with the blackjack. “That is just a sample, Henry. You’ll find I’m not—”
He got no further. Wimpy took a step to his side and motioned another man from the shadows. Brin found his arms pinned to his sides.
“Uh uh, Mister,” said Wimpy. “You see, Rush’s a kinda special case with us. He’s done me a couple of favors I needed awful bad. I guess I can’t let you do any bearin’ on Rush.”
Brin shrugged them off and the two men stepped back. He stared at them with a deep hatred that was almost a live thing flaming in his eyes. His voice, when he spoke, was brittle with anger. “I paid for a job to be done. It shall be done. I will not be stopped.”
“Oh, you can have your grand back, Mister. There won’t be no argument there. But Rush got my kid brother off a manslaughter rap and nobody’s going to mess him up while I’m around.” Wimpy, who knew how to sound tough, sounded tough.
“But—“ said Brin.
“No buts about it, Mister. It’s out.”
Rush shook his head and rubbed his jaw. He relieved Wimpy of his problem and his obvious embarrassment.
“It’s okay, Wimpy. Keep your grand. I’ll be glad to answer any questions Mr. Brin has to ask.” He looked at the tall man. “Shoot, Otho, I’m ready.”
Taken aback by Rush’s willingness, Brin hesitated before asking his first question. Then he remembered Rush’s mention of Jago.
“Where did you meet Jago?”
“It’s a long story. Want to hear it?”
Brin nodded.
Rush told him of meeting Hope O’Hara and his consequent search of her hotel room and his discovery by Jago. He kept nothing back.
“What is this story about a gun?”
“Jago told me you had invented an extra special air gun on his dough and then blown with the plans.” Brin laughed shortly. “That sounds like the kind of story Jago would tell. He has a fertile imagination.”
“That’s the truth,” Rush admitted. “What’s your story?”
Brin frowned at him.
“Now don’t take time out to dream up another. fairy tale. I’d like to know what the shooting is actually about.”
“I’m asking questions,” Brin said. “What did Paul Germaine say to you when he visited your office just before he was killed?”
“He wanted protection.”
Brin laughed mirthlessly. “From what?”
“He wouldn’t say. He didn’t have any money to pay me, so I turned him down.”
“Then he hasn’t sold them yet,” said Brin almost to himself.
“Sold what?” Rush asked.
Brin answered with a question. “Why did he come to you if he hadn’t any money to pay you?”
“He said he expected a large amount of money to come in any day.”
“From what?”
“He didn’t say.”
Brin thought for a long time, his face veiled in shadow. He seemed to reach a decision. “Did he mention the word emerald to you?” Brin’s eyes were glued on Rush as he waited for an answer.
“So that’s it,” Rush said.
“What do you mean?”
“So that’s what you were after when you searched my rooms. Sorry I didn’t have any emeralds. But was it necessary to slug me?”
Brin closed up. He had given more information than he had intended.
“This guy slug you, Rush?” asked Wimpy.
“Yeah, but good,” Rush said.
“Why, ther—“ Wimpy came to the balls of his feet and moved toward Brin.
“It’s okay, Wimpy. I got my money’s worth in information.”
Brin cursed briefly under his breath.
“Where’d the emeralds come from, Brin?” .Rush asked.
Brin was silent.
“What was Paul Germaine doing with them?”
Still no answer.
“Who killed young Germaine?”
That stung Brin to words. “I didn’t. I came along after it had happened.”
“You’ll have a helluva time convincing Sam Carnahan of that when I tell him what I know.”
“You wouldn’t—”
“Are you kidding? Of course I would. I’ve got no reason to love you, you elongated snake. You lie to me, you slug me, you tear my rooms to hell and gone and then expect me to protect you from a murder rap that I can hang on you by lifting my little finger.”
“But I didn’t do it, I swear I didn’t.” Brin had again become an almost aimless ministerial old man. “Look, Mr. Henry, I’m an old man. I’m just trying to protect my interest in something that is rightly mine. I have never raised my hand in violence against any man in my life.”
Rush looked significantly at the blackjack he still held in his hand.
Brin flushed. “I just brought that to bluff you. I didn’t intend to strike you so hard. I had to know if you had the emeralds.”
“What emeralds?”
Brin froze up again. “I can’t tell you that,” he said. “I can only tell you they are rightfully mine.”
“You want me to work him over, Rush?” asked Wimpy.
“No, Wimp, that won’t be necessary. I’ve got enough to go on for a while and I don’t think my friend Brin will try any tricks right away. I’ve got enough on him to hang him.”
“Just as you say, Rush. Anything me or the boys can do for you?”
“Yes. You can take me home. I’ve had a long day. I’ve been pushed around more than I’m used to and I want to get some sleep before I start losing my temper.”
“Right,” Wimpy said. “Luke, you and Red take Mr. Henry home and if anything happens to him before he gets there you’ll answer to me.”
“Thanks, Wimp. I’ll see you.”
Rush rose wearily from the chair and started
out of the room. He turned at the door.
“I’d be careful if I were you, Brin. There seem to be some pretty tough people after your emeralds and if they get the idea that you’ve got them I wouldn’t give a nickel for your chances.”
Brin looked at Rush and for a moment black hate flamed in his eyes. Rush shuddered involuntarily as he left the room.
The black car deposited Rush at his doorstep and he forced one leg in front of the other up the steps and into the lobby. The night clerk stopped him as he crossed toward the elevator.
“There’s a note in your box, Mr. Henry.”
“Thanks, Pete.”
He unfolded the slip of paper the clerk handed him. It was from the building superintendent.
Rush:
Your rooms won’t be ready for a couple of days. Take 13A till we get yours fixed up. Forgive an old man’s curiosity, but what in hell happened?
Bill.
9
Sunlight streaming through the open window crept down the wall of Rush’s room as die sun itself rose higher in the morning sky. The bright light hit Rush’s eyes and brought him half awake seconds before the alarm clock on his bedside table completed the job. An arm detached itself from the single sheet that covered him and turned off the alarm with an ease born of long practice. A little later, Rush opened his eyes and found them focused on a familiar patch of white ceiling extending into a corner made by the intersection of two walls. Something tugged at his memory. Then he remembered. Tentatively he put one hand to the back of his head and felt the lump which still swelled that spot. With justifiable care he lifted his head from the pillow and his care was rewarded with only a small throb of pain. He looked around and his eyes widened until he remembered he wasn’t in his own rooms. The color scheme and shape were the same but it lacked the familiar feeling of his own apartment. He wondered if the home feeling would be there when they put it together again.
The sun was warm and he turned his head away from the window to shade his eyes. He let his mind drift over the facts he had stored there. There weren’t many of them and they didn’t make much sense the way he had them fitted together now. It was easy to see that there were some very valuable emeralds floating around somewhere loose. He, however, could find no set of relationships evident that took care of all the characters after these emeralds. Jago, Hope, Wilmer, the sultry Myrna, all seemed lumped together. Brin, obviously, was on his own. But where did Paul Germaine, the younger, enter the picture? What did Leslie know? Because Rush was sure she knew something. He gave up. He knew from experience that these sessions of purely mental deduction never gained him an inch. Always the break came when a stray fact or a stray word, dropped at the right time, set the pieces spinning and let them fall back into place in a design that made sense. He looked at the alarm clock and found that a full half hour had slipped by since it had first rung at eight o’clock. He stretched, threw back the sheet, and slowly, with no jerky motions, raised first his head and then the rest of his lean length from the bed.