by Joe Barry
Germaine studied Rush’s face in the light of his desk lamp.
“Possibly,” he said. “Yes, now that you mention it, it was strange. I thought nothing of it at that time.” He paused. “You have a reason for asking, Henry. What is it?”
“Your son’s friend had somehow managed to bring a pair of valuable emeralds into this country. He knew that he was dying and he was afraid for their safety, so he gave them to your son. The explosion, Mr. Germaine, was no accident. It was purposely set to cover the theft of the emeralds by a group of men who let nothing stand in the way of acquiring something they want. They wanted the emeralds your son had, so he was murdered.”
“Then why not arrest them as a group?”
“That is just what I don’t want to do, Mr. Germaine.”
“In heaven’s name, why? On the face of it, they seem collectively guilty.”
“The situation is a good deal more complicated than that. You see there is more than one group involved, or rather a group and an individual. At this moment it would be impossible to settle actual guilt on any one of them. Arrest them all and the chances are you’ll lose them all.”
Germaine looked at Rush grimly. “I’m paying you to know your business, Henry. I’ll continue to believe that my trust in you is justified. But heaven help you if the guilty one escapes.”
“I think I can guarantee that won’t happen, Mr. Germaine.”
“Good. Now, are you making any progress in the other task I set you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t know?” asked Germaine explosively.
“No. The fact is that I have had to call in help to do the spade-work in that case and I haven’t received my report. However, things are going to have to simmer for a little while on the other front, and I have certain steps in mind that I intend to take this evening in the matter of Leslie.”
“Are you sure it was wise to bring in outside assistance?”
“This is not exactly outside assistance, Mr. Germaine. He is my only operative and I would trust him, have trusted him, with my own life.”
“Again I’ll trust your judgment.”
“Before I leave,” Rush said, “there are several things I’d like to clean up.”
“Yes?” said Germaine.
“First, have you any idea where Paul might have hidden the emeralds?”
Germaine hesitated. Then, “Henry, is there any taint attached to the possession of those Emeralds?”
“Those emeralds,” Rush said, “belong to no one. No, that’s not quite true. They do belong to a group of Indian natives. But to all practical purposes they are anybody’s property. They are as much Paul’s as anyone’s.”
“That relieves my mind. I feared for a moment that some criminal action might be pending against the possessor.”
“Not at all. Now, do you know where Paul might have hidden the emeralds?”
Germaine wrinkled his brow in thought. “I’m continually surprised and sorrowed, Henry, at how little I know about my son. I can only think of the obvious places. His room, a deposit box, some such place.” Rush hesitated. “I seem to spend my visits here searching your house,” he said. “But may I search Paul’s room? I must eliminate every prospect. The possession of those stones would be a tremendous bargaining point.”
“Bargaining point?”
“Yes. The people with whom I’m dealing are without conscience. They would have no compunction against handing over the guilty party if they could go free, with the emeralds. I presume that, since Paul was the last person to have the stones, I have your permission to make such a bargain?”
“I have no desire ever to set eyes on them myself. You may do what you wish with them when you find them.”
“Now, if I could see Paul’s room.”
Germaine rang for Horace and the ancient butler showed Rush to the second-floor door of Paul Germaine’s room.
This was a much different bit of living space than the other room Rush had inspected in the same house. It had an indeterminate character, neither masculine or feminine. But this time Rush was not concerned with auras. He had a job to do and he went at it with systematic care. Searching is one of the first things a detective must learn, and Rush had learned well. In the short half hour he spent in Paul Germaine’s room he exhausted every possible hiding place short of a secret panel, and even that he insured against by a circuit of the walls and floor, tapping for a hollow space. He found absolutely nothing. He hadn’t, in fact, expected to find anything. He had no idea where the younger Germaine had hidden his treasure, but he had a feeling it would be in a less expected place than his own room.
His search completed, Rush left with only a word through the door to Germaine that his labor had been fruitless. Rather than call a cab he walked the distance to the Drive, thinking as he went. He had walked only a matter of steps on the Drive before a cruising cab hove alongside and Rush got in, giving the address of Barney’s.
Rush enjoyed the cool solitude of his back booth at Barney’s, drinking an occasional beer and relaxing from the mental exercise of the past forty-eight hours. It was too late even to be fashionable when he deserted the bar to find dinner. He dawdled over that meal, reading the paper and finding in a half column on page two that the police knew nothing they hadn’t known the afternoon before. It was after ten o’clock when he emerged from the restaurant and gave a cabbie the West Side address of Markio’s.
12
Rush’s taxi had gone some three or four blocks when he remembered something. He tapped on the window.
“Pull up at the next drug store, friend,” he said. “I forgot something.”
The cabbie found a Walgreen store on the next corner and pulled into the curb. “Want I should wait?” he asked.
“No,” said Rush. “This may take some time.” He paid the driver and went into the store. At the counter he changed a ten-dollar bill into quarters and went to the telephone booth. He got long distance and gave a number in Washington, D.C., a number which he knew would answer at any hour of the day or night. The number in itself meant something to long distance, for his call was through in a matter of minutes. A voice at the other end answered tensely.
“Hello.”
“Rush Henry speaking,” said Rush into the receiver. He added a code word and a number. “Is the colonel in?”
“He just stepped in a minute ago. I’ll call him.”
Rush waited a moment or two, then a new voice spoke into his ear.
“Hello, Henry. What’s up?”
“I know I shouldn’t do this, Colonel, since I’m out of business with you any more, but you’re the only source I know for some information that is very important to me.”
“What is it?”
“I want to know if American troops were stationed at a place called Kol Napur in India, and if they underwent an air raid a couple of months ago.”
The colonel was silent for a long moment. “Can you tell me why you want to know?” he asked finally.
“Yes,” said Rush. “It’s a murder involving emeralds found by a man wounded in that raid. He is alleged to have transported them back to the States before he died. They’re loose in Chicago now, if the story is right, and people are getting knocked off for them. I want to stop it.”
The colonel was silent again. Then, “Okay, I’ll check it for you. When do you want it?”
“As soon as possible. A wire will do, with just a yes or no, if the story is possible.”
“Check. Where were the emeralds supposed to come from?”
“They were the eyes of some idol in the village.”
“If you get them, we may want them. That kind of thing causes trouble with the natives. Let me know if you get them.”
“Right. Thanks, Colonel.”
Rush hung up and went back out to the street He caught a cruising cab almost immediately. “Markio’s, in Berwyn,” he said.
The cabbie turned around and looked Rush over. He apparently decided that Rush
knew what he was doing, for he turned around with a shrug of his shoulders and put the car into gear.
The drive lasted some twenty minutes and took them to a side street on which the only light was from a garish neon sign spelling out a name—MARKIO’S. Rush paid the driver and pushed through a door into a deep, narrow, smoky room. Along one side was a bar with patrons standing two deep at its rail. The other side of the room was lined with booths, all filled to brimming. The space between the two walls, save for a postage-stamp-size dance floor at the far end, was covered with tables, also all filled. A five piece band valiantly strove to rise above the din of voices. Neither won. The resultant noise made any kind of normal conversation impossible. Rush stood for a moment in the doorway lighting a cigarette and letting his eyes wander over the massed humanity. He knew he wouldn’t have to look for the man he had come to see. Somewhere in the crowd a pair of eyes would look him over and report to the boss. He waited in the doorway. Scarcely a minute passed before a hand tugged at his sleeve.
“The boss’ll see you in the office,” said a voice in his ear.
He followed the owner of the voice, a thin, overdressed little guy who might have played clarinet in an orchestra. They walked past the long bar to a door at the end of the room. It opened and shut behind Rush, and the noise disappeared with the closing. Rush was in a neatly appointed office that might have done for any executive in any building on Michigan Boulevard. The room was fully soundproofed, and lighted by indirect lamps along the wall. Seated at the leather-covered desk in the middle of the room was a man with a large head, saved from baldness by a thin fringe of hair brushed flat across from temple to temple. It gave the impression of hair painted on an egg. The man looked like a floorwalker. He raised his eyes as Rush came in.
“Been expecting you, Henry. Sit down.” He nodded at a chair. Rush sat down. Markio nodded at a liquor stand. “Drink?” Rush poured an inch into a glass from a bottle of rye. He drank half of it and looked up at his host.
“Merwin was in asking questions. I told him you should come yourself.”
Rush stubbed out his cigarette. “I did,” he said. Markio nodded as though that was only right. “Yes,” he said. “Let’s have it. What’s on your mind?”
“The Germaine girl,” said Rush.
“What about her?”
“Her old man is in a spin. He put me on it to find out what gives.”
“He showed you my letter?”
Rush nodded.
“That’s it,” said Markio.
Rush killed the rest of his drink. “Yeah,” he said. “I expect it is—as far as you personally are concerned. I figured you’d wash it out as too hard to handle. But did everybody else?”
Markio looked at him carefully. “How would I know?” he asked at last.
“You’d know,” said Rush.
Markio grinned. “Yes,” he said, “I’d know.”
“Well,” said Rush.
“What’s it worth?” asked Markio.
This time Rush grinned. It wasn’t a pleasant grin. “That’s a silly question, Markio,” he said. “You’ll tell me for nothing.” He paused and looked straight at the egg-headed man. “Won’t you, Markio?”
Markio met his gaze for a long minute, then his eyes shifted. “Yeah, maybe I will, Henry. You’ve never made me any trouble and I don’t want you to.”
Rush interrupted. “Let’s get this straight, Markio. You know damn well I’ll cause you trouble if you don’t tell me. You know how and why, so don’t try and make it a favor. Just pop. I’m listening.” Markio shrugged his shoulders as though the conversation had become distasteful. “We shouldered her here,” he said. “She dropped in at several places. Got nothing until she hit The Mick’s joint. She may have made a deal there.”
“What’s her pitch?” asked Rush.
“Thrills, she said.” Markio seemed unbelieving. “Wanted to play at gun moll. Wanted no dough, just to go along. She scared me.”
“Anything else?”
“She wanted to know if I ever got shot, or ever killed a man and how it felt. How it felt, my god!”
“Yeah,” said Rush, “my god. When did she show at Big Mick’s?”
“I don’t know. One of the boys mentioned she was in there. Spent a long time with Mick. He bought her a drink afterwards.”
“Okay,” said Rush. “If she shows around here again, give her the brush. I figure maybe the old man would appreciate it.”
“Yeah,” said Markio. “What about her kid brother? I hear he got it in your backyard.”
“Yeah,” said Rush noncommittally. Then a thought struck him. “Markio, have you had any rumble on a pair of emeralds loose in Chicago?”
“A pair of the green? Hot?”
Rush nodded.
Markio shook his head thoughtfully. “No,” he said. “Nothing like that.”
“Okay,” said Rush. He turned at the door. “If you get anything on the Germaine girl I’d like to know, call me.”
Markio nodded and Rush went out through the door, through the mob and into the street. He walked several blocks to a crosstown street and flagged a cab. His watch gave the time as twelve-thirty and he remembered that Hope was coming around for protection. He laughed a little to himself at that as he gave his home address to the cab driver. Big Mick* could wait till the next day.
At the desk Rush asked the night clerk if he had had callers. No one had been in. He went to the new apartment and gingerly opened the door, fearful lest someone had decided to give his present quarters the once over. His fears were groundless—the apartment was clean, and empty. He called the desk clerk and left word to send Hope up if she came. Then he decided to wait in bed. It had been a long day.
Rush smiled a little at the thought of Rush Henry receiving callers in bed. He got into pajamas and wondered a little at his basic motives in regard to Hope. He wasn’t, he decided, feeling at all lecherous. He was too tired. He grinned at that and opened the paper on the bedspread.
13
Rush had finished the front page when a barely audible knock sounded at his door.
“Come in,” he called.
He heard the outer door open and shut, and a moment later the bedroom door edged open. He looked up and did a quick double-take. The face that peered around his bedroom door was not the face he had expected. This face belonged to Leslie Germaine.
“What broad shoulders you have,” she said, and grinned a sickly grin. She shoved the door open with a flourish that sent it swinging around against the wall, and took a step into the room. It was not a very steady step. Rush looked again. She was very high.
“Where in the hell have you been?” asked Rush.
“Visiting friends of yours.” Her voice was a giggle.
“I learned all about you.” She took another swaying step toward the bed. Her foot caught the edge of the rug and she came the rest of the way in a stumbling fall. She landed half on the floor, kneeling and leaning on the bed, her face buried in the covers. Her shoulders shook and for a moment Rush thought she was crying. Then she raised her head, shaking her long hair away from her face. She was laughing a silly, high-pitched laugh.
“I’m tight,” she said.
“Yes,” said Rush, “you’re tight. What in the hell are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk to you.” Her tongue didn’t quite follow directions. Her eyes fought to a focus on Rush’s shoulder. “What hit you there?” she asked. Her finger wavered to point at the scar on Rush’s shoulder.
“A bullet,” Rush said. “Now why don’t you get out of here? This is no place for you in your condition.”
She raised her head which had dropped toward the bed and leered at him. “Why?” she asked and giggled.
Rush could think of no reason that would sound anything but paternal and he didn’t feel paternal, he just felt angry. He frowned down at the top of her head which was again drooping.
“What do you want to talk about?” he asked for want of something be
tter to say.
Her head was on the bed now and she might have been dead for all the life she displayed. He reached down and shoved her shoulder. She shook it angrily and spoke into the covers. “I heard you,” she said in a muffled voice. “I hear y—,” her voice trailed away into a muffled sigh. Her shoulders relaxed and she slumped half on and half off the bed. Rush scowled at her for a moment, then with a disgusted grunt threw back the cover and heaved himself out of bed. A moment before he had been afraid Hope would come while the girl was still there. Now, he wished she were around. This needed a woman’s touch. He picked Leslie up bodily and carried her into the bathroom. He draped her over the edge of the tub and turned on the cold shower. Then he put an arm under her and a hand at her head and held her head under the shower. She hung there limply as the water streamed through her long hair. As far as Rush could see she was just getting wet. The water splashed on her dress and onto the floor. In a matter of moments there was a pool at his feet and he realized that she was kneeling in water.
Rush swore viciously under his breath and pulled her back from the tub. He reached over and turned off the shower, and carried her back to the bed. With a towel he dried her as best he could and went to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom taking out a small bottle marked aromatic spirits of ammonia. He poured a generous slug into the bottom of a glass and added a half inch of water. This he took back to the bedroom.
He put a hand behind Leslie’s head and lifted it from the pillow. Her mouth hung slackly open. He let her head tilt back and poured half of the mixture into her mouth. She gagged, spit, and swallowed half of it. Rush waited, then poured the rest of the ammonia and water into her open mouth. She swallowed most of it before she choked and fought away from his hand. He let her drop back to the bed and stood watching her, a disgusted frown on his face. She was a pretty kid, he thought, with every damn thing in the world she needed. Money, looks, a good figure, he looked again, an excellent figure, and family. She could have led a long and happy life. Instead she had to rub shoulders and other things with another breed of men. As he watched, her shoulders tightened and her stomach knotted in a sudden spasm. Her face worked in a tight grimace and Rush acted quickly. He lifted her from the bed and in the same movement swung her toward the bathroom. He was just in time.