by Joe Barry
“When will I see you, Rush?” asked Carnahan.
“When I get something for you, Sam. It may be tomorrow, it may be a couple of days yet. But as soon as I’m ready, I’ll call you and we’ll knock it over.”
“Make it fast if you can. The heat from the City Hall is getting terrific. That’s what had Bryant on his ear.”
“It’ll be as fast as I can make it.”
Barney’s was cool when Rush returned to the dimness of a booth. He ordered ham on rye with his beer and sat deep in thought as he ate. He was so immersed in introspection that it was seconds before he realized that the seat opposite him was no longer vacant.
“That’s a neat trick, chum,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”
Otho Brin regarded him from hollow eyes. His voice, when he spoke, was funereal as always.
“There are several things I wish to discuss with you,” he said.
“This must be my day to discuss things with people,” said Rush. “Go right ahead and discuss. You won’t mind my finishing my sandwich while you’re at it, I hope.”
“Not at all. Finish your meal.”
“This is not a meal. This is a sandwich, but don’t let that bother you, go right ahead.”
“I should like to make a pact with you, Mr. Henry.”
“So,” said Rush around a mouthful of ham.
“In all my life I have never felt it necessary to call upon another for help. In this particular case too many complications have arisen. The stakes are too large to risk them because I dislike working in partnership. There is enough involved to satisfy two people. Hence, I ask you to share and share alike with me.”
“Share what?” asked Rush.
Brin stared at him in surprise.
“The emeralds, of course.”
Rush finished his sandwich and wiped his hands on a paper napkin. He took a long drink of beer before he answered.
“I assume there is nothing illegal in your suggestion,” he said.
Brin looked at him coldly. “Of course not,” he said. “My hands are clean. No man can accuse me of any crime.”
“That’s strange,” said Rush. “In these parts we have always had the archaic idea that murder is illegal. It says so in the laws.”
“What has murder to do with me?” asked Brin in a tight voice.
“Now you’re asking my questions,” said Rush. “You tell me. What has murder to do with you?”
“Nothing.” He repeated, “My hands are clean.”
“You said that,” Rush said. “I don’t care about your hands. What I’m interested in is who killed Paul Germaine. You were within fifty feet of his body when it was found, by your own admission. You had opportunity. You had motive. You are as neat a fall guy for that killing as I ever saw. All I have to do is point a finger and they’ll burn you to a crisp.”
Brin seemed to grow larger in his seat. He stretched to his full length and peered down at Rush.
“Those are dangerous words, my friend.” His voice was deep and sonorous with menace heavy in every word. “I am Otho Brin. I fear no man. I make my own laws. My mission requires the emeralds. Let no man stand in my way. This I say to you who fly in the face of my destiny.”
Rush eyed him quizzically.
“Calm down, Otho,” he said. “Nobody’s putting the arm on you yet. Sit still and tell me some things.” Brin sank back in the booth, breathing heavily. “What is it you wish to know?” he asked. His eyes were bottomless pits as he looked at Rush. Rush felt chilled as he looked into them. He shook himself.
“What you were doing at the mouth of that alley when Germaine was killed?”
“I was waiting for Germaine. He had promised to meet me there.”
“He promised to meet you? How in hell did you get in touch with him?” Rush was honestly surprised. It was Otho’s turn to be surprised.
“I called him up. I was following Miss O’Hara and saw her strike up an acquaintance with young Germaine. I asked who he was, a bartender knew. I called him up and made an appointment.”
“As simple as that,” said Rush wonderingly. “Jago could take a leaf from your book. Was he willing to meet you?”
“He was anxious to meet me. I felt that he was in over his head and welcomed any outside assistance in disposing of the gems.”
“Don’t wear yourself out pounding your own back,” said Rush. “He didn’t trust you completely. He met me in my office fifteen minutes before his appointment with you and asked for protection.”
Brin nodded approval. “That was wise. I should have done the same thing in his situation. He didn’t know me. But how did he get killed if you were protecting him?”
“I wasn’t protecting him,” said Rush. “He had no money and he wouldn’t tell me his name. He just walked out and met the wrong guy in the alley.” A thought struck him. “How did he get in that alley?”
“Someone must have called to him.”
“It must have been someone he knew. In the state he was in he wouldn’t have gone in there with a stranger.”
“He made a mistake,” said Brin.
“Yes, he did,” said Rush, “he certainly did.”
Brin returned to his original purpose.
“Let the dead rest. Our concern is with the living. You have not answered my original proposition. Will you join me in my search for the emeralds?”
“No, Otho,” said Rush, “I won’t. I’m not primarily interested in the emeralds. I’m interested in the murderer. He’s my job. You go get your emeralds, if you can,” he added.
Otho took that as a challenge. He lowered craggy eyebrows over cold eyes and again Rush felt a chill finger on his heart.
“If you are not with me you are against me and no man shall stand in my path. Now, no man shall share them with me. Jago had his chance, you have had yours. Now they are mine alone.”
Brin stood up then, as majestically as is possible when leaving a booth, and stalked out of Barney’s bar and grill.
Rush watched his retreating figure with an undecipherable smile. “There,” he reflected, “goes a perfect out for the Henry detective agency. I could hang a perfect frame on him and collect. It’s too bad I’ve got a conscience.”
Rush was quite sure Brin had not murdered Paul Germaine because Paul Germaine didn’t know Brin by sight and certainly, in the state he had been in, would not have followed him into an alley.
16
The shadows on the east side of State Street were long, as Rush left Barney’s. A car left the curb and started south. Its driver seemed in doubt as to his destination, for he stopped short of the corner and looked around. Rush, deep in thought, walked steadily toward his own office building. At the corner he paused for the lights to change, then moved out to cross the intersection. A flash in the corner of his eyes saved him. The car, which had left the curb in front of Barney’s suddenly gathered speed and shot around the corner. Rush jumped back a fraction of a second too late to miss it entirely. A fender caught him and threw him bodily against the fender of another car. The back of his head hit the car and he fell heavily to the pavement. The moving car sped east as fast as its eighty horses could carry it. Rush shook his head, jerked around, and as the car disappeared around the far corner he memorized its license plates. It all happened in the space of ten seconds. He was repeating the license number to himself when a uniformed policeman leaned over him.
“Take it easy, buddy,” he said. “I’ll call the meat wagon. We’ll have you in the hospital in no time. Did you get his number?”
Rush looked up at him through eyes that still had difficulty in focusing.
“Meat wagon, hell,” he said. “Help me up. I’ve got work to do.”
The cop put hamlike hands under his shoulders and heaved. Rush came to his feet and leaned against the car in back of him.
“You oughta take it easy, buddy,” said the policeman. “That was a stiff jolt you took.”
“I’ll be okay,” said Rush dusting himself off. “Forge
t it, officer. I’ll report it later. Right now I’ve got business.” He shoved his way through the crowd that had collected and made his way across the street. Halfway up in the next block he turned into his building and took the elevator to his office. He passed Gertrude with a short nod and went to his office. There he dialed police headquarters and asked for Carnahan.
“Sam,” he said when he had the homicide head, “get me the owner of a Buick, license number 132-846B. Don’t ask questions, just get it for me quick.”
“It’ll take a few minutes, Rush,” said Carnahan.
“I’ll wait.” He lit a cigarette with one hand and from the receiver he heard Carnahan talking into another phone. His anger cooled to a slow boil as he puffed the cigarette. By the time Carnahan spoke into the phone again, he was smiling at the thought of Rush Henry getting caught in such a simple trap.
“Yes, Sam,” he said.
“Where’d you get that number, Rush?” Carnahan asked.
“That’s my business. Who owns it?”
“A maiden lady on the North Side. She reported it missing this morning.”
Rush smiled. That was his answer.
“Okay. Thanks, Sam.”
“Hey, you can’t stop there, where did you get that number?”
“From a yogi. Don’t bother me, Sam. Hang up.”
Rush lowered the phone to its cradle and leaned back sending a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. So Big Mick wanted him out of the way bad enough to risk a knock-over in the Loop. Big Mick was the only party involved who could lay his hands on someone to handle a stolen car, on a moment’s notice. Jago would have been more subtle. Brin would have waited longer than this. It was Big Mick, and he had an urgent reason for wishing Rush knocked off. Rush smiled again. Maybe he’d better call on Big Mick again. The lesson needed repeating.
As Rush digested this new trend, a knock sounded on his door. Only one person got as far as his door unannounced and then bothered to knock.
“It’s okay, Merwin,” he called. “Come on in.”
The door opened and Merwin eased inside. He slouched to a chair and dropped, sprawling into its comfort.
“What’ve you got, Merwin?” asked Rush. ‘
“Just a peep,” said Merwin. “I case all the fences and they all jump when I mention green stuff.”
“Carnahan sent the word out,” thought Rush. “Then I hit the regular jewelers. They all is dumb except one place where the guy plays dumb and goes to talk to the boss. I wait five or ten minutes, then he comes back and says nothing doing. They ain’t buying or selling no emeralds.”
“Where was this?”
“A place called Losine’s. It’s high class. Just one watch in one window and one diamond in the other.” Rush sat lost in thought. He got nowhere. “What the hell am I sitting here deducing for?” he thought. “This thing needs another fire.”
“Okay,” he said. “Sit tight, Merwin. Stay where I can find you. I’m going out to start a fire.” He started for the door.
“A fire, Rush?” asked Merwin in bewilderment “Yep, I’m going to give Mr. Losine a hotfoot. See you later.”
Losine’s, as Merwin had intimated, was high class.
The watch had a small white card under it with just the figures $1500.00. The diamond had no price mark. It needed none. It could have been a stand-in for the headlights on the 20th Century Limited. Rush walked in the front door without hesitation. A rather splendid thing in afternoon clothes approached him.
“Good afternoon,” said a cultured voice that Rush assumed came from the man approaching him.
“How do you do?” said Rush. “I wish to speak to Mr. Losine, if you please.”
The immaculate one placed a fingertip at the corner of his mouth as if he would pick his teeth if he could only get the mouth open.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said, “but Mr. Losine is in conference. He’s extremely busy today. Are you sure I can’t help you out?”
Rush looked him over from head to foot. “Yes,” he said, “I’m quite sure you can do nothing for me.” The accent on nothing was deliberately malicious. It skidded over the clerk.
“Then you must wait till tomorrow. I think I can promise an appointment with Mr. Losine at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon. He is not engaged for that time.”
“That’s dandy,” said Rush. “Tell him I want to see him about some emeralds. I heard he could pick up a couple cheap.”
The clerk gulped a most uncultured gulp at the word emeralds.
“Ah, just possibly—that is, it is possible—er, would you wait a moment? Perhaps I can persuade Mr. Losine to speak to you. It will just take a moment. Wait here, please.”
The elegant clerk started toward the rear of the establishment. He paused in the middle of what almost appeared to be flight.
“Who shall I tell him is calling, sir?” he asked.
“Mr. Henry, Rush Henry,” said Rush distinctly. He strolled around the room in the clerk’s absence, acutely aware of an unseen scrutiny as he examined the jewelry on display. A few moments later, the clerk, visibly agitated, returned.
“Mr. Losine will see you now,” he said. Rush felt that the strain was too great for such a hothouse flower. He followed him to a door at he rear. The clerk opened it and spoke to someone inside.
“Here is Mr. Henry, Mr. Losine.”
“Come in, Mr. Henry,” said a voice from inside the room. Rush walked in.
Seated at an elegant desk was a shrewd counterpart of the clerk. “This model also comes equipped with brains,” thought Rush. To his right as he entered, filling a chair to overflowing was Bernard Jago. Along the wall to his right was Wilmer, leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets, staring at a spot inches below Rush’s eyes.
“Well,” said Rush, “this is an unexpected pleasure indeed. I hoped to find you gentlemen here. You,
I assume, are Mr. Losine,” he said to the man behind the desk.
That one nodded shortly. Silence fell on the room. Rush advanced a step toward Jago.
“Perhaps this is an unwelcome visit, Mr. Jago,” he said.
“No,” said Jago, “it isn’t. I’m glad you came. It’s time something was made quite clear to you.”
“That,” said Rush, “is for me. There are too many things in this whole affair that aren’t clear enough for me. Make them clear, Mr. Jago.”
“In the first place, Henry, nothing illegal has taken place. Thus, my actions are none of your business.”
“Where have I heard that before?” Rush snapped his fingers. “I know, Otho Brin said the same thing this morning. He also said nothing illegal had taken place. I disagreed with him, Mr. Jago.”
“On what grounds?”
“On the grounds that murder is illegal no matter who commits it.”
The man behind the desk raised his eyebrows.
“You said nothing about murder, Mr. Jago.”
“There has been no murder that need concern you, Mr. Losine,” said Jago. “This interfering fool is speaking of a death that has no connection with our affairs.”
“So,” said Rush. He turned to Losine. “I assume he is offering you a pair of emeralds for sale. It’s a bad deal, Losine. He hasn’t the emeralds, nor can he produce them. The man who had them was murdered in an alley two days ago. Jago cannot get the emeralds without further violence. I would suggest a hands-off policy as the safest bet under the circumstances.”
Losine looked inquiringly at Jago.
“That is an absurd distortion of facts, Mr. Losine. I can, and will, produce the emeralds, free and clear of all stigma. All I need know is your willingness to buy.”
Losine stirred briefly at his desk. “Under those circumstances I am willing to buy. Under any other, no.” His voice was final.
“Very wise, Mr. Losine,” said Rush.
Wilmer pushed himself upright, his palms flat against the wall. He looked at Jago and at Rush. There was murder in his eyes. An imperceptible sign passed from Jago. Wilmer rel
axed slowly. Jago turned his eyes to Rush.
“Henry, you have interfered in my affairs for the last time. Till now I have restrained Wilmer’s natural urges. If you obstruct me further, I will be forced to release him from the promise he gave me. That might prove unfortunate for you.”
Rush grinned. “When I get scared by punks like your Wilmer, I’ll give my license back to the city and raise hollyhocks.”
Wilmer growled deep in his throat and took a step toward Rush.
“Wilmer!” said Jago in warning tones. Wilmer took another step as though he didn’t hear him.
“Let him go, Jago,” said Rush. “This is getting to be a habit now.”
Wilmer took another step and Rush was in front of him in one stride. His hands whipped up and slapped Wilmer, forehand, backhand, reports sharp as a pistol. Wilmer backed away, clawing for his gun. Rush had his wrist in a flash and twisted it behind him. The edge of Rush’s free hand knifed downward in a vicious slice at the base of Wilmer’s skull and Wilmer slumped in Rush’s arms.
Rush pivoted on his heel, took a step toward Jago and dumped Wilmer’s unconscious body in his lap.
“For the last time,” Rush said, “tell this gunsel to lay off. I’ll break his neck the next time he looks as if he’s going for a gun against me.”
Jago looked down at Wilmer’s head, which lolled in his lap, then back up to Rush.
“One last thought, Jago,” Rush said. “It’s getting late. I have to have a killer damn quick. You’ve got twenty-four hours leeway. Then if I don’t find a fall guy, I’m making one, and your gunsel looks like the best bet. Think it over. Your time’s running out.”
Rush turned on his heel and left the room, closing the door behind him.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” asked the clerk.
“Yes,” said Rush, “I certainly did.”
17
Rush wanted two things as he left Losine’s. He wanted a drink, and he wanted privacy where he could think. He by-passed Barney’s; too many people looked for and found him there. Instead, he headed for a small bar on a side street. He took a booth at the rear and ordered .a double rye. It came and he sipped it thoughtfully. This wasn’t the kind of work he liked to do. Rush had no feeling for quiet deduction. He knew that, given enough facts, his mind would come up with an answer with no urging. Still, at intervals, he must stop, marshal the facts he had, and decide what the pattern still needed. He was doing this now.