The Blonde Wore Black

by Peter Chambers

  “Get one Miss Suffolk, and quickly. I can’t guarantee this man’s life. And the police of course must be summoned.”

  Rose was already on her way to the phone. The doctor looked at Hamilton, then me.

  “Are you friends of this man?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does he have a family?”

  I looked at Hamilton. He’d know best what Jake would want done.

  “Just a brother, doctor.”

  “If you take my advice, you’ll have that brother get over to the emergency ward in Monkton General.”

  “Right.”

  Hamilton went off to get in touch with Charlie Martello. Doctor Andrews said:

  “Would you mind if I had a cigaret? I left mine on the table.”

  “Certainly.”

  I held the flame for him and he nodded appreciatively.

  “This is a bad business. Did you see it happen?”

  “I was with him.”

  I didn’t want to get too chummy with the doctor. I really wanted to be left alone to get my thinking straight. If I wasn’t very careful with my story, the whole Brook-man thing would come out, and then I’d be in real trouble.

  “Doctor, I’m feeling shaky. That bullet could just as easily have hit me. Would you mind if I went inside and got myself a drink? I could certainly use one.”

  “Make it brandy. Best thing in circumstances of this kind.”

  “I will.”

  I went in and headed for the room Rose used as an office. She was standing by the window, a tumbler in her hand. Hamilton was on the telephone.

  “What’s this all about, Mark? Who’d want to kill Jake?”

  “I have no idea honey,” I replied truthfully. “Let’s hope whoever it was did a bad job.”

  She nodded and sipped at her drink.

  “If I’m likely to spend half the night under interrogation, I could use a drink.”

  “Help yourself.”

  She waved towards the liquor cabinet. I splashed out a solid helping of scotch and gulped some down. Hamilton had finished his call now.

  “Charlie is going to the hospital as the doctor suggested. He also wants to have speech with you, Preston.”

  “I imagine he will. Look Hamilton, it’ll be all cops here in five minutes time. If you’re wearing anything, I suggest you let Rose look after it for you. Unless you have a license, that is.”

  He nodded.

  “Good thinking. Could I put you to the trouble, Miss Suffolk?”

  She hadn’t been listening.

  “Huh, trouble? What trouble?”

  He slid a hand inside his coat and produced a small black automatic. The movement was so smooth and fast it was a pleasure to watch him. It was also a fact I made a note to remember. Rose Suffolk gasped as he put the gun on the table.

  “What’s that for?”

  “Just a silly habit I’ve dropped into,” he replied easily. “Never been fired since the day I bought it. But it’s a fact I haven’t a license for it, and the police would have every right to bring some kind of charge against me, just for carrying it. So if you wouldn’t mind?”

  She didn’t believe him, and turned to me.

  “I don’t understand this, Mark. Should I do what he says?”

  “Yes, Rose, I think you ought. If Jake’s going to be laid up for a spell, he’s going to need Hamilton looking after things for him.”

  That made sense. She went across and opened an old-fashioned wall safe behind a picture.

  “Put it in there,” she said flatly.

  Hamilton walked across, and with evident reluctance slipped the gun inside. Rose closed the door and twirled the knobs. Then she slid the picture back in position. In the distance now we heard the mournful wail of a siren.

  “We’d better get outside with Jake,” I suggested.

  We all trooped out to where the doctor stood, quietly smoking.

  “Everything’s arranged now,” I told him.

  He nodded, without speaking. The siren was loud now, and a minute or so later a sleek blue ambulance slid to a halt a few feet away. A white-coated intern dashed out, with a bag in his hand. Seeing Andrews, he pulled up.

  “Oh good evening sir. Have you examined the patient?”

  “Yes doctor. Gunshot wound immediately above the heart. Some loss of blood, and I suspect internal bleeding. It’s an emergency operation I’m afraid.”

  “I ought to get some details. . . .” he hesitated.

  “Look, the police are coming here at any minute,” I interrupted. “The important thing is to get this man into hospital. His name is Martello, J. J. Martello. Mr. Hamilton here will be down to see you later to give you all the information you need.’

  “Well, I guess it’s all right,” said the intern doubtfully.

  “I’m Rose Suffolk, doctor,” she cut in. “I can assure you everything will be in order.”

  He smiled at her, the way men always did.

  “Oh well, if you say so Miss Suffolk.”

  The stretcher men were there by this time and they loaded Jake into the back of the waggon.

  “Dr. Andrews, did you wish to come sir?”

  “No thank you doctor, I’m sure the patient is in good hands.”

  “Yes sir. Thank you sir.”

  Dr. Andrews was evidently somebody who drew a lot of water in medical circles. Having an emergency involving both him and the delectable Rose Suffolk was something the young doctor would remember a long time.

  The noise of the ambulance had drawn a number of people outside, and they were chattering excitedly and staring at the four of us.

  “Perhaps if there’s somewhere a little more private Miss Suffolk?” suggested Andrews.

  “Certainly doctor. We’ll go into my office.”

  We all trooped in, ignoring the questions fired at us. Inside the office nobody was in the mood for chatter. We sat, well spaced out around the room, and that’s where we were when the police arrived. It had to be Randall of course, and with him one Schultz, now Detective First Grade. They both saw me at the same time, and looked at each other with resignation.

  “Well, well, Mr. Preston isn’t it? You sure get around.”

  Randall studied me unlovingly, I shrugged and ignored him. He switched his attention to the others. He got all the names, Schultz scribbling away on his little pad. After that he asked Dr. Andrews half a dozen questions, thanked him for his cooperation, and let him go. The stuff with the doctor was no more than a formality, now he could get down to the real work. Half an hour later he said tiredly:

  “All right, now this is the way it stacks up. Please interrupt me if I have anything wrong.”

  He ran over it from the beginning, and being Randall there wasn’t even a comma out of place. At the end we all agreed he had it right and he nodded.

  “Very well. We shall have to get corroborating testimony from people outside, but as I see it of this moment you Miss Suffolk and you too Mr. Hamilton are more or less bystanders. You on the other hand Mr. Preston,” and he underlined the “Mr.” with heavy sarcasm, “You are in a very different situation.”

  I didn’t need him to tell me that. If Jake Martello died, there would be no one around to support my statement that there ever was any gunman out in the night.

  “Yes, a very different situation. I know it isn’t relevant, but you possess an automatic pistol, a .38 caliber Police Special, if memory serves me correctly. Do you have it with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I had a look at it?”

  I handed it over and he inspected it.

  “This certainly hasn’t been used tonight,” he grumbled.

  “It hasn’t been used in more than a week,” I informed him. “Could I have it back please?”

  Reluctantly, he passed it over.

  “Rourke will be wanting to see you,” warned Randall. “And you’d better be praying that Martello pulls out of this. The Captain don’t like solitary witnesses to
mysterious shootings on dark nights. They make him nervous. Especially when it’s their idea for the victims to go out in the dark in the first place.”

  I hadn’t anything to say on that. If I annoyed Randall, he had plenty of justification for taking me in, and that was the last thing I wanted. Finally, he gave it up. Then he and Schultz went outside to get some independent witness material, and we all looked at each other.

  “Much as I dislike policemen, which is plently, I have to admit the big fellow works well,” announced Hamilton.

  “Right,” I assented. “And don’t ever underestimate him. Lots of people get the notion Randall’s asleep on his feet, because he looks so tired all the time. And lots of people are wrong.”

  “I could tell you and he were old-er-friends?” he nodded. “That was interesting wasn’t it, the way he hoped, Mr. Martello would recover for your sake? Yes, a smart one, that.”

  “I thought we more or less agreed to cut it out, a while back,” I grumbled. “Are you going down to the hospital to help fill out all those forms?”

  He got up, stretching himself tiredly.

  “I suppose I’d better. If I could trouble you to open the safe, Miss Suffolk?”

  He looked at her in polite enquiry. I had the feeling Rose didn’t like her boy friend’s assistant too well, but she certainly couldn’t fault him on the way he addressed her. It was like a graduation exercise from a school of deportment. Crossing to the safe she waited pointedly for him to look away while she dialled the combination. Then she motioned for him to take out the gun himself.

  “Thank you.”

  He slid the weapon back inside his jacket with satisfaction. From what I’d seen of Hamilton and people like him, I doubted whether he was ever separated from his gun for any length of time. I had an idiotic vision of him with a padded pyjama jacket and smiled inwardly.

  “Did Charlie say when he wanted to see me?” I queried.

  “Never fear. He’ll be in touch after he’s through at the hospital.”

  Hamilton nodded to us and went out. In the doorway he passed the anxious figure of Rose’s floor manager. He came in looking distinctly flustered.

  “Miss Suffolk, I’m afraid the crowd are rather restless,” he said apologetically. “Everybody keeps demanding to know what happened, and they want to hear it from you personally.”

  Rose smiled and sighed.

  “What you mean is, get out there and sing ‘em quiet?”

  He shrugged.

  “I’m sorry. I know how you must be feeling. But there’s some of our best customers out front, and they don’t come all this way just to talk to me.”

  She stood up, and so did I.

  “You see the way it is Mark, the show must go on, like the man said. You want to come and watch?”

  “Ordinarily, there’s nothing I’d like better. But there are several things I ought to be doing. I think Jake would prefer me to be doing them.”

  “I understand. You’ll be careful won’t you? And if there’s anything I can do, anything at all.”

  “You bet. And I’ll let you know if I hear anything that would interest you.”

  Gravely, she patted me on the cheek.

  “Take care, boy.” Then she turned to the manager. “All right my friend. Let’s get this show on the road.”

  As I went out I heard the sudden roar of applause that greeted her appearance. Alone in the lighted porchway, I felt the quick clutch of fear at my throat, in case the gun artist was back at the same old stand. But nobody shot me as I walked nervously to the car and slipped inside.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DESPITE WHAT I’D SAID to Rose Suffolk I hadn’t any ambition to get into further trouble that night. One murder and one shooting, both with me present, were enough to constitute a fair evening’s work where I come from. So I was feeling bushed when I pulled up at Parkside Towers. I looked at the gleaming structure without love. If the place didn’t slap such a high rental on me, I could be taking fewer risks in the curious calling I like to describe as my trade. Still, I reflected, that was just the bile in my system showing through. Every now and then I tell myself all this pushing around I get is solely for the benefit of the owners of the Towers. But it isn’t true. I stay there because I like the place, because it shows people how far I’ve come since the early days of a one-room flop in Crane Street. And besides, if a man has to collect a bruise now and then, he may as well nurture it in comfortable surroundings.

  “Preston.”

  My mental soliloquy was disturbed by a jarring rusty voice, I swivelled towards a short thick man in a panama hat. It looked ridiculous on him, but that was all about him that was at all ridiculous. He looked like a guy with no sense of humor, and he hadn’t got his hand in a right pocket because of the cold night air. He was a stranger.

  “Who are you?” I demanded.

  “It doesn’t matter. Mr. Martello wants to see you.”

  I looked at his face to see if he was kidding, knowing it to be a waste of time. This one never kidded anybody in his whole life.

  “I don’t get it. Call back tomorrow,” I suggested.

  “Not tomorrow. Now.”

  He moved his hand significantly inside the pocket.

  “Look,” I said, “Whatever it is you want, I don’t buy it. And if you think I’m going anywhere with you, you’re crazy. And you can stop pushing that thing at me. That suit cost you two hundred bucks at least. You’re not going to shoot holes through the pocket. And by the time you take the gun out, I’ll have smeared you all over the sidewalk. So it’s a stand-off. Run away.”

  The slate eyes glinted, and he seemed almost amused.

  “Smart, ain’t you? But Mr. Martello knows how to look after the smart ones. You better come.”

  Wearily, I said:

  “Look, buddy boy, don’t give me that Martello come-on. Jake is over in the General Hospital. He’s been shot and he isn’t calling for anybody. And if he wanted me, he’d know there’s no need for any muscle. So why don’t you go away before I start slapping you around?”

  He nodded.

  “So that’s it. A misunderstanding. We start again. I’m from the other Mr. Martello, Mr. Charlie Martello. Does it make a difference?”

  “Well of course it does. You just stop waving the howitzer, and tell me where I find him.”

  The change of tone made him uncertain. Reluctantly he took a thick hand from his pocket. The hand was empty.

  “Gee, I don’t know,” he muttered. “Boss said you might give me an argument.’

  “Bosses make mistakes,” I assured him. “Which way?”

  “I’m in the blue Ford,” he pointed. “You want to follow me?”

  “Why not?”

  He drove slowly, uncertain at intersections, like someone who was a stranger to the city. After a few minutes he pulled in outside one of the new hotels down near the beach. I got out and walked up to him.

  “After you,” I waved.

  He shook his head, mumbling something under his breath. I had a feeling he was disappointed at the way I was making everything so easy for him. I guess if you’re a muscle-man and nobody will let you use your muscles, it could induce a Freudian experience.

  We went up to the third floor and he took off the panama, rapping on a door. It was opened from inside and we went in. Charlie Martello was standing by the window, and as the door closed behind me I turned to see another stranger who’d forgotten how to smile. Clyde Hamilton sat easily in an armchair looking at me steadily.

  “So you came.”

  Charlie spoke the words half over his shoulder. The voice was almost entirely devoid of expression.

  “Sure. You asked me,” I replied.

  “That’s right, I asked you,” he confirmed. “Why do you suppose I did that? I mean I ain’t throwing no tea-party or nothing?”

  “I imagine you want to talk about Jake.”

  Now he turned, quite slowly and impressively. I could imagine there were people in San Francis
co who had reason not to feel too good when Charlie Martello turned in their direction like that.

  “Right again. It’s good the way you get so many things right,” he nodded. “I want to talk about Jake. I want to talk about how come you pulled Jake out of a safe place into a nice firing range and somebody put a hole in him. I want to talk about why he’s down at the hospital and you’re still walking around. As of this minute,” he added, as an afterthought.

  I could have managed without the afterthought.

  “There’s nothing I can tell you,” I assured him. “We stepped out there, this gun went off, a car drove away.”

  “Just like that.”

  He spaced the words out evenly and emphatically.

  “That’s how it happened.”

  He nodded and eyed me carefully from head to toe. None of the others moved.

  “Now hear this,” he continued, stabbing a thick forefinger at me. “That’s my brother they got down there. I want to hear more from you, a whole lot more. And if you don’t talk pretty, we’ll see how a little shoe leather around the mouth works out.”

  I didn’t like the feel of things at all. There were four of them, and big hero as I sometimes think I am, I would have about an even rating with a snowball on a hot fire.

  “I don’t know what else I can tell you.”

  I tried to sound unconcerned.

  “You can start with the little trick you used to get him out there.”

  “That wasn’t any trick,” I snorted. “The guy is paying me. He’s entitled to know what I’m doing for his money. You were there this morning. You heard me tell him I might look him up at Rose’s.”

  “Uh.”

  He moved his teeth around inside a closed mouth, as though chewing on something unpleasant.

  “So what were you going to tell him?”

  “I’m working for Jake,” I said doggedly. “Man hires somebody private like me, he wants it kept that way.”

  A slow, unpleasant grin came over the heavy lips.

  “Brother, you’re just asking for a work out ain’t you? Jake’s not taking no interest now, so tell me.”

  My late escort and the other goon took a step nearer to me.

  “Things being the way they are, I guess I’ll have to tell you,” I shrugged.