The Tough Guys Page 17

  “What?”

  She nodded. “It’s true. He was drunk and he gets mean when he’s drunk and doesn’t get his own way. He… went to get his car and the attendant thought he had too much to drink to drive and wouldn’t get the car and Rudy… went back inside… and got the knife… and stabbed him.”

  I reached over and grabbed the fragile hand. “Who says so, Annie?”

  “Those two men… they were there. They had just driven up.”

  The picture began to form then. “So they picked up the knife after Rudy ran for it and they got the thing with his fingerprints all over it,” I stated.

  “Yes.”

  “What does Rudy say about it?”

  She shook her head sadly. “He doesn’t remember a thing. He was drunk and sick. He can’t remember anything.”

  “And now they want money, is that it?”

  “Yes… I think so. I… really don’t know.”

  “Everybody inside?”

  “They’re waiting for Vance. Yes, they’re inside.”

  I got up, gave her hand a squeeze and told her not to worry. Then I went out the kitchen, through the hall into the library where the clan was gathered looking like they were waiting for a bomb to hit.

  From the expression on their faces, when they saw me, they saw the bomb coming. Old Uncle Miles grabbed the arms of the chair and his face turned white. Rudy, who had been pacing the floor with his hands behind his back, suddenly became too flaccid to stand and tried to look nonchalant as he settled on the arm of the chair Teddy was cowering in.

  Only Anita seemed genuinely glad to see me, her smile erasing the worry look as she left the couch to come across the room with her hand out. I knew what she was thinking, all right; she could steer me out of there before I churned things up. But even she wasn’t going to stop what I was going to do.

  I hooked my arm under hers and went to the desk where Miles was glowering at me and sat on the edge. Everybody had something to say, but nobody wanted to speak. I looked at chubby cousin Rudy and said, “Hear you’re sweating a murder charge, cousin.”

  That was the bomb going off. You could hear the hiss of breath, the sucking sounds, the sudden jerking movements as the words hit them. All Anita did was tighten her hand on mine and look down at the floor.

  “How… did you find out?”

  Over my shoulder I said, “Easy, Uncle. I just asked around. I saw Gage and Matteau here and put two and two together. To me they add up. Dear cousin Rudy’s got his ass in a sling he can’t get out of and it’s about time it happened. I’m happy for one thing though… I’m here to see it. And it doesn’t only hit the fat slob, it breaks down to Teddy and you too, Miles. You’ll never hold your heads up around here again. From now on you’ll be the joke of the community and when they strap old killer Rudy there in the chair the Bannerman family comes to a screaming halt.”

  Rudy looked like he’d get sick. Miles kept swallowing hard, his scrawny chest gulping air.

  “And me, Cat?” Anita asked.

  “You’re going to be a Colby, honey. You won’t be wearing the Bannerman name.”

  “Do you think he’ll have me?”

  “Does he know about this?”

  “Yes, he does. He’s helping all he can.”

  “How?”

  She glanced at Miles, wondering whether to tell me or not, then made the decision for herself. “He’s tried to make a settlement with those men. He’s threatened them and everything else, but they can’t be moved. They… want an awful lot of money.”

  “How much?”

  Rudy broke in, his voice weak. “See here, Anita…”

  “Shut up, Rudy,” I said. He did, and fast. “Go on, Anita.”

  “A… million dollars.”

  I let out a soft, slow whistle. “Well, it looks like Rudy’s making a real dent in the family budget. What are you going to do about it?”

  They all tried to look at each other at once. I caught the exchange and grinned at them. Finally Miles croaked, “We’ll see that… it is paid, not that it is any of your affair.”

  “And what happens?” I slid off the desk, turned around and leaned on it and faced Miles down. “Rudy gets off the hook and the Sanders guy eventually gets nailed by the cops. He’s got a prison record and a possible motive for killing Maloney. He’s got no alibi and he loused things up by taking off when he heard of the killing. There’s no murder weapon for evidence and the jury thinks it has a solid case and gives him the black verdict and the guy gets the chair. How are the Bannermans going to feel then when they know one of their own is responsible for the death of two people now and the real killer is inside their own house?”

  Rudy did get sick then. He let out a soft moan, grabbed his stomach and ran from the room. Miles said, “What are you… thinking of?” I straightened up and glanced around the room. “I don’t know. I sure got an ax over your heads now. You beat me to the ground when I wasn’t old enough to fight back and now I might have some fun.”

  “Oh, Cat.…” Anita’s eyes were bright with tears. She looked at Miles first, then Teddy and at Rudy who came back with a face as white as snow. “Don’t do that to them… they’re such… such nothings anyway.”

  I nodded, “Don’t feel sorry for them sugar, maybe I can instill some character in them. Maybe Rudy will get an urge of integrity and decide to come clean.”

  One look at Rudy made that a joke. Rudy wasn’t going to confess to anything.

  I had something else to tell them they would like to have heard, but the entrance of Vance Colby stopped that. He strode into the library as if it were his own, immediately sensed the situation and said directly to Anita in an accusing tone. “You told him.”

  She let go my arm. “He found out by himself.”

  “And may I ask what this matter has to do with you?”

  “If you’re looking for a smack in the chops you’re going about it the right way, buddy.”

  His smile was hard and the curious glint in his eyes painted the picture nicely. The casual way he walked up didn’t hide the sudden bunching of muscles under his coat. He said, “Am I?”

  And before he could start the judo chop I belted him in the damn mouth so hard the skin of my knuckles split on his teeth and he rolled twice before the couch stopped him and he looked up at me with a face full of hate as big as your hat. He was one of those over-confident types who had put in too many hours in a gym wearing a Jap toga and practicing un-American fighting and he forgot about a straight right to the kisser. Hell, I’d had it out with dozens of these types before. “The next time I may shoot you, Vance.”

  I pushed my coat back to get at a handkerchief for my hand and let him see the .45. He didn’t answer. He kept both hands to his mouth and tried to sit up.

  “Aren’t you going to help him, Anita?”

  “No,” she said solemnly, “I knew what he was going to do. I’ve seen him do it before. I think Vance needed that lesson. He can get up by himself.”

  Very gently, I leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “Thanks, kitten.” I took her arm and started out the library. At the front door I said, “Look, I’d sooner see them sweat than start trouble, but don’t you get involved in this mess. That Maloney kill is still wide open and there’s no statute of limitations on murder. There’s something fishy going on here and I’m going to dig it out. I want you to do me a favor.”

  “What, Cat?”

  “Let me know what they plan to do. Everything, okay?”

  “Okay, darling.” She frowned at what she said, then smiled softly. She reached up and touched my face. “I can trust you.”

  “You won’t get hurt,” I told her. I kissed her mouth and the tip of her nose, but it wasn’t enough. She was back there in my arms again for one fierce moment and it was us, just us and no one else. I knew my fingers were hurting her arms and I pushed her away feeling my heart smashing against my ribs.

  “We’ll make it, baby.”

  “No… we never can.
I wish… but we can’t.”

  I left her like that and went out to the car. At any time now the stuff was going to hit the fan.

  At the motel I told the clerk at the desk I’d be around a little while yet, paid the bill up to date and went to my room. I double locked the door, shoved the .45 under my pillow, showered and flaked out with the radio playing softly in my ear.

  Popeye Gage and Carl Matteau. They came to town behind a bagman who carried a hundred grand and it could be it was to set up an operation for Matteau. Luck played into their hands when they saw Maloney killed and picked up the evidence. His original investment had now increased tenfold if he pulled it off.

  I reached to switch the radio off when the late news came on from the local station and the first item the announcer read off was that Guy Sanders, prime suspect in the Chuck Maloney murder, had been picked up in Seattle, Washington and arrangements were being made for his extradition.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The morning papers had it all laid out. There was a full statement from the D.A. who claimed there was no doubt concerning Sanders’s guilt and felt certain a confession could be obtained after an interrogation. He rehashed the details of the crime and stated that Sanders would be brought to trial as soon as feasible.

  On the inside pages an editorial went through it again, crying out the need for justice and lauding the D.A. for his attitude concerning the affair. It looked like Sanders had had it. As far as the city was concerned, the investigation was over. Only the prosecution remained.

  After I got dressed and ate I drove around for two hours checking out the properties Simon Helm had suggested to me, jotting down quick notes so I could have an intelligent though phoney conversation with him. When I finished it was a little after ten a.m. and I got to his office just as he was coming in.

  For the kind of deal he was hoping to set up with me he was willing to forego all other engagements and took me back into his office with orders to his secretary not to disturb us. She had coffee ready, set us up and left.

  “Now, Mr. Bannerman, how did you like the sites I pointed out?”

  “Only two have possibilities,” I said. “The old Witworth estate and the Flagler Hill section. However, they both lack one essential… a water table sufficient to my needs.”

  “How would you know about that?” he asked with a degree of surprise.

  “When you know how to ask questions you get some great answers. It’s my business.”

  “Well, I heard this rumor, but never gave it a thought. My, we have to find something else quickly.”

  “I’ll tell you what I have in mind.”

  “Oh?”

  “You’ll have to investigate the deal… but it’ll all be a matter of public record anyway. Check out that property my future cousin-in-law has next to the proposed city marina.”

  “But Mr. Bannerman…”

  “For my purposes it’s ideal. The building will be modern, handsome, the industry smokeless, the access highways are at hand… a railroad siding can be extended from the Tompson works and the benefits to the city will be far greater than that of another gambling casino.”

  “But…”

  “No buts, Mr. Helm. If you don’t want to handle it there are others.”

  He couldn’t fight that attitude. He shrugged and drank his coffee. “Very well, I’ll see how far things have gone. However, if it is not possible…”

  “Then I’ll have to take something else,” I finished for him. “How long will it take?”

  He glanced at the clock on the wall. “If I get to it right away… perhaps this afternoon.”

  I got up and reached for my hat. “I’ll be back later.”

  “Certainly, Mr. Bannerman,” he said, rolling his tongue around the name.

  Hank Feathers didn’t reach his office until a little before noon. I whistled out the window of the car and he came plodding across the street all grin and crinkly eyes and got in beside me.

  “Step on any toes?” I asked him.

  “Well now, son, I don’t know yet. I got up around the Maloney place and funny enough I know quite a few people up there. One of our printers has a place two houses away and a garrulous wife. Anyway, after due poking around I came up with a lot of answers.”

  “Gossip or answers?”

  “You do the separating,” Hank said. “This Maloney woman has quite a neighborhood reputation. She made no bones about her conduct, rather enjoying the Madame Pompadour concept. She had plenty of visitors, plenty.”

  “Anybody special?”

  “Don’t jump the gun, son,” he smiled, holding up his hands. “Rudy Bannerman was positively identified having tried to gain admittance on two occasions, both times while he was crocked. One, during an afternoon, he was seen for better than an hour in her back yard while she was sunbathing. The whole thing was observed and though he was well tempted by that lovely dish, he stoutheartedly left before the husband returned.”

  “Good for him.”

  “The suspect Guy Sanders made several surreptitious trips to visit Irish and twice was seen with her in a neighborhood bar. It’s enough to hang him.”

  “They’ll sure try it.”

  “But here’s the interesting note. From a couple of very nosey sources, one an old lady given to staying up late and the other our printer’s wife who has some odd habits including insomnia, I learn that there was one fairly common visitor to the Maloney household when the husband was on the late shift at the Cherokee dub.”

  “Any description?”

  “Very little. He was always dressed in a suit or topcoat, wore a hat and moved fast. Generally he drove up, apparently at a specified time and she came out, joined him in the car and they drove away.”

  “Car?”

  “What old dame can identify a new car at night? It was a dark one, that’s all. They suspect that he was Sanders.”

  “Great. What do you think?”

  Hank shrugged, looked at me and said, “The guy was thin… so is Sanders. Rudy Bannerman is chubby. At least it wasn’t him. Anything else you want me to get in trouble over?”

  “I’ll think of something.”

  He opened the door and stepped out, then remembered something and said, “By the way, I bumped into a guy who wants to see you very badly. A friend of your old man’s.”

  “Who?”

  “George P. Wilkenson, the family solicitor.”

  “Wilkenson? Damn, he must be ninety years old.”

  “Ninety-three. He’s still active. Anyway, I told him you were back and he said it was urgent you get up and see him. He lives back in the past these days and can still chew your ears off. He and your old man were great fishing buddies.”

  “I’ll say hello before I leave,” I said. “And hey… who’s a cop you can trust? Somebody with a gold badge.”

  “Try Lieutenant Travers. Tell him I recommended him.”

  I waved so-long, drove back downtown and cut over to the Municipal Building that housed the First Precinct and went in and asked for Lieutenant Travers. The desk sergeant made the call, told me to go on back and gave me directions.

  Travers was pretty young as Lieutenants go, but he had all the little earmarks that stamped him as a professional law enforcement officer. Tough when he had to be, smart always, cute when necessary and suspicious eternally. He gave me one of those long slow up-and-down looks when I walked in, was ready enough with a handshake and an invitation to sit down and had I not left the .45 and the speed rig in the car he would have spotted it and shaken me down on the spot. He caught the name, but it didn’t cut any ice with him at all.

  “Related to the Bannerman family locally?” He held out a pack of butts and I shook my head.

  “In a way. I’m a bastard.” His eyes jumped up. “A real one… born out of wedlock and all that crap.”

  He sucked on his cigarette. “Yeah, I’ve heard that story. Now, what can I do for you?”

  “I’ve recognized two Chicago hoodlums in this town, Li
eutenant. One is Popeye Gage and the other Carl Matteau.”

  Travers watched me, swung slowly in his chair a few times and said, “I know they’re here, but how did you recognize them, Mr. Bannerman?”

  I had to grin. “Got in a little deal in Chicago once and they were pointed out as Syndicate men. They both have records and I thought you might like to know about it.”

  “Uh-huh.” He took another big drag on the butt and laid it down. “We appreciate your being civic minded, but there’s nothing we can do. Is there a complaint you’d like to lodge?”

  “Nope, but since I’m considering relocating back here I don’t want any Syndicate people moving in on any business I have in mind.”

  “Then don’t worry about it, Mr. Bannerman. Unfortunately, in any state that has legalized gambling, there is a certain amount of outside interference and an influx of off-color characters. In this case, Matteau is clean and has applied for a gambling license although his location is not specified. Knowing local politics, I’d say he’ll have it accepted. Nevertheless, he’ll be well investigated and will comply with all state and local laws.”

  I eased out of the chair and said, “Thanks, Lieutenant. It’s nice to know we’re all safe from the criminal element.”

  For some reason he gave me a funny look, his eyes slitted almost shut and grinned right across his face. “It’s nice to be appreciated, Mr. Bastard Bannerman.”

  I laughed at him, threw a wave and went back to my car. Fifteen minutes later I parked in the rear of the Bannerman Building on Main Street and took the elevator up to Rudy’s office where the receptionist told me she was sorry, but nobody could see Mr. Bannerman without an appointment.

  When I said I was Cat Bannerman and she had no choice she reached for the intercom until I switched it off and she took one look at my face and thought it better to head for the ladies’ room.

  My chubby cousin had a nice setup. All the accoutrements for the idle rich. A mahogany desk, antique furniture, a well organized bar, golf clubs stacked in the corner with parlor-putting devices in a rack on the wall, a couch under a row of book shelves, a stereo hi-fi set and TV built into the walls and that was the order of business.