Deadly Weapon (10 page)

The metal knucks pounded mercilessly against his head. He drove a pointed toe into Darmer’s kneecap, but he couldn’t move his arms or his head fast enough to avoid the blunt metal rings. Walter James felt himself sinking; the sun had gotten inside his head somehow and was trying to burn its way out. Blood was bright on his powder blue lapels.

He lay down. It was the easiest way and the grass was cool. Darmer was wearing heavy, high-laced shoes. He could see one of them swinging back and forth methodically. There was no feeling except in the hot ends of his fingers and inside his skull. From the way his body was jumping, he realized he was being kicked. He remembered Clapp’s objection to a finger in the kidneys and he wanted to laugh. How was it you laughed, now?

A voice murmured, “Enough, John.” Then he was being dragged across grass and over near rows of round stones and by low bushes. For a while it was pleasant being suspended in space, then there was beige dust all around him.

Walter James cushioned his face in the dust and stared at it. It was adobe-colored and alive with prancing red devils. He said aloud, “This is the alley.”

After a long time he managed to balance himself on his elbows and his knees. The red devils resolved themselves into dark, dusty globules of red. He spread his fingers among them and shoved up. The ground spun around and he nearly fell over. His side was beginning to ache now, in low rhythmic throbs.

He crawled and hoped it was in the right direction. He concentrated on moving his hands. From the hips down there was no feeling. When he ducked his head, he could see his knees moving, so he knew he was crawling.

His dust-covered hands reminded him of Kevin. Their hands were almost the same size. “Kevin,” he called. That was useless — there were still twenty-five thousand one hundred and forty miles to go. That was the circumference of the earth.

His head rammed something and he felt it. Adobe. Was everything adobe in this damn town? He put his shoulder against the rough surface and forced his body up.

It was pleasant up here without the dust. His nostrils began to clear. Looking back to see how far he had come, he saw the patio gate a yard away; he had crawled in a short semicircle into the wall.

Walter James felt for a cigarette but the pack was empty. He said, “Hell!” and threw it down. Probably walking wouldn’t be so bad now. He still couldn’t feel his legs and that might make it easy.

It did. He stopped at the end of the alley and straightened his coat. It was impossible to brush much of the dark red mud off it. He drew in his breath and stepped into the street.

Kevin looked at him without recognition. Then she let out a short scream. “Walter!” She scrambled out of the Buick and ran toward him.

“It’s your turn to drive,” he said.

She was crying. “Walter, Walter!” she choked. “I’ll kill them! I’ll kill them!”

He held onto her shoulder with one dirty hand. “Later. Let’s get back to town.”

She helped him into the car and tried to wipe some of the caked blood off his face. “Don’t,” he said. “You’ll just open them up again. The police surgeon can fix me up. For God’s sake, start driving!”

His voice was out of control. Sobbing, she jammed at the starter and rumbled the car away from the curb. He fumbled in her purse for a cigarette with trembling fingers. Somehow he lit it and dragged deeply.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m always like this afterwards. I’m all right while it’s going on but afterwards I get the shakes like hell.”

Kevin’s fingers gripped his leg above the knee. He could see her hand making furrows in the cloth but he couldn’t feel anything. “But they’ve hurt you, darling,” she said. “I can’t stand to see you like this. I love you so, Walter. I can’t stand to see you hurt.”

“I’m not so bad off,” Walter James insisted. “They won’t like me at the border, but I’m still in fair shape.” He ran cautious fingertips over himself. “Let’s see. Three cuts in the head. Most of them are above the hairline so they won’t show much. This cheek’s a little beat up. And I’ll need some tape on these ribs.”

He put his hand under his coat and felt his back. “I’ll be glad when my spine comes to life. That son of a bitch kicked me square in this.” He pulled out his hand; in it was a snub-barreled pistol.

“You had a gun?” Kevin said. “Why didn’t you use it?”

He considered. “I guess I would have if they’d really gotten rough.”

“C
AN HE TALK
now, Doc?” asked Clapp.

“Sure,” said Stein. “All the stitches are in. Can’t have him moving his mouth while I’m putting stitches in. Come back tomorrow, James, and I’ll check them. We won’t bandage it. Stitches’ll come out in about a week.”

“Thanks, Stein,” said Walter James, sitting erect on the operating table. He had no clothes on.

“Okay,” said Clapp, “what’s the story?”

“Spine’s all right,” murmured Stein. “Can’t do anything about the bruise. Little tape on this rib and I think we’re done.”

Felix came in with the powder blue suit. “I got some of it off with cold water. It’ll do to go home in.”

“Got a cigarette?” asked the slender man. “Used mine up on the way to Tijuana.”

“Sure.”

“Come on, James — let loose.
What
took you across the border?” insisted Clapp heavily.

Walter James swung his bare feet idly while the police medic worked deftly at his side. He sucked in smoke.

“You know damn well what took me down there,” he said. “That phone call Gilbert made to Luz last night. Which brings up thing one. Don’t mention Gilbert’s tie-in with this mess in front of Kevin.”

“Oh?”

“No. She’s an innocent kid. She’s not in it. And the Gilbert, angle isn’t solid yet.”

“When you’re in the department, James, you’ll have something to say about how it’s run.”

The private detective winced as Stein pressed at the wide tape. “I just don’t want you bungling around the girl’s feelings if you can avoid it. And you can avoid it.”

“Okay, okay. Get dressed and let’s go down to the office. We’ve got lots to go over.”

Walter James began drawing his clothes on painfully. “I just got this suit,” he noted sadly. “Another point. That daytime tail isn’t as bright as the night man. He had his car parked the wrong way when I brought Kevin out of the college and he never did catch us.”

Clapp grinned. “That’s one on you. I told him that as long as the girl was with you to stand clear. He didn’t try to follow you. Right now he’s waiting around her house to pick her up there. You see, the Atlanta report came in this morning.”

“I know,” said Walter James.

“The Atlanta outfit gave you a damn good reference. They said you were a little bloody but ran the squarest private agency they’d ever seen.” The big man squinted. “What do you mean, you knew the report was in?”

“Luz quoted it to me,” he said flatly. “Figure that one out.”

“But it’s never left homicide!” said Felix.

“Then check your wire office. You’ve sprung a leak somewhere.”

Clapp said slowly, “There isn’t a crooked cop in San Diego.”

Walter James slipped his coat on and shrugged. “I’m not telling you how to run your department. I’m just telling you what I know.”

“I’ll look into it,” said Clapp, frowning. “I won’t find that answer, but I’ll look into it.”

Walter James said, “Thanks again, Stein,” and the three men went out into the hall. Kevin got up from the bench.

“Did it hurt, Walter?” She took his hands.

“No, redhead. Stein’s a good man — handy with a needle. I told you it wouldn’t show.”

She regarded his face quizzically. “Maybe not later but it’s pretty gruesome right now.” She looked at Clapp. “May we go now? He really ought to get some rest.”

“I’m afraid we have a few things to talk over, Miss Gilbert.” He turned to Walter James. “There’s a man in my office I want you to meet.”

“I see,” said the smaller man. “Will you read magazines for a while, Kevin? I’ll try to make this quick.”

“I can get a car and send her home,” volunteered Felix.

Kevin shook her head and sat down on the bench. “I’ll wait. You don’t have to hurry, Walter.”

Walter James went into the office first. The man who was sitting by Clapp’s desk rose briskly to his feet. In front of his ears, bushy black hair had turned iron color. There were flecks of iron in his mustache and his face was all business.

“Mr. Maslar — Mr. James,” said Clapp.

Walter James smiled and shook hands. “How do you do, Maslar. F.B.I.?”

Maslar nodded shortly. “I can see you’re not at your best right now, James. But I thought we’d all better get together on this as soon as possible.”

Clapp walked around his desk. “I called Maslar as soon as the wires got here this morning. It looks like you’ve uncovered something, son. Everybody sit down and get comfortable.”

After the scraping of chair legs, Maslar said, “Clapp’s briefed me on everything including Gilbert’s call to Luz. It was lucky you overheard that number. That and the wires are the only reason I’m here.”

Clapp spoke up. “Suppose you tell us of your fun this morning, James. Give him some cigarettes, Felix.”

“Thanks,” said Walter James. “Naturally, I checked the phone number and the name Steve about the same way you did. Esteban Luz owns the Devil’s Bar in Tijuana. It’s a fairly classy layout. He’s known in his circle as Big Steve and he has a son, Little Steve Luz. The other man I met was named John Darmer. Luz introduced him as his executive manager.”

The F.B.I. man nodded. “We know of all three. They aren’t on my department’s records as anything but potential. How about you, Clapp?”

“Same story. I know of them but they’re clear here. Besides, they’re out of my territory.”

“I wish they were out of mine,” said Maslar wrily. “This border stuff is dynamite. And complicated. Go on, James.”

“Luz has had contact with Dr. Boone. He mentioned him as being big and healthy looking. That’s as far as he went on the subject.”

Clapp mused. “Then Dr. Boone does exist.”

The slender man blew out smoke. “That’s the way I felt. At long last, someone’s actually seen him. Now maybe you’ll believe I got a phone call in Atlanta.”

The detective lifted his hands. “Hell, I believed you. If it wasn’t for anonymous phone calls, we’d never get half our convictions.”

“Anyway, Luz also knew of the Filipino, which wasn’t played up much in the papers.”

“What made him start getting rugged?” interrupted Felix.

“That was after I had called him on the XEGC deal.” Walter James exchanged glances with Clapp. He leaned forward in his chair, fingers laced tightly together, and stared at the floor. “This is the part I hate. Two nights ago Kevin — the Gilbert girl,” he added for Maslar’s benefit, “told me why she suspected her father was keeping Shasta Lynn. Gilbert, who is no chaser, goes out one night a week and recently Kevin caught him in a couple of lies about where. She got suspicious and, nosing around, found the old man had given Shasta Lynn that house in La Mesa as an outright gift plus some money every month. I don’t know how much, but enough to dent his bank account. That’s the reason Kevin was at the Grand Theater, Clapp. She wanted to take a look at Shasta.”

“I get it,” said the big man.

“Just get it straight. The poor kid doesn’t know her father’s got a finger in this goof-ball pie. She just happened to pick the night to go scouting that the Filipino was murdered. There was a chance in a million that she’d pick that night and sit next to him, but she did.”

Felix grunted. “It never fails.”

Walter James kept his eyes on the floor. “Of course, when I found that Shasta Lynn was diking around with her buddy Madeline, that threw the Gilbert May-December passion out the nearest window. He obviously wasn’t spending his nights with her. So the money seemed to be blackmail. Maybe the Filipino knew him and passed some information on to Shasta. I figured about the only way the Filipino would know him was by the dope angle. Maybe Gilbert was the man that Ferdy passed the stuff on to.”

Maslar said soberly, “I’m glad to meet one private detective who uses the word maybe.”

“When you’re in the racket for cash, the long shots save time and money,” Walter James said. “At any rate, that might explain where Gilbert was one night a week — at the Grand Theater picking up the delivery from the Filipino. Last night I had Kevin let him know that I had been to see Shasta Lynn. That scared the old man into calling Luz. I was lucky enough to catch the number.”

Clapp interrupted. “You figure Luz as the boy who gets the marijuana across the border?”

“That’s it. He probably has trucks coming across to pick up American liquor and beer. It wouldn’t be hard. The border men can’t find everything, and they’re easier on the regular commercial traffic. I figure Luz gathered it in, Darmer brought it across to the Filipino, the Filipino delivered it to Gilbert and Gilbert sent it on to Atlanta.”

Clapp pursed his lips. “Fair enough.”

“Well, back to what got me this beating. Something Kevin said about her father always listening to the radio — to XEGC — gave me a wild hunch. So in front of Luz, I called the station and asked which specific day every week the Devil’s Bar radio advertisements were broadcast.” He paused. “And look at me now.”

“That was the answer?”

“That was the answer. When Luz broadcast his plugs, that was the tipoff for Gilbert to go to the Grand Theater and pick up a shipment.”

“I guess the radio would be safer than a lot of phone calls back and forth across the border,” said Felix. He looked at the slim man’s battered face. “Just who did the dirty work?” he asked softly.

“Luz’s son started working me over first with a knife butt. Then Darmer put in his two-cents worth with aluminum knucks. He’s a sadist, junior grade. He wears heavy shoes just to kick the bejesus out of guys like me.”

Clapp rolled his tongue around under his lips. “Just where was your gun all this time, James?”

“Did you want to see me killed? I left one gun in the car. I had a .32 strapped over my tailbone that they didn’t find, but I didn’t feel like using it. Darmer kicked it halfway through me. Gentlemen, if that gun had gone off, I wouldn’t be sitting here.”

The roomful chuckled. “Well, except for my troubles getting back across the border with this face, that’s the story.”

Maslar broke the short silence. He looked at Clapp. “My jurisdiction,” he said. “We’re coming in.”

“Okay,” said Clapp. “Looks like the only way I’ll ever get this Filipino killing off the books.”

“I’ll check with consul and call Mexico City. It shouldn’t take more than twenty-four hours until the Mexican police can close in on the Luz bunch.” He sighed. “And then afterward. You should see the paper work involved. This border stuff is dynamite.”

“Don’t forget this case is in my jurisdiction, too,” said Walter James. “Luz is only part of the setup. The man I want to see is Dr. Boone. You know my reasons.”

Clapp pursed his lips. “Speaking of doctors — Boniface is clear. So is Rockwell. At least as far as our records go.”

Walter James scowled at the floor. “Maybe they don’t fit into this case at all. I braced Major Rockwell last night.”

“And?”

“No answer.”

“How about Boniface’s card in the Filipino’s pocket?”

“That’s one of those things that always screws you up on a case like this.” Walter James shrugged slim shoulders. “Solez was a pretty sharp operator for a brown boy. Maybe he was selling marijuana on the side to Boniface.”

Maslar looked at Clapp. “Why don’t you pick them off?”

Walter James said quickly, before the big man could reply, “You couldn’t hold them.”

“No,” agreed Clapp heavily, “we couldn’t hold them. Not yet, anyway.”

Maslar frowned. “But if one of them is Dr. Boone — ”

“Let them run,” Walter James said softly. “Give them plenty of rope. Dr. Boone isn’t going to get away.”

Clapp fished in the drawer for his pipe. “He’s human like the rest of us. His luck can’t last.”

“Dr. Boone’s actions so far indicate something more than just luck,” Maslar said.

“No argument,” agreed Clapp. “But nobody’s plan ever worked perfectly. It’s the human element, Maslar. Eventually, something that Dr. Boone hasn’t planned for will drop him right in our arms.”

“The unknown factor,” smiled Walter James. “Let X equal the unknown.”

Clapp struck a match and puffed at his pipe noisily. “Right. In the meantime, we got to go ahead and try to stir up that unknown factor.”

“Speaking of the human element,” Walter James said and eyed Clapp soberly, “I know this is a touchy subject, Clapp, but I want to warn Maslar.”

“Warn me?”

He turned to the F.B.I. man. “It won’t be as stringent as the one Luz gave me to stay away from the cops and the Gilbert house. It’s this: Luz knew the Atlanta report was in this morning.”

Maslar caught Clapp’s eyes. “I’ll check,” said the big man. “I don’t think Luz will get away. It won’t go out of this office except with you. God, I hate to think of a stool in my own outfit!”

“I’m sorry,” said Maslar. “I know the feeling.”

Walter James started a new cigarette and flicked the match in the wastebasket. “I know damn well all this activity isn’t on my say so,” he commented. “What was in the Atlanta wire?”

Clapp smiled grimly. “The Atlanta
and
Denver wires.”

“Then there was something in Denver?”

“Was is right.”

“Tell me all. This thing is really beginning to open up.”

Clapp grinned. “The East has been popping even after you left it, James. Take Denver. On the seventeenth of September, the Monday before you got here, a man was strangled and burned. A druggist on Curtis Street named Melvin Emig. He also had a lot of other names. The Denver authorities didn’t know he had a record until he showed up dead. He was strangled with a wire garrote and covered with cleaning fluid. Then somebody touched a match to him and walked off.”

“The connection?”

“Not much of his drugstore was burned. In the back room he had been wrapping our brand of marijuana for shipment to a post office in Atlanta. He was shipping it as reducing powder.”

Maslar broke in. “This Emig seems to have been some sort of relay along the dope route to the East. San Diego to Denver to Atlanta. It looks like the boys at each end didn’t want to know each other. And undoubtedly Emig didn’t know anything but addresses.”

“Didn’t he send to a name in Atlanta?” Walter James leaned forward.

“Yes,” said Clapp. “The post-office box he was addressing the stuff to belonged to Dr. Elliott Boone.”