Authors: Wade Miller
The slender man sat back and stretched his arms. “Well, well, well.”
“That’s not the payoff. Denver, of course, got in touch with Atlanta. Atlanta had already opened Dr. Boone’s box — they ran onto it the day after you left. They checked the post-office people on who had rented the box but didn’t learn anything. It had been rented several years ago and was paid semiannually in advance by mailed cash. The guy who rented it out was still working there but he couldn’t remember that far back. One girl was sort of sure that once she saw a kind of big man call on the box, but that’s all. They remember putting packages in it about once a week.”
Maslar said, “It all fits together beautifully. This particular dope ring is all shot to hell. We want to make sure we round up all the participants, of course, but as an organization it’s out of business. We also want the top man — presumably Dr. Boone. The question in my mind is this: are all these marijuana runners being liquidated by another ring? Or is Dr. Boone closing up his organization the safe way?”
Walter James ground a pale fist against his palm. “The one man who can enlighten us is Dr. Boone. Maybe he’s on the run himself if this other ring you mentioned exists. In that case, why was my partner killed?”
“He might have had something on both rival rings,” said Maslar. “But we haven’t had the slightest hint of a second weed outfit so far.”
“It’s my guess that Hal was getting too damn close to Boone himself,” said Walter James. “I vote for the ring we got. Or, at least, are getting.”
“Damn, you got me off the subject,” interjected Clapp. “What I’m trying to get around to is this: when the Atlanta cops opened Dr. Boone’s box there wasn’t any dope in it. There was just a gun — the .45 that killed your partner.”
Walter James slammed to his feet. “The registry?” he asked.
“No registry. No prints. It’s just another automatic the Army reported missing some years back. There must be a million of them floating around the country.”
“Oh.”
“I can guess how you feel about your partner, James. I wish we had more for you. But things are looking up.”
“Atlanta have anything to say about Ethel?”
Clapp shook his heavy head. “They’re still looking and checking bodies. Do you think she’s dead?”
“I haven’t any idea. If she’s hiding out — why I don’t know — she’s had plenty of time to get in touch with me.”
Maslar rubbed the gray hair on his temple, pushing the side of his face into worried wrinkles. “There are only three women really involved in this case so far, James. Miss Gilbert, Shasta Lynn and the missing Ethel Lantz. I’m thinking of the attack on you last Saturday night where face powder was found on the weapon. Miss Gilbert was shot at along with you. Shasta Lynn has no alibi, presumably having started home. Ethel Lantz has no alibi, presumably being dead. Can we rule out Ethel Lantz conclusively?”
Walter James looked at him steadily. “Yes. If Ethel is alive, I don’t know why she’d be shooting at me. Or Kevin.”
“Which leaves woman or women unknown,” said Clapp. “And our girl Shasta.”
Walter James smiled without humor. “I thought I had that end closed off,” he said. “But she keeps popping up.”
“Yes, she does,” agreed Clapp. “Like the Gilbert family.”
Walter James’s lips tightened, then relaxed. “Maybe I’m just getting used to that dull knife of yours, Clapp. If I had my way, old man Gilbert would never get in this picture because I don’t want his daughter hurt. But I can’t have my way because Hal got his belly blown out. Gilbert didn’t do that, but it looks like he did business with the man who hired the gun. So he gets in the picture come what may. There’s a code — if your partner’s gunned out, it’s your baby to find the killer. Like cop killings.”
Maslar said, “Very commendable, James. Just remember you have no official status except as a pretty damn material witness. As Clapp says, steer clear of any legal troubles. Law is law, and as government employees we can’t push it too far.”
“Just a light shove now and then,” said Felix.
“I don’t think I’ll need it,” smiled the slender detective. “I’m going to visit Mr. Gilbert tomorrow. You won’t haul him in for questioning until you’ve shut down the Devil’s Bar outfit. He might tip off Luz himself — if Luz has a man in this headquarters. I wouldn’t advise even putting a tail on him until you have Luz. After all, our good neighbor has at least seen Dr. Boone. That’s more than we can prove for Gilbert.”
“We can reason, too,” answered Clapp sourly. “It’s pretty obvious we can let Gilbert ride for twenty-four hours.”
“Twenty-four will about do it,” agreed Maslar. “Meeting’s adjourned as far as I’m concerned, gentlemen. I imagine James would like to go home and lick his wounds.”
“Keep in touch with us, James,” said the big man, as they all rose. “And avoid dangerous entanglements. I’ll keep a guard on the Gilbert girl when she’s not with you. I’ll trust you to take good care of her.” He grinned.
Walter James’s voice was bitter. “Yes. I’m proud of the way I’ve taken care of her interests at our meeting today. I’ll collect my thirty pieces of silver on the way out.”
“N
O
. T
HIS COFFEE
will be plenty, redhead.”
“Does your stomach hurt much?”
“Not much. But I’m not hungry.”
The cool night began to dwell over the red neon drive-in. Scattered traffic purred along the Causeway, returning to the city from Ocean Beach, Mission Beach and La Jolla. Far away by the ocean, the serpentine lights of the roller coaster gleamed.
Kevin pushed her leg against his. Between mouthfuls of bread and barbecued pork, she said, “It’s nice being alone with you here. I mean, all these other people are shut up in their own cars. It’s almost like being alone. But I wish we’d go home and let you get some rest, Walter.”
He flicked his eyes across the rear-view mirror. “I’m afraid we can’t rest for a while.”
She lowered her voice. “Why not? You have to!”
“Put on some lipstick,” suggested Walter James, “and while you’re looking in your mirror, catch that black convertible on our side of the street half a block back.”
“Who is it?” she asked, running her hand around in her purse. She found the mirror.
“Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum, the boys who pounded on me. They warned me not to go near the cops. I didn’t think they’d pick me up so quick.”
“I see them — two men. I can’t see what they look like.”
“I know what they look like.”
Kevin studied the mirror. “I do need lipstick.”
Walter James flicked the headlights. The carhop scowled and ambled over, pulling out the bill. “Dollar twenty-eight,” she said.
The slender man tossed down a bill and a coin. The carhop unfastened the tray from the steering wheel. Kevin handed her tray across the car. The carhop swung her hips back to her stool.
Kevin said in a small voice, “What do those men want?”
“Scared?”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t look at him. “I guess I shouldn’t be after all that’s happened, but — uh-huh.”
Walter James grinned at her. “Where’s that old frontier spirit? The West is dead, podner.”
The girl tried a weak smile. “I guess you’re the last of the vigilantes, sweetheart.”
“Don’t be scared,” he said, “I’ll take care of you.” He started the car and pulled out into the Causeway, switching on the headlights when they had passed the intersection. Kevin looked back and watched the convertible slide away from the curb.
“Where to now?” she asked.
“Hither hence, whither whence? We’ll try to shake them. I didn’t mean to get you mixed up in this, redhead. I didn’t think they’d pick me up till I got to my apartment.”
She put her head to one side. “What makes you think that I was going to leave you when we reached your apartment?”
“What’s out this way?” he asked.
She laughed and pressed his sleeve. “All right. Ignore me. We’re passing through Ocean Beach, Walter. After we cross the bridge up ahead we’ll be on a straight divided road which runs parallel with the beach. It passes through New Mission Beach — that’s the roller coaster and the fun zone — then Old Mission Beach and Pacific Beach.”
“Crowded?”
“Fairly so. After that we hit the road to La Jolla. I don’t know how that will be. What do you want?”
“A narrow curved road without much traffic. And sudden side roads.”
“There’s the hills back of La Jolla — a road running up to 101. It’s got a couple of side roads into gullies. It’s about as curved as they come around here.”
“Tell me when, redhead. After the traffic thins out, I’ll pick up speed. Give me a little warning.”
She pressed her litheness close to him and shivered. “I’m not scared any more, Walter. This is exciting.”
Walter James gave her a quick smile. “I guess we like the same things.”
“We’re different,” Kevin said, stroking the cloth over his upper arm. “Most people say that about riding merry-go-rounds or walking in the rain. I think it’s silly to walk in the rain. Will they shoot us, Walter?”
“Not now. Maybe not at all if we figure this right.”
“Funny — ” she began. “No, it’s not so funny. I’m not afraid at all now — just keyed up. It’s because you’re here. I know our side will win. You always win, don’t you, Walter?”
“I haven’t picked a loser yet,” he said soberly.
The Buick bounced over old streetcar tracks and they were out of Pacific Beach. They spun left onto the scarcely lighted boulevard that led to La Jolla. The girl jerked his cuff.
“When,” she announced. “To the right. Two streets ahead.”
Walter James swept off the headlights. “How soon does it begin to curve?”
“When we reach the hills. It doesn’t curve much, but it’s the best I can do. There are a couple of side roads.”
The Buick was a dark blob speeding up the hill. To the right was the scarred canyon wall, sliced away to make a shelf for the two-lane road. To the left was a sagebrush covered drop-off that grew steeper as they climbed.
“Sure we won’t meet anybody?”
“No. I’m not sure. Are they still following us?”
“If they’ve got a brain in their heads. I hope we still have a good lead.”
“Here’s one road,” Kevin said excitedly. “The next one’s around this curve. I think it’s better.”
He squealed the car around the bend with all his weight on the brake pedal. The canyon was a black yawn beneath them. His hand hit the gear shift rod, knocking it into reverse. Full gas sent the Buick bumping backwards into a slot in the mutilated canyon wall.
Fifty feet off the road, with the car’s nose pointing at the main highway, he stopped. The motor idled and frogs began chirruping again.
Kevin whispered, “I used to come up here to neck.”
“Get out,” Walter James commanded swiftly. “Hide in the brush and stay there till I call you. Take this. Don’t touch the trigger until you plan to use it. Wait till somebody’s within ten feet of you, then just point it — like you would your finger.”
He pressed the short coldness of the .32 into her hand, “Yes, Walter.” Kevin scrambled out of the car into the close darkness. There was a scraping of branches and then stillness. The frogs had stopped.
The slender man opened the glove compartment and took two .38’s out. Laying them on the seat beside him, he buttoned his coat, except the bottom button. The lapels he folded over his white shirt front. One gun was tucked under his belt, the butt outside his coat. He pushed the other weapon under him and sat on it. His hand moved through the darkness and pushed the gearshift into second.
At the sound of a speeding motor, Walter James clicked the Buick’s headlights on and off swiftly. The other motor slowed. He strained his eyes at the narrow patch of road fifty feet away. A low blob crept onto it and stopped — the black convertible.
A smile of savage triumph carved itself across the detective’s lean face. Inside the car three shapes were barely visible — two spheres that were heads and a thin stick that was a rifle barrel. Walter James stomped on the gas and let the clutch free.
The two spheres jerked and the door toward him began to open hurriedly as the Buick hurtled toward the main road. As his front wheels hit the pavement, Walter James slammed one foot on the brake pedal and jerked the emergency back. The big car screamed in agony across the two-lane road.
It looked like Little Steve trying to get out the convertible door. He was moving in slow motion. Darmer was a frozen statue behind the wheel of the smaller car.
The hills echoed the crash of metal as the Buick hit the convertible broadside. For a sickening eternity, the bumper of one car caught under the running board of the other. Then the massive shapes wrenched apart and one rolled over the lip of the road into the canyon darkness. Hideous unrhythmical noises spewed up as the convertible bounced crazily out of sight.
Walter James rolled out of the Buick onto the road. Metal gleamed from either fist as he wormed to the edge of the road and looked over. There was nothing; he was alone with black bush-shapes and the dead night.
Kevin came running and stumbling out of the side road. Walter James rose and brushed off the front of his suit. He caught her as she came up to him.
“No use looking. There’s nothing to see.”
She threw her arms around him and clung to his body. After a minute, he pushed her away and took the weapon that hung loosely in her hand. All three guns bounced softly onto the car seat.
“I don’t feel anything,” her whisper came to him. “It was too easy — too quick. Is it always like that?”
“It’s always like that,” he said.
She stood with her elbows pressed into her sides. “Kiss me, Walter! Kiss me now!”
He pulled her against him and their trembling merged into one universal hammer beat. Their mouths fought fiercely; he could feel teeth cutting against his lip.
“Don’t ever leave me, Walter. I love you. Don’t ever leave me!”
S
OMEBODY KNOCKED
at the door.
Walter James, cradled in a big chair, watched the smoke corkscrew up from his cigarette. He was wearing a deep blue dressing gown over patterned pajamas. The ash stand by the chair was a stew of soft-ashes and ground-out butts.
The knock sounded again. He glanced at the electric clock on the desk. Nine. Nine o’clock the morning after. Nine o’clock, Wednesday, the twenty-seventh of September. He punched out the cigarette and walked wearily to the door.
A boy was standing outside, about to knock again. He had thin hawkish features and big eyes; he couldn’t have been much over twenty. Walter James looked at him blankly for a moment before he recognized Bob Newcomb.
He said frostily, “What do you want?”
Newcomb’s big eyes were surprised and caught by the ragged stitched wounds on the smaller man’s head. He blinked and remembered. “I’ve come for Laura.”
Walter James looked him up and down. “What makes you think she would be here?” The boy stepped into the apartment. “I didn’t invite you in. I asked what makes you think she would be here?”
The boy glanced around wildly. Walter James noticed his eyes were tired — more tired than his own felt. “She must be here!” he blurted. “I waited till three o’clock last night and Laura didn’t come home. You brought her here last night and kept her here!”
The slender man’s eyes didn’t feel worn any longer. They were alive and filled with blue ice. “You’d better go, sonny. Take your dirty adolescent mind back to school and peddle your paper.”
“I’m not going unless I take Laura with me.” His voice bounced around, uncontrolled. He was wearing a sport coat and a sport shirt; open-necked, it revealed every gulp and made his smooth throat childish. “Laura’s my girl. You had no right to bring her here. What have you done with her?”
Walter James said between his teeth, “Get out!”
The boy’s voice fell into half-pleading. “Mr. James, Laura’s my girl. She’s a nice girl. I don’t know what you told her, but you had no right to take advantage of her.”
“Advantage!” Walter James laughed without mirth. “Is that what you learned in school? Don’t you know any better words? I suppose you think I slept with her last night!”
The boy clenched his fists, his face burning. “You can’t talk about Laura like that!”
The detective laughed scornfully. “Beat it, sonny. Go read a dictionary.”
The youngster brought his fists up in front of him and advanced. “I’m taking Laura home and you can’t stop me! She’s just a girl and — and — you’re an old man!”
Walter James hit him in the stomach and the boy bent over, retching. The back of the same fist came up under his chin and he collapsed on the rug. Walter James looked down at him grimly.
The boy was on his hands and knees when Kevin walked in from the bedroom. Her bare feet poised unsteadily on the nap of the rug. Little sleep creases surrounded her surprised eyes and her copper hair tangled about her face. She wore a flesh-colored slip over her naked girl’s body.
She put her puzzled face to one side and said, “Bob!”
Newcomb looked up at her silently, pain-stricken. Runaway tears gleamed on his cheeks.
“You’ve seen what you came to see,” said Walter James. “Now get out of here!”
“Walter,” the girl said reprovingly. She padded forward and took Newcomb’s arm, helping him clumsily to his feet. “Bob, I’m so awfully sorry that this had to happen. You shouldn’t have come. You had no right to.”
Newcomb caught at her hand. “Laura — ”
Kevin stepped back a pace, evading his grasp. “No, Bob, don’t. What I do is my own business. I’m sorry that I’ve hurt you — but I love Walter and I want to be with him.”
The boy looked incredulously at Walter James. “Love?” he said hoarsely.
“Yes. You’d better go, Bob. Please don’t feel too bad.”
Newcomb blinked nervously, undecidedly. He looked at the girl’s serious face, at the rust-brown eyes sobered by deep emotion. Then he turned and walked out down the hall without lifting his feet very high. The sound of his footsteps going down the stairs had completely died away before Kevin sighed and closed the door.
She said, without looking at him, “I’m sorry, Walter.” She crossed to the window and stood looking out.
Walter James said softly, “Kevin.” The girl turned and looked at him across the room. Her eyes mirrored the old unhappiness.
“Yes, Walter?”
“Has this — spoiled it for you?”
She gave a soft little cry and came running forward to throw herself into his arms and hold him tight. “Oh, Walter, Walter, of course not! Nothing could spoil you for me.”
Walter James sat down, sagging into the chair. The girl slipped onto his lap, seeped her warmth against him. She put her lips close to the scars above his ear.
“I was afraid you’d feel different,” she whispered. “Bob has nothing to do with us. There’s just the two of us. We can’t be touched by other people unless we want to be.”
He put his arms around her youthfulness. “I don’t deserve you, redhead. But I’m going to try to keep you just the same.”
“You deserve so much more than just me,” she said softly. “But please be satisfied with me because that’s all I want.”