Everybody Had A Gun (13 page)

These were two delightful women. There was nothing wrong with their bodies; it was just their brains. I said in a soft, strangled voice, "You think I brought you gals up here to flit around the countryside?"

"Oh, Shell! Flit! She'll be back in fifteen or twenty minutes."

"How do you even know the store's open?"

"The man lives there," she said. "Now calm down and I'll mix a drink."

"O. K.," I groaned. "Mix the damned thing. I need a drink. It's a wonder I don't drink right out of the bottle."

"That's better. I'll—Well, golly."

She was looking down at her sweater and slacks as if she'd just discovered she was wearing them. It was a nice place to look, but this was a funny time for it.

She said, "I'm not dressed for a party."

"Not gonna be a party. I've got time for one drink and one only. I'll have to take off soon as Mia gets back here."

"Well, we'll have a little party. Shell, you haven't seen me in a dress. You don't know how I'd look."

"You'd look good."

She glanced sideways at me, smiling, then she pursed her lips, got up, and turned to the head of the bed. The dresses Mia had grabbed from the apartment were draped over the pillows. Iris picked one of them up and held it in front of her. "You like this?"

"Fine."

She examined it critically, dropped it back on the bed, and picked up the other one. "This one better?"

"Fine." It was thinner.

She smiled at me. Slowly. "Shell, I think I'll put this one on. Get out of these slacks."

I swallowed. My tongue felt like it was wrapped in molasses, but very softly I said, "Fine."

Iris was standing, facing me, about two feet away. She was close enough to bite. The sweater was buttoned up the back, and she stretched her arms behind her and fiddled with a button. It was murder what happened to that wool. It was murder what happened to me.

She said, "Now, don't peek."

Don't peek! Hot damn. Hell, yes, I was going to peek. But I didn't want to lie to her. I just grinned.

She grinned, too, and turned her back on me.

There were four big white buttons running up the back of the sweater, and I peeked while she unbuttoned the bottom one and moved on to the second. I was wondering why she'd waited till now to change, and also wondering if Mia had really gone after garlic.

Iris reached the last button and shrugged the sweater off her smooth shoulders. There wasn't anything underneath the sweater, and I was thinking she sure had a nice back. With a back like that, the front would have to be stupendous. If—I didn't finish the beautiful thought.

My heart was clattering around inside my chest as if there were rocks in it, but I thought I'd heard something else. I cocked my head, listening, then I remembered Mia should be showing up pretty quick.

Then I was almost sure I'd heard something outside, out in front of the cabin.

"Hey," I said. "Iris. You hear anything?"

"What?"

"I thought I heard something outside."

"What?" she whirled around.

She shouldn't have done it. I'd been right about her front, but it was the wrong time for me to notice. I was paralyzed just long enough for the front door to crash open and the hard, grating voice to hit my ear.

"Hands in your lap, Scott," it said. "Don't move a muscle."

That's the way it goes. I wasn't even going to get that drink.

Chapter Twelve

"DON'T MOVE a muscle," he'd said. He didn't know what he was asking. I turned my head and looked at him. He was a little guy, and a heck of a lot less exciting than Iris, even if there was a big gun in his hand. The gun was pointed at me, but he was looking at Iris. Who wouldn't?

He snarled, "Just keep still, now."

But Iris, no matter what the guy had said, was having none of it. I almost keeled over, and I let out a squawk when she moved, but the guy didn't shoot. She spun around with her back to the guy and started squeezing into the sweater again. It was a tight squeeze. I know; the little guy had me cold, so there was no use watching him.

He said, "On your feet, Scott," and I placed him. I'd seen him come out of the Pit with the boys who'd talked to Breed while I watched them through the binoculars, and I'd seen his picture later at Police Headquarters. One of Breed's men—the one named Joe-Joe Klein. Another little man with a big gun. Funny how they grow.

I said, "What the hell is this, chum?"

"Where's Sader?"

"Where's who?"

"Sader, stupid."

"You nuts? How the hell would I know where he is?"

He took a step closer to me and yelled, "Knock it off, stupid. Answer pretty."

"The answer's still the same: I don't know where Sader is. There's no reason I should know."

He smirked. He didn't believe me. The smirk didn't help his looks any. He wasn't ugly, but he had coarse brown hair that hadn't been cut for a month, and his nose had been broken and then set with even less skill than mine had been. He could point to the right just by wiggling his nostrils.

I said, "You can take it or leave it, but I've got no idea where Marty is. Why should I?"

"Knock it off. I know you're in with him."

I sighed. I should never have let Flick see me; I should simply have walloped him one. I said, "I suppose Breed knows that, too?"

"Natch."

"Well, I got news for you, Joe-Joe. You're all nuts. I'm not working for anybody but me, and I'm sure not working for Sader. Now, go away like a nice moron. Hey—how the hell did you find this place?"

He grinned, real happy, and his nose aimed south. "You brung me, stupid. In the back of your car." He frowned. "Smart, huh? But where's Sader?"

The back of my car! Damn it to hell. I'd spent fifteen minutes shaking a tail, if any, and the guy'd been in the turtle. That explained the green De Soto coupé and the yelling guy at the market. The hell with you, Scott.

But this guy had a one-track mind. "Look," I said, "if you had a half-brained idea I was going to see Sader, you're all wet. He sure isn't here, and I don't have any idea where he is."

He grinned nastily, looking at Iris. "Yeah. I can see he isn't here." He frowned some more, then said, "Come on, both of you."

"Come on where?"

"Never mind where. You won't talk to me, maybe you'll talk to the boss. He's gonna be happy to see you."

"Sure," I said. "You'll get a promotion."

I started toward the door holding my breath and thinking maybe Joe-Joe would forget to take my .38. But he was dry behind the ears.

He said, "Wait a minute. You, girlie. Get his gun. Easy does it, girlie."

Iris was all dressed now and facing the guy. She glowered at him, but she reached over and pulled the gun out of the holster under my coat. Her eyes widened a little as she grabbed it and I thought she might try getting smart. Which could get us both killed.

I said, "Easy, Iris. Don't try anything fancy."

She ran the tip of her tongue over red lips and paused, the gun loose in her hand.

"Drop it," Joe-Joe said.

She dropped it, then when he told her to kick it over she nudged it toward him with her foot. He kneeled, keeping his gun on me, scooped up the .38 and dropped it into his pocket. He jerked his head.

"O.K., you two. Go out ahead of me. Out slow. You first, girlie."

This was it. This was the time for me to pull something devilishly clever and then rend Joe-Joe limb from limb.

Iris would squeal at me and fall into my arms and we'd see what we could do about getting her into that dress. There was only one trouble. I couldn't think of a thing. Joe-Joe waved his gun and we moved. Iris went out ahead of me and I followed her and Joe-Joe fell in behind as we went out the door. He prodded me roughly with the gun a couple of times, but he just prodded my back, didn't leave the gun where I could feel it. I didn't try anything; my back punctures easy.

As we got into my Cadillac I wondered where Mia was. Mia and her stinking garlic. This might not be a bad time for her to show up, but there was the chance that, if she did, Joe-Joe could get nervous. There wasn't a sign of her, though, and we settled in the car.

Joe-Joe made me drive, with Iris close to me in the middle while he sat pressed against the right side of the car. I did every single thing he told me to, and I did it without hesitating. He had his gun pointed squarely at Iris' right breast, and I sure wasn't going to take a chance of that getting shot off.

It was a small office building on Riverside Drive, right on the main drag. We went up the sidewalk to the door of the building and Iris pressed the buzzer when told to. The gilt lettering on the door proclaimed the place to be the "Salem Finance Co., Inc.," but I couldn't help being dubious about the type of financial transactions that went on inside.

Footsteps pounded toward the door. It opened and the big-chested guy I remembered from the pictures as Harry Fisher looked out. It should have been Hairy instead of Harry; he needed a shave, and black bristles sprouted from under the drooping neck of the T shirt he wore under a plaid sport coat. And he was bigger than I'd thought; about my height, but heavier.

"Where the hell you been, Joe-Joe? What—" He broke off when he spotted us.

Joe-Joe shoved us in past him, then Harry went on ahead of us and opened another door in back.

Two things were sure: we were at Breed's headquarters and, even if they hadn't expected us, we had one hell of a welcoming committee.

As Iris and I went into the brightly lighted room, I spotted Breed first. There were others, but he was easy to spot quick because he was far and away the biggest man in the room. He sat behind a dark brown desk, spread out in a big swivel chair, and shoved back from the desk so there'd be room for his belly. He looked like a pregnant woman, and the florid pouches at each side of his face shook as he swung his head toward us.

He shifted one of his dollar cigars in his thick-lipped mouth. "What goes on here?" he asked in a deep, velvety voice. He looked past us to Joe-Joe Klein. "O. K., Joe." It was an order.

Joe-Joe explained hurriedly, "Boss, I followed this guy, see? I thought he'd latch up with Sader and I could bring 'em in?"

Breed was glaring at him, and by the time Joe-Joe finished his sentence it had turned into a question. He went on, "Scott goes up into the hills and sees this doll here. So—so I bring 'em here. All right? All right?"

Breed didn't answer for a moment; then he nodded. "Yeah, Joe. That's fine."

Joe-Joe grinned. "I pulled a coup," he said. "It was smart how I got 'em, boss. I—"

"Never mind that," said Breed, and Joe-Joe's face fell. I'd have enjoyed making it fall clear to the floor, then bouncing it up and down.

Breed turned his attention to me and I looked around the room at the other men. Besides little crooked-nosed Joe-Joe, who'd brought us here, the burly Harry, who'd let us in, and Breed himself, there were three others. I spotted Flick's tiny black eyes on me right away and he looked as if he were remembering, with no pleasure, that moment when I'd clobbered him. Joe-Joe had given Breed my .38 and was back poking me occasionally with his pistol, and Flick had an automatic out, too, and was pointing it at me as if he'd love to squeeze the trigger. I hoped he didn't; it was a .45 automatic. Everybody seemed to have .45's.

Looking short alongside the six-foot Flick was mild-appearing Shenandoah Hamlet, and standing on his right was tall, thin, and ugly Lonely Wagner, and a hell of a lot of things had happened to his face. He was a mess. Lonely wouldn't ever have to worry about getting hit in the face during a fight unless he tangled with a guy so strong he could knock Lonely's head clear off. And when you come right down to it, that would have been an improvement.

Lonely and Shenandoah had been sitting in wooden chairs when we came in, but now they were standing. Polite. I didn't have to go over the crowd again. This bunch looked like more than I could handle. It looked like more than the Marines could handle.

Breed's velvety voice rumbled at me. "You give us some trouble, boy. Maybe I oughta let the boys shoot your guts a little."

"What the hell for?" I asked him. "I haven't given you any trouble. Breed, I don't get this at all."

He roared with laughter, his belly shaking. "You just sapped my man Flick," he said finally. "That's all." Then all the mirth went out of his tone and he said, "Besides, I don't like none of Sader's hands till we get this straightened out."

"I'm not one of Sader's boys."

He lifted bushy eyebrows. "Of course not," he said sarcastically. Then to Flick, "Tie him and the girl up. Maybe they talk better that way."

Flick grinned. "A pleasure," he said.

Shenandoah went out and came back in a moment with a length of rope. Flick took a small knife from his pocket and cut off a chunk of the line.

"You first," he said to me. "Sap me, huh? You won't mind if I cut off a little circulation, huh, Scott?"

There was no point in answering. Shenandoah brought over the two wooden chairs he and Lonely Wagner had been sitting in, and five minutes later Iris and I were bound to the chairs with our hands behind our backs.

Flick stepped in front of us when he'd finished knotting the ropes. He looked at me, then took a good look at Iris. With her arms stretched behind her she had a shape that would bruise your eyeballs, and Flick took it all in. He stepped over to her, reached out, and pinched her lightly where he had no business pinching.

"Hi, cutey," he said romantically.

Iris' face flushed and she sucked in her breath. She didn't say a word for a moment, just looked at him. Then she said flatly, "Untie just one of my hands and I'll knock you down."

He flushed. She'd hurt his feelings. "Why, you bitch," he said. "I had better than you the last two nights in a row."

"Flick! Knock it off." It was Breed. He grinned at Flick and added, "Remember, boy. Business before pleasure."

Flick grinned widely, looked down at Iris, and pinched her again. Only this time it wasn't for kicks; he hurt her. She turned her head to the side, biting her lip.

I lunged toward him and got about two inches, the ropes biting into my wrists. The back legs of the chair I was sitting in tilted up, angled forward, and I watched the floor come up and smack me in the kisser.