Lady, Here's Your Wreath (2 page)

     
     I WENT OVER to the Press room at Police Headquarters. There was one guy I wanted to talk to, and I was hoping he'd be there. He was.
     I pushed open the door and looked around the smoke-laden room. Four of the usual mob were playing cards round a small table in the centre of the room. I just gave them a quick glance and looked further. Over in the corner, on a battered couch, Ackie was sleeping.
     Ackie was the ugliest guy I'd ever seen. He was a little runt, with coarse hair growing out of his ears, his nose and out of his collar. His face must have given the midwife a series of nightmares when he was born, but I knew he was about the smartest Press man on the beat.
     I wandered over to him and pulled up a chair. Then I shook him awake.
     When he saw me, he sat up and glared. “You're a sweet pal,” he said. “Can't you let me snatch some sleep?”
     “Aw, forget it, Mo,” I said. “Sit down, I wantta talk to you.”
     Ackie rubbed his face hard with his hand, pushing his rubbery nose to the most extraordinary angles.
     I took out a packet of Camels, gave him one and lit up myself. “What is it, you bum?” he demanded. “I bet you want to pick my brains again.”
     I shook my head. “You ain't got brains,” I said. “You just think you have.”
     Ackie shut his eyes. “They fixed Vessi to-night,” he said.
     “Yeah,” I said, surprised.
     “What made you turn up?” he asked, without opening his eyes.
     “How the hell did you know I turned up?” I demanded.
     When Ackie smiled he looked horrible. I shifted my eyes. “Not much I don't hear,” he said. “What made you turn up?”
     “Listen, Mo,” I said patiently; “I came here to ask you somethin', not you to ask me.”
     He lifted one hooded lid and squinted at me. “Why the interest, brother? Somethin' hangin' to it?”
     These news-hawks were all the same. I dragged down some smoke and held it for a second, then let it drift down my nostrils. “I don't think Vessi did it,” I said, keeping my voice low.
     Ackie groaned and shut his eye. “He's dead now, ain't he?
     “This guy Richmond,” I said, selecting my words, “I guess he had more enemies than Vessi?”
     “Yeah, he'd more enemies than most guys. Richmond was a heel. He had it comin' to him.”
     “There was a woman hangin' to the killin', wasn't there? They never turned her up.”
     Ackie lifted his shoulders. “There were hundreds of women,” he said indifferently. “That guy had women in his hair all day long.”
     “Who was she?” I asked softly.
     Ackie raised his head. “Nothin' doin',” he said. “Richmond's dead an' Vessi's dead; both those guys were rats. It's washed up... forget it.”
     “Why the hell should everyone want to play this business down?”
     Ackie grinned a little. “Do they?” he said.
     “Now listen, Mo,” I said. “There's somethin' you know an' somethin' I know. Suppose we go round to my place an' talk about it?”
     Ackie shook his head. “Just as soon as you get out of here I'm goin' to sleep,” he said firmly.
     I shrugged. “There's a whole bottle of rye waiting,” I told him.
     Ackie got to his feet hastily. “Why not say so before?” he demanded. “Where the hell's my hat?”
     On the way down to my apartment Ackie talked ball games. He didn't know much about the game, but he liked to air his views. I let him talk. I'd got things to think about.
     Once I got him in an armchair with a big rye and ginger in his hand, I got down to things.
     “This ain't to go further, Mo,” I began, putting my feet on the table, “but it looks to me like I've gotta put the cards down before you'll give me a hand. I want help, Mo, and I want it from you.”
     Ackie grunted, but he didn't say anything.
     “I stand to pick up ten grand if I start a row about Vessi's execution,” I said.
     Ackie looked up sharply. “Who's slippin' you the dough?”
     I shook my head. “That's under my lid,” I said. “Ten grand's nice money, and from what I've picked up already there's something mighty phoney about Vessi's case. It begins to look as if it was a frame-up from the very start.”
     Ackie looked worried. “You'd better lay off this, Nick,” he said seriously. “You might run into a lotta grief.”
     “Come on,” I said shortly, “let's have it. What's it all about?”
     I could see him making up his mind. In a minute or so I could see I was going to get it all right.
     “Larry Richmond was the President of the Mackenzie Fabric Corporation,” he said slowly, fixing his eyes on a spot just above my head. “A great many guys are stockholders in this business. These guys are the big shots of commerce and industry. People who hold public office.”
     I leant forward and took the glass out of his hand and refilled it. He took it from me with a little grimace. “Shouldn't touch the stuff,” he said. “It rusts my guts or somethin'.”
     “Keep going,” I said.
     “Maybe you think there ain't anythin' odd about this, but there is. Richmond privately negotiated all the stock to these people. It was never thrown on to the open market. You know how Richmond stood in society. He'd only have to go around and drop a hint or two, and the lot was over-subscribed.” He paused to take a long pull at his glass. “If anything turns up now to reopen an investigation into Richmond's death there's goin' to be a lot of trouble for those stockholders.”
     I didn't hurry him. This was news to me, and I wasn't sure where it was getting me. “How come?” I said.
     Ackie turned his eyes on me. “Even my boss has got stock in the business,” he said. “He's told us boys to lay off. We don't know, but we've got a good idea that the Mackenzie Fabric Corporation is a blind, and another racket is goin' on behind the scenes that pays the big divs. The guys who've got their dough in there don't want to know anythin'—they're scared sick that some smart monkey like you'll come along an' blow the lid off.”
     I got to my feet. “What's the racket?”
     Ackie shrugged. “Gawd knows. Could be anythin'. The point is that so many of the big shots have got their dough in the business that it's mighty dangerous to start anything.”
     “Vessi was the mug?”
     Ackie nodded. “Sure Vessi was the mug. Some guy didn't like his rake-off, so he plugs Richmond. This guy was connected with the firm. They couldn't prosecute him without blowin' the gaff, so they find a fall-guy. Vessi gets the killin' pushed on to him. That's the story, Bud—now forget it, will you?”
     I said: “Who's Lu Spencer?”
     Ackie shot me a quick look. “Spencer was Richmond's right hand. He's the guy who's taken over now Richmond's dead.”
     “Lu Spencer was the guy who killed Richmond, huh?”
     Ackie's face went blank. “I wouldn't know that,” he said, a sudden caution in his voice.
     “Okay, Mo,” I said, “you've given me the dope. Thanks a lot.”
     Ackie got to his feet. “You ain't goin' to start any trouble?” he asked. There was a glint in his eye that told me he was hoping I would.
     “Suppose we don't go into that?” I returned. “Whatever happens, I'll play this carefully. Didn't they say that Richmond was playing around with Vessi's girl, and that's why Vessi knocked him off?”
     Ackie nodded. “Yeah,” he said, “that was the angle.”
     “Who was she, Mo?”
     Ackie frowned. “She was a French moll,” he said slowly. “They kept her covered up at the trial. Andree somethin' or other... they call her Blondie on her beat.”
     I scratched my head. “She a professional dame?” I asked, surprised.
     “Vessi liked them to keep themselves, you know.”
     “I guess I want to meet this dame,' I said, I might get an angle....”
     “I don't know where she hangs out, but she goes into the Hotcha Bar most nights.”
     I patted him on the back. “Here, Bud, take the rye, I said, turning back to the table. “I guess you've earned it.”
     Ackie sneered. “Come to, bum,” he said, “I got that already. An' say, who's the guy that's putting up ten grand for this story to be blown up?”
     I pushed him to the door. “It's my big Aunty Belle,” I said, shoving him into the dark corridor.
     “Yeah?” he said. “You mean your big Aunt Fanny, don'tcher?”
     I shut the door behind him.
     When I was sure that he had gone, I went to the cupboard and took out another bottle of rye, stripped off the tissue paper and pulled the cork. I took the bottle into the other room and sat on the bed. I undressed slowly, giving my mind some exercise. When I was ready, I fetched a glass and some ginger seltzer and got into bed.
     This all wanted thinking about. It seemed to me that I'd got a job on. That didn't worry me, but I liked to see where I was heading.
     Right now, I wasn't doing too badly. I was selling articles where and when I liked. Editors liked my stuff and paid fancy rates for it. I'd got a nice little apartment, and enough booze to keep me oiled for twenty-four hours a day.
     I leant forward and took a poke at the rye.
     Suppose I did start something, and there was an investigation? If the Mackenzie-whatever-they-called-it turned out a ramp, then there was going to be a bad smell around, and I would be the cause of it. Maybe the newspapers would warn me off... maybe I'd lose everything I'd got... just for ten grand. Looked at from that angle, it wasn't even interesting.
     I put the glass back on the little table by my bed and lit a cigarette. When I got into bed with a load of grief like this, I always thought it would be swell to have some hot-looking dame right beside me to listen to my beef and give me an angle to work on.
     A woman can be a lot of comfort, and the more I thought about it, the lower I got. 'I was just getting in a pretty bad shape when the telephone snapped me out of my pipe-dream.
     As I reached for the 'phone, I looked over at the clock. It was just after two.
     “Yeah?” I said, wondering who the hell it was.
     “Is that Nick Mason?”
     As soon as I heard that hard, metallic voice I sat up. My arm jogged the glass of rye, which went over with a crash. Even the spilling of good liquor didn't take my mind off that voice.
     Four days ago she had rung me up. Without saying who she was, she told me that I'd get a pass to attend Vessi's execution and I was to try and get a word with him. If I thought I could expose a frame-up, she'd pay me ten thousand dollars. She had hung up before I could say a word.
     Boy! Was I intrigued! I could handle that sort of mystery stuff from dawn to dawn. Not only was the incentive there in the way of cash, but the story angle got me excited.
     And here she was again.. The voice was unmistakable. It was clear, bell-like and hard.
     I sank back on my pillow, holding the 'phone tight.
     “You got it right, sister,” I said.
     “Did you go?”
     “Yeah.”
     “What happened?”
     “He's dead. I got word with him. He said Lu Spencer had pulled it.”
     I heard her catch her breath. “He said that?” she asked eagerly.
     “Yeah... now listen, what's the big idea? What's all this to you?”
     “I'm goin' to send you five thousand dollars so that you can go on with this. When you've found out the truth and have written it all up you'll get the other five.”
     I was scared that she was going to cut off. I said quickly, “I ain't interested... I've looked into this an' there's too much to it.”
     There was a long silence on the line.
     J said anxiously, “You there?”
     She said, “Yes... I thought you'd be glad to do it. I see I've made a mistake.”
     “Suppose we get together an' talk this over?” I said. “This is a big set-up, baby. All the big shots are in on this... it wants talkin' over.”
     She said, “I think you'll do it all right,” and before I could shout she had hung up.
     I lay there, calling her some fancy names. It didn't get me anywhere. She was right about me doing it. I liked to push my nose into something that might scorch it. This business had a lot of angles that might prove interesting. I put the 'phone down and turned off the light. I could think a lot better in the dark.
     I went through the business carefully. I'd got a few leads to follow up. First, I'd look into the stockholders of the Mackenzie Fabric Corporation. Then I might take a look at the firm and have a sniff round there. Lu Spencer wanted hunting up. Ackie was an all-right guy, and I guessed he was willing to help me if I didn't pull him into it. Then there was Blondie. Maybe I'd get a little fun with Blondie. I had a weakness for blondes, anyway. It looked on the face of it an attractive programme.
     I let it go at that and went to sleep.
     

     
     SOMEONE WOKE me up by punching the front-door bell. I love that. Some guy always wakes me up just when I'm getting friendly with my dream blonde. That dame certainly is a nice little twitchet.
     I dragged myself out of bed and padded across the two rooms to the front door.
     A special messenger was leaning up against the door, humming Cole Porter. He looked at me, then at the envelope he was holding.
     “Nick Mason?” he asked.
     “Yeah,” I said. “Let's have it, you mother's nightmare.”
     He gave me the envelope and I signed. Then he stood there waiting to pick up something. He'd got a hope. If he thought I was giving him anything he was crazy. I only hoped he'd fall downstairs on his way out and break his neck. I started to shut the door.
     “You won't get any place in that sleepin'-suit,” he said, and made a dash down the corridor. Maybe he thought I'd give him a poke in his puss.
     I went back to the bedroom and took a look in the long glass. The kid was right. That sleeping-suit was terrible. I sat on the bed and ripped open the envelope. Five crisp thousand-dollar bills spilt on my knees. No letter—just the dough. I sat and looked at them for a few minutes. That's one thing I can always do—sit around, looking at money. Then I put the money back in the envelope and put the envelope on the table.
     There was a catch in this, of course. I'd got to start right now and earn that dough. I wandered into the bathroom and took off the sleeping-suit. The cold prickle of the shower made me feel good. Once I got through with the wet part of getting up, I always tried my hand at singing. Maybe I wasn't so good, but I'd got a lot of power. I wrapped the towel round my waist and shaved, then I wandered back into the bedroom with the idea of having a drink to help me on the final task of dressing.
     Two things struck me as soon as I entered the bedroom. There was a heavy smell of scent hanging around that certainly hadn't been there when I left the room, and
the envelope had gone.
     I moved quickly. Dropping the towel, I grabbed my dressing-gown and struggled into it, running into the sitting-room as I did so. The front door was ajar. I raced to the window and threw it up. The street was deserted. I thought I caught a glimpse of a yellow taxi flashing round the corner, but I wasn't sure. If it was a taxi, it was moving like hell.
     I went back to the bedroom and stood sniffing. I'm not one of those guys who can classify a smell quickly, but I knew this stuff all right. It was the kind of scent hot mammas used to get the boys running in circles.
     Right then, I was running in circles. I was as mad as a blind man at a strip tease. I went over to the telephone with the idea of getting the cops, then a thought struck me and I sat down to think about it.
     Those dollar notes had looked mighty nice, and now some dame had nicked them. I was feeling mighty sore.
     After a few quick drags from the rye I felt better, and I got myself dressed. All the time I wondered what the devil I was going to do. The sooner I started in on this the better. I locked up the apartment and went downstairs for my breakfast.
     I ordered two lightly boiled eggs, toast and coffee. I was just getting down to serious eating when the guy who rented the apartment opposite walked in. This guy gave me a pain. There are some guys who just can't help giving anyone a pain. You don't know why... they try like hell to put themselves across, but they stick.
     I tried to hide behind my newspaper, but I was too late. He came across with an odd expression on his face and sat down.
     He said, trying to look shocked, “You didn't ought to have girls in your place, Mason; it gives the building a bad name.”
     I said, “You're kiddin' yourself. The place had a bad name long before I moved in. Besides, I don't know what you're talking about. What's all this about dames?”
     The waitress came up just then and took his order for tomato-juice and toast. When she had gone, he spread himself over the table. “I saw her when I was getting the paper,” he said. “She came out fast, just like she had been chased out.”
     I thought: if I'd seen her, she'd come out faster than that.
     “You're nuts,” I said. “Soon as I saw you, I thought your liver had been shot to hell.”
     A look of doubt crossed his face, then he came back again. “You can't kid me,” he said, with an attempt to leer. “She was some baby... a real hot mamma.”
     I finished my coffee and lit a cigarette. “Do you often get like this?” I said anxiously. “I bet you'll even be able to describe her to me.”
     “Sure I can,” he said. “She was tall, blonde, with a make-up that just knocked me. She wore black, and had a large black felt hat, and a gold something or other round her neck. She was moving fast, but I'd know her any time.”
     I got to my feet, pushing the chair away with the back of my legs. I looked down at him in concern. “You gotta do something about this,” I said. “You go an' see a croaker... you've been seeing things.”
     I walked out of the restaurant, leaving him snorting. Once I was on the street I walked slowly, picking my way through the crowds milling to work.
     So she was blonde, tall and dressed in black. A sweet job to look for a dame with that description. Still, she'd got my five grand, and I was going to find her or bust.
     Maybe Ackie would know where she fitted in. I turned into a drug-store and rang the Press room, but he wasn't there. They thought he was over at Hank's pool-room having a game, but they weren't sure.
     I took a taxi down to Hank's, but he wasn't there either. They thought he'd show up, so I spent a little time practising shots on one of the tables.
     I never managed to get the knack of the game, but it interested me, and whenever I got near a table I just had to push the balls around. I got so interested in-a cannon-shot that seemed to be going just right that I lost count of the time. After I had broken my combination up, I thought I'd better give Ackie a miss and get on to the street again. As I was moving, a long, thin dope, dressed like a mock member of the upper crust, wandered in and stood watching me.
     He said suddenly, “What about a little game with a dollar or so on for interest?”
     I've met these dopes before. They look so damn dumb, you think it's a shame to take their dough, but once they've raised the ante to twenty-five bucks they make the ball do everything but eat a four-course lunch.
     I put the cue on the table and shook my head. “I'm through,” I said. “You go an' get some practice.”
     He picked up the cue and began potting the red. I expected him to make a hell of a mess of it, but he just went ahead and gave one of the finest exhibitions of shooting I'd ever seen. He slammed the balls into the pockets from every angle, and I just dug them out and rolled them back to him. He got a spin working that made the ball float round the table, and then he finished up with a real snorter that sunk the three balls with one shot.
     “I see you've been a beginner some time,” I said, thinking I was lucky not to have played this guy.
     He leant over the table to dig out a ball, and his coat shifted up over his hip. I saw the handle of a gun sticking out of his hip-pocket. “Me? I'm punk,” he said. “I just like pushin' the balls around.”
     I took a close look at this guy. He still looked a dope, but when you examined him closely, his eyes gave him away. This guy was tough. He'd got a hanging lip that gave him the soft look, but his eyes were suspicious and hard.
     He was quick to see my interest, and he leant against the table and began to clean his nails with a pocket-knife. “Ain't seen you around before?” he said, his voice rising a little, making it a question.
     I shook my head. “Just looked in for a pal,” I told him. I wondered who he was, so I thought a little harmless talk wouldn't waste my time.
     “I guess I've seen your face before,” he said, without looking up.
     “Yeah? Maybe you have.”
     “You wouldn't be Mason, the news writer?” He overdid it. He knew who I was.
     “Sure,” I said. “Maybe you've seen my photo somewhere.”
     “Yeah.” He folded the knife and put it in his vest-pocket. “Yeah, maybe I have.” He gave me a long, hard look, then, tossing the cue on to the table, he walked out.
     I watched him go thoughtfully. I couldn't quite get the angle. I went over to the bar. Hank was polishing glasses. He was a big guy with red, curly hair and tremendous hands and arms.
     “Who's the dope?” I said, jerking my head towards the door.
     Hank shrugged. “Search me,” he said. “What'll you have?”
     “Ain't you seen him before?”
     “I don't remember.”
     Just then Ackie came in. When he saw me he grinned.
     “What the hell are you doin' here?” he said, crowding up to the bar. “Two ryes and ginger,” he said to Hank.
     “I wanted to see you,” I said, “so I looked in on the off-chance.”
     Hank put the rye in front of us. He beamed at Ackie. “You all right, mister?” he asked.
     Ackie leant forward and patted Hank's arm. “Me? I feel fine, couldn't be better.”
     It looked like these two knew each other, so I tried again.
     “That guy who was play in on the table over there... who was he?”
     Hank stopped laughing. His little eyes shifted like quicksilver. “I tell you I don't know him,” he said.
     Ackie looked at me, then he looked at Hank. Ackie was a smart guy. He saw the set-up without being told. “Spill it, Hank... this guy's a pal of mine,” he said.
     “I tell you I don't know.” Hank was getting angry. “I can't waste all my time with you gents... I gotta get on with my work.” He walked to the far end of the bar and began polishing glasses down there.
     Ackie looked after him thoughtfully and poured himself another rye. “What's it all about?” he asked.
     I shrugged. “Maybe it's nothing. I was pushing some balls around an' some guy offers to play me. I turned him down, an' while he was showin' off I spotted a gun in his pocket. Then he asked if my name was Mason, took a hard gander at me and beat it. I was just wondering who he was. This bar bozo knows who he was, but won't say.”
     Ackie frowned. “What's this fella like?”
     “A tall, thin bird, with a hanging lip and cold, hard eyes. He looked a dope, but I guess he was tough all right.”
     Ackie's eyes narrowed. “.This guy know how to handle a cue?”
     “Sure, he's the hottest thing I've seen.”
     “That's Earl Katz,” Ackie said. “Well! Well!”
     I shook my head. “That's a new one on me.”
     “Yeah, you wouldn't know him. He's a bad guy all right. One of Lu Spencer's gunmen.”
     I put my glass on the bar with a sharp little click. “Lu Spencer?” I said.
     Ackie nodded. “Yeah... looks to me like they're watchin' you already.”
     “What makes Hank get the jitters about a dope like that?” I asked.
     “Katz a dope?” Ackie wagged his bullet head. “You're crazy. That guy's as deadly as a rattlesnake. Don't go gettin' ideas about him. Why, Hank and the rest of us are scared sick of him.”
     I took another poke at the rye. “Well, I don't mind telling you,” I said quietly, “that guy ain't goin' to make me nervous.”
     Ackie shrugged. “You wait till you know him,” he said.
     I glanced round the room, but the place was still empty except for Hank, who was keeping away from us. I lowered my voice. “I had a little adventure last night. A dame dropped in and pinched some dough off me.”
     Ackie looked interested. “You mean she came in and took your roll or somethin'?”
     “I was havin' a shower and she got in, knocked off a nice slice of my rent and skipped without me seein' her. A guy who lives opposite me saw her go. I'm tyin' her up to this business, an' I wondered if you might know who she was.”
     Ackie looked incredulous. “Why the hell should I know?”
     “Can you fit in a dame that's blonde and dresses in black? Wears a big felt hat and looks like a real hot mamma?”
     Ackie shook his head. “Why should you tie her up to the Vessi business?” he asked.
     I wasn't going to tell him that, but just as I was getting set to air off my imagination he got it. Ackie had a lot of brain under his hat. “Jeeze! That's a howl,” he said, smacking his thigh and giving one of his grunting laughs. “You got paid, huh? They slipped you the ten grand already, an' someone pinches it.” He leant against the counter and hooted.
     When he'd got through with his fun, he mopped his eyes with his sleeve and grinned at me maliciously. “Gee! That's tough,” he said. “So a blonde hotcha got away with your dough.”
     I said “Yeah,” and gave myself another drink. “Suppose you cut out the sympathy and bend your brains on this. Can't you give me a lead on the blonde?”
     Ackie shook his head. “What do you take me for? Think I know all the blondes in town?”
     I said slowly, “It wouldn't be Vessi's moll, would it?”
     Ackie looked suddenly uncomfortable. “Listen, Nick,” he said, “I like you, but I've got to keep out of this... do you understand? You go ahead if you want a funeral on your hands, but you've gotta keep me out of it.”
     “All right, all right,” I said, “Forget it. I'll look into this on my own.”
     Ackie nodded. “You're the sorta guy who might crack this without gettin' hurt.”
     A nice line in comfort this guy had got, I thought. I looked at my watch. It was getting on for lunchtime. “Okay, Mo,” I said, “I'll be seeing you.” I left him giving himself another rye.
     I stood on the kerb thinking. It was a theory of mine to take the fight always to the other guy. I was not quite sure if I was going to be right this time. Maybe I'd start something that I couldn't finish. I didn't know. Then I thought I might as well go ahead and see what happened, so I signalled a taxi and told the driver to take me to the Hoffman Building quick.