The Ace of Spades - Dell Shannon (21 page)

His head was aching and his stomach felt queasy; he
groaned, trying to get into a comfortable position. Ease up on the
drink, sure, after this. Better try. But God, he'd like one now, get
him through, help him— He couldn't sleep, and it seemed morning
would never come, so he could start to get this all straightened out—
as straight as he could, anyway . . .
 

FIFTEEN

Lydia Bouvardier was feeling not so much worried as
irritated. She was irritated at Mr. Skyros, at this Donovan, very
much so at that insurance man, and at the situation in general. A
good deal of her irritation was occasioned by the fact that nothing
seemed to be as she had thought— as it should be.

She applied lipstick carefully and said, "Go,
try to get this Skyros at the telephone again, Berthe .... More and
more I have the feeling that he is not to be trusted! All these line
excuses why he cannot put me in touch with this Irishman— no
business for a lady, he says. And in any case he does not know where
Donovan is. Which is absurd, of course he knows. If I could but again
meet Donovan face to face, ah, I see he makes the bargain quickly!"

She made a little exclamation of annoyance and
snatched up a tissue to wipe away the minute ragged speck of lipstick
on her excellent white teeth .... It was not only irritating, but
puzzling. She had thought it a brilliant inspiration, about the
jewelers. One gathered from the
romans de
policiers
that that kind of thing was quite
common here; it was well known that Americans would do anything for
money. Very probably the owners of the place robbed had been in the
affair with the robber, in order to defraud the insurance firm— the
jewels taken they would then have back, and recut and remount to sell
them. So, naturally, they would know the thief and where he was to be
found. A delicate little matter, to speak frankly to them, explain
that she had no care for that aspect, it was their own business, but
if they would be so obliging to inform her where Donovan was staying
.... Once they understood clearly that she knew the ins and outs of
the affair, and were reassured of her tolerance in the matter—

One was aware that it was nothing out of the way
here, all Americans were quite lawless. But it appeared that she had
been wrong. The gentleman there in the shop, introducing himself—
the same name as that on the door, one of the owners then: he had
positively exuded respectable integrity. That she had recognized
almost instantly: one might as well suspect the present Minister of
Finance of robbing the national treasury.

In fact, when one came to the point, that was far
more likely. That red-haired woman . . . It had looked to be a
respectable apartment, very poor of course, but— Not probable that
Donovan was actually living there. And he had ignored her messages.

And when one thought twice, it would be foolish to
have Donovan shot, or his mistress, for in the one case he could not
conclude the bargain, and in the other he would only be more annoyed.
But perhaps to let him see that she was not a fool, to threaten him
convincingly— And so she had been very practical, remembering the
name Skyros had said, a cheap gangster (which was just as well, she
did not want to lay out too great a sum on this), and looking it up
in the directory.

But, zut!— he was not a gangster at all. He did
not wear a black shirt, or leave his cigarette in the mouth-corner
like an Apache, he spoke quite grammatical English, and at first he
had been very polite. Later he had been annoyed, which of course was
understandable if he was not a gangster.

"They say Mr. Skyros is not in his office,
madame, but he is expected there after lunch."

"Ah, how provoking!"
exclaimed Madame Bouvardier. "All this, it leaves me exactly
where I have started! Since this Irishman makes no reply to my
messages, which he must have had by now, he is evidently determined
to remain obstinate. Perhaps he and Skyros have made it up between
them to be obstinate, yes. Well, this Skyros shall have some plain
language from me today, that I can promise!"

* * *

Mr. Skyros did not sleep much on Friday night. He got
up very early, pleading business to his wife, and arrived at his
office before eight o'clock, before his employees. He locked himself
in and went to the small safe he kept on the shelf of the filing
cupboard; from this he took five twenty-dollar bills. Then he put on
the gloves he had brought with him, sat down at the desk, and
addressed an envelope to one Mr. Chester Scott, attorney-at-law. He
cut a strip of paper from a clean page and printed on it in carefully
disguised letters, In account with M. Prettyman, and attached it to
the bills with a paper clip. He put this small parcel into the
envelope, sealed and stamped it, unlocked the door and left the
office.

Outside, he sought his car and drove down to the main
post office, and mailed the envelope at the curb box without leaving
the car. Heading back for the office, he felt just a trifle more
cheerful; there was one little matter off his mind, at least. But
from the few details he had heard, no lawyer could get Prettyman off
the hook, with the stuff found on him— a year at least .... Mr.
Skyros was not much worried about the lawyer. He was not a very
scrupulous lawyer, he was used to dealing with such clients as
Prettyman, and he would not bat an eye at receiving this anonymous
retainer. It was necessary to guarantee the Prettymans such services,
of course, for otherwise they might feel a grievance and talk a bit
too much while they were inside. No reasonable man could object to
paying out a moderate sum for loyalty.

By the time he arrived back at his office the staff
had come in, and the pretty bookkeeper gave him a cheerful good
morning. "Gee, it's going to be hot again, Mr. Skyros— even
this early you can tell."

"This time of year, one wishes maybe to live in
Alaska, isn't it?" returned Mr. Skyros genially. "I bet all
your friends, they envy you in a nice air-conditioned office. Maybe I
ought to cut something off your salary for the advantage!" He
passed on into his office, sat down and worried a little more,
waiting for the phone call.

When it came, he had thought of a place. Sometimes it
was inconvenient, going all round to get somewhere, but it was only
sense to be careful. About the cops you never knew: they could be
almost cunning sometimes, and if they did know about others besides
those they'd taken, and were watching . . . "Come to the
airport," he said. "Municipal Airport, isn't it? In the
men's room, the main building."

Such a nice public place, and perhaps— if he was
ever asked about it— he'd been thinking of a little holiday
somewhere, inquiring about fares. Yes.

He told the bookkeeper he'd be back after lunch, and
drove out to the airport. A terrible drive in traffic in this
weather, but these things a ways came up at inconvenient times. He
sought out the men's room and waited; whenever someone else came in
he pretended to be washing his hands, straightening his tie. And
presently he was joined by the man he waited for, but, my God, he had
this stupid lout, this Denny, with him.

"We kinda figured I maybe oughta come along, Mr.
Skyros, on account you never met Angie before and I could say he is."

"No names, for the love of heaven,"
implored Mr. Skyros. "All right, I am assured, this is he
himself." And then they all fell silent, as a pair of men came
in. Mr. Skyros washed his hands industriously, looking at Angelo
Forti out of the corner of his eye. No, him he had not met before,
but he knew a good deal about him from Prettyman. A useful man— for
the time being— because he was, by what Prettyman said, such a very
persuasive salesman. A specialist in the high school kids, looking a
little like a kid himself, though not young-but a small,
frail-looking man, a man nobody could ever be afraid of, a little
not-unhandsome man with dreamy dark eyes. And of course, also the
profit was higher on Angelo, since he was a user himself. But for
that very reason Mr. Skyros much disliked having any dealings with
him, and that was going to pose a little problem ....

"It was Castro," said Angelo, turning his
soft dark eyes on Mr. Skyros as they were left alone. "Way I
heard it. One of his boys come around askin' for me, probably an
offer get me into that string, see, and Pretty and some o' the boys,
they just figured rough him up a little. You know. No trouble. But it
kinda went wrong— I don't know, seemed the guy was a little bit
tougher than he looked— there was quite a ruckus, and somebody
called the cops."

"Such a thing!" said Mr. Skyros crossly.
"All over such a little business!" There were times he
wished he had never had a disagreement with Bratti, and actually that
had been unnecessary too, looked at calmly. A little matter of a
thousand dollars or so, and it was quite possible that it had not
been Bratti or Castro who had waylaid Hogg and taken the stuff from
him. Hogg had not been able to say, he had been riding high himself
at the time— madness to get on the stuif, these irresponsible
people!— and Mr. Skyros had perhaps leaped to a conclusion. But
that was past praying for now, the quarrel established.

"I figured," said Angie, "I take over
for Pretty, and maybe so, you tell me now where to pick up the stuff
and when? It'd be just fine, you got some stashed away maybe now, on
account the cops got everything at the Elite."

Yes, and here was the problem. Mr. Skyros had no
desire at all to put Angelo in Prettyman's shoes: you could not trust
any man who was on the stuff himself. Angie might be worth his weight
in gold as a pusher, but to take any responsibility— my God! To
know dangerous information— one never knew what that kind would do.
He gave Angie a genial smile and said, "Well, now, you see, my
friend, I haven't just made up my mind, I've thought maybe it's a
good idea to lie quiet awhile. If the cops know some more than it
looks like— dropping on the boys so— "

"Ah, that was just the breaks," said Angie.
"They don't know nothin'. Just happened find the stuff on
Pretty, after that ruckus. Everything's O.K. I can get you three-four
new guys, no time at all, to take over. Find a new drop, the Elite
closed up. No trouble."

"Well— " said Mr. Skyros. "I take a
little time to think it over." It was awkward: very awkward.
There would be all the nuisance of contacting someone else to take
over. Someone reasonably trustworthy. And Angie would hear about it.
And Angie knew—

"Time," said Angie, and he smiled very
sweet and slow at Mr. Skyros. "Not too much time, because I'll
be needing some more myself pretty much right away. And I done favors
for you, big favor not so long back, didn't I, and I'm right here to
take on where Pretty left off. No trouble. I don't want no trouble,
you don't want no trouble, nobody wants trouble, Mr. Skyros."

Dear heaven, no, thought Mr. Skyros, turning away as
another man came in. He straightened his tie at the mirror with a
shaking hand; the genial smile seemed painted on his face. Angie
knew— Speak of dangerous information! Angie knew too much entirely
already. Really he had Mr. Skyros at bay . . .

"Big favor I done you. Acourse there's this deal
o' Denny's— and Jackie's— kinda hangin' fire, ain't it, maybe
you've been kinda worryin' over that. And can't say I blame you,"
said Angie thoughtfully. "This deal with the ace o' spades.
Anything to do with an ace o' spades, bad luck."

Ace of spades— a widow, that was what they called a
widow, these low-class crooks, remembered Mr. Skyros distractedly.
All about that Angie knew, too. When things got a little out of hand,
they very rapidly I, got a lot out of hand— it seemed to be a
general rule. All just by chance, and in a way tracing back to poor
Frank, all of it, because naturally— brothers, living together—
and Angie— ? Mr. Skyros did not at all like the look on Angelo's
regular-featured, U almost girlishly good-looking face— or indeed
anything about Angelo. Mr. Skyros was not a man who thought very much
about moral principles; he found money much more interesting; but all
the same he thought now, uneasily, of the way in which Angelo earned
his living— and paid for his own stuff— and eyed the soft smile,
and the spaniel-like dark eyes, and he felt a little ill.

"Look, my friend," he said, "in my
life I learn, how is it the proverb says, better an ounce of
prevention to a pound of cure. I stay in business so long because I'm
careful. Two weeks, a month, we talk it over again, and maybe if
nothing happens meanwhile to say the cops know this and that, then we
make a little deal, isn't it?"

"That's a long while," said Angie. "I
tell you, you want to leave it that way, I don't fool around with it.
I go over to Castro and get fixed up there. I can't wait no two
weeks."

And Mr. Skyros didn't like Angie, but what with
Prettyman and three of his boys inside, and not likely to come out—
And Angie such a valuable salesman, Prettyman said— All the
nuisance and danger of getting in touch with practically a whole new
bunch of boys— Why did everything have to happen at once?

Denny said stupidly, "Why, you ain't turning
Angie down, are you, Mr. Skyros? I mean, we all figured— I guess
anybody'd figure— Angie— "

Angelo gave him an affectionate smile. "Mr.
Skyros too smart a fellow want to get rid of me," he said. "It's
O.K., Denny, everything's O.K. Ain't it, Mr. Skyros?"