Too Many Crooks (6 page)

"Oh. Well, really." Finally, she smiled slightly. "Bay away, then. I sleep like a log. Good night, Shell."

Shell, she'd said. I was making real progress. In eight or ten years, no telling what might happen. I scooted back under the wheel and drove off, headed south of town. It was dusk now, and there was no point in waiting any longer. It was time I paid a call on Jim Norris.

Chapter Six

I parked in the drive inside the grounds of the Beachcomber's Lodge and got out, and an attendant drove my car down to the lot. I'd been here several times before, because the lodge is one of the most enjoyable spots along the coast. It's on the ocean side of Seacliff Drive, a quarter mile out of town, and swank. The actual hotel building is small, but it overlooks the sea. Individual cabins are scattered around the grounds, most of them also with a sea view worth twenty dollars a day. A tennis court, a swimming pool, and the Beachcomber's Lounge and the dining room complete the lodge. I went into the lounge.

A tuxedoed waiter inclined his head slightly as I entered.

"Evening," I said. "I'd like to see Mr. Norris."

"Your name, please?"

"Shell Scott."

This guy hadn't been here when I'd last visited the lodge, and he'd probably never seen me. But it seemed likely somebody had mentioned my name to him. He bent to write on a pad, but suddenly he snapped his head up for a good look at me, then caught himself. He scribbled a moment longer, looked back at me, and said, "I shall see if Mr. Norris is available."

He walked away and returned in a couple of minutes. "I'm sorry, sir. Mr. Norris is not here at the moment."

"When will he be here?"

"I couldn't say."

"Well, I'll wait in the bar."

He frowned slightly. "Do you have a reservation, Mr. Scott?"

"Since when do I need a reservation for a bar stool?"

"There . . . has been a change in policy, sir."

I walked past him. He didn't stop me. The dining room was on my right, the dimly lighted bar through an arched entrance on my left. I turned left, found a stool at the far end of the U-shaped bar, and climbed onto it. Soft music played continually from hidden speakers, and there was a muted murmur of conversation. Twenty or thirty people were at the bar and tables, most of them seated before windows overlooking the sea, watching the red sun disappearing below the watery horizon. I spotted Wes, the bartender who had served me a good many bourbons in the past, but he didn't recognize me until I ordered a highball. Then he grinned.

"Well, Scott, you old cat. Where you been, man?"

"L.A., as usual."

"On vacation now?"

"Nope, Wes. Business. Same old private eyewash. I heard Seacliff was going to the dogs, so I got myself appointed dogcatcher."

Nobody near me paid any attention, but straight across from me, on the far side of the bar, a man was raising a glass of beer to his lips. He stopped the glass halfway up, froze for a moment, then drank and put the glass on the bar top.

I said to Wes, "Town's changed, hasn't it? What's happened to the place?"

He glanced toward the beer drinker, then back at me. "Nothing," he said. "Same as always." He seemed nervous.

"Come on, Wes. That's probably because you've been here all the time. I've been out of town for six months. Lots of ugly new faces around. You'd think the Capone gang was here for a sunburn."

He grinned halfheartedly, then walked to the far end of the bar. The man across from me got off his stool, walked over to me, and took the stool on my left. He said, "Your name Scott?"

"Uh-huh. What's yours?"

"What you doing here?"

"I'm thirsty."

"Don't get hot. I cast you a civil question. You the guy what pooped Renner?"

"News gets around."

"Bad news travels fast, mister."

"What's bad about it?"

"You are. You're bad news, mister. What you doing out here?"

I turned and wiggled a finger at Wes. "How about a refill?"

He walked over and looked at me and the other guy. "Sure. Bourbon and water, and one beer?"

"Just the bourbon, Wes."

The guy slid off the stool and walked away. I asked Wes, "Who was the curious character?"

"That's Joe Frye."

"Work here?"

"No. He lives here. In the bar a lot."

"He a friend of Norris?"

"Seems to be. I've seen them together quite a bit."

I had a swallow of my bourbon, then Frye was back. He tapped me on the arm. "Come on."

"Where?"

"You wanted to see Norris, didn't you?"

I followed him as he walked into the dining room. This early, only a few tables were occupied. It would be another three hours before the place filled. But at one table, just inside the door, two men sat picking at broiled lobster. One was skinny, with a bald spot in the middle of his head, and the second was the other guy I'd met so briefly on Dane's porch. Everybody was here except Renner.

Frye walked past them and headed for a table against the wall. Three men sat there. One, with his back to the wall, was staring at me. The chair on this side of the table was empty. On my left, Skinny and his friend looked up and grinned happily at me as I walked by. I didn't stop, and I didn't grin happily at them.

When I reached the table, the man on the other side of it said, "You're looking for me?"

"If you're Jim Norris."

"That's me. Sit down."

I pulled out the chair and sat. Meeting a man on his own ground is like betting against a man's own trick; the percentage is all against you. Norris was seated with his back to the wall, and I sat with my back to Skinny and his pal. On my left and right were a couple more of Norris's buddies.

Seated, Norris didn't seem tall, but he was stocky. A well-cut blue sheen-gabardine coat rested smoothly on his wide shoulders and he wore a pink tie with a huge Windsor knot. His features were even, but knobby cheekbones and a sharp thin nose, plus an almost pointed chin, gave his face an angular look. His eyes were blue, but the lids were pinkish, inflamed, and small granules rested on them like dandruff. It looked as though he'd strained his eyes, but his appearance made it improbable that he'd strained them from too much reading. I was guessing, but my first impression was that Norris's reading was probably confined to the Racing Form.

He said, "OK, OK. What's with you? You see me. Make some words."

"You're in a hell of a hurry for a man who wasn't even supposed to be here."

"I was here, but that don't mean I got to see every slob who asks for me. I don't like to be disturbed till I've et."

"I understand you're the Seacliff Development Company," I said.

"I'm it? Hell, no. I got interest in it, just like these gentlemen."

He pointed at the men sitting with us. The one on my left looked like a horse, a mean, starved horse, with a bulbous nose, thick blubbery lips, and enough shaggy black hair on his neck to do for a mane till something better grew there; the other was big, dark, and grinning, and from the beat-up appearance of his chops, I figured that every time he shot a guy he filed another notch in his teeth. Both mugs were staring at me.

Norris continued, "OK. So what?"

"So a lot of people don't like your methods."

"That's too bad. Nothing illegal about it. People want to sell a place, we're glad to buy it. All legal. Happens every day."

"Sure," I said. I looked around the room, then back at Norris. "Suppose I came in here with a hundred grand or so, dropped it in front of you, had you sign some papers, and bought the place. Nice and legal."

"That's just the way it is."

"I wasn't finished. And suppose, if you didn't feel like selling, I broke your arm, knocked you down, and kicked all your teeth down your throat. And I played with you like that till you decided you wanted to sell. You'd still call that legal, wouldn't you?"

His face was flushed by the time I got through. "Listen here, Scott," he said slowly. "It's time I told you something. Your presence here is—" He searched around in the great emptiness of his skull for the right word, found it, and smiled. "It's obnoxious to me. If you got a lick of sense, you'll go through the door and get clear out of Seacliff. You don't, no telling what might happen to you."

"Like what happened to Whist, maybe?"

He jammed his teeth together and stared at me for several seconds. Finally, he said, "Not like that at all. Whist died accidental. If you should die sudden, I got a feeling it won't be no accident. Now, you said all you wanted to say?"

"Not quite. I came out here to tell you it's no good. I don't care if you want the beachfront property for rezoning or for building sand castles." When I said "rezoning" his eyes went wide, then narrowed again. "You may have muscled three or four people, but you can't muscle the whole town. Not even if you've got a few people here in your pocket. Even cops."

"Got no cops," he said levelly. "I got . . . friends." He looked at the grinning mug and the horse, then past my shoulder to the boys eating lobster.

I went on. "As long as nobody tumbled to what you were up to, you could make a little progress. But too many people know about it now, and a hell of a lot more are going to. So think about it. And one last thing. Dane's place is off limits for you and all your boys."

"Sure. You'll shoot 'em all like Renner. You got machine guns in your ears. Since we're talking frank, Scott, I'll be frank. You must be dumber than you look. How many men you got with you? An army? Gander around."

I looked around the dining room. Still the same tables filled. Skinny and friend at one; two men at another; four sharply dressed guys at a third. That was all besides our table. The only thing was, they were all men.

"Yeah," said Norris. "Not a customer in the joint. Just—well, friends of mine."

"All that proves is you've got a lot of ugly friends. But you can't think that you can go on muscling people. Not now that the story's spreading. Unless you're out of your mind."

"Show him out, boys."

"Yeah, Boss." Two men speaking as one. They stood up as Norris said to me, "Or would you rather leave quietly?"

"I'll leave quietly."

He laughed. That pleased him, because he figured he had me buffaloed. But there was no reason to stick around, and I wouldn't accomplish anything by getting my head bashed in, except getting my head bashed in. I stood up.

Norris said, "Just one thing, Scott. I meant it when I told you to leave town. You leave tonight, you'll be OK. Keep your nose in, you'll get it—you know?" He got up and walked around the table and stopped beside me. I was surprised at how small he was. When he was sitting down, he hadn't looked big, but now I saw he couldn't be more than five-three or five-four. He put a hand on my arm and said pleasantly, "I got no hard feelings with you, Scott. That's straight. Live and let live, I say. You don't give me no more trouble, we can get along fine."

I should have kept my mouth shut, but now that I was reasonably sure Norris himself had sent Renner around to bat Dane on the head, it was as if my mouth popped open all by itself. "Nuts. You know we can't get along, Norris. I just don't like guys who beat up old men and muscle old ladies. So take your paw off me." I glanced around. "And keep your apes out of my hair."

Norris reacted with surprising restraint. He stepped back. "OK, Scott," he said softly. "That's the way it is."

I turned to go and the other men at the table started to walk with me but Norris snapped, "Let him alone, you jerks."

I walked out of the dining room and stopped by the tuxedoed dandy. "Cadillac?" he said.

"Yeah. Black convertible." While he unhooked the wall phone and spoke into it, I looked back into the dining room. The men were still at their tables. I hadn't really expected any of them to follow me, but it made me feel better to see them all still there.

The waiter tapped me on the shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said apologetically. "We've been having trouble with the phone to the parking lot. I'm afraid you'll have to pick up your car."

"OK. Thanks."

I walked outside and headed down the drive to the lot, a hundred feet away. It was on the other side of the brightly lighted tennis courts, and a couple was playing a set, batting the ball back and forth with insane energy.

The lot was lighted up like a football field, and I had no trouble spotting my car among the dozen or so parked there. I glanced over my shoulder, but I didn't see anybody near me, just another car being driven down from the lounge to the lot. A uniformed attendant leaned against a light standard.

He said, "Sorry about the phone, sir. We'll have it fixed in half an hour or so."

"No trouble. You ought to set up a wigwag system or run up flags."

The thought hit me then that in a swank spot like this it was strange no bellhop was handy to run down for the cars. The warning tingled along my nervous system, but it hadn't penetrated all the way yet. I just knew there was something screwy. I glanced over my shoulder again. The other car was turning to come down the lane where I was walking, and its lights were out.

And before I even realized what that meant,
all
the lights went out. Everything, every light in the entire lodge, over the tennis court, in the bar—and here in the parking lot.

I could hear the car motor now as the driver accelerated, obviously trying to run me down. In the sudden blackness, I couldn't see a thing, but I could hear the car near me and I jumped to the side, spread out in the air, straining to get out of the way before it hit me. I felt the fender slam into my leg and it wrenched my body around and sent me sprawling to the asphalt as car brakes squealed shrilly alongside me.

Pain ripped through my leg and my left shoulder as I hit the ground and rolled. Footsteps slapped the asphalt nearby as I tried to get my feet under me, my brain spinning. I was face down on the ground, and as I tried to push myself up my left arm buckled. There was a scraping sound near me, light flashed momentarily, and something slammed against my head. Pain exploded in my skull, but I was still conscious enough to hear other men running. Then a hand grabbed my coat, jerked me over. There was faint light from the moon and stars, enough so that now I could dimly see the features of the big guy who'd been sitting with Norris, and I tried to move toward him, drive my right fist toward his mouth, but I saw his hand swinging toward me like a shadow in the darkness, and then there was sudden blackness, deeper, more intense than before, and then nothing at all . . .