Too Many Crooks (7 page)

Chapter Seven

Standing at the top of the steps before the Manning Memorial Hospital, I finished my cigarette and flipped it away. The blue Chrysler was still parked at the curb; the other guy still leaned against his lamppost. I slipped my .38 from its holster and dropped it into my coat pocket. I kept my hand on it as I walked down the steps. Just before I reached the sidewalk the door on this side of the Chrysler opened and a man stepped out.

"Scott," he said. "Just a minute, huh?"

He was about my age and size, maybe a little slimmer, and much better looking. He was a helluva pleasant-looking man, not at all like the punks I'd met so far. But then, a lot of punks don't look like punks. I stopped and said, "I don't want any conversation, mister."

"This won't take long," he said. "It's for your own good."

"Everybody's damned interested in my welfare, one way or another." I looked into the car behind him. It was empty.

He leaned back against the closed door. I said, "OK, speak your piece. But don't come any closer."

He looked me over and said, "Take your hand out of your pocket, for God's sake, and stop acting like a Junior G-Man." He grinned pleasantly, held out his arms, and turned around. He was in shirtsleeves and slacks. "No gun, no nothing," he said. "Never carried a gun in my life."

"How did you know I was coming out? You couldn't have intended to wait here all night."

"Norris was anxious about you, Scott. Wanted to be sure you were all right, you know. So he asked Dr. Greeley to let him know when you were well enough to leave. Naturally, Greeley was willing to keep your good friend informed."

"Naturally. OK, spill it. And who the hell are you?"

"My name's Zimmerman. I work for Norris."

Zimmerman. I remembered what Dane had told me about the smooth, persuasive bastard who had talked to him about selling out.

"Norris asked me to tell you the facts of life, Scott. You could as easily have been killed as worked over a little. You're still alive only because there'd be a pretty big stink if you were knocked off. Not only from the cops here, but in L.A." He paused. "I'm from L.A. and I know you're thick with the cops there, so it'd just be trouble. But whether or not it's too
much
trouble depends on how much trouble you give us. So don't give us any. See how simple it is?"

"Sure. All anybody has to do is agree with everything the mobsters say, and all's well. For you guys. Norris must know he can't keep on the way he's been going. I told him as much."

"And what did it get you?" He grinned. "I know what you told him, and you're wrong there, too. Not one person out of a thousand in town has any idea what's going on. Sure, there's a little operation here. Maybe you know some of it, maybe you don't, but there's nothing you can do about it. After what already happened, you ought to have sense enough to blow. You can't be so stupid—"

I hadn't been conscious of pressing my teeth together, but now I could feel the muscles wiggling at the sides of my jaws. I reached out and grabbed the front of Zimmerman's shirt and bunched it up in my left hand with a little skin as I yanked him closer to me. He pulled his head back but didn't move his arms as I said, "I'll tell you this, friend. I'm not real bright sometimes. Some ways I
am
stupid. So Norris tried the absolute wrong way to get me to blow, and he knocked the last bit of sense out of my head. Maybe some other way he could have convinced me, but not by having me slapped around. I just don't take kindly to getting sapped." I shoved him back toward the car, let go of him, and said, "Go back and tell your boss to find a hole."

For a few seconds I thought Zimmerman was going to jump me. His face didn't change much, except that his lips thinned a little, while his eyes went wide and froze on my face. But that little change in his expression made him look like a different man.

What impressed me most, though, was what he did with his right hand. He'd brought it up from his side and held it just an inch out from his belly, the hand steady, curled slightly with the thumb tucked down brushing his shirt and all four fingers loosely extended. It was an odd gesture for a man who never carried a gun in his life. I was looking at his face, but I saw the hand slowly clench into a fist, then drop to his side and relax.

He sighed shakily, got himself calmed down, and said evenly, "Scott, there's no use getting yourself pushed. Be smart. Suppose I hadn't come here to talk. Suppose I was here to push you." He grinned and stuck his index finger at me and wiggled his thumb. "Pop, pop," he said. "And I just drive away. Scott, you ever see me before?"

I didn't say anything, but he kept talking.

"For all you know, I could be a shoe salesman. Next guy you meet might be a shoe salesman. Or he might not. How you going to tell? We all know what you look like, though. Might be half a dozen of us, might be half a hundred. How you going to know?"

I said, "Maybe I won't know. But everybody gets a fat look from here on in. And I won't forget your face, friend. I already know what Norris looks like."

"Oh, yeah, naturally you'll stay away from him. You wouldn't get within a hundred yards of the lodge now."

Somebody was walking down the sidewalk toward us and I glanced to my right at another man a few feet away, then moved over toward the rear of the car where I could see both guys. Nobody stood against the lamppost. The man nodded and Zimmerman said to him, "Hi, Slim. What's new?" The man stopped, chatted a moment about the weather, then walked on.

Zimmerman opened the car door and said, "You never saw him before, either, did you, Scott?" He climbed into the car. "So beat it," he said. "Now. Tonight. You've got no chance at all." He started the car and left.

I stood on the sidewalk for a moment looking after him, then glanced behind me. Nobody was in sight. I walked half a block to the hospital parking lot and found my car. Before I climbed in, I unlocked the trunk and checked the stuff inside it. I carry about three thousand dollars' worth of equipment along with me in the Cad, gadgets I sometimes need on a job, from infrared and electronics equipment to a miniature camera and extra cartridges for my .38. Probably the boys hadn't looked in the trunk. Everything seemed undisturbed.

I got into the car and drove two blocks to a service station. While the car was being gassed, I used the phone inside to call Emmett Dane.

He was surprised to know I was out of the hospital. "You all right, Shell?"

"Fair enough. A few aches and pains, but navigating. What's been going on, Em? Any trouble?"

"Nothing serious. New guy took Renner's place and came out here. Asked me if I'd changed my mind about selling. I told him he was trespassing on private property and to get the hell off. Then he told me you were in the hospital."

He asked what had happened to me and I told him the story. He said, "Shell, you know I'm sorry. You want to pull out, it's OK by me. Wouldn't blame you."

"What are you going to do, Em?"

He didn't answer for a minute, then he said, "Well, yesterday I bought me a gun. Been shooting at sea gulls. Haven't done more than scare them so far."

That was about what I would have expected him to do, and that was my answer. I said, "Better confine your shooting to sea gulls, Em. Incidentally, what about Baron and Lilith? They had any trouble?"

"I don't know, Shell." His voice was worried. "They're both in a sweat. What happened to you, after Whist getting killed, and that mess here with Renner, has sort of put them in a panic."

"You talk to the cops?"

"Yes. Lilith told me both she and Baron went down, too, and had a long talk with the chief. I guess Baron finally goosed him into moving a little. He's checking all these guys, and every sale so far, but the hell of it is, he tells us he hasn't got enough yet to put anybody in jail."

"I'll give him some more—a signed complaint against Norris, for one thing. Which will mean Norris will have to go to the immense trouble of posting bail. Look, Em, I'll come over later, but I think now I'll talk a bit with Baron and Lilith. Where would I find Baron?"

"He's probably still in his office on Main. Usually there till around eight."

I told Dane I'd see him later, looked up Baron's phone number, and called his office in the Diamond Building. He answered, and after the expressions of surprise and sympathy were out of the way I said I'd like to see him. He told me to come right up.

The Diamond Building was seven stories on Main Street, a little more than two blocks past the Red Cross stand, which was the scene of much activity now. I remembered that this was the first day of the Red Cross drive, and I hoped they got a lot of blood. Maybe I could help them there; I knew a lot of hoods who, from my point of view, would be better off with no blood at all.

I went inside the Diamond Building, took the elevator to the seventh floor and Baron's office, the three rooms of Suite 712 overlooking Main Street. He stood up behind his desk with an uncertain smile on his fleshy, good-looking face when I came in.

"Mr. Scott," he said soberly, "what actually happened to you?"

"Some of Norris's men worked me over. Kind of an unsubtle way of telling me to leave town. Also the wrong way."

He winced, closed his eyes. "I assumed it was Norris." He looked at me for a long time, his brown eyes worried. "Maybe you should leave, Mr. Scott. Perhaps it would be better for all—"

"Hey," I said. "Wait a shake. A few minutes ago one of the punks told me to blow. Now you. I thought you were on the same side I am, Baron."

He licked his lips. "I am, of course, but . . . things are worse since you came, not better. I'll tell you the truth. I'm unnerved by all that's happened. I'm frightened."

"So am I, Baron. But I'm more frightened to see guys like you and Fellows and Prentice and the rest throwing in the towel in the first round."

He looked unhappy. "I'm not throwing in the towel. But look what happened to you. I don't want anything like that happening to me. I'm more interested in my life than in money. And there seems nothing we can do. Even the police haven't been able to do anything."

"And that smells mighty strange to me. There ought to be plenty—"

He interrupted. "It isn't so strange, Mr. Scott. Don't forget, I'm a lawyer. Chief Thurmond's something of a fool at times, but he's doing his best. All he has to act on so far is complaints from Mrs. Whist, you and Dane, and Lilith and myself. The chief told me that all Mrs. Whist had was a vague suspicion. Actually that's all Lilith and I have, nothing concrete. I imagine the same is true of Emmett—I mean as far as anything concrete is concerned, any actual evidence."

"What about Prentice and Fellows?"

"Emmett told me about them. But Mr. Prentice has left town. Mr. Fellows claims there was no coercion used against him. As for other evidence—well, I'd rather hoped you'd come up with something."

"You might say I have, in a roundabout way."

"I hope so. These men have been clever enough so far."

"I've seen few people less clever than Norris. Actually, he doesn't impress me as being smart enough to run this whole play here."

"Perhaps so. But he must be associated with some more intelligent men."

"I met one of them tonight, but he's no better than the rest. They're all punks after a fast buck and they don't care how they get it. Well, Baron, what are you going to do? You can't wish these guys away. You and Lilith and Dane and me
together,
plus a few others—together, not singly—could stop these guys in no time. Hell, Baron, you're well known here, respected, influential, and with Lilith Manning's name and what the family name means to this town, the two of you could get the whole town behind you." I got up and paced around for a couple of minutes. Finally, I sat down again. "I didn't mean to blow your ear off, Baron, or make a speech. But it's so damned simple. A little unity, a little pressure, a couple of articles in the
Star
, and no more trouble."

He nodded. "I suppose you're right, Scott. Of course you're right."

"By the way," I said, "what about Lilith? How does she feel?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen her today. She was quite unhappy about everything yesterday, though. She was thinking about leaving town again, just ignoring this mess. After all, she's never been fond of Seacliff."

True, I thought. She could take off and say the hell with everything. If the mobs got the beachfront property rezoned, without owning her property, her holdings would go way up in value automatically. I wondered if she'd seriously considered that angle—and perhaps didn't mind the thought a bit. For a moment, I wondered if maybe Baron had toyed with the same idea; I remembered he'd mentioned it the day I'd met him.

"I'll talk to her," I said.

"Tonight?"

I glanced at my watch. It wasn't nine o'clock yet. "Yeah, I suppose she'll be up."

Baron pursed his lips, thinking. Then apparently he came to a decision and he grinned at me. "Give her the same speech you gave me," he said. He pulled the phone across his desk, dialed, and said, "You have an almost contagious exuberance, Mr. Scott."

In a moment he said into the phone, "Lilith? Clyde. I've just been talking with Mr. Scott. . . . Yes, he's out of the hospital, in my office now. Well, he's about convinced me we've been acting like ostriches." Baron showed me his large, even teeth again. "I think we should all get together, Lilith, make some positive plans. Perhaps, as Mr. Scott mentioned, some articles in the
Star
, things along that line. Can you come in?" He listened a moment. "Your place? All right, just a moment."

He held the phone toward me. "She wants to talk to you."

I grabbed the phone and said, "Hi."

Lilith said, "Hello, Mr. Scott. I was awfully sorry to hear you were hurt. I . . . thought you were going to"—she laughed—"keep in touch."

"Ah . . . yes. I was unavoidably detained. Unfortunately."

"Are you coming out?"

"Sure, if it's all right."

"Of course it's all right. I've been dying to see you. Perhaps we can finish our last conversation."