Fast buck, p.24
Fast Buck, page 24
A patrolman came up and saluted Olin.
‘Lieutenant, there’s a guy wanting to speak to you,’ he said. ‘Name of Dal as. Shal I let him through?’
Olin hesitated, then shrugged.
‘Yeah, let him through.’
Dallas joined Olin.
‘What have you got?’ he asked, looking at the body on the stretcher.
‘Hater,’ Olin said. ‘Not much doubt about it. O’Brien here has seen a picture of him.’
Dallas blew out his cheeks.
‘That’s sweet, isn’t it? The only guy in the world who knows where the Chittabad collection is, and he has to croak. Think he told Baird where it was cached before he handed in his pail?’
Olin shrugged.
‘Looks like Baird’s badly hurt. Someone who’s been in that car’s got gangrene. He couldn’t have got far.’
Dallas looked thoughtfully down the street at the gaping crowd. Then he frowned, peered forward, stared, and turning, caught hold of Olin’s arm.
‘I think I can guess where Baird is,’ he said. ‘See that girl in the front row? The one with a scarf over her head.’
Olin looked in the direction.
‘What of her?’
‘She’s Baird’s girl. She lives across the way. No. 30, on the top floor. It’s my bet Baird’s up there right now.’
‘How the hel do you know all this?’ Olin snarled. ‘If you’ve been holding out on me…!’
‘Burns found out about her,’ Dal as explained. ‘I didn’t know until tonight.’
‘There are a lot of things you didn’t know until tonight,’ Olin said angrily. ‘You’re sure that’s Baird’s girl?’
‘Yeah.’
Olin turned to O’Brien.
‘That girl with the scarf on her head. Bring her over here.’
‘Miss Jackson?’ O’Brien looked startled. ‘Excuse me, Lieutenant, you’re sure you want her?’
Olin glared at him.
‘That’s what I said! What is she — untouchable or something?’
‘Sorry, Lieutenant,’ O’Brien said uncomfortably. ‘I know most people on my beat, and she’s a good girl. She works hard and keeps to herself. She’s never been in any trouble, and that’s saying something in this street.’
‘Wel , she’s in trouble now,’ Olin snapped. ‘Bring her here.’
O’Brien saluted and walked stiffly down the street. He went up to Anita, said something, took her elbow and brought her back to Olin.
Anita’s dark eyes were scared, but she didn’t flinch from Olin’s hard gaze.
‘You know Verne Baird?’ he snapped.
‘I’ve met him,’ Anita said.
‘Yeah? Didn’t he hole up in your room about a month ago?’ Olin demanded aggressively. ‘You’d better not lie. I’ve got a witness.’
She looked quickly away from him, and her eyes took in the stretcher. The intern was dropping a blanket across Hater’s dead face. She had a glimpse of the swollen, grotesque mask before the blanket hid it.
Her hands went to her breasts, and the colour drained out of her face. She looked appealingly at O’Brien, claiming his at ention because he was a familiar stranger among unfamiliar ones.
‘Who — who is it?’ she asked.
‘Did you hear what I said?’ Olin barked. ‘I asked you…’
‘Who is that, please?’ she repeated, looking at O’Brien, and pointed at the still figure on the stretcher.
‘A guy named Hater,’ O’Brien told her. ‘But answer the Lieutenant’s question.’
‘Hater? Is he dead?’
There was something about the way she was holding herself and the sudden horror in her eyes that stopped Olin from grabbing and shaking her. He glanced at O’Brien and nodded.
‘Yes, he’s dead. You don’t have to worry about him,’ O’Brien said. ‘Tel the Lieutenant about Baird.’
Slowly, as if she was sleep-walking, Anita walked over to the stretcher.
The intern, a young, red-faced fellow, looked up impatiently.
‘Can I see him, please?’ she asked.
Surprised, he looked across at Olin, who signalled to him.
‘He’s not pretty,’ the intern said grudgingly, as if he were jealous of sharing his world of horrors with any outsider.
He lifted the blanket.
Anita looked for a long moment at the dead, swollen face. She seemed to go suddenly limp, and O’Brien went quickly to her side, taking her arm. He turned her away, so her back was to the body on the stretcher.
‘What happened to him?’ she asked, her fingers digging into O’Brien’s wrist. ‘He had only two more years to serve. He wouldn’t have run away.’
‘What is this?’ Olin said, exasperated.
As he made a move to go to her, Dallas pulled him back.
‘Let me talk to her,’ he said urgently, and before Olin could stop him, he was at Anita’s side.
‘He was kidnapped from prison,’ he told her. ‘They wanted to find out where he had hidden the Chittabad collection. Baird was paid to get him out of jail. It was Baird who killed him.’
She stiffened and pushed away from O’Brien.
‘Baird did that?’
‘That’s right. Do you know Hater?’
She jerked up her head and looked defiantly at Dallas.
‘Of course I know him. He was my father.’
Before Dallas could collect his startled wits, a patrolman with an elderly woman came quickly across the street towards Olin.
‘Lieutenant,’ the patrolman said, ‘this woman says she’s seen Baird.’
‘Where?’ Olin demanded, turning to the woman.
‘He was going to the top floor of my house,’ the woman said excitedly. ‘A big man; he seemed ill, and he was carrying a gun.’
‘Where’s your house?’
‘No. 30. That’s it over there,’ and she pointed.
‘You say he had a gun: what kind of a gun?’
‘I don’t know: a sort of machine-gun.’
‘Okay,’ Olin said, he waved the patrolman and woman away. ‘Come on, boys, let’s get him.’
‘Wait a minute,’ Dallas said, catching hold of Olin’s arm. ‘You don’t think you’ll take him alive?’
‘I don’t care if he’s alive or dead,’ Olin said.
‘Maybe he knows where the collection is. You’ve got to get him alive.’
Olin stared at him,
‘I don’t give a damn about the collection. I’m getting him dead or alive.’
‘Can I quote you?’ Dal as said. ‘The insurance companies will love to know the name of the officer who gypped them out of four million.’
Olin threw his cigar butt in the street.
‘Will you get out of my way! I’ve had about enough of you!’
‘Without the gun you could take him alive,’ Dallas said, speaking quickly. ‘Let me go up there and try and get the gun. I can tell him I’m from Miss Jackson. He might listen to me.’
Anita touched Olin’s arm.
‘I’ll get his gun,’ she said quietly. ‘He won’t hurt me. Then you can come up and take him.’
‘You don’t know what you’re saying. This guy’s dangerous,’ Olin said, exasperated. ‘Will you two get out of my hair?’
‘Let her do it,’ Dallas said. ‘You can be right behind her. If he starts blasting with that gun, he could kill half your men before you got him.’
‘I tell you she’s not going up there…!’ Olin began.
Anita turned suddenly and began to run across the street towards the house.
As Olin opened his mouth to shout after her, Dallas stumbled against him, knocking him off balance.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Olin snarled, recovering himself. ‘Come on, you guys, get after that girl!’
IV
Baird, lying on his side, his head on his arm, his back against the wall, was suddenly galvanised from his coma by the sound of a police siren.
He lifted his head, listening. The wailing note of the siren floated up the stairs like the vanguard of death. With an effort that made him feel faint and sick, he dragged himself to a sitting position. His right hand went out and pulled the Thompson gun towards him. He rested the butt against his chest, the barrel covering the stairs.
How had they found him? he wondered. He had a vague idea that he had come in a car, but his mind was too dazed and sick with fever to remember what he had done with the car. Surely he couldn’t have been so crazy as to have left it outside the house?
He looked over his shoulder along the passage. He could see the faint light of the moon coming through the skylight. If he remained in the passage, they would take him in the rear. Some of them would come up the stairs, the others would come through the skylight.
Slowly he dragged himself to Anita’s door. He reached up and turned the handle, but the door was locked. The effort sent him into a half-conscious stupor, and he lay on his side, against the door, fighting off the feeling that he was about to slip off the edge of the world.
More sirens brought him alert again. He caught hold of the door handle and dragged himself to his feet. He set his back against the door. From this position he could watch both the skylight and the stairs.
He got the Thompson under his arm with the butt against the door, his finger curled around the trigger. It wouldn’t last long, he told himself, but he’d take some of them with him. He remembered with startling clearness the same thing had happened to him in this very passage some five weeks ago. Then he had given himself up for lost, but she had saved him. It was still possible she might save him again.
Time hung in space. He waited with the patience of a wounded and trapped animal. Every now and then his head dropped to his chest, and his legs sagged, but each time he made the effort and stopped himself from sliding to the floor.
It was a long time before he heard footsteps on the stairs. He raised the gun, and waited.
Then he saw her. She was coming up the stairs, her hand on the banister rail, a red and blue scarf on her head, and her shabby overcoat dark with rain. She looked at him, white-faced, and her eyes big and frightened.
‘Hel o,’ he said huskily. ‘This is where we came in, isn’t it?’
She didn’t say anything. He saw her eyes shift from him to the gun. He realised he was still pointing it at her, and he hurriedly lowered the barrel.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, not moving.
‘My arm’s bad,’ he said. It was extraordinary how her presence had suddenly given him a new lease in life. The sight of her seemed to lift him above the fever that was devouring him. ‘Are the cops outside?’
‘There’s been an accident,’ she said, ‘A man died.’
‘Aren’t they looking for me?’
‘It’s the accident,’ she repeated, and began to move slowly and warily up the stairs. ‘Do you want me to look at your arm?’
He tried to grin.
‘It’s past being looked at. It’l have to come off.’
‘Perhaps I can do something.’ She came within a yard of him and stopped, her eyes on the gun.
‘Your door’s locked. I tried to get in.’
‘I always keep it locked. Do you want to lie on the bed?’
‘Maybe I’d better not. I don’t want to get you into trouble. I may die on you.’ He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Are you sure the cops aren’t looking for me?’
‘There was an accident,’ she said, refusing to lie to him. ‘They found a dead man in a car outside.’
‘A dead man? You’re sure he’s dead?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s Hater,’ he said. ‘I remember now. He’s dead, is he?’
She didn’t say anything.
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ he said, his mind groping vaguely into the past. ‘I forgot about him. We tied him and hid him under a blanket, then my arm got bad and I forgot about him. I forgot about everything except you. I’ve driven over five hundred miles to see you.’
Still she didn’t say anything.
‘Hater was quite a guy,’ Baird went on, half to himself. ‘You wouldn’t believe it to look at him. He hid four million bucks worth of jewellery somewhere. Think of that! Now he’s dead, and no one will ever find the stuff.’
‘You killed him,’ she said, in a cold, flat voice.
‘No. If he’s dead it’s because it was coming to him. I forgot about him, that’s al . You can’t cal that killing a man.’ He put his hand on the door knob. ‘Aren’t you going to open up?’
‘Yes,’ she said, and moved closer to him. She touched the gun. ‘Shal I take this? You won’t need it.’
His fingers tightened on the gun.
‘I might,’ he said. ‘I guess I can manage. Open the door, won’t you?’
She put a key in the lock and pushed open the door.
‘Remember the last time?’ he asked, looking into the shadowy room, lit by the moonlight coming in through the window. ‘Take it.’ He pushed the Thompson into her hands. ‘When I woke up last time you had put my rod by my side. I haven’t forgot en that. You’re the only one I’ve ever met who I can trust.’
He sank down on the bed. ‘I’ve often thought about you and what you did for me. I’ve often thought what you said about kindness isn’t something you buy from a grocery store. I guess you were right.
You’ve got to have kindness in you.’
She held the gun stiffly, the barrel pointing down at the floor.
‘Paul Hater was my father,’ she said.
Baird rubbed his ravaged face with the back of his hand.
‘What’s that?’
‘I said Paul Hater was my father.’
He looked at her, then at the gun.
‘Would you have told me that if I hadn’t given you the gun?’
She shook her head.
‘No.’
‘But he can’t mean anything to you. You can’t have seen him for fifteen years. You must have been about five when they took him away.’
‘My mother told me about him,’ she said quietly. ‘She told me how they tortured him. The only thing that kept him alive was the knowledge I’d be waiting for him when he came out.’
‘The only thing that kept him alive,’ Baird said, ‘was the thought of that stuff he had hidden away, and what he was going to do with it.’
‘No, that’s what everyone thought,’ she said, coming to the foot of the bed and looking down at him.
‘When he was arrested, my mother took the col ection. No one knew he was married. It was easy for her to get out of the country. The ship struck a reef. Only she and five others were rescued. The collection went down with the ship. For fifteen years my father suffered so my mother could go free. I never told him she found someone else. Then you had to come along and kill him when his suffering was nearly ended.’
‘I didn’t kill him,’ Baird said obstinately.
‘But you did. If you had left him alone, he would be alive now.’
‘You’re feeling pret y bad about it, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘I guess I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known. I want you to believe that. I stil owe you a lot. I could have squared our debt if I had known.’
‘I shouldn’t have helped you the first time,’ she said. ‘That’s where I went wrong. I only did it because I remembered what they did to him. If I had let them find you here, he would be alive now.’
‘I guess that’s right,’ he said, and lay back on the pillow. ‘There’s not much of me left. They can have what there is. Go ahead and call them.’
‘They’re waiting now,’ she said.
‘I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t suppose you’l believe that.’
‘Does it matter now? It’s a little late for regrets, isn’t it? You did it, and he’s dead. I blame myself, not you.’
His despair was bitter as she went out of the room without looking at him. For the first time in his life he felt afraid, for he realised he was going to die as he had lived: uncared for and in loneliness.
Olin and two patrolmen, guns in hand, came into the room. Dallas followed them.
Baird lay flat on his back, his eyes closed. He was breathing with difficulty, and sweat ran off his face, soaking the pillow.
Olin snapped, ‘Get that intern up here, and tel him to hurry.’
Dallas shook Baird’s shoulder.
‘Hey, you! Wake up!’
Baird opened his eyes.
‘Did Hater tell you where the stuff is?’ Dal as demanded. ‘Come on, spil it! It’s not going to be of any use to you now.’
Baird shook his head.
‘I forgot to ask him,’ he said, in a voice that was scarcely audible. ‘Too bad, isn’t it, copper?’ His eyes moved from Dallas to Olin. ‘I holed up in this room after I knocked off those two in the drug store,’
he said, speaking with difficulty. ‘I told her if she didn’t hide me Rico would get her. She didn’t want to do it. Do you understand? I made her. You’re not going to hold it against her, are you?’
‘Get ing soft?’ Olin said with a sneer. ‘You know as well as I do she covered you, and that makes her an accessory to murder!’
‘She thought Rico would rub her out if she didn’t cover me.’ Baird made an effort to sit up, but he couldn’t make it.
‘Quit lying!’ Olin said. ‘Why should you want to shield her? She took your gun. If it hadn’t been for her we wouldn’t have found you. Now, come on; she hid you wil ingly, didn’t she?’
Baird looked at Dallas.
‘You fix it,’ he gasped. ‘She’s a good kid. I made her do what she did. Put it in writing. I’l sign it.’
‘Listen,’ Dal as said to Olin, ‘if she hadn’t got his gun, you’d have had a bat le on your hands. What do you want to pick on her for?’
Olin made an impatient gesture.
‘Oh, the hel with it! I don’t want her. She can go for al I care. Where’s that damned intern?’
Baird relaxed limply back on the pillow. His eyes closed.
Dallas said, ‘Can I tel your man to let her go?’
‘Sure,’ Olin said impatiently. ‘Do what you damn well like.’
