THE fat desk sergeant shifted his bulk on his creaking chair and nodded his bullet-shaped head.
“The Lieutenant’s questioning him now,” he said. “He’s expecting you, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he’s expecting me,” Conrad said. “What’s he doing –pushing Weiner around?”
A dreamy expression came over the sergeant’s face.
“Well, he ain’t exactly combing his hair,” he returned. “Three of our best boys got killed through him.”
Conrad swung around, crossed the charge room in three strides and went quickly along the passage, down a short flight of stone steps, then to a door at the end of another passage. He turned the handle and pushed the door open.
Pete sat in a hard, bright circle of light. The small room was full of tobacco smoke and the smell of sweat and dust. It was also full of bull-necked, red-faced detectives. Bardin was standing in front of Pete, and as Conrad entered the room, Bardin drew back his arm and hit Pete across his face with the flat of his hand. The sound of the blow was like the bursting of a paper bag, and Pete’s head jerked back and then forward.
Blood ran down to his chin from a cut lip. His dark eyes, narrowed and full of hate, looked up at Bardin without flinching.
“So you’ve never heard of Maurer,” Bardin sneered. “Don’t you read the newspapers?”
“Only the sports column,” Pete said through gritted teeth.
Bardin swung his arm again, but Conrad reached out and caught his wrist.
“Take it easy, Sam,” he said quietly.
Bardin swung around. There was a dull, cold expression in his eyes as he stared at Conrad.
“That’s right,” he said with savage bitterness. “Take it easy. Never mind the guys who got killed. Never mind about their widows or their kids. Take it easy. What do you expect me to do? Put my arms around this little rat and suckle him?”
Conrad released Bardin’s wrist.
“Sorry to break up the session, but I want this guy.” He pulled out a sheet of paper and tossed it on to the desk. “This will cover you, Sam. Want me to sign for him?”
Bardin’s face grew dark with congested blood. He picked up the paper, glanced at it and tossed it back on the desk.
“What are you going to do with him?” he asked in a hard, rasping voice. “Tuck him up in bed with a radio and four good meals a day?”
Conrad looked at Bardin steadily and didn’t say anything. Bardin gave a heavy snort, walked around to his desk, took out a receipt book, wrote savagely, spluttering ink and shoved it across to Conrad.
“Okay, take the little rat. He’s not talking. He knows nothing. He’s never heard of Maurer. He wasn’t within a mile of the amusement park. If you think you’ll get anywhere with him without beating the guts out of him, you’ve got another think coming.”
“I want him in a wagon and escort,” Conrad said. “Fix it for me, will you, Sam?”
Bardin got up, nodded to one of the detectives who went out. Then he walked over to Pete and glared down at him. “You’ll be back, Weiner. Don’t imagine you’re going to have it nice and easy just because the D.A.’s interested in you. You’ll be back, and we’ll cook up something for you.” He swung his hand and caught Pete a smashing backhanded blow that knocked him over backwards, taking the chair with him.
Pete sprawled on the floor, his eyes dazed, his hand holding his puffy right cheek.
Conrad turned away. He didn’t approve of these methods, but he didn’t blame
Bardin. To lose three good policemen in saving the life of a worthless young gangster was something to make any Lieutenant bitter.
Pete got unsteadily to his feet and slumped against the wall.
No one said anything. No one moved. Minutes dragged by, then the door opened and the detective came back.
“Okay. At the side entrance, sir.”
“Take him,” Bardin said to Conrad with a gesture of disgust. “And don’t forget, when you’re through with him, we want him back.”
“You’ll get him,” Conrad said. He looked at Pete. “Come on, Weiner.”
Pete crossed the room. He felt as if he were walking through a forest of menacing giants as he weaved his way around the big detectives who made no attempt to move out of his way and who watched him with hot, intent eyes.
A heavy steel-walled wagon stood at the side entrance in a big enclosed yard. Police stood around with riot guns at the ready. Six speed cops sat astride their motor-cycles, their engines ticking over, their hard, sun-burned faces watchful.
Pete climbed into the wagon and Conrad followed him. The steel door slammed shut and’Conrad pushed home two massive bolts.
“Sit down,” he said curtly.
Pete sat down. He heard the motor-cycle engines roar, and then the wagon jogged into life and began its guarded run to the City Hall.
Conrad took out a pack of cigarettes, shook out two, handed one to Pete, lit it and then lit his own.
“What are you going to do when a bondsman posts boil for you, Weiner?” he asked quietly.
Pete looked up sharply.
“You’re charging me with murder, aren’t you? That’s a non-bailable offence.”
Conrad looked at him thoughtfully.
“Maybe I won’t charge you with murder. Suppose I charge you with consorting with known criminals? You’ll be out on bail within a couple of hours.”
He saw Pete change colour.
“I don’t want to go out on bail.”
“Why not?”
Pete didn’t say anything. He stared down at the handcuffs around his wrists, feeling sweat start out on his face.
“You’re not scared to be out on bail, are you?”
“I’m not talking,” Pete said.
“You’ll change your mind. Think it over. Once you’re out of my hands, Weiner, I wouldn’t give a dime for your life. I’m not protecting you unless you’re going to do some talking.”
“I don’t know anything about anything,” Pete said sullenly, and shifted around so his back was half turned to Conrad.
“You stupid fool!” Conrad said. “The girl will identify you. Do you think you can get out of this? You were sent to kill her weren’t you? You acted on Maurer’s orders.”
Pete didn’t say anything.
“You’ll have to talk sooner or later,” Conrad said quietly. “You can’t spend the rest of your days suspended in space. You’ve got to come down on one side of the fence. You either talk and we’ll protect you or you’ll keep your mouth shut and we’ll turn you loose. There’s no other out for you.”
Still Pete didn’t say anything.
“We’re not interested in you,” Conrad went on. “We’re after Maurer. Play with us and we’ll take care of you.”
Pete twisted around.
“Take care of me? That’s a laugh! Do you imagine you can protect me? So long as I keep my mouth shut I stand a chance: not much of one, but a chance. If I talk I’m as good as dead. Neither you nor the whole goddamn police force could keep me alive!”
“Don’t be a fool!” Conrad snapped. “Of course we can protect you. I’ll guarantee it.”
Pete stared at him for a long moment, then leaned forward and spat on the floor.
Van Roche was waiting as Conrad entered his office. “Did you get him?” Van Roche asked.
“I’ve got him,” Conrad said, and walked over to his desk and sat down. “He’s up on the tenth floor with a couple of guards taking care of him. What are you looking so excited about?”
“Abe Gollowitz is talking to the D.A. He’s got a writ for Miss Coleman’s release.”
Conrad stiffened.
“You kidding?”
Van Roche shook his head.
“He blew in about ten minutes ago. The D.A.’s stalling him until you got back. He’s demanding to see Miss Coleman.”
Conrad got to his feet.
“I’d better see the D.A.”
He walked along the passage to the D.A.’s office, tapped and pushed open the door.
Forest sat behind his desk, his hands folded on his blotter. He looked up as Conrad came in, lifted his shoulders in a resigned shrug and waved a hand towards Gollowitz who was sitting by the desk, his round swarthy face bland.
“I was just telling the D.A. that I want to see Miss Coleman,” Gollowitz said as Conrad shut the door and came across to the desk.
“Why?” Conrad asked curtly.
“She is being unlawfully detained here, and I happen to be her legal representative: that’s why.”
“Well, well, that’s news,” Conrad said. “Does she know of her extraordinary good fortune? After all, I should have thought you had more important work to do than to bother about a penniless movie extra.”
Gollowitz chuckled.
“As the legal representative of the Norgate Union I take under my care any of its members, and Miss Coleman happens to be a member.”
“Yeah, I should have thought of that,” Conrad said, and glanced over at Forest.
“He wants to see her right now,” Forest said.
“And no one can stop me seeing her,” Gollowitz said smoothly. “I don’t have to tell you that.” He got up and leaning forward tapped a paper lying on Forest’s desk. “You’re satisfied with this, aren’t you?”
“I guess so,” Forest said, shrugging. He looked over at Conrad. “You’d better ask Miss Coleman if she wants to see Mr. Gollowitz. We’ll wait.”
Conrad nodded and went out of the office. He was sure Frances would want to see Gollowitz, and he stood for a moment thinking. He could warn her, but was she in the mood to listen to warnings? Did she realize the danger she was in? Once Gollowitz got her away from the D.A.’s office, she would disappear. He was sure of that.
He returned to his office.
“Get me six photographs of any of our customers,” he said to Van Roche, “and include in the six a picture of Maurer.”
Van Roche went to the files, and after a minute or so handed Conrad six halfplate prints.
“I want you to come up with me,” Conrad said. “When I give you the tip, bring Weiner into Miss Coleman’s room. Okay?”
Van Roche looked startled.
“What’s the idea?”
“You’ll see. We haven’t much time. Come on, let’s get upstairs.”
They rode up in the elevator to the tenth floor.
“Stick with Weiner until I send for you,” Conrad said, and walked quickly down the passage to Frances’s door.
Jackson and Norris, still at their posts outside the door, gave him bored nods as he rapped. The door was opened by Madge. There was an exasperated expression on her face.
“Is she being difficult?” Conrad asked, keeping his voice down.
“I’ll say she is.”
Conrad nodded and walked into the inner room. He was aware of a feeling of suppressed excitement to see Frances again, even after only a few hours.
She was looking out of the window. The nurse got to her feet and went out silently when she saw Conrad.
“I hope you’re feeling better now, Miss Coleman,” Conrad said.
She turned quickly. Her eyes were angry and she came across the room to face Conrad.
“I want to go home!” she said fiercely. “You have no right to keep me here!”
“I know,” Conrad said mildly. He thought how animated she looked in her anger. Not like Janey’s anger. There was nothing spiteful about this girl, “And I’m sorry about it, Miss Coleman. We don’t think it’s safe for you to leave just yet.”
“I’m the judge of that!”
“Are you?” He smiled at her, hoping to win a smile from her, but she remained straight-faced and angry, staring at him. “Look, sit down, won’t you? If after what I’m going to tell you you still want to go home, then I’ll have to let you go. I can’t hold you here against your will.”
Her anger began to fade, but her eyes were suspicious.
“I don’t want to listen. I just want to go right now.”
“I wish you would try to be reasonable. We’re only thinking of your own safety. Why do you imagine that gunman tried to kill you? Have you thought of that?”
He saw uncertainty chase suspicion out of her eyes.
“He — he must have been mad.”
“Do you really think so?” Conrad sat down. “Sit down for a moment. I won’t keep you long.”
She hesitated, then sat down, her fists tight clenched on her knees.
“You’re still quite sure you didn’t see anyone when you were at Miss Arnot’s place?” Conrad asked, taking the six photographs from his pocket.
He saw her face tighten.
“I’ve already said I didn’t see anyone. If you’re going to start all that over again…”
“Please be patient with me. Would you look at these photographs and tell me if you recognize any of the faces?”
He handed her the photographs and she took them reluctantly. She shuffled through them, and when she came to Maurer’s photograph he saw her stiffen. She dropped the photographs as if they had become red hot and jumped to her feet.
“I’m not going to have any more of this!” she cried, her face pale."I insist on going home!”
Conrad bent down and picked up the photographs. He didn’t let her see his excitement. He was sure now she had seen Maurer at Dead End. Why else should she have reacted like this?
He held Maurer’s photograph out to her.
“Do you know who this is?”
She didn’t look at the photograph.
“I don’t know any of them.”
“Have you ever heard of Jack Maurer?”
“Of course; he’s a racketeer,” Frances said, turning away. “I’m not interested in him, and I’m not interested in any of the others.”
“I want to tell you about Maurer,” Conrad said, studying the photograph. “He’s quite a character. I’d say he was the most powerful man in the State right now. When he was fifteen he became a bodyguard to Jake Moritti. Before he was sixteen he had been arrested three times for homicide, but each time he made sure no witness lived to give evidence against him. When Moritti ceased to be a power, Maurer joined Zetti. Over a period of ten years he was responsible for thirty murders; mainly gang slavings. When Zetti went to jail, Maurer teamed up with Big Joe Bernstien. A little later he became one of the head men of the Crime Syndicate. You’ve heard about the Syndicate, haven’t you? Their organization spreads over the whole of the country. It is divided into territories and Maurer got California. He has been the racket boss of California now for ten years, and it is remarkable what he has done in that time. He has taken over all the main labour groups. Every member of these unions pays him dues for which he gives them nothing in return, and they’re too blind and stupid to realize it. He has taken over the Shylocking business. Do you know what that is? It’s one of the greatest profit-making rackets in the country. For every five dollars borrowed, the borrower has to pay back six dollars, and the period is for one week. It works out at 120 per cent in forty-two days. If the borrower fails to pay up on time, two of
Mauler’s men call on him, and they give him a schlammin. If you don’t know what that is, I’ll tell you. A schlammin is a beating, given with a lead pipe wrapped in newspaper. If the borrower still can’t pay after a schlammin, then the debt’s written off and the borrower gets a bullet in the back.”
Conrad paused to look at Frances, but she had turned her back on him and was looking out of the window.
“Maurer has also taken over the wire service,” he went on, “without which no bookmaker dare operate, and for the privilege of using this service every bookmaker in the State has to kick in with a weekly payment or else. He has now control of the gambling concessions in the district, and that alone brings him in fifty-five thousand dollars a month.”
Frances turned suddenly.
“Why are you telling me all this? I’m not interested, and I don’t want to hear any more!”
“Since Maurer’s reign began here, there have been over three hundred murders,” Conrad continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “We have had only ten convictions, and in each case the convicted men were known to be working for Maurer. Maurer himself is known to have murdered thirty-three people, but that was before he became the boss. Now he gives orders from a safe distance. We have never been able to slap a murder charge on him. But on the 9th of this month he slipped up. For the first time in fifteen years he killed with his own hands. It was he who killed June Arnot who was his mistress and who was cheating him. We have no proof as yet that he did kill her, but we have very strong circumstantial evidence that he did do it. We have only to place him on the scene of the murder and at the time of the murder to convict him and rid California of the most dangerous, murderous, powerful gangster of this or any other century.” He leaned forward and pointed at her. “I believe you saw him leave or arrive at Dead End. With your evidence I can successfuly prosecute him. It’s your duty, Miss Coleman, to give evidence against him, and I’m asking you to do it!”
Frances backed away. Her face was now as white as a fresh fall of snow, and her big eyes looked like holes in a sheet.
“I didn’t see him! I keep telling you! And I’m not going to give evidence!”
Conrad stared at her for a long moment, then he shrugged.
“Is that your last word?”
“Yes! Now I’m going home!”
“Well, I can’t stop you. I’ve told you the kind of man Maurer is. He thinks as I
do that you saw him. He knows a word from you will wreck a kingdom worth several millions of dollars a year. Do you imagine he’ll take the risk that you didn’t see him? Do you imagine a man like that will let you live for five minutes if he can get at you? Two of his men have already tried to wipe you out, and you’re lucky they failed. They won’t fail next time if you leave our protection!”
“I don’t believe you. You’re trying to frighten me! I didn’t see anything, and I’m going home!”
Conrad restrained his temper with difficulty.
“Miss Coleman, I beg you to think about this. We can protect you. There’s nothing to be frightened about. Are you frightened of Maurer? Tell me why you don’t want to stay here for a few days?”
“I have no intention of staying and I don’t want your protection,” she said angrily. “I think you’re just saying these things to frighten me into giving evidence, and I’m not going to do it!”
Conrad went to the door.
“Madge, will you phone down to the D.A. and tell him Gollowitz can come up?”
Madge stared at him, her eyes alarmed.
“Gollowitz? You’re not letting…?”
“Will you please do as I tell you!” Conrad snapped. He turned back to Frances. “There’s a lawyer downstairs asking for you. He has a writ for your release. We can’t hold you against the writ, but if you refuse to go with him, he can’t make you. It’s up to you.”
Frances met his eyes defiantly.
“I shall certainly go with him!”
Conrad walked up to her.
“Listen, you little fool! Why do you imagine a lawyer should go to the trouble of taking out a writ for you? He’s Maurer’s lawyer! That’s why.”
“How do I know Bunty Lloyd hasn’t sent him?” she demanded. “You want me to stay here, don’t you? I don’t believe anything you’re saying!”
A tap came on the door and Madge looked in.
“Mr. Gollowitz.”
Gollowitz came in, a smooth smile on his dark face.
“Miss Coleman?”
Frances faced him, her eyes searching his face.
“Yes.”
“I’m a lawyer, and I represent the Norgate Union. The secretary of the union called me and told me you were detained here. The District Attorney tells me he has no reason to hold you any longer. Are you willing to come with me?”
Frances hesitated for a moment. There was something about Gollowitz that made her nervous.
“I don’t want to go with you, thank you,” she said. “I just want to go home.”
Gollowitz chuckled.
“Of course. I simply meant that I would escort you as far as the entrance. If you would communicate with the secretary of your union and tell him I have arranged for your release I should be obliged.”
Conrad moved quietly to the door and beckoned to Madge.
“Tell Van to bring Weiner in here,” he whispered.
As he turned back he heard Frances say, “Can I leave here at once?”
“Of course,” Gollowitz said.
“Just a moment,” Conrad broke in. “While you’re here, Mr. Gollowitz, you might be interested to go bail for another of our customers. Come in, Weiner.”
Van Roche threw open the door and gave Pete a hard shove so he entered the room with an unbalanced rush. When he saw Gollowitz, he jumped back as if he had seen a snake.
Gollowitz had been too busy getting the writ for Frances’s release to find out what had happened to Pete. Seigel had assured him he would get Pete, and seeing Pete so unexpectedly completely threw him off balance. His fat face turned livid, and he took a step towards Pete, his lips drawn off his teeth in a snarl of fury.
“Leave me alone!” Pete exclaimed, and backed away.
Too late, Gollowitz realized he had given himself away. He twisted his face into a forced bland smile, but he saw the look of horror on Frances’s face.
“Don’t you want to take Weiner along with you as well as Miss Coleman?” Conrad asked quietly. “I doubt if he’ll come, but at least you can ask him.”
His eyes glittering with rage, Gollowitz turned to Frances.
“Come along, Miss Coleman. I’ll get you a cab.”
“Don’t go with him!” Pete shouted. “He belongs to the organization. Stay here where you are safe! Don’t go with him!”
Gollowitz put out his hand and laid it gently on Frances’s arm.
“I don’t know who this fellow is, but he sounds crazy to me,” he said. “Let’s go, Miss Coleman.”
Frances shuddered and jumped back.
“No! I’m going to stay here. I don’t want to go with you. I won’t go with you!”
“I’m afraid you are being rather a foolish young woman, Miss Coleman,” Gollowitz said. The silent threat in those black eyes turned Frances cold. “Are you coming with me or aren’t you?”
“Oh, tell him to go!” Frances cried, and sat down on the couch, hiding her face in her hands. “Please tell him to go!”
Gollowitz looked at Pete, then he walked quietly from the room.
No one moved as he crossed the outer room. They watched him open the door, step into the passage and close the door behind him.
He left behind him an atmosphere charged with threatening danger.
“Janey!”
Conrad stood in the small hall and waited for her reply. She wasn’t in any of the downstairs rooms, and he had an idea she might be out. Two or three times lately she had been out when he had returned from the office. During the past three days their relationship had worsened. She didn’t tell him where she went and he didn’t ask.
“Is that you?” Janey called from upstairs.
A little surprised to find her in, Conrad ran up the stairs and pushed open the bedroom door.
Janey was sitting in front of her dressing-table. Clad only in a brassiere and a pair of frilly panties, she was engaged in rolling up one slim leg a black nylon stocking.
“You’re early, aren’t you?” she asked, without looking up. “It isn’t half-past six yet.”
He pushed the door shut and wandered over to the window. It no longer gave him any pleasure as it used to do to see her like this.
“I have to go away for a few days, Janey. I’m leaving right now.”
Janey gave his broad back a sharp glance as she fixed the suspender grip to the top of her stocking.
“Oh. I suppose I’m not included. Where are you going?”
She reached for the other stocking, her mind suddenly busy. A few days. What exactly did that mean? A week — ten days? She felt a sudden hot flush sweep over her body. Would it be safe to ask Louis to come here? she wondered.
“I have charge of two important witnesses,” Conrad said, turning to look at her. “They have to be kept under cover until the trial. The D.A. wants me to look after them.”
She adjusted the seams of her stockings and stood up.
“What on earth for? Since when have you become a nursemaid to witnesses?”
“It just happens they are important and in danger,” Conrad said shortly. “I’ll be away until Thursday. I’m sorry, Janey, but there it is.”
She went over to the wardrobe and took out a wrap.
“All right, if you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go,” she said indifferently. “It won’t make much difference to me. It’s not as if I see all that much of you. Where are you going?”
“I’ll write the address down,” Conrad said, taking out his bill-fold and finding an old envelope. “It’s out near Butcher’s Wood. And listen, Janey, this is important, no one but you may know where I’ve gone. Don’t tell anyone, do you understand?”
“Who am I going to tell, do you imagine?” Janey said scornfully, slipping into her wrap. “You talk as if I’m surrounded by people instead of being left alone night after night in this dreary house.”
“There’s no need to talk nonsense,” Conrad said curtly. “You have dozens of friends, and you know it. It’s just that you’re not interested to entertain people at home. You prefer to be taken out.”
“Who the hell wants to cook and wash up when one can go out?” Janey snapped.
Conrad put the envelope in a small drawer in the dressing-table.
“I’d better throw some things in a bag,” he said, side-tracking the way to an inevitable row.
“And who are these precious witnesses you have to take care of?” Janey asked, sitting down before the dressing-table again. “A woman — I bet.”
“Never mind who they are,” Conrad said shortly. He began hurriedly to pack a bag. “I’d better leave you some money.” He put a few bills on the mantelpiece.
“That should hold you until Thursday.”
It would be too risky to ask Louis to come here, Janey decided as she made up her lips. Too many prying neighbours, but she could go to his place. Again she felt a hot flush run over her. He had been like an animal, she thought. His lovemaking had been brutal, selfish and insatiable. He had left her bruised and gasping but with an overwhelming desire to be caught up again in his hard, muscular arms.
“I must get along,” Conrad said, shutting the bag. “Why don’t you get Beth to spend a few days with you? I don’t like leaving you entirely alone here.”
Janey smiled mysteriously.
“Your remorse is very touching, darling. Considering you leave me here alone fifteen hours a day, a few more hours won’t hurt me.”
“For goodness sake, Janey! Don’t go on and on. You know I have to work late hours,” Conrad said impatiently.
“Then it will be a nice change for you to sit beside some woman and hold her hand in Butcher’s Wood, won’t it?”
Conrad looked at her in disgust.
“Well, so long, Janey.”
“So long,” she said, and turned back to the mirror.
She didn’t move until she heard the front door slam, then she jumped to her feet and ran over to the window. She watched Conrad drive away, then she stood for a long minute, her arms across her breasts and her eyes closed, savouring a sense of freedom.
She had four days and three nights alone! She didn’t intend to waste such a gift.
She ran across the room, down the stairs to the telephone. As she dialled the number of the Paradise Club she was aware that her heart was beating wildly and her breath was coming in quick, uneven gasps. She reached for a cigarette, lit it and tried to control her breathing.
“Mr. Seigel, please?” she said, as a woman’s voice came over the line.
“Who’s calling?”
“Mr. Seigel is expecting me. Put me through, please!” Janey said sharply. She had no intention of advertising her name to a receptionist.
“Hold a moment.”
After a long pause Seigel snapped, “Who is it?”
He sounded curt and angry.
“Louis? Janey here.”
“Oh — hello: what do you want?”
The casual indifference in his voice sent a stab into Janey’s heart.
“You don’t sound very pleased to hear my voice,” she said plaintively.
“I’m busy. What’s on your mind?”
“He’s gone away for two or three days,” Janey said. “I’m on my own. I thought you would be interested.”
There was a long pause. She could almost hear Seigel thinking.
“That’s fine,” he said suddenly, but his voice still remained curt. “Well, come on over.”
“You mean to the club?”
“Sure. Come on over. I’ll buy you a dinner.”
“I don’t know if I should come to the club. Couldn’t I go to your place, Louis?”
“Come to the club,” he said irritably. “See you around nine. I can’t get free before nine. So long for now,” and he hung up.
Janey slowly replaced the receiver. He wasn’t treating her as she had hoped he would treat her, but she didn’t care. She didn’t even care that he must know she was throwing herself at him. His brutal rudeness fascinated her. All she wanted was to be caught up in his arms, to be treated like a woman of the streets, to be bruised and to be left gasping. That was an experience she had never known before: an experience she must have.
Seigel walked along the passage to his office, a heavy scowl on his face. For the past three days, he had been waiting for McCann to warn him a warrant had been sworn out for his arrest. The fact McCann hadn’t telephoned made him jittery and bad-tempered. He was worried, too, that Gollowitz had taken the whole affair out of his hands. It was not as if Gollowitz had anything to brag about. He said he would take care of the girl — and what had happened? Nothing! Not a damn thing!
The D.A. had the girl and he had Weiner. Those two must be talking their heads off by now. If he had his way he would be in New York by now, but Gollowitz had told him to stay where he was.
“There’s nothing to worry about yet,” Gollowitz had said. “McCann is covering you at his end. When Forest decides to make a move, then it’ll be time for you to skip, and not before.”
Seigel turned the handle of his office door and pushed the door open. He came to an abrupt standstill when he saw Gollowitz sitting behind his desk.
“What are you doing here?” Seigel demanded, coming in and shutting the door.
“I’m waiting,” Gollowitz said quietly.
The past three days had left their mark on him. His fat face sagged and there were grey-blue bags under his eyes. He had realized the danger the organization was in, and his shrewd brain had worked ceaselessly for a legal way out, but there was no legal way out. There was only one way to stop those two from giving evidence that would upset his future kingdom. They must be silenced, and silenced for good.
Too late, he realized that Seigel was a broken reed, that Seigel’s thugs were brainless killers who would never get near those two now Forest was alerted. He had finally taken a decision that hurt his pride and weakened his position. He had reported to the Syndicate, admitted he couldn’t handle the situation and had asked for help.
“Waiting?” Seigel snarled, coming over to sit in an armchMr. “Waiting for what?”
Gollowitz glanced at his wrist-watch.
“I’m waiting for Ferrari. He should be here any minute.”
Seigel scowled.
“Ferrari? Who’s Ferrari?”
“Vito Ferrari,” Gollowitz said.
Seigel stiffened. His big hands closed over the arms of his chair until his knuckles stood out white and bony. His tanned face went blotchy, turning red, then white, and he half started out of his chair.
“Vito Ferrari? He’s not coming here, is he?”
“Yes.”
“But why? What’s the idea? What the hell is he coming here for?”
Gollowitz stared at Seigel, his small black eyes like glass beads.
“I asked him to come.”
Seigel got slowly to his feet.
“Are you crazy? You asked Ferrari to come here? Why?”
“Who else do you imagine can handle this mess?” Gollowitz asked, spreading his fat hands palms up on the blotter. “You? Do you imagine you can handle it?”
“But Ferrari…”
“If those two go into the witness-box we’re all finished,” Gollowitz said quietly. “They must be silenced. You have had your chance. I have had mine. We both failed. We can’t afford to fail. I asked the Syndicate to send Ferrari. They said I had done the right thing.”
“What will Maurer say?” Seigel asked, licking his dry lips. “You know he wouldn’t have a Syndicate man on his territory.”
“He’s not here. If he had stayed, maybe we shouldn’t have had to ask for Ferrari, but he didn’t stay. I’ve got to save the organization. There’s only one man who can do it for me — Ferrari!”
The name Vito Ferrari struck a chill into Seigel’s heart the way the name Inquisitor must have struck a chill into the heart of a heretic in the Middle Ages.
Vito Ferrari was the Syndicate’s executioner. Fantastic and unbelievable tales had been told of his cruelty, his ruthlessness, his crimes and his lust for blood. He had become a legendary figure in the underworlds of the world.
Seigel knew that if he ever stepped out of turn, it would be Ferrari who would be sent by the Syndicate to kill him. To have asked Ferrari to come to Pacific City was like asking for Death itself to pay a visit, and Seigel stared at Gollowitz with horrified eyes.
“You must be crazy!” he said.
Gollowitz again spread out his fat hands.
“It is either he or the organization. I didn’t want to have him here. If you had shown you could handle this thing, do you imagine I would have sent for him?”
Seigel started to say something when a knock came on the door.
Seigel started, then spun around to face the door, his eyes sick and frightened.
“Come in,” Gollowitz said.
Dutch pushed open the door. There was a blank, stupid expression on his face, like the face of a man who comes out into the sunshine after sitting through a two-feature programme.
“There’s a guy asking for you,” he said to Gollowitz. “He says you’re expecting him.”
Gollowitz went a shade paler. He nodded his head slowly.
“That’s right. Let him in.”
Dutch looked at Seigel questioningly, but Seigel turned away. Dutch plodded across the room and opened the door that led into the outer office.
“Come in,” Seigel heard him say.
Seigel stood waiting, his heart thudding against his ribs. Although he had heard Ferrari’s name many times during his career of crime, he had never seen him, nor had he seen a photograph of him. He had, however, conjured up in his mind a picture of him. He had imagined him to be a great ox of a man, coarse, powerful, brutal and ferocious. With the reputation such as Ferrari had, no other picture would satisfy Seigel. It came as a considerable shock to him when Vito Ferrari came quietly into the room.
Ferrari was an inch or so under five feet; almost a dwarf, and there was nothing of him except skin and bone. His black lounge suit hung on him as if draped over a tailor’s dummy made of wire.
Seigel was immediately struck by Ferrari’s extraordinary walk. He appeared to glide over the parquet floor, as silently and as smoothly as a phantom, as if his feet were treading on space, and when Seigel looked at his face, he was again reminded of a phantom.
Ferrari’s face was wedge shaped. He had a broad forehead that tapered down to a narrow square chin. His nose was hooked and over-large, his mouth was a thin line as near lipless as made no difference. His yellowish skin was stretched so tightly it revealed the bone structure of his head and face to give him the appearance of a death’s head.
His small eyes were sunk so deeply into dark-ringed sockets as to be almost invisible, but when Seigel looked closer it seemed to him he was looking into the fixed, unnatural eyes of a wax effigy.
Both Gollowitz and Seigel were so startled by Ferrari’s unexpected appearance that they remained staring at him, unable to utter a word.
Ferrari took off his black hat. His thick mass of dark hair was turning a little grey at the temples. He put the hat on the desk and then sat down in the chair Seigel had occupied.
“A woman and man, that’s right, isn’t it?” he said. He had a queer husky voice that sent a chill up Seigel’s spine. It was the kind of voice you might hear come from the mouth of a medium at a séance.
Gollowitz hastily collected himself.
“I am very glad to have you here,” he said, and was aware that he was gushing without being able to help himself. “It was very good of Big Joe…”
“Where are they?” Ferrari interrupted, his sunken eyes on Gollowitz’s face.
Gollowitz gulped, stuttered and looked helplessly at Seigel.
“You mean these two you’ve come to take care of?” Seigel asked, his voice off-key.
“Who else?” Ferrari said impatiently. “Where are they? Don’t you know?”
“They are in a hunting lodge in Butcher’s Wood,” Gollowitz told him hurriedly. He had received detailed information from McCann only this morning. “I have a map here.” He opened a drawer in the desk, took out a neatly prepared plan and pushed it across the desk.
Ferrari picked it up, folded it into four and put it in his pocket without looking at it.
“How do you want me to kill them?” he asked.
“I’ll leave that to you,” Gollowitz said. “But it is essential that both of them should appear to the accidentally.”
Ferrari pursed his thin lips.
“When are they to the?” he asked, sitting down.
“Wouldn’t it be better to discuss the means of getting at them?” Gollowitz suggested, stung by Ferrari’s arrogant tone. “If it were all that easy I wouldn’t have sent for you. They are guarded night and day. No one can get near the lodge without being seen. There are police dogs, searchlights and a small regiment of police guarding the only approach to the lodge. There are six picked detectives, all expert shots, who take it in turns to guard these two. Two women detectives never leave the Coleman girl for a moment, even when she’s asleep. Two detectives guard Weiner in the same way. It’s not a matter of when they are to the, but how we’re going to get at them.”
Ferrari ran a bony finger down the length of his nose while he regarded
Gollowitz the way a scientist would regard an unknown microbe.
“I asked you when they are to die,” he said.
Gollowitz looked over at Seigel and shrugged his fat shoulders.
“As soon as possible, of course,” he said curtly.
“Very well. When I have studied the map and have looked the place over, I will give you a date,” Ferrari said, speaking in slow, precise English with a noticeable Italian accent. “It will probably be in two days’ time.”
“You mean you will kill them in two days’ time?” Seigel exclaimed. “It’s not possible!”
“It won’t be possible for both of them to the in two days’ time,” Ferrari said, “but certainly one of them will the in this time. Both of them could go within two days if you didn’t insist their deaths should appear accidental. Two people to the so quickly would be too much of a coincidence.” He looked across at Gollowitz. “You are quite sure you want them to the accidentally?”
“It is essential,” Gollowitz said, secretly pleased to make Ferrari’s task even more difficult. “If the newspapers suspect they have been murdered they will raise such a stink there may be an inquiry, and we can’t afford that.”
“Yes.” Ferrari ran his claw-like hand over his hair. “Very well, one of them will go in two or three days’ time. We’ll have to consider what to do with the other when the first job has been taken care of.”
“You’ll forgive me for being sceptical,” Gollowitz said dryly, “but we have discussed ways and means of getting at these two, and we have failed completely to find a solution. You talk as if the job’s already done, and yet you haven’t even had the opportunity to study the ground.”
Ferrari again ran his finger down his nose. It seemed to be an unconscious habit of his.
“But then I am an expert,” he said quietly. “You are an amateur. You have approached this job in the wrong frame of mind. You have looked for difficulties. You have told yourself that it is impossible. You have defeated yourself; the situation hasn’t defeated you.” He leaned back in his chair and interlaced his bony fingers, resting them on his crossed knee. He looked like something not of this world, Seigel thought, watching him in a kind of sick fascination. When Ferrari crossed his spindly legs, both feet swung free of the ground. “I approach a job with confidence. I have never failed, and I don’t intend to fail. I have had much tougher jobs to handle than this one.”
“This is a damned tough job,” Seigel said, trying to meet the sunken fixed eyes that felt as if they were boring holes in his brain. “You’ll be damned lucky to get one of them, let alone both of them.”
Ferrari leaned forward and smiled. His teeth were big, yellow and decayed. He reminded Seigel of a vicious horse, reaching forward to snap at him.
“Luck doesn’t come into it,” Ferrari said. “If I relied on luck I would never get anywhere. This I tell you: they will both the. I guarantee it. I don’t expect you to believe me. Wait and see. Only don’t forget I’ve told you already: when I go after anyone, I get him! I’ve never failed and I never will fail!”
Listening to him, Gollowitz felt the sick tension that had gripped him ever since he had heard the girl and Weiner were in the D.A.’s hands begin to lessen. He had a sudden premonition that this dreadful little man wasn’t bluffing. Asking Ferrari to help him had been the smartest thing he had ever done. He felt certain now Ferrari would save his kingdom.