Fast Buck (9 page)

Dallas grinned.

‘I made it sound too easy,’ he said, stretching out his long legs. ‘If it hadn’t been for a hunch…’

‘Never mind that. These people must be after the collection,’ Purvis said, coming to stand over Dallas. ‘This morning Kile and the Gil is girl cal on the Rajah. In the evening Gil is talks in terms of half a million. The connection’s obvious. It looks as if the Rajah has offered Kile a half a million to get his jewels back, and Gillis plans to gyp him.’

‘The whole idea seems to have come from Gillis,’ Dal as pointed out. ‘Kile is being used as a stooge.

But how is Kile going to get the jewels? Think he knows where they are?’

‘I don’t know,’ Purvis said, sit ing down. ‘He must have some idea otherwise he wouldn’t have seen the Rajah this morning.’

‘Who’s this guy Baird, Gil is is so strung up about?’

‘If it’s Verne Baird,’ Purvis said, crossing his long, bony legs, ‘and I’d imagine it must be, he’s suspect number one for Jean Bruce’s kil ing.’

‘Is that right?’ Dal as said, startled. ‘Is he the guy Olin’s searching for?’

Purvis nodded.

‘A pretty dangerous character, according to Olin. I ran into Olin on my way home tonight. He’s had quite a night of it. As a routine precaution he put a couple of his men to watch Baird’s apartment house.

One of them spotted a big man watching the house and went after him. He cornered him in a drug store, but wasn’t fast enough with his gun. He and the girl in the store were shot to death, and the kil er escaped by way of the roof. Olin got some boys down there in double quick time, and one of them spotted the killer as he was crossing the roof. He winged him, but he got away somehow. They’ve cordoned off the area and they’re making a house-to-house search. Olin swears no one can get through the cordon, so with any luck, they’l catch him.’

‘Was it Baird?’

‘Olin thinks so, but no one has identified him. The cop who shot at him said the man was Baird’s build, but he couldn’t swear it was Baird. Olin says there’s no other hood in town who’d shoot it out with a cop, and then kill the girl so she couldn’t identify him. I think he’s right. We don’t run to types so ruthless as that.’

‘Well, if it is Baird and they catch him, Gillis’s plan may come unstuck.’

Purvis didn’t say anything. He was thinking, his hand covered his face. There was a long silence, then he looked up to say, ‘I’m going to put every man I have on this case, Ed. I don’t think we need bother with the Rajah for the time being. The people who matter now are Kile, Eve Gillis, Rico, Baird and Adam Gillis. They’re the ones who wil lead us to the jewels if anyone’s going to lead us to them.

You’ve already made contact with Gillis, who’s obviously the key-man of the set-up. Keep close to him, Ed. That’s your job from now on. Don’t lose sight of him. Get friendly with him. Get his confidence if you can.’

‘That guy’s as slippery as an eel,’ Dallas said, ‘and a first-class heel as well. The way he talked to his sister made me want to puke.’

‘Who’l I put on to Rico?’ Purvis said, frowning. ‘Burns must cover Kile. Ainsworth can go after Baird, unless the cops get him first, but what about Rico?’

‘There’s a girl at the club; her name’s Zoe Norton,’ Dal as said. ‘For some reason or other she seems to have taken a liking for me. I think I could persuade her to work for us. She would be in a much better position to report on Rico than anyone we could employ. That’s what we want more than anything at this stage of the game: someone inside and working for us.’

Purvis nodded.

‘That’s right. How do you persuade her?’

’I’d spread my charm before her and a purse of gold,’ Dal as’ said, grinning. ‘It’d cost you three or four hundred, but it’d pay dividends.’

Purvis winced.

‘Doesn’t say much for your charm,’ he said tartly. ‘I wouldn’t pay her more than a hundred. You seem to think I’ve money to burn.’

‘She wouldn’t do it for that,’ Dal as said. ‘It’l have to be three at least. But don’t let me persuade you to throw your money away – as if I could.’

Purvis brooded. He realised he would be getting value for money, and this wasn’t the time to cut corners.

‘Wel , talk to her,’ he said final y. ‘Get her as cheaply as you can, and not a dime more than three hundred.’

Dallas said he’d see what he could do.

‘Let’s get this straightened out,’ Purvis went on. ‘Everyone of us has got to watch his step. You’ve got the toughest job, Ed, and you’ve got to handle it as if it were dynamite. We can’t afford to let them have the slightest idea we’re on to them. Our job is to find the jewels. We’re not employed by the police.

I want you to understand that. Whatever we find out, we keep to ourselves. If any of you find Baird you’re not to report him to the police. We want Baird to take us to the jewels, and he won’t do that if he’s in a cel .’

‘Isn’t that making us accessories after the fact?’ Dal as asked mildly.

‘We stand to pick up four hundred grand,’ Purvis pointed out. ‘I’l split one per cent of that among you operators. That’s a thousand bucks apiece. Would that make you forget such things as accessories after the fact?’

‘A thousand isn’t much,’ Dal as said, scarcely believing his ears, but quick to bargain. ‘As I’ve got the heaviest job, how about making it two for me and one for the rest of them?’

Purvis shook his head.

‘No, that wouldn’t be fair to the others, but I tel you what I’l do. I’l give a cheque for five thousand to the first one of you who walks into my office and tells me where the jewels are.’

‘Do the big thing,’ Dal as said, ‘and give the boys a lit le confidence. Make it cash.’

X

The distant sound of an approaching police siren penetrated Baird’s brain. It grew louder until it filled the inside of his head with a vibrating scream of warning.

With an effort he forced back his eyelids and looked into darkness. He felt weak and cold, and there was a stiff, tight feeling of pain down his right side.

He turned his head. There was an open window to his left. He could see the dark night sky, pin-pointed with the white brilliance of the stars. The faint haze of reflected light from the street lamps climbed the wall of the building and outlined the cross sections of the window.

Below, a car skidded with a squeal of tortured tyres to a standstill. The siren died down in a slow and reluctant wail of sound. Car doors opened and slammed. Feet ran across the street.

Baird suddenly realised there was someone standing against the wall, looking cautiously out of the window into the street: a woman.

It was too dark in the room to see much of her: she seemed small, and her hair hung loose to her shoulders. She was pressing her hands to her breasts, and she stood very still.

More police sirens wailed in the distance. A car started up suddenly close by, and drove away with a noisy change of gears. A dog began to bark furiously.

Baird lifted his head, his hand groped for his gun holster, but it wasn’t there. He felt light-headed and weak, but the sound of the approaching sirens was like a spur to him, and he made an effort to sit up.

The woman at the window heard him and looked quickly in his direction.

‘Don’t move,’ she said, her voice coming across the intervening space in a frightened whisper.

‘They’re down there: hundreds of them.’

Baird got one foot to the floor. The bed on which he was lying creaked under his weight. He raised himself on his elbow. Pain rode through him, bringing him out in a cold sweat. He struggled against it, but it proved too much for him, and he dropped back on to the pillow, his mind seething with vicious, frustrated rage.

He was bad all right, he thought. He remembered the last time he had been shot. It had been nothing to this. This time he was cooked. He must have bled like a pig. The great strength he had always relied on to see him through in a jam had deserted him: he couldn’t have pul ed the wings off a fly.

More cars squealed to a standstill; sirens died down, car doors opened and slammed. A murmur of voices came up from the street.

‘What’s going on?’ he asked. His voice was so weak he didn’t recognise it. It was almost as if some other person had spoken.

‘They’re searching the houses,’ she said, not moving from the window. ‘They are split ing into groups of five, and each group is taking a house.’

Baird snarled into the darkness.

‘Where’s my gun? Where’ve you put it?’

‘It’s on the bed by your side.’ She didn’t look in his direction, but continued to stare down into the street, as if what she saw there held her with an irresistible fascination.

Feverishly he groped over the crumpled coverlet. His fingers closed round the butt of the Colt. He managed to lift it, but the effort made him pant.

‘You’d bet er get out,’ he said. ‘Go and tel them I’m here if you want to. They won’t get me alive.’

This time she turned her head and looked in his direction, although he knew she couldn’t see him in the dark.

‘They may not come here,’ she said. ‘If they do, I can tel them I haven’t seen you. They wouldn’t force their way in here, would they?’

For a moment he couldn’t believe he had heard aright.

‘Of course they would. They won’t take your word. Besides, I left blood in the passage. They’l find that.’

‘I’ve cleaned it up,’ she said simply. ‘It didn’t take long.’

Again he had a feeling he was dreaming this, and he peered at her, trying to see through the darkness.

‘You cleaned it up?’ His voice revealed his suspicious surprise. ‘Why? What’s your game? Don’t you know you’l get into trouble if they find out?’

‘Yes, I know,’ she said. ‘I was sorry for you.’

He bit down on his lower lip. No one had ever said that to him before. Sorry for him! He didn’t like that. He didn’t want her damned pity!

‘You’d bet er get out,’ he said furiously. ‘There’l be shooting.’

She turned back to the window.

‘They may not come,’ she said.

Cautiously, Baird touched his wounded side. He wondered if he was still bleeding. His fingers moved over a wad, bound tightly against his side. He realised she must have taken off his coat and shirt. He touched the pad wonderingly.

‘Did you stop the bleeding?’ he asked.

‘Yes. You’d bet er not talk. You may be heard. The wal s are very thin.’

‘Is it bad?’ he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. ‘It feels bad.’

‘It’s bad enough, but the bleeding’s stopped. You mustn’t move. It may start again.’

‘What are they doing now?’ he asked after a long pause.

The street was suspiciously silent.

‘They’re standing about,’ she said, watching intently. ‘One of them is looking up here. They seem to be waiting for something. Some of them have machine-guns.’

Baird grinned savagely. He remembered Chuck Fowler, who had been trapped in a house. He had been one of the crowd that time, watching the fun. He had seen the police shooting it out with Chuck. He remembered how they had sprayed the front of the house with their Thompsons. The stream of lead had smashed windows, broken window-frames, brought down plaster. It had been hell while it lasted. Then they had tossed in their tear-gas bombs and had gone in, shooting like madmen the whole time; wrecking the house, smashing down the front door, shooting their way up the stairs; and Chuck had been dead long before the final assault.

‘You’d bet er get out,’ Baird said. ‘I know what’s coming. They’l cut this room to ribbons.’

‘There’s nowhere for me to go,’ she began, then stopped, and he saw her stiffen, her hands going once more to her breasts.

‘What is it?’ he asked, knowing at once what it was.

‘I think they’re coming now,’ she said breathlessly.

Again he made the effort and raised himself on his elbow. This time he succeeded in getting both feet to the floor.

‘Help me up,’ he gasped. ‘I don’t stand a chance on the bed.’

‘You must stay there,’ she said, turning. ‘You must. You’l start the bleeding again.’

‘Help me up!’ he snarled. ‘Goddamn it! Do you want me to shoot you?’

She came over to him.

‘They’l hear you,’ she warned. ‘You must keep your voice down.’

He caught hold of her shoulder. His fingers felt the thinness of her. Her skin was tight over the bones.

He pulled himself upright and leaned heavily on her. He felt her wilt under his weight. She was only a tiny thing, he thought. Her head was just above his shoulder.

‘Get me against the wall near the door,’ he panted, ‘and then get out.’

A violent hammering sounded on the street door. A voice bawled, ‘Come on, open up!’

Baird felt a little trickle of sweat run down his face. Five minutes: no longer. Well, upright and on his feet, he wouldn’t go alone.

She helped him across the room and against the wall. The Colt hung heavily from his hand, too heavy to raise. He set his shoulders against the wall. The pain in his side made his breath hiss through his clenched teeth.

‘Get out!’ he said, giving her a feeble push. ‘Tel them I’m here. They won’t do anything to you if you tell them I’m here. Go on, get out.’

She went to the door, unlocked it and opened it. A shaft of light came in from the passage, and he saw her plainly for the first time.

He had only a quick glimpse of her. He saw the long, sensitive face, the wide, dark eyes and the firm, bitter mouth of a girl who was good-looking rather than beautiful: a girl of about twenty-three or four, whose young-old face had a force of character that had come from a life of hardship, poverty and sorrow.

She was wearing a white slip that clung to her thin but beautifully proportioned body, no stockings, and her narrow, long feet were thrust into a shabby pair of heelless slippers.

He watched her go out on to the landing, leaving the door ajar. From where he stood he could see through the opening without being seen.

A buzz of voices drifted up from the ground floor: men’s voices, and a woman’s voice screaming hysterically.

More hammering sounded on the front door. Then a hard, loud voice bawled, ‘Okay, okay, break it up! Get back to your rooms and stay in them. Hey, you! Seen a big guy in a brown suit around? He’l be a stranger, and he’s wounded. Come on, now! Open up! The guy’s a kil er!’