He Won't Need it Now (6 page)

     Duffy brooded. “Somehow,” he said, “I guessed as much.”
     “Now you know all this,” Alice said quietly, “you are not going to do anything further?”
     “You're a swell kid.” Duffy got up and went over to her. Quit worrying, can't you? I don't care how bad that dame is, I started this damn business. I was sucker enough to take those photos, and I guess I'm getting them back.”
     Alice sighed. “Worthless women always seem to get help from men,” she said. I suppose it is so easy to fool a really fine man.”
     Duffy exchanged glances with Sam. “Skip it, Alice,” Sam said. “You know what Bill is. You're holding us up.”
     Alice forced a little smile. “I'm sorry,” she said and sat down in Duffy's chair. Duffy came and sat on the arm.
     “What about Morgan?”
     Sam blew out a cloud of smoke. “Now Morgan, he's a cagey bird to nail. He's got some racket in connection with a chain of night-clubs. I'd say at a guess, he's a boss behind the scene, and he's controlling vice in a big way. Anyway, I can't get a proper line on him, except rumours. They know him down at headquarters, but they've never pinned anything to him yet. Still, they're always hoping. He's got plenty of dough, runs a big house, and has a tough mob working for him.”
     “If Morgan's got that sort of a background, I guess he'd want those pictures of that girl. It might give him enough pull to scare English off closing his joints.” Duffy was looking thoughtful.
     Sam nodded. “That's just it,” he said. “Morgan would be sitting very pretty if he could close English down.”
     “Cattley? Did you find out anything fresh about him?” Duffy asked.
     Sam shrugged. “There's not much you don't know about that rat,” he said, “you know what he did. Dope, women, and white slaving. Cattley's certainly been making plenty of dough these last months. No one's sure of where he got it. He's moved up a lot since we knew him. Does, or rather did, everything on a big scale. The cops can't get a line on him, but they watch him from time to time.”
     “Is he going to be missed?”
     Sam shrugged. “Not unless someone who knows him gets worried and blows to the police. That ain't likely.”
     Duffy brooded some more. “You done a swell job of work,” he said at last. “What I want to know, is where do I go from here?”
     Sam said, “I'd take it easy for a bit.”
     Duffy shook his head. “I got to get those pictures,” he said, “and I've got to get 'em fast.”
     Alice said, “Has Morgan got them, do you think?”
     “No. Morgan hasn't got them. It was Morgan's crowd who pushed me around. It looks to me that some other party has horned in and helped themselves. Just as long as Cattley remains in that vault, trouble will stay still. As soon as he pokes up his head, the balloon will go up.”
     “Don't you run a risk of being made an accessory after the fact or something?” Alice asked, her brow wrinkled.
     Duffy said, “I guess I've been in worse spots than accessory charges.”
     Sam got up and began to pile the plates in the kitchen. Alice went out to help him. Duffy sat in the arm-chair and brooded. His body was one dull ache, but he wouldn't let his mind dwell on it. There was a bitter angry feeling smoldering inside him. Furious with Morgan, revengeful against those three toughs, and determined to get those photos back, he thought of Annabel. Then he got up and went over to the telephone. He dialled a number, after consulting the book.
     He recognized her voice at once.
     “This is Duffy here,” he said.
     “Have you got them?” her voice was eager.
     “Listen, baby,” he said, speaking low and fast, “you don't know half what happened last night.”
     “What is it?”
     “For one thing Morgan ain't got those pictures. For another, he wants them mighty bad. When I got home last night, three birds were waiting for me and they beat me silly when I couldn't give them the camera.”
     She was silent for a moment. “But who has got it?” she said at last.
     “I don't know,” he had to admit it; “this is a line up against your Pa. Why the hell didn't you tell me who you were?”
     “Well, who am I?”
     “You're Edwin English's daughter.”
     “I prefer to say I am Annabel English.”
     He laughed. He couldn't help himself. “I've been looking up your record, baby, it ain't so hot.”
     “You think so?” She sounded very cool. “I thought you'd appreciate me.”
     “I think you ought to go very slow for a bit,” he said, .”you just lie low, and don't start anything. It wouldn't be a bad idea for you to get out of town for a little while.”
     “Oh no,” she was very definite, “I won't do that.”
     “Okay, but watch your step from now on.”
     “When am I seeing you?”
     He grinned, but he felt no mirth. “Sooner than you think,” he said quietly, and hung up.
      
     

     
     IT TOOK DUFFY TWO impatient days to shake himself loose. Sam and Alice, their nerves frayed, were at last forced to give way to his insistence.
     In a new suit, his face still battered, his temper vile, Duffy walked into the street. Sam came along at his heels.
     “I feel,” said Sam, “that you're going to run into trouble so fast we ain't going to have any time to stick you together again.”
     Duffy was walking fast. “You don't know nothing,” he said shortly; “I feel fine, and I ain't going to find trouble.”
     Sam swung along at his side. “What's the hurry, for God's sake? You got a date with someone?”
     “No, but I got to get me some exercise. Come on, get going.”
     “You ain't said where you're going,” Sam said.
     “First I'm going back to my joint, then I'm going to find out something about Cattley.”
     “Why Cattley, for the love of mike?”
     “Just that; I don't know. Maybe, I've got a hunch. Cattley's at the bottom of this, and I want to find out quite a bit about him. I want to find out why he was rubbed out. When I find that out, I guess I'll be pretty close to his killer. Okay, when I find his killer, I'll find the camera.”
     Sam stopped at the corner. “Well, I can't run around with you all day. I've got a living to make. Now, soldier, you're coming back to us tonight, ain't you?”
     “Listen, Sam, you're swell, and Alice's swell. You're both swell, but from now on, you keep out of this. I'm going my own little way, without you two popping your heads into anything I might stir up.”
     Sam groaned. “I love you like this; just a big selfish playboy. You have the fun and we're just to sit round to put on the adhesive tape. Listen, mug, we're both in this, get it?”
     Duffy grinned. It still hurt him to grin, but he grinned. “I'll be along,” he said, “I get it.”
     Sam looked pleased. “Bounce 'em, brother, bounce 'em,” he said.
     “They'll take some bouncing,” Duffy said ruefully, as he watched McGuire's long frame disappearing through the crowded traffic.
     He walked down the street, conscious of quick furtive glances at his battered face. He felt suddenly angry, his eyebrows coming down, making his face even more unattractive.
     When he reached his apartment he was glad to find the place had been cleaned up. He made a little grimace at the faint stains on the walls. He wandered through the rooms, looking at everything carefully. Then he returned to the sitting-room. He sat on the edge of the table and thought a little while.
     Cattley must have an apartment somewhere. The telephone directory gave him the information. He dialled the number opposite Cattley's name, but there was no answer.
     Going down once more into the street, he flagged a taxi and gave an address on the East side. After he had gone a little way, he glanced out of the small rear window. A big Packard was rolling along behind him.
     He thought, “Maybe I'm just jumpy,” but he watched the Packard closely. After he had been riding for several minutes he leant forward. “A bird's sitting on our tail,” he said abruptly. “It makes me nervous.”
     The taxi-driver was a big beefy Irishman. He turned his head and grinned. “Watch me shake 'em,” he said.
     Duffy gave him five minutes, then said again. “You'll have to do better than that.”
     The driver pushed the cab until it began to rattle, but the Packard just sat behind them.
     Duffy said, “He's too big for you.”
     “What you want me to do, boss?”
     Duffy fumbled for some money. He gave the driver a couple of bucks. “Drop me at the first boozer you see,” he said; “don't stop, just slow down. If they come after you you don't know where you were taking me.”
     “Like the movies, huh?”
     “Sure, you got it. Like the movies.”
     The driver suddenly crowded on his brakes and swung to the kerb. Duffy bundled out, slamming the door. He stood on the pavement, watching the cab drive on. The Packard slowed down, hesitated, then shot away at right angles, turning a corner, disappearing quickly. Duffy didn't see who was in it. He flagged another cab and told the driver to drive on for a while. When he was sure that he hadn't got the Packard on his tail, he gave the apartment address again.
     Cattley's apartment was big and showy. It was on the second floor of a large block. Duffy didn't take the elevator up, he walked. On the front door, was a small metal plate bearing Cattley's name. Duffy rang the bell. No one answered. He stood waiting. Then he rang the bell again. While he was standing there, he heard the elevator coming up. He stepped away from the door quickly and went up three stairs of the next flight. He was just out of sight from the elevator. He heard the grille slide back, and he looked round cautiously. A woman was standing in front of Cattley's door. He couldn't see who she was, but he watched her closely. There was something very familiar in her slim figure. She took a key from her handbag and opened the door. He came down the three stairs silently and walked into the room behind her.
     “Hello, baby,” he said.
     She stood quite still for a moment, then turned and faced him. Her face was a little drawn, and her eyes big.
     “You frightened me.”
     Duffy thought she had an iron nerve. “Nice to see you again,” he said.
     Annabel English looked at him. Then she put a hand quickly on his arm. “But your face,” she said, “what has happened?”
     Duffy touched his face with his finger-tips, then smiled; it was a very bleak smile. “I told you,” he said, “some toughs pushed me around.”
     “It's horrible.” She came closer to him. “They must have hurt you so.”
     Duffy shrugged. “Forget it,” he said; “what brings you up here?”
     She turned from him and wandered away across the room to the window. It was a shabby room. Duffy was quite surprised. The address was good enough, but Cattley had let the place run to seed. The furniture was old and battered and the walls needed attention. There was dust everywhere.
     Duffy stood watching her. “What brings you up here?” he repeated.
     When she reached the window she turned, so that the light was behind her. “I wanted to look round,” she said; “why are you here?”
     He lit a cigarette. “You know, baby,” he said, moving further into the room and sitting on the corner of the table. “I don't think we're going to get along so well together.”
     “Oh, but yes.”
     He shook his head. “I guess I got you into a spot the other night, but you ain't doing anything to help me get you out of it. You're holding back on me.”
     She came over to him. “May I smoke?” she said.
     He took out his case and she took one. He lit it for her. “Your poor face,” she said softly.
     “Quit stalling,” he said impatiently. “You know, if you don't play ball, I'm going to ditch you.”
     “Please don't get that way.” She went and sat down in a low, overstuffed chair. She crossed her legs, and Duffy grinned.
     “You women,” he said, “you think you've only got to show what you've got, and a man will roll over on his back, with his paws raised. Now, listen, this is important. What are you doing up here? How did you get a key to this joint?”
     She studied her red finger-nails. “Suppose I said that I can't tell you?”
     “Okay, you can't tell me. Well, those photos can take care of themselves.”
     She raised her heavy lashes and looked at him. “Honest, Bill, just now I can't tell you.”
     He slid off the table. “I'm going to look round this joint,” he said shortly, “you sit there.”
     He went into the bedroom and began a systematic search. Patiently he went through every drawer, examined the sides of the arm-chair, looked behind the few pictures of doubtful taste hanging on the walls, took the grubby bed to pieces, but he found nothing to interest him. He went into the small kitchen and hunted about there. Then he stood still and scratched his head. He didn't know what he was looking for, but he had hoped that he would have found something to give him a lead. He went to the kitchen door. Then his eyes narrowed. Annabel was sitting quite still, but he knew that she had moved from the chair whilst he was in the kitchen. Her elaborate calmness, her frank smile when he came into the room, told him.
     “Have you found anything?” she said, with a great show of interest.
     He began wandering round the room. “Not yet,” he said, “but I'm getting hot.”
     She got out of the chair. “Where's the Johnny?”
     He stood quite still, then he jerked his head.
     “Just through the bedroom,” he said.
     “I won't be a minute.”
     He didn't say anything, but watched her go into the bedroom, then he heard her shoot the bolt on the bathroom door.
     He saw that she had left her bag on the table, and he went over quickly and scooped it up. He pressed on the paste diamond clasp and opened it. Quickly he emptied the contents on the table. There was the usual collection of junk that most women carry. A powder compactum, cigarette-case and lighter, a lipstick in a gold case, a small phial of scent, some letters, and a roll of greenbacks. Nothing to interest him.
     Making a little grimace of annoyance, he pushed the stuff back into the bag.
     Then he began to examine the room carefully. The drawers yielded nothing, but on the sideboard he noticed a cigarette box had been moved. He could see the outline of dust had been disturbed. He opened the box, but it was empty. He took it over to the window and examined it carefully. Putting his fingers inside, he gently pushed. The bottom of the box suddenly sprang up. There was nothing in the false bottom. He took the box back and put it on the sideboard again.
     Annabel came into the room again, touching her red hair with her finger-tips. She was quite calm. He looked her over thoughtfully.
     “Finished?” she asked, going over to the table and picking up her bag. “Suppose you come and have some coffee with me?”
     Duffy mashed his cigarette out in the tray. He held out his hand. “Give,” he said.
     She raised her eyebrows. “Now don't start being silly,” she said, there was a faint note of anger in her voice.
     Duffy walked over to her. “Come on,” he said roughly. “Hand it over.”
     “What
is
this?” She turned impatiently to the door.
     Duffy said evenly, “Wait a minute, sister, you and I are going to have a little talk.”
     She looked over her shoulder at him. Her eyes were stormy. “We're going right out of this place,” she said. “I'll talk to you over coffee.”
     Duffy wandered over to the door and set his broad back against it. “We'll talk right here,” he said briefly.
     She shrugged and leant against the table. “Well, what is it?”
     “I want you to get this business straight,” he said; “up to now you've been acting like a dimwit all along. Well, you gotta wake up to things. You and I are in a murder mix-up. You stand a sweet chance of getting fried, and I'm in line for an accessory rap. You're playing it like an afternoon tumble with the curtains drawn. Get wise to it, Redhead.”
     She tapped on the floor with her shoe. “I know all that, she said, “but that gets me nowhere.”
     The smile on his face was hard. “You're holding back on me, baby, and you know it,” he said. “If I weren't in this as an accessory, I'd let it ride. I'm in this for two reasons. One, I'm in it, if you get pinched, and two, I've got a little score to settle with Morgan. I'm easy enough if you play ball, but I'll get goddam' hard if you don't.”
     She said suddenly in a sharp voice, “Let me out of here.”
     Duffy didn't move. “You're in a spot, sister,” he said, “there is only one way you can get out of here. You can open your pretty mouth and start squawking, and that'll bring the cops arunnin', asking questions. You'll have a sweet twenty minutes, explaining why you're here, and how you got the key to this joint. Then they'll start looking for Cattley, and suppose they find him, what then?”
     She looked at him thoughtfully, then a little smile broke on her lips. “All right,” she said, “if that's the way you feel, let's talk.”
     Duffy shook his head sadly. “My, my,” he said. “You're like an eel, ain't you? Tough one minute, then the soft pedal. It ain't getting you anywhere, sister. You came here to find something and you've found it. Okay, you and me are going to share it.”
     She swung herself on the table, so that her skirt rode above her knees. Duffy looked at them, and thought they were nice. “You know everything,” she said; “you're quite right, I did come here to find something. I suppose I'd better tell you all about it.”
     Duffy grinned. “And with perfect grace, she confessed the truth,” he said.
     “Well, I've been a fool,” she said, studying her nails; “naturally, I wanted to keep it to myself. You've guessed by now that I lied to you about writing a book?”
     Duffy said, “You'd be surprised how much I do know.”
     “Cattley was blackmailing me,” her voice was suddenly weary; “I've had to pay and pay. I did something crazy once and Cattley was there. My father would have been in a hopeless position to run for election if it got out, and Cattley was smart enough to know this. He put the screws on, and I had to pay. It's awful of me to say this, but his death was a great relief to me.”
     Duffy said, “You're giving me a grand motive for his killing.”
     She slid off the table and came over to him. “You know I didn't kill him,” she said, “you believe that, don't you?”
     “Go on,” he said, “it don't matter a damn what I think, it's what the jury would think that counts.”
     She moved away again, and began wandering round the room, fingering the furniture aimlessly as she moved. “Cattley was a brute. He made me visit him. He gave me the key of his apartment. I had to go to him whenever he called. I knew he had some proof of what I did, so when he was killed, I came down to find it. That's the truth, you do believe that?”
     “Sure,” Duffy beamed, “a hophead would believe it.”
     She sat down suddenly in the arm-chair and hid her face in her hands. “I'm so unhappy,” she said, her voice breaking; “please be kind to me.”
     Duffy came over and sat on the arm of her chair. “When you went into the Johnny just now,” he said casually, “you smuggled something in your pants or some place. You can now go right back to the Johnny and dig it out again. Then you can give it to me.”
     She took her hands from her face and leant back. Her face was set. “You've got no right to ask for that,” she said, “it is nothing to do with you. It is entirely personal.”