Poisons Unknown (15 page)

“That’s different.” Liddell nodded.

T
HE CLERK
behind the ornate desk in the lobby of the Carter Apartments raised his heavy-lidded eyes from a contemplation of the carnation in his buttonhole. He flattened the hair over his right ear against his head with a hand decorated with a heavy gold identification bracelet. He waited for Liddell to speak first.

“Tell Marty Kirk that Johnny Liddell wants to see him,” Liddell snapped. He didn’t wait for an answer, headed for the bank of elevators. He gave no sign that he had caught the signal that passed between the clerk and the sleepy-eyed man on the couch.

Tim ambled up behind Liddell as he entered the elevator marked
Penthouse
, nodded to the operator. “Hello, Liddell.” He held his hand out.

Liddell slipped the .45 from its shoulder holster, dropped it into the sleepy-eyed man’s hand.

“Carrying Big Bertha today, eh?” He eyed the gun critically. “Don’t see why anyone uses a cannon like this. Guy that knows what he’s doing can do as much damage with a twenty-two.”

“Maybe when I squeeze a trigger I like to see the guy I’m shooting at go down,” Liddell growled. “I’ve seen them stand and argue with a lot more iron than a twenty-two in them. When this baby hits them, they stay hit.”

“I’ll still take the twenty-two,” Tim drawled. He stayed on the elevator when it reached the penthouse, and rode down with the operator.

The pretty boy with the wavy hair and the blue flannel suit was draped at the desk in the outer room. He looked up as Liddell walked toward him, then dropped his eyes back to a contemplation of his nails.

“If you weren’t in such a hurry, the clerk could’ve told you Marty isn’t seeing anybody today, shamus. You took the ride for nothing.”

Liddell started to walk past the desk toward the door to the apartment. The man in the blue suit stuck his leg across the doorway.

“You don’t hear so good, do you, peeper?” Leo didn’t lift his eyes. “Go on back to your keyhole-peeping or you won’t look so good, either.”

Liddell stopped at the outstretched leg, looked down at it. “Get it out of the way before I break it off,” he told him in a deceptively mild voice.

Leo looked up, then pulled back the leg. He pulled himself to his feet. “I’m sorry, sir,” he bowed sarcastically, “I didn’t know you wanted to pass.” He feinted a pass at Liddell’s stomach. When Liddell instinctively covered up, he found his arm caught in a lock. He had the sensation of flying through the air, hit the wall with a thud, and slid to a sitting position on the floor.

The man in the blue suit walked past him, punched at the elevator button. “Always glad to see you, shamus. I don’t get enough exercise these days.” He kept his finger on the bell.

Liddell shook his head, cleared the fuzziness, got to his feet. Leo grinned at him, faked a sigh. “Don’t tell me you want more.” He came toward him on the balls of his feet, arms swinging low. “I’ve been told to give a guest anything he wants.”

He swung lightly at Liddell’s face with his left, chuckled when the private detective moved his head far enough for it to pass over his shoulder. With perfect co-ordination the guard followed up with a right hook to the stomach. Liddell fielded it with his arm, circled to the right, threw a left and right into Leo’s face, knocking his head back.

The grin faded from the guard’s face; he moved in, pumping lefts and rights at Liddell. Instead of falling back, the private detective planted his feet, put everything he had into a left and right to the other man’s midsection. Leo’s face went purple, he folded up over his folded hands and stumbled. Liddell stepped back, brought his right up in a stiff, looping uppercut. Leo’s carefully shellacked hair flew straight out. He went backward, and sat down hard.

The man in the blue suit was no longer dapper. His thin purple lips were now blue, his eyes watery. His carefully combed hair hung down over his face. His head rolled uncontrollably from side to side on the top of his body. Liddell walked over, picked him up by the lapels, dragged him to his chair. He had lost all interest in his surroundings.

Liddell turned the knob, pushed the door open, walked in. A girl looked up from where she leaned against the piano. She was tall, full blown. Her thick, blue-black hair was piled on top of her head; a green sweater was charged with the thankless task of restraining her full bosom. Her lips were full, tantalizing. Liddell could feel the impact of her eyes across the room.

He stared at her for a moment, tried to understand why she looked so familiar. Then it came to him—but the last time he had seen her she wore shapeless red robes, no make-up, and her hair tumbled over her shoulders.

She returned his stare. “How did you get in here?”

“The door was open—Wanda,” he told her.

“What about Leo?”

Liddell opened the door, pulled Leo up from his chair. “He knocked himself out making me feel welcome.” He released his hold, and Leo dropped back into his chair like a sack of wheat. Liddell re-entered the living-room, closed the door behind him. “Where’s Marty?”

She inclined her head toward an inner room. “He’ll be right out.” She walked toward where he stood. She still gave the illusion of gliding, but it was more spectacular to watch than when she had worn the shapeless robes. She stopped alongside Liddell, turned the full impact of her eyes on him. “That night at the temple—I had the feeling we’d meet again.” She smiled lazily. He could smell her perfume—heavy, disturbing. Her lips gleamed softly, moistly. “I’d better see if I can get some help for Leo. It looks as though you’ve about ruined him.” As she walked past, her full hips worked easily, tantalizingly against the tight-fitting skirt. It didn’t take a detective to deduce that she wore nothing under it.

After the door had closed after her, Liddell walked over to the oversized couch, picked up a copy of
Life
from the coffee table, glanced through it. A door opened and closed off to the left.

Marty Kirk stood in the doorway. At his side, the little man named Hook stood, hand sunken in jacket pocket.

“How did you get past Leo?” Marty growled.

“I just went all through that with Wanda,” Liddell grunted. “We tried to prove to each other how tough we were. He wasn’t.”

“What do you want?” Kirk’s voice was edged with something more than irritation. “What are you doing here? You here for your payoff?”

Liddell shook his head. “I didn’t do the job.” He dropped the magazine onto the coffee table. “Al Frederici is still alive.”

Kirk’s jaw dropped. “What are you talking about?” he demanded.

“Have it your way.” Liddell shrugged. “Brother Alfred is still among the living. That make any more sense?”

Kirk crossed the room to where two cut-glass decanters sat on a small silver platform. He poured a stiff drink into a glass, tossed it off. “You’d better get on the door, Hook. Nobody gets in here. Understand? Nobody.”

Hook nodded, crossed to the door, opened it, and went out.

“Now start talking, shamus,” Kirk snarled. “What about Frederici?”

“The guy in the car wasn’t Al,” Liddell told him with a shrug. “It must have been Jorges.”

Kirk had to put a hand out against the wall to steady himself. “Then Frederici killed him.” He wiped his mouth with a shaking hand, tried to pull himself together. He tottered over to the couch and dropped into it. “You know about Jorges, then?”

Liddell shook his head. “I just know that Jorges disappeared about the same time as Alfred. Who was he?”

Kirk dropped his face into his hands, shook his head. “He was on some kind of a job for the big boys. They didn’t spill what it was. They just wanted me to keep my eye on him.” He dropped his voice. “He had over a half a million dollars belonging to the syndicate.” He looked up. “I was supposed to make sure nothing happened to him.”

Liddell whistled soundlessly. “What was the dough for?”

“I don’t know. It was none of my business. It came from the big boys.” He got up, paced the room. “Frederici must be trying to highjack it.” He stopped, swung back to Liddell. “There’s a twenty-five-thousand-dollar bonus in it for you if you turn him up now. What do you say?”

Liddell shrugged. “I’m here and I’m in it up to my ears. I might as well get paid for my headaches.”

“Good.” Kirk walked back to the decanter and poured himself another drink.

“There’s only one if,” Liddell told him. “If he’s gotten his hands on that half a million, he’s probably on the other side of the world by now.”

Kirk shook his head. “He hasn’t got it. The dough is here in a safe place. The receipt for the box was torn in half. I have half, and Jorges got half. When he was ready to close the deal, we were supposed to get together, put the two halves together. Frederici has only one half of the check. He can’t do a thing without the other half.” He tossed off the drink, and some of it spilled down his chin.

“Was Frederici working with Jorges on the deal?”

Kirk wiped his chin with the back of his hand and shook his head. “I didn’t even know Jorges knew him.” He put the cork back into the decanter and walked back to the couch. “Jorges was supposed to deal with me. Frederici had nothing to do with that operation.”

“Frederici handled the dope for your setup, that it?”

A hard note crept into Kirk’s voice. “You find him. Never mind sticking your nose into my business.”

Liddell walked past him, went over to the decanter, sniffed it, approved. He poured himself a drink and tasted it. It tasted as good as it smelled. “I’m not blowing any police whistles, Kirk. But I have to know the whole setup before I can handle this. This babe, for instance, where does she set in the picture?”

“Wanda?” Kirk shrugged. “I planted her with Alfred to keep an eye on him. He was a twister from away back. Lou Mendel wished him on me when the Coast got too hot to hold him.”

Liddell nodded.

“We needed a place to push our quota of the white stuff. He had plenty of experience, came up with the idea of this phony cult. The suckers went for it like flies to honey.”

“Wanda’s been there since the place opened?”

“She handled the picture end of it. We used infrared and got some shots that were worth their weight in gold.”

Liddell nodded. “I know all about that part of it. Get to the part about Alfred fading out.”

Kirk cracked his knuckles nervously. “I got word Jorges was coming. I was supposed to contact him a couple of days later. That night, Wanda calls from the temple. They got a houseful of fish and no Alfred. I told her to fake it. It went off so well, we kept it up until the sheriff tipped us off the big heat was going on.”

“He was getting his, of course?”

“Plenty. Anyway, when they found this body in Alfred’s car, Lalonde wanted to write it right off and get rid of Alfred. Wanda was doing as good or better.”

“I saw one of her performances.” Liddell grunted.

“That’s the way it stands. Now you tell me Frederici isn’t dead.”

Liddell nodded. “I’m almost positive it was Jorges’s body. I found his wallet in the Martinez girl’s flat after she was murdered.”

“Frederici did that, you think?”

“Must have. Martinez found the wallet, the way I figure it. She thought it had something to do with Alfred’s disappearance. She was very close to him, wasn’t she?”

Kirk nodded. “He kicked her around like a football. She loved it.”

“She found this wallet, didn’t know where to go with it, so she called me. Somehow, Alfred got wind of it and went up there to shut her up.”

“Why are you so sure it was Alfred?”

Liddell shrugged. “It figures. She had found something that she thought related to the death of Alfred. She’d be awfully careful who she let in.”

Kirk snorted. “You’re just guessing.”

Liddell shook his head. “It’s more than a guess. Here’s a dame that has something she knows is as hot as a fifty-cent pistol. Yet, she’s found in her bedroom, stark naked with no signs of a struggle. What does that mean?”

“You’re the detective. You tell me.”

“It means the killer was either someone with whom she was intimate or someone who had her wrapped around his finger. Either description could fit Alfred.”

“But he still left the wallet? The thing he came for?”

“I don’t know what happened there.” Liddell grunted. “It’s a cinch he looked for it. The place was torn apart. But it was well hidden. She had it taped to the underside of the sink in the bathroom. He probably shook the place down as long as he dared, then figured it wasn’t there and lit out.”

“What are you going to do now?”

Liddell drained his glass, set it down on the cabinet. “I’m not too sure. This Jorges character bothers me. If I knew what his pitch was and where he was connected with Alfred, I might have an idea of where to look for Frederici.”

Kirk nodded. “Handle it however you like, but keep in touch. If he’s still around, he’s going to make a try for me. That’s the only way he can get the other half of the stub. It’s a try that carries a half a million on the nose, so he won’t be fooling when he does.”

“Okay. If you want me, contact the hotel and leave word. Don’t bother sending the little guy. He’s beginning to get in my hair.” Liddell walked to the door, stopped with his hand on the knob. “You’re leveling with me, aren’t you, Kirk?”

The mobster twisted his face into a snarl. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t heard from Frederici?”

Kirk hesitated, then shook his head. “No.”

Liddell considered it, didn’t look too convinced, shrugged. “It’s your skin if you like to go around wearing holes in it.” He walked through to the anteroom beyond. Hook sat behind the desk, feet up. Wanda leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the room and scowled as Liddell came out.

“Is it okay for me to go in now, or do I have to spend the winter out here?” she demanded sulkily.

Liddell looked to Hook. “What’s with her?”

The guard shrugged thin shoulders. “You heard the boss. Nobody gets in, he says. To me that means nobody.”

Wanda crossed to the door, stopped outside it, studied Liddell from heavy-lidded eyes. “Leo’s awful sore at you, Liddell,” she told him. “You spoiled his whole day.”