The Ace of Spades - Dell Shannon (28 page)

"But what is this? Me, mixed up with criminals?
Who are you? It's a joke, maybe— "

"No joke. Lieutenant Mendoza of the police,
madame." He produced his credentials. "You've been making
quite a little work for us lately, you know. Although if you forgive
me, I will say that my men have found it much more entertaining than
following some lout of a suspected thief."

"I? Followed? What— " She was deciding
whether to be angry or frightened.

"I won't eat you," grinned Mendoza. "Sit
down and we'll make a little bargain. I think"— and it was a
lie, but the easiest way to handle it and the only way to get
anything out of her— "you've been an innocent victim in this
case. Of course, you don't know our laws, and obviously a beautiful
young lady like you, she doesn't waste her time studying  books—
"

She smiled and relaxed a little, beside him on the
couch. "No, indeed I don't know about things here— imagine,
I'm told the police are all uncouth
canaille
and look like farmers! Obviously also this is a lie."

"You're too kind— I hope so, madame, And then
too, you are still grieving for your late father and possibly—
shall we say?— not in any state to judge clearly. But shall we also
say, it wasn't very wise of you to accept the proposal to buy back
your father's collection from the thief."

"And now what has given you this idea?" She
widened her eyes at him, wary, playing for time.

Mendoza laughed, brought out the little box, let her
see the coin.

"You recognize it? Good .... No, we have not got
the rest, only this, but we will have .... Now, it's late, and
there's no point in playing games, trying to trick each other. Cards
on the table, madame. We know almost the whole story. Mr. Skyros has
been negotiating for you with the thief, hasn't he? Very unwise to
trust him— he is a professional criminal himself, you know— "

"But I do not know! What is this— Skyros? A—
a gangster?"

"Well, that could be one word for it— "

"I have not trusted him, but this I did not
imagine," she said thoughtfully. "How extremely odd."

"He has it arranged with the thief, you see. We
have evidence on him," said Mendoza, hoping he told the truth,
"and on several others— including Donovan." He watched
her on that one, and saw that she recognized the name; so Goldberg
hadn't been woolgathering, and they'd been right about that. "It
is, in other words, all off, madame: they're about to be arrested and
charged, and I am afraid it will appear as if you conspired with
them— you understand— unless, of course, you speak out and tell
the truth. All the truth. How you met Mr. Skyros, and all about the
negotiating, and so on. But whether you do or not, that deal is off.
I should imagine, however, that you'll get the collection back in
time, when it's recovered."

Madame Bouvardier heaved a long sigh. "Well, at
least that is something," she said practically. "Although I
do not understand why the insurance company is not liable to pay
also. The insurance is against theft, among other things, it is not?—
very well— it is stolen, so they should pay! That is only logical.
Whatever should occur later, it is nothing at all to do with that."

"Very logical," agreed Mendoza gravely,
"but the ways of law are like the ways of God, madame—
mysterious."

"You will have a little glass of wine with me.
Berthel I see you are a gentleman,
trés
gentil
, you are sympathetic, and also I think
most accomplished at persuading the ladies! I will tell you about it—
I tell you everything— it is to be seen there is nothing else I can
do in this situation, and one must be practical. You are quite
right," said Madame Bouvardier emphatically, rolling her eyes at
him over her glass, “that I am entirely innocent in this affair—
that it is against the law to do such,  this I never knew! I
will tell you how it came about, and beg that you believe me— "

"But who could doubt the word of so charming a
lady?"

"Ah, you are so
sympathique— I think I am much relieved after all it should end
so. I tell you how it began, this Skyros . . ."

* * *

It was past eleven when he got home. And it was about
all wound up, all but the tiresome routine, the collating of
evidence, the further questioning, the formal taking of statements.
He knew almost all about it now— though he still didn't know who
had killed Domokous, but doubtless that would emerge— and he ought
to be feeling pretty good about it. A little teaser of a business—
some fairly complex details built up out of not much to start with.
Interesting. Instead, he was feeling rather depressed.

That old woman, still a little on his mind. Nothing
you could do about that kind of thing: there it was. In his trade he
saw a lot of it. The innocent bystanders, as he'd said to the priest.

He sat up in bed smoking; at a little past midnight,
on impulse and suffering a slight guilty conscience, he called his
grandmother. The old lady was a night owl, up at all hours, but she
told him instantly that he was extremely thoughtless to call at such
a time, though it was something of a relief to know he was yet alive,
not coming near her in all this long while. "Peace, peace,"
he soothed her, "I'm a public servant, my time's not my own."

"And so have you yet got a birthday gift for
me?"

"You're too old for birthday gifts, my little
pigeon."

"Little pigeon indeed, you're disrespectful. And
since I never had any whatever all my life to fifteen years ago, I am
making up lost time."

"I'll buy you a box of handkerchiefs .... I
can't promise when I'll come, I'm just winding up this case. Day
after tomorrow, maybe. And I know very well in any case what cunning
plans are in your head— new neighbors I must meet! With a
fair-to-middling pretty daughter or niece or cousin, confess it!—
and you trying to play go-between."

“
Wicked one, it's past time you are decently
married. Are you so foolish at your age to believe in this
Anglo-Saxon notion, true love for a lifetime, to base a marriage
upon?"

"I was never so young or so foolish. I do quite
well as I am. Have you visited the doctor about the stiffness in your
knees?"

"Why should I pay money to the doctor to tell me
I am getting old? That I know. There is nothing else wrong with me at
all, I've never had a sick day in my life— "

"There is a great deal wrong with you, and you
still running back and forth to the priests it's to be hoped you
confess it now and then. You tell lies, for one thing— all these
elegant forebears direct from a castle in Spain! I myself distinctly
remember your telling me that your own mother was half-bred Indian
from the backwoods and never wore a pair of shoes unti1— "

"That is the lie, you remember quite falsely,
and you're very rude to an old woman .... Now what is wrong, Luis?
You're troubled for something .... Yes, you are, and wouldn't I know,
that raised you from the nuisance of an infant you were?"

"It's nothing, a little something in this case
is all . . . now, you don't want to hear about such things . . .
well, it's only . . ."

She listened, and sighed in sympathy, and said, "You
lie awake with the sore heart for this poor, poor woman, it is
understood."

"Don't talk nonsense, it's well known I have a
heart of flint."

"Oh, yes, indeed, like feathers it is hard, I
know that very well— you begging the table scraps to feed every
mangy stray cat and dog in the neighborhood! The poor soul, and one
of these Russian heretics too, with only a false God to give comfort.
Life, it bears hard, so it does. But God sends the burden according
to the shoulder, boy. That, by what you say, she knows already— and
her troubles have strengthened her. She will be all right, Luis, with
time gone by."

"Let us hope," he said. "That there is
always plenty of." When he put down the phone he felt better; he
would sleep; and tomorrow, things to do— see the case wound up,
find out all the details.

He drew his good hand down Bast's spine and she
turned over on her back, four black paws in the air, and shamelessly
showed him the very distinctly rounding pale brown stomach that began
to say kittens. "You know something,
chica
,"
he said, "it's the old ones who are tough.

They've had it before, they won't die of it over
again." He switched off the light and slid down beside her, and
went to sleep while she still purred in his ear.
 

TWENTY

Mr. Skyros did not often attend church, but his wife
did; he saw her off that Sunday morning, and retired to his den to
mull over these various little awkwardnesses which had arisen. It
seemed to him that one very good way out of the difficulty about
Prettyman and Angelo would be to patch up the quarrel with Bratti.
Doubtless he would need to fawn a little, own the fault entirely his
own, that kind of thing, but Bratti was a sensible fellow, he would
understand the position. And while it might seem on the face of it
that Bratti would be only too pleased to see Mr. Skyros forced out of
business, actually that was not the case. It was like any other
business— it cost the wholesaler a certain amount to import the
stuff, and the more steady customers he had, the cheaper he could
afford to sell and still see his profits rise. Volume— always a
determining factor in business.

It also seemed that the little trick Mr. Skyros had
sought to play, planting Domokous' death at Bratti's door, had fallen
flat: the police had not been intelligent enough to take the hint.
And that was just as well: as it was, that little matter Bratti had
never known anything about. If he could patch up the quarrel with
Bratti, throw himself on Bratti's mercy, rent a few boys from him
temporarily until business was started up again . . .

Also, some time today he must see Donovan, see that
tiresome woman, and once for all conclude that deal. It had turned
out to be more trouble and worry than it was worth.

At that point the doorbell chimed, and he went to
answer it, putting on his usual genial smile for some neighbor or a
Sunday peddler. The smile faded as he opened the door. "You
fool, to come here— all open — go away! You cannot— it's
madness— " Oh, God, that he'd ever become known to such a one!
Trouble, always trouble from this kind—

Angelo laid a hand on Mr. Skyros' chest, pushed him
back gently, and walked in. He was smiling his soft smile. And behind
him Denny Donovan babbled anxiously, coming in too.

"Now you take it easy, Angie— look, Mr.
Skyros, I just had to bring him, state he's in an' all— come round
sayin' such things to me, me— like he'll take a knife to me don't I
drive him— why, Angie, boy, you know I allus do anythin' for you,
but you got to take it easy, don't do nothing to make trouble—
listen, I'm sorry, Mr. Skyros, but he— "

"You fools, you must both go away at once! I
will not have— "

"No trouble," said Angie. He walked Mr.
Skyros backward another couple of steps; his little smile was fixed.
"Only you got to give me some stuff right now, Mr. Skyros. Say
last night, very sorry, you couldn't get none, wait awhile, Angelo.
That don't do, Mr. Skyros. Now I got to have it. Right now."

"I haven't got any," said Mr. Skyros
irritably. "Next week I get some, my man's around again then,
Angelo. You be sensible now, go away and— buy yourself a fix from
somebody— "

"Retail prices," said Angelo, "why do
I go 'n' do like that, Mr. Skyros? You're the supplier— you got the
stuff, you always got the stuff,— I pay you for ten decks, right
now, an' so that way I got some to sell an' buy more— next week,
tomorrow, next month— only I buy it now, Mr. Skyros. Fifty a deck,
Mr. Skyros. You go 'n' get it."

"I haven't got any, fool!"

"Now listen, Angie, you see it's no good, you
better come away an' do like he says— you be sensible now, Angie—
"

Angelo slid a hand into his breast pocket and took
out a knife. An ordinary bone-handled bread knife it was, with a
blade about nine inches long. Mr. Skyros stepped smartly backward. "I
don't want no trouble," said Angie softly. "Who else do I
come to, who else'd have it? You're the supplier. Go 'n' get it. I
need it right now, Mr. Skyros."

"For God's sake," Mr. Skyros implored
Denny, "do something, take the knife away from him— I can't,
Angelo, I tell you there's none here, you understand plain English,
isn't it?— you be good, sensible, now— "

"Yeah, it's no good, Angie— you— you let me
take you back downtown," chattered Denny nervously, "find
somebody fix you up O.K.— "

"No trouble," said Angie, and put the point
of the knife against Mr. Skyros' stomach. Mr. Skyros uttered a small
moan and took another step backward, and the doorbell chimed again.
"Needn't pay no notice to that, Mr. Skyros. You just go 'n' get
the stuff. Right now. Because it's right now I got to have it."
His liquid dark eyes were fixed, staring, above the little soft
smile.

Mr. Skyros took another step. If he could get into
the den, the dining room, slam the door between— Suddenly and
irrelevantly he realized the lost benefit of being an upright
citizen, who could (if possible to do so) take up the telephone and
call for the police. But Angie paced with him step by step, holding
the knife steady. The doorbell chimed again. "Now listen-"
panted Mr. Skyros. He was across the threshold of the dining room
now, and suddenly over Angie's shoulder he saw movement out there
beyond the French window— someone on the porch— a man coming up
to peer in. It was that Lieutenant Mendoza, that man from police
headquarters: and Mr. Skyros had never imagined that he would feel so
happy to lay eyes on a cop. He sidled toward the windows, drawing
Angie with him, and so far as he was thinking at all he began to
formulate a vague tale about this lunatic breaking in, threatening
him—