Too Many Crooks (2 page)

"I think we've got something like that here. They've been so damned clever about it that I can't be positive even now. But a group called Seaco—short for Seacliff Development Company—has bought a lot of property here. The way it looks, these guys started out easy—everything perfectly legal, nothing to get a man suspicious. First they bought all the properties along the coast that were listed for sale. Then they took the next step, looked up owners, bought more, even paying more than some places were worth. They got a pile of it. Hell, there was no reason they shouldn't have. These were just ordinary, everyday business deals."

"Still sounds OK to me."

"Seemed all right to me, too, until just a few days ago. Up till then everything was normal, except that Seaco was investing an awful lot of money here. The men doing the actual negotiating were likable, seemed decent. I met a couple of them and they could have been the local doctor and banker, settled businessmen. But finally they got all they could that way. They reached a point where the only places left were owned either by people who damn well didn't intend to sell for any price—small, individual owners—or else by the three of us in town who own big amounts of property."

"And you're one of the three."

"Yes. Other two are Clyde Baron and Lilith Manning. You'll meet both of them later today. The three of us are about all that's left to fight this Seaco bunch. Plus you. Anyway, Seaco representatives talked to Baron and me and didn't get anywhere. Miss Manning wasn't in Seacliff then. After that, a new man came around alone, talked with Baron, and spent several hours out here with me. He was the most persuasive one of the whole bunch. Clean-looking, pleasant, personable sort of guy named Zimmerman, and if I'd even half felt like selling, he would probably have talked me into it. Even offered me a hundred thousand more than
I
think the property's worth."

"How come you didn't sell?"

Dane shrugged, swallowed some beer. "I'm comfortable, happy. I've got good property and a good income from it. If I sold, taxes would take a lot of the profit. Besides, if I ever kick off I'd like to leave my holdings here to Eleanor and Janie. The important thing is that I finally gave this guy a flat no the last time I saw him. He was a young, good-looking man, but he got a little ugly-looking after that. I remember the last thing he said to me. He said, 'All right, Dane. You asked for it.' The way he looked and sounded gave me the creeps."

"What did you say his name was?"

"Zimmerman. And right after that the Seaco Company changed its methods. Few days ago, a helluva big, tough-acting man came to see me and made me a flat offer for all my real estate. All of it. I've got maybe six hundred thousand dollars' worth of property here and he offered a quarter million. I laughed at him and he got belligerent. Said it wasn't anything to laugh at, and I'd laugh out of the other side of my mouth if I didn't wise up. That's about the way he put it. And he mentioned that he wasn't as easygoing a guy as Zimmerman."

"He didn't actually get rough, did he?"

"Not physically. Just talked rough. Well, so did I. Told him to get out or I'd kick him into the ocean." Em grinned. "Don't think I could, though. Actually, that's what got me riled up. I'd started wondering what was going on, after that last talk with Zimmerman, but then I did a lot of checking on my own." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, sharply lined face serious. "Shell, up till then I didn't have the faintest idea what was going on, didn't know about even a tenth of these other sales—and I'll bet nobody else in town did either. But it's plain now." He got up and went into the house.

He came back with a yard-square map, which he spread out on the table before us. "That's what I got," he said. "Take a look."

It was a map of Seacliff. A number of squares and rectangles mostly along the coast but including several inland and outside of the business district, were filled in with red pencil.

Dane said, "Those red spots are the real estate sold to Seaco in the last two months. That's just about how long they've been operating. Reporter on the
Star
here, girl named Betty, helped a lot with it. She thinks the same way I do. She did most of the work, looking up records and so on for me." He stopped and sipped his beer, then said, "She might be some help to you, Shell. Damned fine newspaper gal. See her today if you can, but don't let her scare you. Little mixed up, maybe, but she's a fine woman. Like a daughter to me."

I knew from what he'd said that the girl must be worth knowing, and that Dane thought a lot of her. Dane had been married once, and divorced several years back. His wife, Eleanor, got custody of their small daughter, Janie, who was probably around twenty now. Dane seldom mentioned them, but there must have been times when he thought about them, missed them both.

He was quiet for a few seconds, looking out at the ocean; then he pointed to the map again. "Well, I said they changed their methods, started using muscle. One of those spots belonged to Tom Fellows. He's among those who damn well weren't going to sell, but I saw him on the street with his arm in a sling. He had sold, but he wouldn't tell me a damn thing except that it seemed like a good time to sell out. Another friend of mine, Hale Prentice, sold when a couple of men dropped in to see him and started asking about his wife and kids. He's got two kids, a boy and a girl. He got the impression something might happen to them if he didn't sell. He sold." Dane paused, frowning. "Well, what does it look like to you?"

"Looks like muscle, all right, Em. But if these guys are using muscle, I don't see how they'd expect to get away with it—at least, not for long. It would be so damned obvious."

He broke in. "That's the whole point; it's
not
obvious. Not yet—except to you and me now. You can see how they started out slow and easy, then built up to this. There wasn't any rough stuff until the last few days. I happened to check, see how all these sales fit together in a pattern, but probably these people who've sold out don't know anything about all the other sales; they just know about their own individual transaction. There's a pattern to it, though. Shell, it looks to me like this bunch is after half the damn town."

"You'd think the sand was uranium. Unless, of course, you're nuts."

Dane fished a red pencil from his pocket and drew a line around another rectangle on the map. "Most of the spots sold so far were empty lots, but this one is a house and lot worth about eighty thousand dollars. Seaco's been after it, but the owner wouldn't sell. That was Ed Whist's place, Shell. His widow owns it now. Or did until a few hours ago. This guy who talked to me about selling saw Mary Whist this morning, bought the place for fifty thousand."

"This morning? I thought Whist just died."

"True. Couple days ago. That should give you an idea of the type of men we're up against. I talked to Mary Whist on the phone just half an hour before I called you." He was quiet for a moment, then he said, "Shell, they tell me Ed drowned surf-fishing down at Gray's Rocks. They say a wave must have swept him off the rocks and pulled him under because of his clothes and boots. Only Ed and I fished there a lot, and we always cast from the sand. He'd never have gone out on those rocks for a million dollars. He said a man could drown."

"Aren't you jumping to a conclusion, Em? I can't see anybody killing a man simply to get a chunk of beach with a house on it."

"Sometimes the only way you reach a conclusion is to jump at it." He shrugged. "Maybe Ed was too good a friend of mine for me to think clearly about it. You look into it, anyway, Shell. And check this Seaco bunch."

"OK. Who's in the thing? And who's the boss?"

"Nobody seems to know for sure. They've formed a corporation, and the law requires only that three of the directors be named. I never heard of the first two, but the third one is Jim Norris. I think he's your boss. Besides being one of the Seaco organizers, he's manager and part owner of the Beachcomber's Lodge. You know the place?"

"Uh-huh." The Beachcomber's Cocktail Lounge was my favorite drinking spot in town, but I'd never met Norris. I'd heard the name, though; he was supposed to be a pretty big man in this neck of the woods.

Dane said, "Somebody buying a lot of property, that all by itself isn't so funny, but I think I know what's behind the whole operation. And it's big—millions-of-dollars big." He pointed to the map. "Almost all the property I've marked is on the coast. Some of it's downtown in Seacliff, but most of it is right outside the business district. Of the beachfront property, one strip is a public beach, property of the city of Seacliff. All the rest is privately owned, and as of today Seaco already holds about half of it, while Baron, Miss Manning, and I own most of the other half. Miss Manning owns the most, then me, and the rest is held by Baron, mostly in his Baronial Estates. We're what you'd call the big owners—and if somebody is bound and determined to get all that beachfront property, we're naturally the biggest and most important targets." He paused. "Lilith was back east when this started. After this tough bruiser talked to me, I got in touch with Baron, told him what I thought was happening. Later he phoned Lilith and she flew in from New York and we all got together, talked it over. Just in time, too, because right after that they tell me Zimmerman saw her, and turned on his charm. But we'd wised her up and she wouldn't sell. So the tough one called on both Baron and Miss Manning. They said he acted just as nasty with them as with me. Incidentally, I phoned Baron after I called you and arranged for us all to meet at Miss Manning's home later today. We'll go out there after we see this tough guy." He glanced at his watch. "Few minutes now."

I checked the time. Two-twenty-seven.

Dane said, "He came to see me a second time two days ago. Said he'd give me till today at two-thirty, and I'd better be ready to close the deal. They wouldn't wait any longer." He broke off, looking past the side of the house. "Might be the guy's car now."

I walked to the edge of the porch and glanced out toward the street. A big black Packard was pulling into the curb. Two or three men were inside it. I went back to Dane. "Stopping here."

A car door slammed out front, footsteps came along the walk.

Dane was frowning. He jerked a thumb toward the door and said, "OK, Shell. You wait in the house. Stand behind the bedroom window there and you can see out, but he won't be able to see you through the curtains. I'll talk to him as long as I can. You give a listen and let me know what you think."

I nodded and went inside. The bed was on my right against wide windows. Movement on my left as I entered startled me until I noticed it was the reflection of my own image in the mirror over a dresser against the wall. I walked toward it and stopped in front of the window before which Dane and I had been seated. I was just in time to see a big guy walk around front and up onto the porch. He said pleasantly, "Afternoon, Mr. Dane. Say, that looks good. You got an extra beer there?"

The man's voice was pleasant, but he didn't look pleasant at all. He was about five-ten and looked as broad as that Packard out front. His face was a side of beef with eyes and teeth in it, red and rare from the sun. If somebody were using muscle to convince owners they should sell their property, they'd chosen the right kind of representative. This guy was all muscle.

Dane was saying, "Got half a dozen cans there," but he didn't make a move toward the beer or opener.

The guy hesitated for a moment, then stooped and picked up a can. I thought for a minute he was going to poke his thumb through the top, but he opened it normally, had a swallow, and said, "Well, Mr. Dane! Offer's still good. Hasn't gone down a penny. You give it some thought, like I told you?"

"I've thought about it. Can't remember your name, now."

"Smith. Ben Smith."

"Sure. Don't know how I forgot. Well, Mr. Smith, I don't know. But I don't think I'll sell. My property's worth a lot more than a quarter million."

"You don't get it." Smith pulled a chair over and sat down in front of Dane. "We've looked all the property over, and it's worth a quarter million to us. Don't make no difference what it's worth to you. Man's health can't be figured in dollars. You'd rather have your health than your money, wouldn't you, Dane?"

"I wouldn't sell to you bastards for ten million."

Dane had already reached the end of his rope. Muscles bunched at the side of Smith's jaw and the corners of his mouth pulled down. He said, "Listen, Pop. Don't leak at the mouth no more. And you'll sell. All your friends are selling, ain't they?" He grinned then. "Shouldn't talk to me like this, Pop. We're neighbors. Bought a spot this morning just a couple hundred feet away." He jerked his thumb.

It was Ed Whist's home he was talking about, and that was all Dane could take. He yelled something and started out of his chair, swinging a balled fist at Smith's chin. Smith didn't even get to his feet, just swung his beefy hand and slapped Dane hard across the cheek with the back of it. It turned Dane around and he fell, but he fell roaring and started up again as soon as he hit the porch floor.

The big guy got to his feet. His hand flashed under his coat and came out filled with a gun that he raised over his head, ready to smash it down on Dane's skull. The whole thing had taken only a couple of seconds out there, and I couldn't have got to the porch in time if I'd jumped through the window. I snapped my .38 out of its holster, aimed for a fraction of a second, and shot the big ape in his right shoulder.

He was standing with his back to the porch railing, and though there's not a great deal of impact from a .38 slug, there was enough. It threw him off balance and his legs hit the rail behind as he staggered, then he went over backward and down four feet and his head made a disgusting sound on the cement walk.

Chapter Three

I jumped to the door and got out onto the porch barely in time to keep Dane from leaping over the railing on top of the unconscious man down there. I grabbed him. "Hey, wait a minute, Em. He's out of commission for a while."