Tough as Nails: The Complete Cases of Donahue From the Pages of Black Mask (39 page)

“Boy, do I hate your guts! At heart you’re a dirty heel, that’s what you are. And I’m not going to run myself into a jam by letting you go! Do I look dumb or something?”

The big man held his throat with one hand, stretched out the other towards Donahue. “Listen. Get in touch with the D.A. Tell him how things stand. I don’t want no dough, honest. Just tell him how things stand and see if he don’t give me a clean ticket out. You got there what he wants, what he’s been looking for. Why pick on a poor guy—”

“You must have been dropped on your head when very young if you stand there and think I’m going to talk you up to the D.A. This is a pinch, sweetheart. Now shut up a minute.”

Donahue went across to another table and lifted a Continental telephone, called a number. “Hello, Kelly there?” He waited a moment, eyes and gun trained on the big man. “Hello, Kelly. This is Donahue. I’ve got a nice pinch for you.” He gave the street and number; added: “Snap on it, Kelly, before this mug gets ideas.”

Donahue said to the big man: “Now turn around and face the wall again.”

“Gawd ’lmighty—”

“Turn around.”

Handcuffs dangled, snapped shut, locking the big man’s hands together behind his back.

“‘Now sit down in that chair there…. Smoke?”

There came the click of a lock. The door opened and a young man with blonde, close-cropped hair breezed in; stopped short and almost fell over.

“All right, goldilocks,” Donahue said. “Do setting-up exercises.”

“I—I—”

“You—you—up, baby!”

“Well, for the love o’ cripes—Buck!”

“Yeah—yeah,” panted the big man. “Lookit me!”

The blonde young man had a flippant smile. “Ain’t this just too bad?”

Buck groaned. “Jeeze, Louie, don’t crack wise like that. This guy’s Donahue. He’s got them papers and the cops is coming over any minute.”

Louie’s eyes shimmered. “Oh, so he’s a police nose, huhn?”

“I’m the little boy scout,” Donahue said, “who saw you up near Walter Nass’s last night, after you parked the car in front.”

“The hell you saw me!”

“Standing on the corner with your hat off. I was only ten yards behind you. Cute, aren’t you?”

Louie’s flippant smile faded slowly and then he snapped at Buck: “What the hell did you want to let this guy put you in a jam like this for?”

“Gawd, Louie, he went and framed me! In good faith I offered him the whole dope—”

“In good faith!” mocked Donahue. “My, my, don’t you see yourself through rose-colored glasses!… Hey, you, Louie, kick that door shut and keep your hands up.”

Behind Louie, Klay stepped through the doorway, with his service revolver drawn and his gray-white face passionless. His gun stopped against Louie’s back. In a split moment he had the manacles on. He shoved Louie, and the latter stumbling, complained: “I never seen things happen so fast!”

Klay ignored him because his interest was bent on Donahue, and also his gun. “Heel against heel,” he said; added: “Huhn?” His false teeth had a flat gray-white surface not unlike his face. “So, what’s your newest fable in slang, Donahue?”

“Here’s something, and it’s not a fable: you stink.”

Louie began walking up and down with the mature irritation of the very young. “Damn it, damn it, is this an act or something? Is this an act? I’m beginning to burn up! First one thing, then—”

“Louie, for cripes’ sake!” Buck groaned.

“Why should I? Who are these eggs? I ain’t gonna—”

Klay turned back his lapel, revealed his police shield.

Louie stopped pacing and stared. “Then why the hell didn’t you say so?” He turned and stared hard at Donahue, pointed: “And him?”

Klay smiled. “I’ll take care of him. Now you get over there by your boy friend and keep that loud mouth of yours shut till I ask you something.”

Donahue had lowered his gun because Klay’s was pointing at him. “All right,” he said. “You can take these eggs in, Klay. I’ll breeze.”

“Wait. Why should I take these eggs in?”

“The big one bumped off Cherry Bliss. She had a lot of dope on a lot of big poobahs in this man’s city and she was going to turn it over. So he bumped her off. Then he got the dope.”

“Where’s the dope?”

Donahue said: “I’ve got to get along. Come on, we’ll both take these eggs over to the precinct.”

“Wait, you.” Klay’s gun stopped Donahue and Klay said without turning his head: “You guys, where’s the dope this bird’s talking about?”

Buck took heart. “He’s got it! Him! He took it away from me. I was trying to get in touch with the right party but he frisked it off me. He’s got it, mister; and he’s gonna cash in himself on it.”

Klay looked thinly at Donahue. “Shake-down, huhn?”

“Shake-up, Klay—if you get what I mean.”

“Let me have it.”

Donahue laughed shortly in Klay’s face. “Boy, you’re the berries—bowls and bowls of them.”

“He’s got them papers,” Buck rushed on. “He’s going to use ’em against a lot of guys. Your name’s in there too, now I remember. He’s going to cash in on ’em. Me—he double-crossed me! I thought he was representing the right guys, and then when he gets ’em he turns on me and laughs. That’s the kind of a jazzbo that guy is.”

Donahue made a sharp right turn, took six long steps and smacked Buck in the mouth. Klay sped after him and spun him around.

“Never mind that, Donahue. Hand over what you took from this guy and do it fast.” His face was becoming livid, his eyes very pale and hard.

Donahue was steaming up. “Not on your natural. I’ve got those papers, right in here”—he tapped his breast pocket—“and I know who I’m going to hand them over to. And it’s not you.”

Klay made a left-handed pass at Donahue’s pocket. Donahue caught his arm and flung it down savagely.

“Don’t try it, Klay!”

Louie began snarling: “Listen, Klay, there’s stuff in those papers that means you’re done for if it gets out. Me and Buck’s in a jam and we got to spring out of it. We know what’s in them papers. Unlock these cuffs and we’ll take this guy. If them papers get in the wrong hands it’s bad news for you and a lot of other guys. Like Buck said, we were tryin’ to do right by you but this egg double-crossed us.”

Klay’s gun was pressing hard against Donahue’s stomach, his eyes were narrowed down whitely. “Donahue, I want those papers. I want to see them.”

“You heard me the first time, copper. You’ve double-crossed a lot of women in your day and got away with it, but you’re not getting away with this.”

Buck cried: “He called up another cop! He called him Kelly. The cop’s on the way over. You better step on it, Klay!”

Klay’s nape stiffened. For an instant his hand shook.

“Donahue,” he said, “you’re going to turn over those papers or you’re going to regret it.”

“If you’ve got the nerve, Klay, reach in my pocket and get them.”

Klay stepped back, tossed a key to the floor. “Buck, unlock your boy friend’s cuffs.”

Buck let out a joyous grunt, fell to the floor and picked up the key. He unlocked Louie’s manacles and Louie smacked his hands together.

Klay said: “Get behind this guy. Take his gun…. Don’t move, Donahue, or you’ll get it!”

Louie whistled cheerfully as he took the gun from Donahue’s hands, tapped his pockets and took also the gun which Donahue had taken from Buck, and the key to Buck’s manacles. He pressed both guns against Donahue’s back and went on whistling. Donahue didn’t move.

Klay took the brown envelope from Donahue’s pocket and backed away. Louie went over and unlocked Buck’s manacles and gave him back his gun. Buck let out a vast breath and beamed.

Klay was slipping fingers into the envelope when Louie, nodding to Buck, stepped swiftly and jabbed his gun against Klay’s back. Buck took the cue and trained his gun on Donahue and Louie reached over Klay’s shoulder and took the brown envelope.

“You were born dumb, fella,” Louie said.

Klay sucked in a breath and remained quivering where he stood, his eyes frozen on space.

Louie clipped: “Okey, Buck. We lam.”

“Yeah, bo!”

They backed to the door. Louie opened it and motioned back out. Buck ducked behind him and Louie paused a moment on the threshold.

“Pleasant dreams, guys!”

He vanished, slamming the door.

Klay whirled, his gun held level with his waist. Donahue jumped from behind, ripped the gun from his hand and sent him spinning across the room.

He snarled: “That was a swell frame you walked into, Klay. Thanks. I’m going to get those hoods and I’m going to get those papers.”

He lunged across the room, yanked open the door and barged out. But Klay had the gun he had taken from Louie, and he reached the door a split-second behind Donahue, opened it and bounded down the stairs.

He caught up with Donahue at the hall door and Donahue whirled on him. “Swell, Klay! You’ll be along—a cop—and that’ll cover me. But remember, baby—”

Klay went through the hall door, down the steps, and saw Buck and Louie a half block away, walking east. He broke into a run and the two ahead saw him and darted across the street, their heels flying.

Donahue caught up with Klay and they ran side by side. Klay’s face was white and shiny now with sweat, and little muscles worked at the corners of his mouth. Buck and Louie turned at the first corner, and when Donahue and Klay reached it they saw the other two pounding north.

Klay raised his gun and fired. The shot crashed a window and glass fell, rained noisily on the sidewalk. Buck and Louie turned east and Klay and Donahue went after them past public garages and run-down frame houses. Pedestrians scattered. Vehicles pulled up to the curb and stopped.

Donahue lifted his gun, aimed offhand while galloping and fired. Buck missed a step, swayed a bit but kept rushing head long beside Louie. Louie turned around and fired two shots past Buck’s shoulder. One smacked against a fire-hydrant and the other whistled above Donahue’s head. Klay fired and Buck put his hands straight out and began stumbling. He stumbled faster and faster, tried to look back, then plunged suddenly to the gutter—so hard that his legs flew upward, banged down again, as he rolled, with a ringing of heels on the pavement.

Neither Donahue nor Klay stopped to look at Buck. They knew Louie had the envelope, and Louie was beyond, fleet as the wind. Trucks were backed up against warehouses here. Louie weaved among them; plunged down an alley, and was almost through when Klay and Donahue spotted him.

Klay slowed down to fire. He missed and Donahue rushed past him and pounded his heels down the alley, reached the next street and swung east. Louie cut across in front of a horse-drawn truck, turned to fire around the back of it. The shot clanged in a refuse can and raised dust from it.

As Donahue started across the street, Klay tripped him. Donahue, who had been running fast, fell hard, rolled over and over while Klay sped on. Donahue heaved up, stretched his long legs and overtook Klay at the next corner.

“Smart, aren’t you?” he called; stuck out his leg and sent Klay hurtling into the gutter.

A shot from Louie’s gun tore off the lapel of Donahue’s overcoat pocket, and Donahue, though off balance, fired and his shot knocked Louie against a house-wall. Louie rebounded, ran on for a dozen paces, then jumped behind a pole and fired. Klay broke into a run, firing again. Louie made the alley and Donahue reached the entrance as Klay did, and heard Klay’s empty gun click. He saw Louie turning again to fire. Donahue stopped in his tracks. His gun boomed. Louie wilted and began sagging backward. Then he stopped moving, swayed for an instant, crashed down.

Donahue broke into a run, reached Louie and dropped down beside him. He tore the envelope from Louie’s inside pocket, was rising when Klay fell on him, clubbing his revolver.

“I knew it was empty,” Donahue said, reeling. “I heard it back at the entrance—or I’d never have come in this alley ahead of you!”

“Give me those, Donahue!”

Donahue stopped against the house-wall, rebounded and drove his fist to Klay’s jaw. Klay took it and struck with his gun, crashing in Donahue’s hat. Donahue grunted and jumped back, stopped the next blow with an upraised arm; cracked his own gun against Klay’s jaw and drew blood. White-eyed, Klay came back at him, walloped his foot to Donahue’s stomach. Donahue tried to cry out but couldn’t. He had bullets left in his gun but he was not fool enough to plant his trademark in Klay. He took three blows on the head while still fighting for his breath and holding his hands to his injured stomach. Blood flew from his cheek.

Louie had started crawling. He crawled past the fighting men, and Donahue saw him and tried to push off Klay. Klay twisted, saw the gun in Louie’s hand and broke with Donahue, plunged towards Louie. Louie fired, grimacing. Klay doubled up and struck the cobbles with his forehead.

Louie turned his gun on Donahue but Donahue was waiting for him. He let Louie have it. Louie rolled over quietly and lay very still.

There were running feet in the alley, and Donahue, cramming the envelope into his pocket, saw Kelly McPard and a couple of uniformed policemen. He leaned against the wall, wiped his face, looked at the blood on his fingers. He grimaced again, pressed knuckles hard against his stomach.

“Hey, Donny,” McPard said, puffing to a stop.

“I think Klay’s shot.”

“What the hell!”

“Yeah. This mug here. He let Klay have a dose.”

McPard pointed. “You and Klay working together to get these two hoods?”

“Believe it or not, Kelly. Side by side. We ran side by side all the way.”

“This the pinch you called about?”

“Yeah.”

McPard looked puzzled. “You didn’t say Klay was there.”

“He wasn’t. He joined me. He’s been Johnny-on-the-spot ever since last night.”

McPard bent his ruddy face. “You shot too?”

“No. I got kicked in the belly. A lousy two-timer kicked me in the belly.” He kept rubbing his stomach, licking his lips, making painful grimaces. “I ought to get a drink. A good shot of brandy might help. There’s a speak right around the corner.”

“Go ahead, then. But come back here, Donny. Now don’t go sliding out on me!”

“Promise.”