The Golden Gizmo

'A two-thousand-dollar watch. I couldn't bite her any harder without raising a chatter. And, of course, I didn't dare go back for another try.'

'Sure, uh-huh.' Shake bobbed his jowls understandingly. 'How come you hadn't turned the watch, Toddy?'

'Too hot. Milt wouldn't have touched it. I'd just about decided to take the stones out and cut it up for scrap, but I hadn't got around to it yet. I'd only had it three days.'

'Mmm,' said Shake. 'Uh-hah!' he said briskly. 'All right, Toddy, it's a deal. You just give us this old lady's address an' we'll see that you get your cut.'

Toddy smiled at him.

'Now what's wrong with that?' Shake demanded. 'We'll cut him in for a full half, won't we, Donald?'

'Well, it's been nice,' said Toddy, rising. 'I'll drop you a card from Mexico City.'

'Now, wait a minute…!'

'I'll wait five minutes,' said Toddy. 'If I don't have two hundred bucks by that time, I'm on my way.'

'Two hundred!'

'Two hundred-for almost a hundred times two hundred.' Toddy's eyes flickered. 'I won't say it'll be a cinch. She's about the crankiest, orneriest old bitch I ever tangled with. She lives all alone, see; doesn't have anyone she can pop off to. And she's got this game leg. I guess that makes her crankier than she would be ordinarily.'

Shake licked his lips. 'Game leg? An' she lives all alone?'

'Well,' Toddy said conscientiously, 'she does have three or four big Persian cats. I don't know whether they'd give you any trouble or not.'

'I could handle 'em,' said Donald grimly. 'I could handle the dame. I ain't seen no dame or cats yet that I'm afraid of.'

Toddy gave him an admiring look. Shake still hesitated.

'How do I know you ain't lying to us?'

'Because you've got brains,' said Toddy. 'Elaine was murdered. Murders aren't done for peanuts. It all adds up. Donald sees it. You're as smart as Donald, aren't you?'

'Yeah, but-but-' The words Shake searched for would not come to him. 'But two hundred!'

'Two hundred as of the present moment,' said Toddy, glancing at his watch. 'I just thought of another party I can go to who'll give me-'

'Two hundred!' Shake scrambled hastily from his chair. 'It's a deal for two hundred!'

Toddy sat in a quiet booth in the bar, sipping a Scotch and soda while he studied the classified ads in the evening paper. He was not content with what he had done. No revenge could be adequate for the brutal and hideous death Elaine had suffered. He had, however, done all he could. For the time being, at least, it would have to do. He had felt for a long time that Shake and Donald needed a lesson. Their threats tonight had done nothing to ameliorate that impression. Now they would get that lesson, one they might not live to profit by, and Elaine's murderer, the chinless man-the 'old lady' they expected to rob-would get one. There'd be enough ruckus raised, perhaps, to bring in the cops. It was too bad that Chinless wouldn't know he'd been paid off, that Toddy had got back at him. But nothing was ever perfect. He'd settled two urgent accounts. He'd got a nice piece of scat money. He'd done all that he could, and no man can do more.

He took out his billfold and, under cover of the newspaper, inventoried its contents. Three-three hundred and twenty-seven dollars all together. Not very good. Not when you had to buy some kind of car out of it; and he would have to buy one. He had no way of knowing when Elaine's body would be discovered. He did know that the bus, plane and railway terminals would be watched as soon as it was. They might be looking for him already. He couldn't take any chances.

He slid out of the booth, sauntered past the bar stools and out to the walk.

It was quite dark now, and the dark and the smog condensed the glare of neon signs to a blinding intensity. Still he saw. He had to see and he did, although nothing in his manner indicated the fact.

He strolled straight to the curb, his attention seemingly fixed on the large wire trash basket which stood there. He dropped the newspaper into it and stared absently at the large black convertible. It was no more than ten feet away, parked in the street with the motor idling. The back seat was empty. The girl was at the wheel. The talking dog sat hunkered at her side, his front paws on the door.

With an effort Toddy suppressed a shudder.

He saw now that he hadn't really taken a good look at the dog that afternoon. The damned thing wasn't as big as he'd thought. It was bigger. And his imagination hadn't been playing tricks on him; it did talk.

The girl beckoned to Toddy. 'Come,' she called softly. The dog's jaws waggled. They yawned open. 'C'm,' he said. 'C'm, c'm, c'm…'

Toddy looked over them and through them. He turned casually and stood staring into the bar. No way out there. The place had a kitchen, a busy one, and the rear exit lay beyond it. Up the street? Down? Pawnshops. A dime store. A butcher shop. All closed now.

He heard the softly spoken command in Spanish. He heard the scratch of the dog's claws as it leaped.

9

In one swift motion Toddy stooped, grabbed the base of the basket, and lofted it behind him. Either his luck or his aim was good. There was a surprised yelp, the rattling scrape of wire. But Toddy heard it from a distance. He rounded the corner and raced down the gloomy side street.

It was not good, this way, but no way was good. He was entering a semi-slum section, the area of flyblown beaneries, boarded-up buildings, flophouses and wine bars which lies adjacent to the Union Station. No cab would stop for him here.

So now he ran. Now for the first time he knew the real terror of running-to run without a goal, to be hunted by the upper world and his own; to run hopelessly, endlessly, because there was nothing to do but run.

Sweat was pouring from him by the time he reached the end of the street. And just as he reached its end he saw a huge black form, a shadow, whip around its head… The dog on his trail, behind him; the girl circling the block to head him off. That was the way it would be. He'd have to get in someplace fast. In and out. Throw them off. Keep running.

The dusty windows of a deserted pool hall stared back at him blankly. Next, a barber shop, also dark. Next, a burlesque house.

Across the grimy front, cardboard cutouts of bosomy women. Purple-eyed, pink-haired women in flesh tights and sagging net brassieres. Sprawled beneath them and gazing lewdly upward, the cutout of a man- putty-nosed, baggy-trousered, derby-hatted. Names in red and white paint, Bingo Brannigan, Chiffon LaFleur, Fanchon Rose, Colette Casitas. And everywhere on streamers and onesheets and cardboard easels, the legend: 'Big Girl Show- DON'T DO IT SOME MORE.'

'Yessir, the beeg show is just starting!' A cane rattled and drummed against the display. 'Yessir,' intoned the slope-chested skeleton in the linen jacket. 'Step right in, sir.'

He coughed as he took Toddy's ten-spot, but there was no surprise in it. He had always coughed; he could not be surprised. 'Yessir'- -he was repeating the instructions before Toddy had finished them-'Split with the cashier. Haven't seen you. Close the door.'

'Exit?'

'Tough.' The skeleton coughed. 'Over the stage.'