The Big Kill

Pat said, 'You're a bastard, Mike. You and the women.'

'They're necessary.' I stared at the door that closed behind her.

His mouth cracked in a grin. 'Not Miss Scobie. She knows her way around the block without somebody holding her hand. Doesn't her name mean anything to you?'

'Should it?'

'Not unless you're a society follower. Her family is big stuff down in Texas. The old man had a ranch where he raised horses until they brought oil in. Then he sat back and enjoyed life. He raises racing nags now.'

'The Scobie Stables?'

'Uh-huh. Ellen's his daughter. When she was eighteen she and the old boy had a row and she packed up and left. This department job is the first one she ever had. Been here better than fifteen years. She's the gal the track hates to see around. When she makes a bet she collects.'

'What the hell's she working for then?'

'Ask her.'

'I'm asking you.'

Pat grinned again. 'The old man disinherited her when she wouldn't marry the son of his friend. He swore she'd never see a penny of his dough, so now she'll only bet when a Scobie horse is running and with what she knows about horses, she's hard to fool. Every time she wins she sends a telegram to the old boy stating the amount and he burns up. Don't ask her to tip you off though. She won't do it.'

'Why doesn't the D.A. use her to get an inside track on the wire rooms?'

'He did, but she's too well known now. A feature writer for one of the papers heard about the situation, and gave it a big play in a Sunday supplement a few years ago, so she's useless there.'

I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling. 'Texas gal. I like the way they're built.'

'Yeah, big.' Pat grunted. 'A big one gets you every time.' His fingers rapped on the desk. 'Let's come back to earth, Mike. What's new?'

'Decker.'

'That's not new. We're still looking for the driver who ran down his buddy. They found the car, you know.'

I sat up straight.

'You didn't miss everything that night. There were two bullet holes in the back. One hit the rear window and the other went through the gas tank. The car was abandoned over in Brooklyn.'

'Stolen heap?'

'Sure, what'd you expect? The slugs came from your gun, the tires matched the imprints in the body and there wasn't a decent fingerprint anywhere.'

'Great.'

'We'll wrap it up soon. The word's out.'

'Great.'

Pat scowled at me in disgust. 'Hell, you're never satisfied.'

I shook a cigarette out and lit up. Pat pushed an ash tray over to me. I said, 'Pat, you got holes in your head if you think that this was a plain, simple job. Decker was in hock to a loan shark for a few grand and was being pressured into paying up. The guy was nuts about his kid and they probably told him the kid would catch it if he didn't come across.'

'So?'

'Christ, you aren't getting to be a cynic like the rest of the cops, are you? You want things like this to keep on happening? You like murder to dirty up the streets just because some greaseball wants his dirty money! Hell, who's to blame... a poor jerk like Decker or a torpedo who'll carve him up if he doesn't pay up? Answer me that.'

'There's a law against loan sharks operating in this state.'

'There's a law against gambling, too.'

Pat's face was dark with anger.

'The law has been enforced,' he snapped.

I put the emphasis on the past tense. 'It has? That's nice to know. Who's running the racket now?'

'Damn it, Mike, that isn't my department.'

'It should be; it caused the death of two men so far. What I want to know is the racket organized or not?'

'I've heard that it was,' he replied sullenly. 'Fallon used to bank it before he died. When the state cracked down on them somebody took the sharks under their wing. I don't know who.'

'Fallon, Fallon, hell, the guy's been dead since 1940 and he's still making news.'

'Well, you asked me.'

I nodded. 'Who's Dixie Cooper, Pat?'

His eyes went half shut. 'Where do you get your information from? Goddamn, you have your nose in everywhere.'