The raiding ceased. He lay silent, motionless.
'All right, kid' – Tug's gun swerved and pointed at Dusty. 'Here's your story…'
He spoke swiftly. He said, 'Got it?' And then, 'Now, just take it easy – we got to make this look good – but just take it easy and – '
And he fired again.
Dusty screamed. He staggered and went down, on top of Bascom's body.
Tug cursed shakily. 'Jesus Christ! Forget it, will you? Just get the thing checked and get back here!'
Dusty snapped the bag shut, spun the knob of the combination lock. He unlocked the cage, and hurried down the long counter, snatching up the checkroom key from the bell captain's stand.
He emerged from behind the counter, turned into the alcove which bordered one side of the check stand. The baggage-receiving space opened onto that. He unlocked its long window, vaulted the brass-surfaced counter, and turned on the light switch.
Two cigar boxes were nailed to the wall immediately below the switch. Dusty took a rubber band from one, and an orange-colored oblong of pasteboard from another. He affixed a check to the bag, shredded its stub into a wastebasket, took a long look at the number as he slid the bag onto the shelf. Four, nine, nine, four. Forty-nine, ninety-four. Forty-nine and reverse. That would be easy to remember.
He switched off the light, vaulted back over the counter, relocked the window. Hurrying back down into the lobby, swift but sure of himself, unpanicked, he heard the ringing of the bell captain's phone. And yards away he saw the alarm on Tug's face, and the sudden
uneasiness of the two men at the doors. Why, they were jumpy. They were, and he was not. He was grinning secretly, patronizingly, as he entered and locked the door of the cashier's cage.
Everything was all right. It was exactly eight minutes since Tug had thrust his gun into Bascom's ribs. How much better could they want it?
'That goddamned phone, Dusty! Maybe you ought to-'
'Huh-uh. The operator will figure I'm busy. She'll stop, and call back in a few minutes.'
'You sure? She won't – ' The ringing stopped, but Tug still looked anxious. 'She won't call someone, tell 'em that she – '
Dusty shook his head. 'What's the difference, anyway? It's all over, isn't it?'
'Well… well, yeah,' said Tug, almost wonderingly. 'I guess it just about is, kid.'
'Bill!' Bascom spoke for the first time. 'Listen to me, Bill! It doesn't matter about me, but you've got to prom – '
Tug's gun exploded. Bascom reeled backward, clutching his chest, and Tug fired again. And again. The clerk's body jerked. Slowly, it began to bend at the waist. It sagged down and down, and he was clawing at his chest, now, gasping and clawing – a terrible rattle in his throat. Then, his knees swayed and crumpled, and blood gushed from his mouth, and he pitched forward to the floor.
The raiding ceased. He lay silent, motionless.
'All right, kid' – Tug's gun swerved and pointed at Dusty. 'Here's your story…'
He spoke swiftly. He said, 'Got it?' And then, 'Now, just take it easy – we got to make this look good – but just take it easy and-'
And he fired again.
Dusty screamed. He staggered and went down, on top of Bascom's body.
FOURTEEN
Instinctively, he had tried to dodge the bullet, and the attempt came close to being fatal. Tug's aim was thrown off. The bullet went into Dusty's arm at an angle, and creased a furrow across his ribs. He was not seriously injured but he might have been. It looked as though Tug had tried to kill him.
So now he was a hero, above dispute and suspicion. A plucky young man who had tried to wrest a loaded gun from a murderer's grasp. The newspapers carried daily reports on his condition. The hotel, in addition to paying his hospital bills, had given him a check for three hundred dollars. Detectives had taken him back and forth through his story repeatedly, but they were respectful, apologetic, about it. They were at a dead end in the case, had been almost from the beginning. And they had to go through the motions of doing something.
A detective was with him today, the last of his nine days in the hospital. He had just happened to be in the neighborhood, he explained, rather abashedly. So if Dusty wouldn't mind, since he'd be going home tomorrow and they wouldn't be bothering him any more…
Dusty felt a little sorry for him. He said it was no bother at all. 'I don't think I've overlooked or forgotten anything, but I might have.'
'Well… Now about the time, then. Were you and Bascom always in the cashier's cage at two-thirty?'
'Almost always. Of course, I might have a bell – a call – or Bascom might have to leave for a minute. But we'd almost always be there at that time.'
'Why that particular time instead of some other?'
'It was the quietest part of the shift, for one thing. We weren't so apt to be interrupted. Also, there'd seldom be any room charges after that time. If we tried to do it before that, while the coffee shop was still open and a lot of people were still up-'
'Uh-huh, sure. But what about the tag end of your shift, say up between six and seven in the morning? You'd start getting more charges, then, wouldn't you?'
'A few. Bascom would put them on the room accounts as fast as they came.'
'Why didn't you do them all at once? If you'd done that, held up your cashier work until there were other people around…' The detective broke off with a sheepish look. 'How stupid can I get, huh? I ask you why you don't do something when you'd've been too busy to do it.'
'That's right.' Dusty smiled sympathetically. 'I wouldn't have had
time to help. Bascom would have been busy with people checking in
and out.'
'Yeah, sure,' the defective nodded. 'Now, what did you think when you saw Tug and his two thugs heading down the stairs? didn't that strike you as pretty screwy? I know he was paying the hotel big money and he'd never caused any trouble before. But two-thirty in the morning – three guys hiking down nine flights of stairs at two-thirty in the morning – you must have-'
'It's like I told you,' Dusty said. 'I figured that the nightbell on the elevator must have gone out of order. They'd signaled and when didn't come with the car they'd walked down.'
'But what would they be doing up at that hour, anyway? I know you told me, but it just don't seem like-'
'I'm afraid it's about all I can tell you. We were used to seeing Tug up late. He. usually came in late, with a couple of his men, and sometimes he came back downstairs with them when they left.'
'Well' – the detective sighed and leaned back in his chair. Then, he straightened up suddenly. 'Wait a minute! You say you figured the elevator bell was out of order. But if that had been the case he'd have called you, wouldn't he? When the elevator didn't come he'd have telephoned downstairs from his room?'
… Dusty hesitated. It was a point that had been overlooked until now. 'You're right,' he said. 'I should have thought of that. But I just wasn't suspicious of Tug like I might have been of some people, and there wasn't any time to think. I saw him and those fellows coming down the stairs. The next thing I knew, he'd grabbed Bascom and shoved a gun in his ribs. All I could think of was that I'd better do what he said or he'd kill Bascom.'
'Uh-uh, sure.' The detective sighed again. 'Now what was it Tug said there at the last, just before he pulled the trigger on Bascom?'
'He said, Here's your share. Or maybe it was, Here's your cut.'
'And that didn't register on you, either? It didn't occur to you that Bascom must have been working with Tug?'
'Look. Officer' – Dusty spread his hands. 'Here's a man I've.waited on for more than a year, a man who's always been friendly, a star guest of the hotel. And suddenly he holds us up, and shoots the man I'm working with. All within the space of a few minutes. You don't do much reasoning at a time like that. Maybe you would, but-'
'Okay, okay,' the detective said hastily. 'I didn't mean to sound like I was faulting you, Mr. Rhodes. You were a lot more clearheaded than most people would have been, showed a hell of a lot more guts. Me, I can't see
