The Tough Guys

two together. To me they add up. Dear cousin Rudy's got his ass in a sling he can't get out of and it's about time it happened. I'm happy for one thing though . . . I'm here to see it. And it doesn't only hit the fat slob, it breaks down to Teddy and you too, Miles. You'll never hold your heads up around here again. From now on you'll be the joke of the community and when they strap old killer Rudy there in the chair the Bannerman family comes to a screaming halt."

Rudy looked like he'd get sick. Miles kept swallowing hard, his scrawny chest gulping air.

"And me, Cat?" Anita asked.

"You're going to be a Colby, honey. You won't be wearing the Bannerman name."

"Do you think he'll have me?"

"Does he know about this?"

"Yes, he does. He's helping all he can."

"How?"

She glanced at Miles, wondering whether to tell me or not, then made the decision for herself. "He's tried to make a settlement with those men. He's threatened them and everything else, but they can't be moved. They . . . want an awful lot of money."

"How much?"

Rudy broke in, his voice weak. "See here, Anita . . ."

"Shut up, Rudy," I said. He did, and fast. "Go on, Anita."

"A . . . million dollars."

I let out a soft, slow whistle. "Well, it looks like Rudy's making a real dent in the family budget. What are you going to do about it?"

They all tried to look at each other at once. I caught the exchange and grinned at them. Finally Miles croaked, "We'll see that . . . it is paid, not that it is any of your affair."

"And what happens?" I slid off the desk, turned around and leaned on it and faced Miles down. "Rudy gets off the hook and the Sanders guy eventually gets nailed by the cops. He's got a prison record and a possible motive for killing Maloney. He's got no alibi and he loused things up by taking off when he heard of the killing. There's no murder weapon for evidence and the jury thinks it has a solid case and gives him the black verdict and the guy gets the chair. How are the Bannermans going to feel then when they know one of their own is responsible for the death of two people now and the real killer is inside their own house?"

Rudy did get sick then. He let out a soft moan, grabbed his stomach and ran from the room.

Miles said, "What are you . . . thinking of?"

I straightened up and glanced around the room. "I don't know. I sure got an ax over your heads now. You beat me to the ground when I wasn't old enough to fight back and now I might have some fun."

"Oh, Cat. . . ." Anita's eyes were bright with tears. She looked at Miles first, then Teddy and at Rudy who came back with a face as white as snow. "Don't do that to them . . . they're such . . . such nothings anyway."

I nodded, "Don't feel sorry for them sugar, maybe I can instill some character in them. Maybe Rudy will get an urge of integrity and decide to come clean."

One look at Rudy made that a joke. Rudy wasn't going to confess to anything.

I had something else to tell them they would like to have heard, but the entrance of Vance Colby stopped that. He strode into the library as if it were his own, immediately sensed the situation and said directly to Anita in an accusing tone. "You told him."

She let go my arm. "He found out by himself."

"And may I ask what this matter has to do with you?"

"If you're looking for a smack in the chops you're going about it the right way, buddy."

His smile was hard and the curious glint in his eyes painted the picture nicely. The casual way he walked up didn't hide the sudden bunching of muscles under his coat. He said, "Am I?"

And before he could start the judo chop I belted him in the damn mouth so hard the skin of my knuckles split on his teeth and he rolled twice before the couch stopped him and he looked up at me with a face full of hate as big as your hat. He was one of those overconfident types who had put in too many hours in a gym wearing a Jap toga and practicing un-American fighting and he forgot about a straight right to the kisser. Hell, I'd had it out with dozens of these types before. "The next time I may shoot you, Vance."

I pushed my coat back to get at a handkerchief for my hand and let him see the .45. He didn't answer. He kept both hands to his mouth and tried to sit up.

"Aren't you going to help him, Anita?"

"No," she said solemnly, "I knew what he was going to do. I've seen him do it before. I think Vance needed that lesson. He can get up by himself."

Very gently, I leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "Thanks, kitten." I took her arm and started out the library. At the front door I said, "Look, I'd sooner see them sweat than start trouble, but don't you get involved in this mess. That Maloney kill is still wide open and there's no statute of limitations on murder. There's something fishy going on here and I'm going to dig it out. I want you to do me a favor."

"What, Cat?"

"Let me know what they plan to do. Everything, okay?"

"Okay, darling." She frowned at what she said, then smiled softly. She reached up and touched my face. "I can trust you."

"You won't get hurt," I told her. I kissed her mouth and the tip of her nose, but it wasn't enough. She was back there in my arms again for one fierce moment and it was us, just us and no one else. I knew my fingers were hurting her arms and I pushed her away feeling my heart smashing against my ribs.

"We'll make it, baby."

"No . . . we never can. I wish . . . but we can't."

I left her like that and went out to the car. At any time now the stuff was going to hit the fan.

At the motel I told the clerk at the desk I'd be around a little while yet, paid the bill up to date and went to my room. I double locked the door, shoved the .45 under my pillow, showered and flaked out with the radio playing softly in my ear.

Popeye Gage and Carl Matteau. They came to town behind a bagman who carried a hundred grand and it could be it was to set up an operation for Matteau. Luck played into their hands when they saw Maloney killed and picked up the evidence. His original investment had now increased tenfold if he pulled it off.

I reached to switch the radio off when the late news came on from the local station and the first item the announcer read off was that Guy Sanders, prime suspect in the Chuck Maloney murder, had been picked up in Seattle, Washington and arrangements were being made for his extradition.

CHAPTER SIX

The morning papers had it all laid out. There was a full statement from the D.A. who claimed there was no doubt concerning Sanders's guilt and felt certain a confession could be obtained after an interrogation. He rehashed the details of the crime and stated that Sanders would be brought to trial as soon as feasible.

On the inside pages an editorial went through it again, crying out the need for justice and lauding the D.A. for his attitude concerning the affair. It looked like Sanders had had it. As far as the city was concerned, the investigation was over. Only the prosecution remained.

After I got dressed and ate I drove around for two hours checking out the properties Simon Helm had suggested to me, jotting down quick notes so I could have an intelligent though phoney conversation with him. When I finished it was a little after ten A.M. and I got to his office just as he was coming in.

For the kind of deal he was hoping to set up with me he was willing to forego all other engagements and took me back into his office with orders to his secretary not to disturb us. She had coffee ready, set us up and left.

"Now, Mr. Bannerman, how did you like the sites I pointed out?"

"Only two have possibilities," I said. "The old Witworth estate and the Flagler Hill section. However, they both lack one essential . . . a water table sufficient to my needs."

"How would you know about that?" he asked with a degree of surprise.

"When you know how to ask questions you get some great answers. It's my business."

"Well, I heard this rumor, but never gave it a thought. My, we have to find something else quickly."