Tiger by the Tail Page 12

  Johnny’s face went white and his eyes glittered.

  “Yeah? You don’t scare me. You know damn well you won’t marry Gilda if you try to push me around. The doctors say I’m all right, and I am all right!”

  “Then why did you kill Fay Carson?” O’Brien asked. “Not a very good recommendation for your sanity, is it?”

  Johnny looked away.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said uneasily.

  “Oh, yes, you do. Last night you went to Fay Carson’s apartment and stabbed her with an ice-pick.”

  “You’re crazy! Last night I was with you, and you’re stuck with it, Sean.”

  O’Brien shook his head.

  “That won’t work. I was at a party last night. Why did you kill her?”

  “Who said I did?” Johnny asked.

  “Why try and bluff with me?” O’Brien said curtly. “You threatened to kill her before you went into the home, the moment you come out she’s murdered. Do you imagine you can get away with it?”

  Johnny stared at him.

  “I know I can get away with it!” he said.

  “So you admit it, then?” O’Brien said.

  “Okay, I admit it,” Johnny returned. “I said I’d finish her and I like to keep a promise. She had enough warning. She went on with her dirty game and there wasn’t any other logical dung to do with her.”

  O’Brien hadn’t had any doubt that Johnny had killed Fay, but he hadn’t expected him to be quite so brazen about it.

  “And how long do you imagine it’ll be before the police get on to you?”

  Johnny laughed.

  “Be your age! What’s the use of having a political boss as a future brother-in-law if one can’t knock off a dirty bitch when she needs killing? I’ve made it easy for you. There was a guy with her when I killed her. He can take the rap. It’ll be easy for you to shift the rap on to him. You’ve got the Commissioner in your pocket, haven’t you? He’ll do what you tell him.”

  “You’re taking a lot for granted,” O’Brien said quietly. “Suppose I do nothing of the kind?”

  “But you will,” Johnny said easily. “You can’t afford to let the cops catch me, Sean. I know just how besotted you are about Gilda. I’m not blaming you: she’s a sexy piece, and any guy in his right senses would want to marry her. But if the police catch me, you won’t dare marry her. I know just how much you’ve been avoiding the limelight ever since you took control of the Administration. You don’t fool me, Sean. You have something to bide, and publicity is just the thing you don’t want.”

  O’Brien studied him, his face expressionless. A cold, murderous rage had hold of him, but he didn’t show it.

  “I wonder if you did kill her,” he said slowly.

  Johnny laughed.

  “You needn’t believe me if you don’t want to,” he said indifferently. “It was easy. She had a rotten memory and was always locking herself out. The little fool used to keep a spare key under the mat. I went to her place, found the key and let If in. I hid in the bedroom. She came back with this guy.” His thin face hardened. “I had the ice-pick ready. She was so scared she didn’t even scream. I wish you could have seen her face. She had taken off her clothes and was admiring herself in the mirror. I came up behind her. She saw me in the mirror and turned. I didn’t think a human face could look so frightened. I stabbed her. There was nothing to it. She fell across the bed, looking up at me. The guy in the other room shouted out, asking her how long she was going to be. So I fused the lights and beat it. It was as easy as that, Sean.”

  “Did anyone see you leave the apartment?” O’Brien asked.

  “Of course not. Do you imagine I’m a fool? I took care no one did see me.”

  “Gilda knows you’re in town. Does anyone else?”

  Johnny’s eyes shifted.

  “No.”

  “How did you know where Fay lived?”

  Again Johnny’s eyes shifted.

  “I knew she often went to the Blue Rose. I took a chance and went down there. I saw her come out and I followed her.”

  O’Brien made an impatient gesture.

  “Don’t lie! You just said you were waiting for her when she came home. How could you have followed her if you were at the apartment before she arrived?”

  Johnny grinned.

  “You’re quite a cop, aren’t you, Sean? Well, if you must know, I asked Paradise Louie where she hung out.”

  “So he knows you were after her? You stupid fool I Do you think he’ll keep his mouth shut?”

  “That’s up to you,” Johnny returned carelessly. “You can handle Louie.

  You’d better see him and fix it.”

  O’Brien sat staring down at the floor, thinking.

  “I wouldn’t have touched her if I hadn’t been sure of your protection,” Johnny went on. He swung his legs off the bunk. “I’m sick of this stinking cabin. Let’s go to your bank and collect ten grand, then I’ll get off to New York.”

  O’Brien looked up

  “You’re kidding yourself, Johnny,” he said, the edge of his rage showing in his voice He got up, went to the door, opened it and beckoned to Tux, who was waiting outside.

  “Come in here.”

  Tux moved silently into the cabin, closed the door and set his back to it.

  Johnny eyed him warily and moved back.

  “Now look here, Sean,” he said, “I’ve taken as much as I’m going to from you. Don’t try any more funny stuff or you’ll be sorry.”

  O’Brien ignored him.

  “Johnny is to stay here,” he said to Tux, “until I tell you to let him loose. You’re responsible for him. If he tries to get away, I’ll leave it to you to teach him not to try again. He’s in your charge, Tux. If he doesn’t behave, knock his goddamn head off!”

  “Okay, boss,” Tux said, and his brutal face brightened a little.

  “You can’t treat me that way!” Johnny exclaimed. “If you don’t let me off this boat right now I’ll ruin you!”

  “You stupid punk!” O’Brien snarled. “You’re staying here until I say so. Shut your trap or I’ll have it shut for you!”

  Johnny jumped across the cabin towards O’Brien, his fists swinging, but before he could come within striking distance, Tux had shuffled forward, blocked his rush and sent him reeling back.

  “I’ll make you pay for this!” Johnny snarled, glaring at O’Brien. “I’ll see Gilda doesn’t marry you, you big-head!”

  O’Brien glanced at Tux, nodded, and opened the cabin door.

  Tux shuffled forward, gave Johnny a light tap to turn him and then drove his fist into Johnny’s face.

  Johnny’s head slammed against the wall and he slid down on his hands and knees.

  O’Brien watched from the doorway.

  “Soften him up a little,” he said. “Don’t do too much damage.”

  As he went out into the passage, Tux stepped back and kicked Johnny in the ribs, sending him over on his back.

  O’Brien closed the door. He went up on deck to the motor-boat, showing his teeth in a fixed, mirthless grin.

  II

  Raphael Sweeting stood on the edge of the kerb, waiting for a break in the traffic before crossing to the far side. He carried his Pekinese under his arm, and the dog watched the traffic with the same impatience as its master.

  The rain that had been falling had stopped, and the humid heat made Sweeting sweat. He watched the onrush of traffic as it flowed past him, and thought how pleasant it would be if he had enough money to buy a car.

  At the moment Sweeting was worth exactly two dollars and sixty cents, and in spite of his inflexible optimism, he saw no possibilities of increasing his assets during the present week.

  That morning, in spite of interruptions, the excitement of the police visit

  and the removal of Fay’s body which he had watched with morbid interest from behind his window curtain, he had prepared and mailed his usual quota of fifty carefully written begging le
tters. He knew from experience it would take at least ten days before he had any returns, and he wasn’t sure if the returns would amount to much when he did receive them.

  For years now, Sweeting had relied on people’s charity and gullibility for an income. It gave him tremendous satisfaction to be his own master. His beautifully written letters to anyone who happened to be in the news, especially those who had inherited money or who had had a spectacular success, explaining his distressed circumstances and asking them to send him a few dollars, thereby casting their bread upon the waters, brought him in enough to keep him in mild comfort. When the returns were bad, he resorted to blackmail or picking pockets, and in this sideline he had been unfortunate to come up against the police. He had already served, over a period of twenty years, eight years in jail, and he had no wish to go inside again.

  As he stood on the edge of the kerb, he was thinking that he would have to pick a pocket if he was to pay his rent, due at the end of the week.

  The events of the morning and the visit from Sergeant Donovan had badly shaken his nerve, and he tried to think of a less risky method to raise the money.

  Then as he was about to step off the kerb, he saw a tall man come striding out of the side entrance of the Eastern National Bank.

  Sweeting recognized him immediately. Here was the man who had brought Fay Carson home last night!

  His mind in a flutter of excitement, Sweeting bolted across the road and set off after him.

  Sweeting had long ago learned that it was fatal to his own interests to give information to the police. So when Donovan had asked him if he had seen anyone with Fay, he had kept his mouth shut.

  If he had liked, Sweeting could have given Donovan a lot of useful information. He had seen Ken leave Fay’s apartment; but some twenty minutes before Ken had left, Sweeting had heard someone bolt down the stairs from Fay’s apartment.

  He had rushed to his half-open door, but whoever it was who had come down the stairs had moved too fast for him, and he didn’t catch a glimpse of the retreating person. He had at first assumed that it had been Ken leaving, but when he had heard Ken creep down the stairs later, and when he had gone to his door and had seen Ken, he realized that someone had been up in Fay’s apartment besides Fay and Ken. When he had learned from Donovan that Fay had been murdered, he realized the person who had come down the stairs so quickly might easily have been the killer, and he was furious with himself for missing the chance of seeing who it was.

  However, he wasn’t going to lose by his mistake. This young fellow striding ahead of him must have also been in the apartment at the time of Fay’s death. He must be worried sick that the police would assume he had killed Fay. Anyone with a guilty conscience was a potential source of income to Sweeting, and he happily stretched his short, fat legs to keep the young fellow in sight.

  This was obviously his lucky day, Sweeting thought. The business would have to be handled carefully, but he had no doubt that he would be able to persuade this guy to part with a handsome sum in return for a promise of silence.

  He had come from the side entrance of the Eastern National Bank, Sweeting thought, as he scurried along the sidewalk, clutching on to Leo; that must mean he worked at the bank. He wouldn’t be a rich man, but he would have a good, steady income. Perhaps it would be better to ask for thirty dollars a month rather than put the bite on him for a large sum. But a guy in his position, Sweeting argued, was certain to have some savings. The best thing would be to ask for a lump sum; say a couple of hundred dollars, and then a regular payment of thirty dollars a month.

  He followed Ken on to a bus, and, concealing himself behind a newspaper, he gave himself up to the excitement of the hunt.

  Leo seemed to know what was taking place. He curled up on his master’s ample lap and remained motionless, panting a little, his goggle eyes alert and interested.

  After a twenty-minute ride, Ken got off the bus, brushing past Sweeting without noticing him.

  Sweeting followed him, watched him buy a newspaper at the corner and

  pause to read the Stop Press while he struggled to hold two parcels under one arm.

  Sweeting had already read the Stop Press announcement, and knew what it contained. He watched Ken’s white, scared face with interest.

  No wonder he looked scared, Sweeting thought, stroking Leo’s silky head with the tip of a grubby finger. This should be easy: nothing more simple when they have had a good fright. This could be the most profitable job he had ever pulled off.

  He watched Ken walk up the path to a small bungalow and pause to speak to a fat old woman who bobbed up from behind the next-door hedge. Then when he had gone into the bungalow, Sweeting crossed the road to a bench seat under the trees from where he had a good view of the bungalow and sat down.

  There was no hurry, he told himself, setting Leo on the seat at his side. He removed his hat and wiped his glistening forehead. The next move was to find out who the young fellow was, and more important still, if he was married and had children.

  A wife and children were very useful levers in the game Sweeting played.

  He crossed one fat leg over the other, and sighed contentedly. He would watch the bungalow for an hour or so. It was a pleasant evening now, and with any luck the wife, if there was a wife, might come out into the garden.

  Sweeting had infinite patience. All his life he had been content to wait for things to come to him, never attempting to make an effort himself, and he sat in the evening sunshine, his mind cloudy, his fat, dirty fingers gently stroking Leo’s silky coat while he waited.

  Then, after perhaps a quarter of an hour, he saw a car swing around the corner and come down the road fast.

  Immediately he stiffened to attention when he recognized the driver.

  The police!

  He hurriedly opened his newspaper and concealed himself behind it.

  His dream of a steady income exploded as he watched Sergeant Donovan climb out of the car.

  Of all the filthy luck! he thought bitterly. How could they have got on to this guy so fast? What a bit of luck that he had waited instead of tackling him at once. He would have been in plenty of trouble if Donovan had found him inside the bungalow.

  He watched the two detectives walk up the path and ring on the bell. He saw the door open and the young fellow come out on the step. The three men stood talking for some minutes, then to Sweeting’s surprise, the two detectives turned abruptly away and walked back to their car.

  What did it mean? he asked himself, peering around the edge of his newspaper. Why hadn’t they arrested him ?

  He watched the police car disappear around the corner, and, getting to his feet, he picked up Leo and walked hurriedly to the corner of the street to make sure the police car had left the district.

  He saw the car slow down and pull up outside a house, and the two detectives get out. He watched them speak to a fat, heavily built man who was in the garden.

  After some minutes Donovan went on to the house while the fat man and the other detective remained in the garden.

  All this intrigued Sweeting. He leaned against a tree, watching, but being careful to keep out of sight.

  Some time passed, the Donovan came out and beckoned to the fat man. They all went into the house and shut the door.

  Sweeting continued to wait. An hour dragged by, then the front door opened and the two detectives came out, walked down the path to their car and drove away.

  Completely baffled as to why they hadn’t made an arrest, Sweeting returned to the bench seat opposite Ken’s bungalow and sat down again.

  Who was the fat guy? he wondered, and why had the cops called on him? Why hadn’t they arrested the young fellow ? Even from this distance you could see how scared he had been. Had he satisfied them he hadn’t been in Fay’s apartment? Were they likely to return?

  Sweeting decided to wait a little longer.

  It was beginning to grow dusk when he saw the fat guy coming down the street.

 
Sweeting eyed him with interest.

  My word! he thought, he looks as if he’s had a shock.

  He watched him pause outside the bungalow’s gate, open it and walk up the path. The young fellow came to the door and let the fat guy in.

  Sweeting waited.

  Perhaps half an hour went by, then suddenly the front door opened and the fat guy came down the path. He walked hurriedly and unsteadily, his face was white and twitching.

  Sweeting could contain himself no longer. He got to his feet, picked Leo up and crossed the road. At the gate, he looked to right and left. He was a little nervous in case the cops should suddenly appear. If it hadn’t been for the urgent need to raise the rent money, he would have postponed his visit until the following day, but he couldn’t afford to delay.

  He lifted the latch and walked softly up the path to the front door. Setting Leo down on the step, he reached forward and pressed the bell with a dirty thumb.

  III

  Raphael Sweeting wasn’t the only man in Flint City who had a nose for a fast buck. Paradise Louie, or to give him his correct name, Louis Manchini, also had talents in that direction.

  He had read the Stop Press announcement in the Herald, and had

  instantly realized that Johnny had killed Fay.

  He remembered that Johnny had come to him last night to ask for Fay’s address. If Fay hadn’t recently repulsed Louie’s attentions, and no woman turned Louie down without regretting it, he wouldn’t have told Johnny where he could find her, but it seemed to him poetic justice to give this wild-eyed nut the information he wanted.

  Louie had hoped Johnny would beat Fay up as he had beaten her up before going to the home. He certainly hadn’t imagined Johnny would kill her, and the news came as a shock to him.

  He dropped the newspaper on his dusty desk, pushed back his chair and groped for a cigarette.

  Louie was thirty-seven, thin, swarthy, with greasy black hair, a black pencil-line moustache and jowls that turned blue towards evening.

  He realized that if he informed the cops that Johnny had been enquiring for Fay, even the cops dumb as they were, would jump to the conclusion that Johnny had killed her. The information he had was therefore valuable, and it was up to him to find the highest bidder.