Miss Shumway Waves a Wand Page 14

  “You can have it,” he said, “I wouldn’t know what to do with sand and horses.” The telephone went plop and I heard a faint tinny voice snap something in McCue’s ear. He shifted forward on his stool, “Is this the residence of Miss Gloria Hope-Dawn?” he asked.

  “For cryin’ out loud,” I said astonished. “Is that a long distance to Hollywood?”

  “Naw,” he returned, grinning, “just a little tarnished glamour from the East Side.” He turned his attention to the telephone, “Hello, there. Miss Gloria Hope-Dawn? This is Mr. McCue of the Telegram. Yeah. Is it true Harry Wilson gave you a mink coat last year?”

  She seemed to have a lot to say about that, because McCue closed his eyes and glued his ear to the receiver and listened.

  “All tight, all right,” he said at last, “I’ve got to ask questions. It’s part of my job.”

  He listened some more, then suddenly broke in, “Listerine’s about the best kind of mouth wash. You ought to try it sometime,” and hung up. He mopped his face with a dirty handkerchief, “Where these dames learn all their language beats me,” he said mournfully. “I guess I’ll have to go round and see her. Wilson couldn’t have bought her that fur coat to keep her warm. She’s like a blast furnace.”

  I told myself that I was going to miss working on the Recorder. You only had to smell a little press atmosphere to realize just how much it all meant. In Mexico, it was different, but right here in New York, it was a swell game.

  “Well, I’d better be moving,” McCue said, sliding off his stool. “You’ll be around, won’t you? Got any plans?”

  “Don’t worry about me,” I said, “I’ve got more than my arm up my sleeve. It’ll take a battalion of punks like Maddox to rattle me.”

  He looked at me thoughtfully, “Yeah,” he said, “I suppose it will,” and waving his hand, he went to the door. He nearly banged into Dowdy who came hurrying in, an anxious expression on his thin hatchet face.

  McCue said, “You’d better watch your till, Willy, here’s another guy from the Recorder,” and he went off down the Street.

  Dowdy refused coffee and sat on the stool with a miserable expression on his face and his eye on the door. I could see that I wasn’t going to get a lot of help from him and the sooner I let him get back to the office the better he’d like it.

  “Where’s Shumway?” I asked, abruptly.

  Dowdy blinked, “Shumway?” he repeated, “I don’t know. Why should I?”

  “Listen,” I said patiently, “if you were to tell me all the things you don’t know, we’d be old men by the time we got out of here. I don’t know why you should know where Shumway is, but, there’s no harm in asking, is there?”

  “Don’t get sore, Ross,” he said uneasily. “Maddox has told us to leave you alone. If he hears you and I have been talking, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  “Don’t worry about a crum like that,” I said, “you inside men worry too much about punks like Maddox. I’ve got to find Shumway. It’s important.”

  “Well, I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head, “I don’t know where he is. He and his daughter collected the reward from Maddox and beat it. We haven’t their address on file.” He looked longingly at the door.

  “This guy Kelly,” I went on hurriedly, seeing that I wasn’t going to hold him much longer, “What do you know about him?”

  “Not much. He was the fellow who found the girl. By rights, I suppose, he ought to have had the reward, but they agreed between themselves to split it. I only saw him once and that was after Shumway and the girl had drawn the money.”

  “What did he want?” I asked, feeling that we might be getting places.

  “He wanted to get in touch with Kruger,” Dowdy replied.

  I stared at him, “Peppi Kruger?” I asked, startled.

  “Yes, Peppi’s a big shot now, Millan,” Dowdy returned. “He’s president of the Brooklyn Motor Company and an important political figure in lower East Side politics. About six months ago he got control of the Taxi Chauffeurs’ union. You know the racket. He scared the pants off the taxicab companies and made a pile of jack. Any company that doesn’t pay up, gets into trouble. He’s got them eating out of his hand at the moment, but something tells me that the D.A.’ll get on to him before long. Anyway, he’s made enough money now to retire.”

  I whistled, “A guy like that,” I said in disgust, “when I knew him he was running rum for Brescia. What did Kelly want with him?”

  Dowdy slid off his stool. “I don’t know,” he said, “I wasn’t having anything to do with it, but I guess he could get in touch with Kruger easily enough.” He looked longingly at the door, “Well, I’ve got to get back,” he went on, “Maddox might want me.”

  “Okay, Dowdy,” I said. “You’ve given me a lead.”

  He looked at me suspiciously, “What’s the idea? Why are you interested in Shumway?”

  “Wouldn’t you be interested in some guy who lost you your job?” I said, meeting his eye. He looked a little scared, “You aren’t going to start trouble, are you, Millan?” he said nervously. “Maddox wouldn’t like that.”

  “Do you think I care what Maddox likes or dislikes?” I said. “Why a midget wouldn’t be scared of a rat like him.”

  He gave me another troubled look, shook hands and went off across the street to the Recorder Offices.

  I finished my coffee, lit another cigarette and then reached for the telephone book. Kruger had a house on East Seventy-eight Street. That made me think. To have a house in that narrow territory bounded by Lexington on the east and Fifth Avenue on the west meant something. It meant more than something. It meant money. Stacks of money.

  “Remember Peppi?” I said to Willy, who had just got through preparing the free lunch sandwiches.

  “Yeah,” he said, “that punk used to worry me. He didn’t come in here much, but when he did, he sure started a draught. Well, I guess he’s had a successful career, but he didn’t come by it honestly. I don’t envy him.”

  I shook my head, “it wouldn’t make a lot of difference if you did,” I said with a grin, “Peppi wouldn’t care.”

  Willy grinned back, “I guess that’s right,” he said. “You wouldn’t be interested in Peppi now, would you, Mr. Millan?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, “I’ve got time to be interested in anyone.”

  “Out of a job?” The big barman’s face showed sympathy.

  “Resting,” I said, yawning. “When I want work, I’ll get work. Well, so long, Willy, I’ll be in again.”

  “So long, Mr. Millan,” Willy still looked worried, “I hope you get a break.”

  Walking down the street, I hoped so too.

  Anyway the morning wasn’t wasted. I had something to think about. Why did Kelly want to get into touch with Peppi? 1’hat was interesting. Had Shumway and the girl double-crossed Kelly? Maybe Kelly had once worked for Peppi and wanted him to put some pressure on Shumway to divide up the dough.

  I remembered Peppi well. You couldn’t easily forget him. Last time I saw him was about two years ago. He was on trial for murder. I remember him sitting with his Counsel, listening to the opening address by the District Attorney. He never batted an eyelid throughout the two-day trial and he got away with it without the jury leaving the box. As far as I knew, he’d stood trial four times for murder and four times he’d been acquitted. Now, of course, he could pay some other guy to do his killing for him.

  Peppi was a little guy with big bulging eyes. When he was a kid he contracted a skin disease that had stripped off his hair. He’d been as bald as an egg ever since. Apart from looking like a second cousin of Lugosi, he had a mean disposition.

  So it came back to the problem. What did Kelly want with him? The only thing I could do was to call on Peppi and find out. If I went with a good enough story I might get somewhere. I didn’t exactly relish the visit, but I argued that if a guy had a house on East Seventy-eight, then he wasn’t likely to cut my throat. Or was he?

  Any
way, thinking along those lines didn’t get me anywhere so I hailed a cab and gave Peppi’s address.

  The driver knew him all right.

  “Friend of yours, Bud?” he said, pushing the taxi through the traffic like he was anxious to get rid of me.

  “You ask him. He’ll tell you if he wants you to know,” I returned.

  “Wise guy, huh?” the driver snorted. “A dime a dozen. A dime a dozen.”

  “I heard you the first time,” I said.

  He didn’t say anything for a couple of blocks, then he ventured again, “That Kruger guy ain’t doing us any good in the taxi business. Somebody ought to stop him.”

  “Come in with me and stop him,” I said, putting my feet on the spring seat in front of me.

  “Yeah?” he said, “I like that kind of advice. It’s like saying why not bop Joe Louis on the snout.”

  “Just drive me,” I pleaded. “I would the rest were silence.”

  That held him and I didn’t get a yap out of him until he’d stopped outside Peppi’s house. I gave him a dollar. “Hang on to the change,” I said. “You look like you could use some relief.”

  He put the dollar away slowly. “Some of you smart guys love yourselves,” he said, spitting on the sidewalk. “I bet you’ve got chapped lips kissing mirrors,” and he drove away before I could think up a comeback.

  I concentrated on Peppi’s house. Well, it was a nice joint. It looked like it belonged to Vincent Astor or J. P. Morgan or some high-powered magnate like that. It was solid, big and cool-looking with burgundy brick walls, a terra-cotta tile roof and bay-cottage windows of white stone.

  I went up the three broad steps to the massive oak and iron-studded door and rang the bell. An elderly man, got up to look like a butler, opened the door “come in, sir,” he said, without even asking me what I wanted.

  I followed him into a Large lounge which was furnished in the most modern style I’d seen this side of Lexington. I can’t say I liked it a lot, but it stank of money and I guess that was all Peppi ever worried about.

  The butler looked at me questioningly. He was big with white hair and faded blue eyes. One side of his face was lifted as if he’d had a stroke at one time. It gave him a disagreeable look. “Did you wish to see anyone in particular, sir?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said, “I’d like a word with Mr. Kruger.”

  “Mr. Kruger, sir?” The butler’s eyebrows shot up as if I’d asked to see the President.

  “That’s right,” I said, smiling at him.

  “I’m afraid, sir,” the butler returned with dignity, “Mr. Kruger never sees anyone except by appointment. Would his secretary do?”

  “Look,” I said, “I’m sorry about the appointment. I couldn’t care less about the secretary. I want to see Kruger. Go tell him that Ross Millan of the New York Recorder wants to see him and tell him it’s important.”

  The butler studied me for a second. “Very good, sir,” he said and floated away upstairs, leaving me standing in the lounge.

  After a while, I began to think that he had completed his stroke and was lying upstairs making noises. The hands of the big old-fashioned grandfather clock kept moving forward with little jerky jumps and I got more and more tired of standing there.

  Then I heard someone coming. It wasn’t the butler. Whoever it was came along the passage quickly and lightly and then a girl came down the broad staircase. She was thin, fragile and dark. Her eyebrows were unusually straight and her eyes were very large, cobalt blue with big irises and a vague expression. She wore a pair of biscuit-coloured slacks, a burgundy sweater and a biscuit-coloured handkerchief round her head. She was all right until you came to her mouth. That gave her away. It was a tight, lipless slit of red. I could imagine her sitting up in a half dark room pulling the legs off spiders and getting a lot of fun out of it. Back and front her figure looked like she had been fed through a mangle.

  “I’m Mr. Kruger’s secretary,” she said. Her voice was deep and musical.

  “Well, well,” I said, “well, well, well.”

  One of her eyebrows went up and she tried again, “you wanted to see Mr. Kruger?”

  “That was the idea, but I’ve changed my mind. My doctor only lets me have one meal a day,” I said, adjusting my necktie. “What do you do with your evenings?”

  “You’re Millan, of the New York Recorder, aren’t you?” she asked. The cobalt blue eyes had darkened.

  “Yep,” I said, “Ross Millan. Just plain Ross to you. How about dating me up? The demand’s brisk, but I can manage to-night.”

  “What did you want to see Mr. Kruger about?”

  Somehow I didn’t feel I was making much headway, but I wasn’t discouraged, “I’ll tell him that,” I said gently. “No offence meant, but this is a little matter between men. Women have their secrets too, you know.”

  “Then you’d better come upstairs,” she said and turned and walked back the way she had come.

  When we reached the top of the stairs I drew level and walked by her side. “I was just kidding,” I said suddenly. “Don’t let it get your vitamins in an uproar.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “Could I have your name?” I went on, “I’d like to know how to introduce you to my friends.”

  “Lydia Brandt,” she said, without turning her head, “and I don’t expect to meet your friends.”

  “You never know,” I said. “Strange things happen.”

  She opened a door that led off the passage and stood aside, “Mr. Kruger will be in a minute.”

  “But, you’re not leaving me?” I said, wandering into the room.

  The cobalt blue eyes looked sultry, but she didn’t say anything. She closed the door behind her and left me in the room which was large and lined with books.

  I glanced round with interest. The library was made up of the most complete collection of crime books I’d ever seen. Even police headquarters couldn’t compete with it. The books ranged from sixteenth century crime to modern crime. There were books on poison, forensic medicine, murder, blackmail, kidnapping, assault and, in fact, something of everything.

  I was just getting interested in the second volume of Havelock Ellis when the door opened and Peppi came in.

  All right, I admit I startled me. I hadn’t seen him for a couple of years and then, as I’ve already told you, that was when he was rum running.

  Now, of course, he had come up in the world. I expected a change, but not such a change as this.

  He was dressed in a grey silk dressing gown with a scarlet cord. Under this, he seemed to be wearing white silk pyjamas. His face was smooth and unwrinkled as if he’d had all the electric massage in the world working on him. His small white hands were soft and well cared for and his finger nails manicured. But his eyes were the same. They were the same small pebbles of blue stone and his large bald head was the same except it shone as if he had polished it with beeswax.

  We looked at each other, then he shut the door and came further into the room.

  “You’ve got a swell library, Peppi,” I said, saying the first thing that came into my head.

  “Who put it together for you?”

  He stroked the side of his nose with his thumb. That was something new. In the old days, Peppi hadn’t time to affect mannerisms. “What do you want?” His voice was high pitched and soft. Rather like the tones of a Jap and the sound of it brought back a host of memories. I’d forgotten that high pitched, hissing voice.

  “What a success story,” I said, admiring him. “I remember you a couple of years ago. And look at you now!”

  “What do you want?” he repeated.

  I paused and regarded him. The dead pebbly eyes told me that this wasn’t going to be a love feast, so I decided to get to the point.

  “Where’s Kelly?” I asked.

  “Kelly?” he repeated and frowned. “What Kelly? What are you talking about?” There was a thin edge of anger in his voice.

  “There’s a fellow called
Kelly I want to get in touch with,” I said, half sitting on the big oak reading table. “I hear he wanted to find you, so I thought if you two had made contact you wouldn’t mind putting him in touch with me.”

  He studied me carefully. “I don’t know any Kelly,” he said, at last.

  I shrugged, “Well, that’s too bad. Okay, then I’ll drift. I was under the impression that you did.”

  “What do you want him for?” The question suddenly shot out like the forked tongue of a snake.

  “I wouldn’t take up your time,” I said, pushing myself away from the table. “It’s nothing that’d interest you.”

  He said, “Don’t go. Sit down.” There wasn’t any invitation in his voice. It was an order. Well, I had nothing to lose, so I sat down in a big armchair and relaxed.

  He fidgetted with the cord of his dressing gown and I could see he was thinking about something.

  “You’ve left the Recorder?” he said abruptly.

  I inclined my head, “Yep,” I said. “Maddox tossed me out. That’s gratitude, after all…”

  “What are you doing now?” he broke in.

  “Living on my wits and capital,” I said carelessly. “I’ll get by. Why the interest?”

  “I could give you something.”

  I looked at him. The frog-like face, the blue stoney eyes, the bald glistening head told me nothing. All the same, I didn’t like it. I knew the kind of racket Peppi went in for. It wasn’t my line, but I had to be careful how I told him.

  “I’m not looking for anything right now,” I said slowly.

  “It’s a good job,” he said simply and sat down in an armchair opposite me. “There’s nothing you wouldn’t like.”

  I made grunting noises. “What would it be?” I asked.

  “Lu Andasca is running for election,” he said. “He wants someone to handle his publicity. It’s worth two hundred and fifty dollars a week for the right man. You could do it.”

  I was startled. “Lu Andasca?” I said, “I don’t know him.”

  “He’s all right,” Peppi said, examining his neat finger nails. “He’s fine.”