The Hunter and Other Stories Part 22

Barney's eyes move sidewise to focus sullenly on May's back. Then he steps closer to Richmond and mutters: "They had the junk all right-ten pounds of C. They delivered it to Rags Davis." He puts a hand to the lapel of Richmond's coat, "Keep me covered on this, Gene," he begs. "I wouldn't last an hour if-"

With a gloved hand, Richmond removes Barney's hand from his lapel.

"I'll keep you covered, Barney," he promises. "Where's Rags' hang out now?"

"Sutherland Hotel-five eleven."

Richmond nods, asks: "Got anything else? Find out who the guy they killed was?"

Barney shakes his head, then says: "But he was a narcotic undercover man, all right."

Richmond: "State, city, or federal?"

Barney: "I don't know."

Richmond says: "Stick around. I may want to get in touch with you today or tomorrow." He turns toward the door.

Barney touches his elbow. "Slip me a piece of change, Gene? I'm kind of on the nut right now."

Richmond takes two bills from his pocket, gives them to Barney, says, "Don't forget to earn it," drily, and goes out.

The woman at the stove turns around, looks contemptuously at Barney, spits noisily on the floor between them and says: "That's all you're good for-ratting!"

Barney has finished locking the door. He takes a step toward her, snarls viciously: "Shut up! I'll pop a tooth out of your face!"

The woman, frightened, begins to scoop the eggs out on plates.

Richmond goes to his office. Tommy jumps up from his book to open the gate for him, saying: "Good afternoon, Mr. Richmond."

Richmond says, "h.e.l.lo, Tommy," leans over to look at Tommy's book, says humorously, "The Murder in the Telephone Booth-good Lord, what next?" rumples the boy's hair, nods to Miss Crane, saying, "Will you come in for a moment," and pa.s.ses into his private office.

He hangs up his hat and coat and sits down at his desk.

Miss Crane comes in with some papers in her hand, also her notebook and pencil. She seems nervous, her face strained.

He is looking through his mail. "Anything new?" he asks without looking up.

"No," she says. Her voice is a trifle hoa.r.s.e. "Here are the reports of the two men we're supposed to have working on the Fields job."

He takes the papers from her, runs his gaze over them rapidly. "Swell," he says as he hands them back to her, "but if you make the one that's supposed to be shadowing Kennedy-what do you call him? Harper?-watch his house until after the street cars stop running we can add taxi fare to his expenses."

She says, "All right," and goes out with the reports.

He picks up the telephone, says: "Get me Joe King, Narcotic Agents' Office in the Federal Building."

He reads his mail until the telephone rings. Then, into the instrument, still looking through his mail: "h.e.l.lo, Joe; this is Gene Richmond."

The other end of the wire-a grey-haired man with a strong-featured, keen-eyed, clean-cut face. "Yes, Gene?"

Richmond: "I want to swap some information with you."

King: "Yes?"

Richmond: "Was the fellow they killed down the beach the other night one of your men?"

King's eyes narrow. He says: "I thought you wanted to swap. I didn't know you just wanted to get information."

Richmond: "Well, if he wasn't, say so, because then nothing I can say will be any good to you."

King, after a moment of thinking, replies: "All right-suppose we talk as if he were."

Richmond pushes his mail aside and gives all his attention to the telephone: "Fair enough. Know who killed him?"

King, softly: "Yes."

Richmond draws his brows together a little in disappointment. Before he speaks King is saying: "I'm hoping what you can tell me is where they are now."

Richmond's face clears. A faint smile lifts the corners of his mouth. "I'll be able to, Joe," he says, "inside of three days."

Joe King says: "That'll be-"

Richmond: "Have you got enough on them to swing them for the job?"

King: "I've got enough to hold them on while I get the rest."

Richmond: "Would it help to know the dealer they delivered the junk to, and what they delivered?"

King, keeping his interest from showing in his voice, but not in his face: "It wouldn't hurt any."

Richmond: "Ten pounds of cocaine to Rags Davis. He's living at the Sutherland Hotel, room five eleven."

King: "Thanks, Gene."

Richmond: "Have I held up my side of the swap?"

King: "You have."

Richmond: "Good. Now I want to ask a favor."

King, cautiously: "What is it?"

Richmond: "If you pinch Davis, just tell the papers he's being held as a dealer-keep the killing angle out of it until we've got the others."

King: "That's no favor-we're playing it that way ourselves. We haven't gone in for any publicity on the murder." He pauses, looking sharply at the phone, then asks casually: "How do you get in on this, Gene?"

Richmond, easily: "Oh, it's just an off-shoot of another job I've been working on. Let me know how you make out with Rags, will you?"

King: "Yes. You're sure of him, are you?"

Richmond: "Absolutely."

King: "Right. Thanks."

Richmond: "O.K."

They hang up.

King scowls thoughtfully at his telephone as he pushes it back, then picks up another phone and says: "Come in will you, Pete."

A hard-mouthed man of forty in quiet clothes comes in.

King addresses him: "Gene Richmond's got a finger in this Neely business somewhere."

Pete makes a mouth, rubs his chin with a thumb, says: "That's un-nice."

King: "He just phoned, promised to turn Neely and his mob up inside of three days, said they had ten pounds of c.o.ke that night and delivered it to Rags Davis."

Pete scowls, says: "There's a lot of things I'd rather have than Richmond messing around. What do you suppose his angle is?"

King shakes his head. "Too hard for me. Might be anything-that's got money in it. Better send somebody out to try to keep tabs on him. You and I'll go up against Rags."

"Try is right," Pete says glumly as he moves toward the door.

Gene Richmond's private office. He is standing shaking hands with a small middle-aged man dressed in neat, conservative clothes, and is saying: "We'll find him. Don't worry about it. Things seldom happen to youngsters of that age."

The man says, "Thank you, Mr. Richmond, thank you, sir," as if very much relieved. Richmond smiles and ushers him out through the corridor door.

Richmond returns to his desk and pushes the b.u.t.ton. Helen Crane comes in.

"This man who was just in-Wood-wants us to find his fifteen-year-old kid-ran away yesterday. There's no occasion for secrecy. The police can do more than we can. Get in touch with them; they'll do their usual routine broadcasting, telegraphing, and so on." He picks up a piece of paper. "Here's the kid's description and the rest of the dope." He picks up a check. "I took fifty dollars from him. Charge him with one man's time till the police find the boy or he comes home."

Helen Crane takes the paper and check with a trembling hand. He glances curiously at her, but goes on in the same business-like tone: "This Pomeroy job is getting a little ticklish. I could wind it up now, but I think I can swing a big-money angle by holding off a day or two. But I'd better tell you that Neely and his crew are up there-at Green Lake-so in case- Let's see. I'll either phone you or be here twice a day. If I don't-you'd better turn in the alarm-to Joe King and the sheriff's office up there. It's best to-"

Her agitation has increased to such an extent that he cannot ignore it. "What's the matter, Helen?" he asks.

Her lips are quivering. "I don't want to go to prison again," she wails.

He rises, puts an arm around her, attempts to soothe her. "Sh-h-h. n.o.body's going to prison. I know what I'm doing and-"

"That's what Mr. Queeble used to say," she moans, clinging to his lapels, "and both of us went to prison." Tears are running down her cheeks now.

The door opens and Babe Holliday halts in the doorway, her eyes large. Neither of them see her.

Richmond is stroking Helen Crane's shoulder and back, speaking softly to her: "There's nothing to be afraid of, but if you're that frightened, why don't you quit. You're all right and-"

Babe, who has recovered from her astonishment by now, advances swiftly into the room, saying angrily to Richmond: "Let her alone! She's not your kind!" She puts her arms around Helen, leading her toward the door, murmuring: "There, there, don't cry. He's not worth it."

Helen moans: "It's not his f-fault. I'm just a silly fool."

Richmond stares at them. Bewilderment and amus.e.m.e.nt are mixed in his face.

Babe, having deposited the weeping girl in the outer office returns and shuts the door.

"Aren't you a pip!" she says angrily. "Can't you let anything in dresses alone?" Suddenly her face and voice change, and she goes into peals of laughter that is merry and without rancor. "Good old On-the-Make Gene," she laughs. "He takes his fun where he finds it, no matter how queer they are." She affectionately takes his face between her hands and kisses him on the mouth.

The telephone rings. Richmond, grinning half-shamefacedly at Babe, wipes his face with a handkerchief, goes to the phone, and says: "Gene Richmond speaking."

The other end of the wire. King in a hotel lobby phone booth. He says: "This is King, Gene. You sure Rags is our baby?"

Richmond: "I was there at the birth."

King: "Well, we've been pushing him around for an hour and a half and haven't been able to crack him."

Richmond: "Search his place?"

King: "Frisked it from floor to ceiling, found nothing."

Richmond's eyes narrow. He purses his lips, then says: "Bring him over here. I'll take him apart for you."

King, somewhat skeptically: "Thank you, kind sir. I'll bring him."

They hang up.

Richmond addresses Babe: "You'll have to scram, sister; company's coming."

"Oke," she says. "What are you doing tonight?"

Richmond: "I've got to go back to Green Lake."

Babe nods: "Pomeroy's got a daughter-two to one."

Richmond: "So has old man Holliday."

Babe nods again: "But old man Pomeroy's is newer to you."

Richmond chuckles, rises, kisses her, and says: "We'll go to dinner tomorrow night. How are you making out with the ancient Johnston? Got nearly enough on him for his wife's divorce yet?"

She dangles the end of a string of beads at him, saying gaily: "I've got this."

He scowls at her half-seriously. "That's not what you're being paid for. What good's Mrs. Johnston's divorce going to be to her if you leave him nothing to pay alimony with?"

"I couldn't guess," she replies, kisses him again, says, "Dinner tomorrow," and goes out.

He puts his hands in his trouser pants, rattles change, walks slowly to the outer-office door, opens it, puts his head through, and addresses Tommy: "Get Barney on the phone-tell him to come over right away. Show him in as soon as he comes."

Tommy says, "Yes, sir."

Richmond withdraws his head and shuts the door, looks doubtfully at the floor for a moment, shrugs a little, says in an undertone, "That's his hard luck," and goes back to his desk.