The Golden Gizmo Read online

  Sullenly, Donald shed his clothes until he stood naked before them.

  “You’re awful dirty, Donald.” Shake clucked his tongue reproachfully. “He have a chance to ditch it anywheres, Toddy? Could he of tossed it away?”

  “No,” Toddy admitted, “he couldn’t.”

  “How big was it?…Donald, maybe you better bend over an’—”

  Toddy chuckled unwillingly and Donald spewed out outraged obscenities.

  “All right, then!” Shake said. “You just get them clothes back on before you catch cold. And, Toddy, maybe you better…”

  Toddy nodded slowly. “Here it is,” he began. “Donald hit me up for protection again tonight, and I gave him a brush-off. One that he’d remember. Then—”

  “But that was just business, Toddy! Just because a man’s ambitious and wants to expand, it don’t prove—”

  “It proves you’re stupid enough to try anything. Jesus—” Toddy shook his head in wondering disgust. “Trying to shake down a gold-buyer! A bunch of cheap hoods like you. Why the hell don’t you work out on Mickey Cohen?”

  Shake looked embarrassed. “Well, now,” he mumbled. “Maybe it wasn’t real smart, but—”

  “Smart!” snarled Donald. “You see what the son-of-a-bitch done to my nose?”

  “I met Donald on the way to Milt’s shop. I went on down to the shop and checked in, then I went back to my room. I couldn’t have been gone more than thirty or thirty-five minutes at the outside. When I went in I found the room turned upside down, I found Donald heading down the fire escape, and I found my wife on the bed…strangled with her own stockings.”

  “Sss-strangled?…Y-you mean h-he…?”

  “I didn’t!” Donald snapped, fearfully. “Dammit, Shake, why for would I do a thing like that?”

  “W-why for was you in Toddy’s room?”

  “I—well, I—”

  “Spill it!”

  Donald edged toward the corner of the room, keeping a cautious eye on Toddy. “I j-just went up there to wait for him. Kind of surprise him, you know.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I was—I was just goin’ to cut him up a little when he came back.”

  Shake sighed with relief. “You see, Toddy? Donald wouldn’t of killed her. Donald ain’t that kind of boy. He was just goin’ to cut you up a little.”

  “Uh-huh. And Elaine jumps him, so he gives her the business.”

  “You’re a goddam liar!”

  “Now you know better than that, Toddy,” said Shake. “You been around too long to think a thing like that. In the first place, he ain’t a killer. In the second place, he’s a shiv man. Why for would he screw around with stockings when he had a shiv? It ain’t his—his—”

  —modus operandi, Toddy supplied silently. It was true; the operation method of a criminal almost never changes. The police would have a hell of a time if it did. Still, Donald had had the opportunity. He’d been caught at the scene of the murder.

  “You think I’m—I’m immortal or somethin?” Donald demanded with genuine indignation. “You think I’m a pervert? You think I killed the Black Dahlia?”

  “I think you’re a very sweet little boy,” said Toddy. “The whole trouble is, people just don’t understand you. Like me, for example. How’d you know it was safe to go into my room? How’d you know my wife wasn’t in there…alive?”

  “I could look under the door an’ see it was dark. I knocked an’ didn’t get no answer, so I went in.”

  “The door was unlocked?”

  “I’m tellin’ ya.”

  “How long was this after you left me?”

  “Well…fifteen-twenty minutes maybe.”

  “Just long enough to work your nerve up, huh? How long had you been there when I came in? It couldn’t have been much more than ten minutes.”

  “It wasn’t.” Donald scowled peevishly. “Look. Why don’t you cut out the third degree an’ let me tell you.”

  “Okay. Keep it straight.”

  “I knocked on the door,” said Donald. “I knocked an’ waited a minute. I thought I heard someone movin’ around—kind of a rustlin’ sound—and I almost took a powder. But I didn’t hear it no more, then, after the first time, so I figured it must be the window shade flappin’ or something like that. I opened the door just a crack an’ slid in…”

  “Go on.”

  “I”—Donald wiped sweat from his face—“I stood there by the door, hugging the wall and waiting…an’…an’ I don’t know. I begin to get kind of a funny feeling, like someone was staring at the back of my neck. Well, you know how it is in that room. You can’t really see into it up there by the door. You can’t see the bed or nothing hardly until you get past the bathroom. Not with the lights off, anyways…”

  “I know that,” said Toddy impatiently.

  “Well, I got this feeling so…so I slide down along the wall until I’m out of that little areaway. I came even with the bed and my eyes are gettin’ kind of used to the dark an’ I can see. A little. I can see they’s someone on the bed. I—I—Jesus! I can’t even think what I’m doin’! All I can think of is lightin’ a cigarette—I mean, I don’t really think of it. I do it without thinkin’. And then the match flares up an’ I see everything. I see what’s happened. An’ then I hear you at the door, an’ I try to beat it down the fire escape an’—”

  Toddy nodded absently. Donald was in the clear. He’d been pretty sure right from the beginning. But under the circumstances, there’d been nothing to do but grab him.

  Donald stepped to the table, poured out a water glass of sherry, and killed it at a gulp. Shake stroked his chins and stared interestedly at Toddy.

  “If you was so sure Donald killed your wife,” he said, “why didn’t you just call the cops? That’s what cops is for, to arrest criminals.”

  “So that’s it,” said Toddy. “I often wondered.”

  “You know what I think?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think you killed her yourself. You either bumped her off before you left the room or—”

  “—Or I went up the fire escape and did it, then beat it down and came up the front way.” Toddy’s tone was light, satirical, but there was a heavy feeling around his heart. Something seemed to struggle there, to fight up toward the hidden recesses of his mind. “Sure. That’s what the cops will think. That’s what I’ll say after they work me over a few days.”

  Shake shook his head with a complete lack of sympathy. “They sure swing a mean hose in this town. You wouldn’t believe what it does to a man’s kidneys. I had a pachuco workin’ for me; you remember him, Donald—Pedro? You remember how he went around after the cops had him? All bent together like a horseshoe. Had to take off his collar to pee.”

  “Think of that,” said Toddy.

  “Me an’ Donald has got a duty to do, Toddy. The only thing is, how long should we take to do it? Now if we was real busy—say, we had some money to count—”

  “Huh-uh.”

  “Huh-uh?”

  “In spades.”

  “Too bad.” Shake stared at the telephone. “That certainly is too bad, ain’t it, Donald?”

  “Oh, it’s not too bad yet,” said Toddy. “Let’s see, now. It would take your pachucos a couple of minutes to get up here. That’s not much, but I don’t think you and Donald can take much. I really don’t think you can, Shake. Of course, if you’d like to find out…”

  He spread his hands, beaming at them mirthlessly. Shake drew the back of his hands across his mouth.

  “So you’ll sit here the rest of your life?” he burbled.

  “All right,” said Toddy. “Say that I walk out of here and you use the phone. I know every big-time con man in the country, and con men stick together. I’d make bond eventually. I’d be around to see you. You wouldn’t enjoy that, Shake. I tell you from the bottom of my heart you wouldn’t.”

  He stared at them a moment longer, white teeth bared, eyes gray and cold. Then he broke the tension with an easy
, good-natured laugh.

  “Now why don’t we stop the clowning?” he said. “You boys know I’m all right. I know you’re all right. We’re all a little upset, but we’re all big men. We can forgive and forget…and do business together.”

  Donald’s narrow shoulders straightened unconsciously. Shake emitted a ponderous wheeze. “Now that’s good sense,” he declared. “Mighty good. Uh—what kind of business did you have in mind, Toddy?”

  “Elaine was murdered for a watch. There was just one guy who knew I had it, the man that killed her. He’s got rid of the watch by now. He’ll also have an airtight alibi. So I’m stuck. All I can do is skip town…”

  “This watch…did it belong to this guy in the first place?”

  “No,” Toddy lied. “It belonged to an old lady. I fast-talked her out of it.…God, Shake, I wish you and Donald could have seen the pile of stuff that woman had. Brooches, rings, necklaces. A good fourteen-fifteen grand worth or I don’t know lead from platinum!”

  “An’ you just clipped her for the watch?”

  “A two-thousand-dollar watch. I couldn’t bite her any harder without raising a chatter. And, of course, I didn’t dare go back for another try.”

  “Sure, uh-huh.” Shake bobbed his jowls understandingly. “How come you hadn’t turned the watch, Toddy?”

  “Too hot. Milt wouldn’t have touched it. I’d just about decided to take the stones out and cut it up for scrap, but I hadn’t got around to it yet. I’d only had it three days.”

  “Mmm,” said Shake. “Uh-hah!” he said briskly. “All right, Toddy, it’s a deal. You just give us this old lady’s address an’ we’ll see that you get your cut.”

  Toddy smiled at him.

  “Now what’s wrong with that?” Shake demanded. “We’ll cut him in for a full half, won’t we, Donald?”

  “Well, it’s been nice,” said Toddy, rising. “I’ll drop you a card from Mexico City.”

  “Now, wait a minute…!”

  “I’ll wait five minutes,” said Toddy. “If I don’t have two hundred bucks by that time, I’m on my way.”

  “Two hundred!”

  “Two hundred—for almost a hundred times two hundred.” Toddy’s eyes flickered. “I won’t say it’ll be a cinch. She’s about the crankiest, orneriest old bitch I ever tangled with. She lives all alone, see; doesn’t have anyone she can pop off to. And she’s got this game leg. I guess that makes her crankier than she would be ordinarily.”

  Shake licked his lips. “Game leg? An’ she lives all alone?”

  “Well,” Toddy said conscientiously, “she does have three or four big Persian cats. I don’t know whether they’d give you any trouble or not.”

  “I could handle ’em,” said Donald grimly. “I could handle the dame. I ain’t seen no dame or cats yet that I’m afraid of.”

  Toddy gave him an admiring look. Shake still hesitated.

  “How do I know you ain’t lying to us?”

  “Because you’ve got brains,” said Toddy. “Elaine was murdered. Murders aren’t done for peanuts. It all adds up. Donald sees it. You’re as smart as Donald, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, but—but—” The words Shake searched for would not come to him. “But two hundred!”

  “Two hundred as of the present moment,” said Toddy, glancing at his watch. “I just thought of another party I can go to who’ll give me—”

  “Two hundred!” Shake scrambled hastily from his chair. “It’s a deal for two hundred!”

  …Toddy sat in a quiet booth in the bar, sipping a Scotch and soda while he studied the classified ads in the evening paper. He was not content with what he had done. No revenge could be adequate for the brutal and hideous death Elaine had suffered. He had, however, done all he could. For the time being, at least, it would have to do.

  He had felt for a long time that Shake and Donald needed a lesson. Their threats tonight had done nothing to ameliorate that impression. Now they would get that lesson, one they might not live to profit by, and Elaine’s murderer, the chinless man—the “old lady” they expected to rob—would get one. There’d be enough ruckus raised, perhaps, to bring in the cops. It was too bad that Chinless wouldn’t know he’d been paid off, that Toddy had got back at him. But nothing was ever perfect. He’d settled two urgent accounts. He’d got a nice piece of scat money. He’d done all that he could, and no man can do more.

  He took out his billfold and, under cover of the newspaper, inventoried its contents. Three—three hundred and twenty-seven dollars all together. Not very good. Not when you had to buy some kind of car out of it; and he would have to buy one. He had no way of knowing when Elaine’s body would be discovered. He did know that the bus, plane and railway terminals would be watched as soon as it was. They might be looking for him already. He couldn’t take any chances.

  He slid out of the booth, sauntered past the bar stools and out to the walk.

  It was quite dark now, and the dark and the smog condensed the glare of neon signs to a blinding intensity. Still he saw. He had to see and he did, although nothing in his manner indicated the fact.

  He strolled straight to the curb, his attention seemingly fixed on the large wire trash basket which stood there. He dropped the newspaper into it and stared absently at the large black convertible. It was no more than ten feet away, parked in the street with the motor idling. The back seat was empty. The girl was at the wheel. The talking dog sat hunkered at her side, his front paws on the door.

  With an effort Toddy suppressed a shudder.

  He saw now that he hadn’t really taken a good look at the dog that afternoon. The damned thing wasn’t as big as he’d thought. It was bigger. And his imagination hadn’t been playing tricks on him; it did talk.

  The girl beckoned to Toddy. “Come,” she called softly. The dog’s jaws waggled. They yawned open. “C’m,” he said. “C’m, c’m, c’m…”

  Toddy looked over them and through them. He turned casually and stood staring into the bar. No way out there. The place had a kitchen, a busy one, and the rear exit lay beyond it. Up the street? Down? Pawnshops. A dime store. A butcher shop. All closed now.

  He heard the softly spoken command in Spanish. He heard the scratch of the dog’s claws as it leaped.

  9

  In one swift motion Toddy stooped, grabbed the base of the basket, and lofted it behind him. Either his luck or his aim was good. There was a surprised yelp, the rattling scrape of wire. But Toddy heard it from a distance. He rounded the corner and raced down the gloomy side street.

  It was not good, this way, but no way was good. He was entering a semi-slum section, the area of flyblown beaneries, boarded-up buildings, flophouses and wine bars which lies adjacent to the Union Station. No cab would stop for him here.

  So now he ran. Now for the first time he knew the real terror of running—to run without a goal, to be hunted by the upper world and his own; to run hopelessly, endlessly, because there was nothing to do but run.

  Sweat was pouring from him by the time he reached the end of the street. And just as he reached its end he saw a huge black form, a shadow, whip around its head…The dog on his trail, behind him; the girl circling the block to head him off. That was the way it would be. He’d have to get in someplace fast. In and out. Throw them off. Keep running.

  The dusty windows of a deserted pool hall stared back at him blankly. Next, a barber shop, also dark. Next, a burlesque house.

  Across the grimy front, cardboard cutouts of bosomy women. Purple-eyed, pink-haired women in flesh tights and sagging net brassières. Sprawled beneath them and gazing lewdly upward, the cutout of a man—putty-nosed, baggy-trousered, derby-hatted. Names in red and white paint, Bingo Brannigan, Chiffon LaFleur, Fanchon Rose, Colette Casitas. And everywhere on streamers and one-sheets and cardboard easels, the legend: “Big Girl Show—DON’T DO IT SOME MORE.”

  “Yessir, the beeg show is just starting!” A cane rattled and drummed against the display. “Yessir,” intoned the slope-cheste
d skeleton in the linen jacket. “Step right in, sir.”

  He coughed as he took Toddy’s ten-spot, but there was no surprise in it. He had always coughed; he could not be surprised. “Yessir”—he was repeating the instructions before Toddy had finished them—“Split with the cashier. Haven’t seen you. Close the door.”

  “Exit?”

  “Tough.” The skeleton coughed. “Over the stage.”

  Toddy went in, anyway. It was too late to turn back. He moved past the half-curtains of the foyer and stood staring down the long steep aisle.

  Not that he wanted one, but there didn’t seem to be an empty seat in the joint. It was packed. Twin swaths of heads, terrazos of grays and blacks and bald-pinks stretched from the rear of the house to the orchestra pit. In the pit there was only a piano player, banging out his own version of the “Sugar Roll Blues.” It must have been his own; no one else would have had it.

  Toddy’s nose crinkled at the stench, a compound of the aromas of puke, sweat, urine and a patented “perfume disinfectant.” All the burly houses used that same disinfectant. It was the product of a “company” which, by an odd coincidence, also manufactured stink bombs. It was the only thing that would cover up the odor of a stink bomb.

  He went slowly down the aisle, ears strained for sounds of the danger behind him, eyes fixed on the stage. Three chorus “girls” were on it—the show’s entire line, apparently. They were stooped over, buttocks to the audience, wiggling and jerking in dreary rhythm to the jangling chords of the piano.

  As Toddy advanced, the women straightened and moved off the stage, each giving her rear a final twitch as she disappeared into the wings. A man in baggy pants and a red undershirt came out. In his exaggerated anxiety to peer after the girls, he stumbled—he appeared to stumble. His derby flipped off, turned once in the air, then dropped neatly over his long putty nose.

  Laughter swelled from the audience and there was a burst of hand clapping. The comic removed the derby and spat into it. He pulled the baggy pants away from his stomach and went through the motion of emptying the hat into them.