The Complete Casebook of Cardigan, Volume 2: 1933 Page 36

  “I think I read about that in the paper,” said Mr. Bounds, politely.

  “You can go, boys,” O’Mara said.

  Mr. Spinack and Mr. Bounds rose, bowed and went out.

  “Smoothies,” commented Hermann, wise-eyed.

  O’Mara sighed. “Well, these gamblers get it some day. This case looks open and shut and is on its way to the pigeon hole already. Casey Smith was a big gambler, and for a time I thought maybe these two pals of his had something to do with it. But Casey wasn’t as big as Spinack. Last year they cleaned up on the World Series. They hit the prizefighters too, and the races. Spinack and Bounds were in Gus’s, off Madison, when the shooting happened, and Casey Smith was on his way to meet them with a couple of grand they were placing on the Series. The dough wasn’t touched. I checked up on all that. It’s one of those things. What I’m interested in, is this other case. It’s so damned airtight. It gets me—makes me mad.”

  “I just berl over!” Hermann growled, making a fist.

  “Well,” Cardigan said, “I’ll be getting on. Let me know if you get a break.”

  CARDIGAN walked to Canal Street, following Spinack and Bounds, and after a while they got in a taxi. Cardigan flagged another and told the driver to follow them. The tail led uptown on the West Side; ended in front of a hotel in a Midtown side street. It was a small hotel, crowded on either side, with a flashy lobby, small, noisy, theatrical.

  Bounds was buying a newspaper at the stand, and Spinack was waiting. When they turned away from the counter, Cardigan blocked them and said: “I want to talk to you guys.”

  Bounds, the tall man, looked annoyed.

  Spinack lit a cigar and said: “Talk.”

  Cardigan made a motion and they walked to the rear of the lobby, took seats in a divan behind a flat pillar.

  Cardigan said: “You guys afraid to come out in the open about the Ferne dame’s killing?”

  Spinack looked at his cigar. “What’s the connection?” he asked flatly.

  “Plenty.”

  Spinack looked disagreeably at his cigar and Bounds folded his paper and stared at a point on the wall.

  “Well?” said Cardigan.

  “Well,” said Spinack, “nuts.”

  Cardigan said: “What happened? Did Casey rub out the jane and did you guys have Casey rubbed out for pulling a boner?”

  “Listen!” Spinack said, poking Bounds. “Listen to him!”

  “Funny. Funny as hell,” Cardigan said. “If O’Mara knew the connection, you guys wouldn’t be so funny.”

  “I didn’t notice you telling him,” Spinack said, holding his cigar in front of his mouth.

  “You came in the Medallion night before last with the woman. She left with Hardesty and you joined them later. Do you mix the badger game with gambling?”

  Spinack said after a moment: “You know a hell of a lot.”

  Cardigan nodded.

  “Come up to our room,” Spinack said.

  They went up in an elevator and entered a small two-room apartment, cheaply but flashily furnished. Spinack chewed deliberately on his cigar and Bounds took a seat, unfolded the paper and pretended to read. Their eyes, Cardigan noticed, never changed.

  Spinack said: “You’re working for Hardesty.”

  “That’s as good as any.”

  “I said you’re working for Hardesty.”

  Cardigan smiled. “O.K.”

  “So what?”

  “So what kind of a frame did you guys plant around him?”

  “I see. You’re not telling O’Mara about us because that would drag in Hardesty.” He laughed, drily.

  “That’s one point,” Cardigan said.

  “O.K. If O’Mara doesn’t suspect a connection, what the hell are you beefing about?”

  “I want the check Hardesty wrote out.”

  “What check?”

  “Do you suppose I’m going to believe he was taken to the dame’s apartment because she liked him?”

  Spinack chewed on his cigar. “My advice to you, Cardigan, would be pack up your troubles and go home. Let things lay.”

  “You can take your advice and chuck it out the window. This is not just a case to me. Hardesty’s a pal of mine and he was taken in by a dame and some lousy grifters. I’m not getting a cent out of this. He was not taken for fun. There’s a reason. There’s got to be. We can’t settle this at headquarters. That’s O.K. by me. Hardesty was doped, and he was doped for a reason. I want to know that reason.”

  “I’m sorry, Cardigan. You’re all wrong. He picked her up and took her home and we joined them. We took her to the club, and we naturally wanted to see she was all right. She said she was, and we left her with Hardesty. What happened after that is none of our business.”

  “Who knocked off Casey Smith?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t imagine.”

  “Suppose I did tell O’Mara there’s a connection?”

  Spinack raised his cigar. “Do you want to hang a murder rap on your pal?”

  “He didn’t kill that dame!”

  “Who’ll prove he didn’t?”

  Cardigan bit his lip.

  And Spinack said: “I’d hate to get tangled up here, but if you tell O’Mara, I’ll have to be. Bounds and I’ll have to tell him the last we saw of Priscilla alone, she was with Hardesty, in her apartment, and him blind drunk.” He took a leisurely puff. “So if you want to hang your pal, go to it.”

  Cardigan was coloring. He twisted his mouth, muttered, “You win,” and went to the door. He added, “So far—you win,” and went out.

  HIS neck felt red and hot, his throat dry. He walked into a speakeasy up the street, polished off four beers and ate a sandwich.

  Then he took a cab and drove to the hotel where Hardesty lived. He found Hardesty pacing the floor like a caged animal.

  “Jack,” he said, “I finally called my bank on long-distance.”

  “I told you, damn it, to lay off your bank!” Cardigan snapped.

  “I know, but—”

  “You know! You know a hell of a lot! I told you to lay off the bank because you can’t afford to arouse any curiosity. You’ve got to keep your name out of this. If that check was made out to Priscilla Ferne, and you demanded your bank to stop it, they’ll remember the name. Otherwise, it would slide through and they’d hardly notice the name. Suppose your wife does get it? Hell, you’ve got to make a breast of it. Either that, or get mixed up with John Law—”

  “But listen. I long-distanced the bank but I didn’t mention any names. I just asked if one of my checks for any large amount had come in. So they looked at my statement, and what do you think? My god, what do you think?”

  Cardigan scowled. “I’m sick and tired of bad news. I just had four beers. Give me a shot of rum to take away the taste—and then maybe I can bear up.”

  “But, Jack, for the love of cripes—”

  “The rum first, Sam. Keep your head. Life’s a bowl of berries, with a lot of razz in ’em. Do you think I’m going to let you break me down?… Calling up the bank! Fat-head!”

  Chapter Four

  O’Mara Misses the Dessert

  CARDIGAN, learning that Spinack and Bounds were in their apartment, camped in the lobby, far back. It was the pre-dinner hour, and in a little while Spinack and Bounds came down. Both wore tuxedoes. The lobby was crowded, noisy with the tinny voices of second-rate women, thick with the smells of tobacco and cheap perfume. The two gamblers stood for a few moments lighting cigarettes, and presently Cardigan saw a small man, with long arms, dressed in a baggy suit of dark tweed, rise and go out, mixing with a crowd of half a dozen. Then Spinack and Bounds walked out.

  Cardigan tossed a dime, caught it, pursed his lips. He picked the small, tweed-dressed man for a punk or a bodyguard. Going out first that way, on the arrival of Spinack and Bounds, would place him as a bodyguard. This, Cardigan saw, would make things difficult. Walking ahead, the bodyguard would spot trouble, give a signal. Spinack and Bounds would detour.
The trouble would start after them, and the bodyguard would fall in behind the trouble and break it up. The baggy tweed suit made good coverage for a couple of big guns.

  In a moment Cardigan left the lobby and spotted Bounds and Spinack heading toward Sixth Avenue. They turned north. In the next block there was a shooting gallery, and slot peep-machines. The .22s were smacking flatly, and the place was a bit crowded. Bounds and Spinack drifted in, strolled among the slot-machines to the rear, where the shooting was taking place. A dozen men, mildly tight, and wearing organization ribbons, were cutting loose.

  Cardigan got behind one of the slot-machines and saw Spinack and Bounds idly enjoying the display of bad shooting. The dozen men were lined up, and they seemed to be playing a game in which all lined up and began shooting at once. Spinack grinned and stepped up to the counter and Bounds joined him; both took up rifles. Onlookers crowded in behind. The little man in tweeds went up to the counter also and took up a .22 automatic pistol. The onlookers, crowding in, obscured Cardigan’s view. There was a lull, and the dozen visiting delegates raised their rifles. One shouted “Go!” and the .22s began blazing.

  The blast ended and the man in tweeds turned and walked rapidly out of the establishment. The crowd broke up, and Cardigan saw Spinack still leaning against the counter, holding his rifle, his elbows braced on the counter. Someone bumped against him and Spinack turned and fell down. Bounds took one look at him, then spun, made an outcry which Cardigan did not hear, and broke into a run.

  Cardigan slipped after him. He caught sight of Bounds walking swiftly up Sixth Avenue, and ahead, a block beyond, he saw the man in tweeds turn west. Bounds followed, and Cardigan followed Bounds. No one ran. It was a walk, a fast, businesslike walk, and the passing pedestrians took no particular notice. Occasionally the man in tweeds looked back, but did not move any faster; he knew, doubtless, that Bounds would not break into a run—not yet, at least, in this crowded district.

  The walking chase led westward, past Broadway, past Eighth Avenue and toward the dark, dismal hinterland of Tenth Avenue. Here the bright lights faded away, here the streets grew darker. Here there were drab houses.

  Into one of these houses the man in tweeds darted. Bounds followed.

  Cardigan reached the vestibule, listened, and then ventured into the hall. Above, he heard climbing footfalls.

  HE went up slowly as far as the top hallway, and stopped with his ear cocked, his brows bent and his eyes wary. And then he heard a voice, so close at hand that it startled him. But the voice was behind a door, the door nearest to him. It was Bounds’ voice.

  “You see I’m unarmed. I followed you to see what it’s all about, to make a deal. You put the finger on Casey and you put it on Spinack. No doubt I’m number three. Make a deal. Call your openers.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then a dry cackle, and, “You can’t make a deal with me, fella. I got Casey Smith and I got Spinack: and now I’m going to get you. How’d you like the way I got Spinack? Took that .22 and while he was leaning on the counter, I let him have ten shots right through the left side of his chest. How’d you like that, huh?”

  “Neat,” said Bounds. “Sappy—but neat. Now use your head and make a deal. I’ve got five thousand dollars that’s yours if you take the finger off me.”

  “Thought you were wise, following me here, huh?”

  “I ask for a break. I never saw you before and I don’t know what your grudge against me is—”

  “I know!”

  “I guess you do, but listen to reason.”

  “To hell with you. You and me are going for a short walk, and then you get what your pals got. Move over!”

  Feet scuffled, and then Cardigan heard the doorknob turn. He saw the door open, saw the man in tweeds backing out into the hallway, covering Bounds with two big guns. The little man backed into the muzzle of Cardigan’s gun and Cardigan said: “Raise ’em, sweetheart.”

  The little man hissed through his teeth, crouched, and his guns quivered.

  Cardigan jabbed him. “Deaf? Raise ’em!”

  The hands rose, holding the guns aloft. “Get in,” Cardigan said. And then. “You, Bounds, back up.”

  Cardigan entered the room, closed the door and leaned back against it. The small man still stood with the guns raised, his back to Cardigan. Bounds’ face was very gaunt, very gray—but his eyes were the same, ancient, expressionless.

  “I’ll call my openers,” Cardigan said. “And I’m talking to you, Bounds. You’ll listen. Punk, keep the guns up high and keep your back to me. Get fancy and you’ll rate a smashed back. Now, Bounds. You’re in a tough spot, you’ll never be in a tougher one. So what? So you’ll tell me the whole story. The story regarding a certain check, a certain dame, and certain mysterious happenings.”

  “What check?”

  “Hardesty called his bank.”

  Bounds said: “How do I know you’re on the level?”

  “You don’t. But a guy like you, on a hot spot right now, shouldn’t worry about a thing like that. I don’t feel called upon to make any rash promises. I’m just telling you that if you come across, you walk off the spot. Beyond that, you’ll have to take care of yourself. Get started.”

  THE little man sighed, and his fingers moved on the guns; a convulsive shudder shook his body.

  Bounds said: “We were laying dough on the World Series. We knew the teams were on par, evenly matched, and big bets were unsafe either way, unless we fixed things.” He spoke slowly, with an effort.

  “We figured that Hardesty would pitch two games and win two, but that the other team could even that. With Hardesty out, the other team would be a certain bet.”

  The little man was beginning to grunt like a caged animal.

  Bounds was beginning to sweat. He went on: “We put the girl on him. She knew what it was all about and she was to get a grand for her part. We spotted Hardesty for a couple of weeks, and finally saw him go out alone and wind up in the Medallion. We picked up the girl and went to the Medallion, and she went after him, telling him what a swell pitcher he was. He asked her to have a drink. She smeared it on, and Hardesty swelled up and drank quite a bit. Then she asked him to take her home, she didn’t feel well.”

  Bounds took a large breath. “We joined them later in her apartment—about half an hour later—after she’d mixed Hardesty a drink and dropped in some powerful medicine. It hit Hardesty like a brick. He got goofy. Then we began asking him for his autograph. The girl asked him first, and then Casey asked him, then Spinack. On sheets of paper. Then I asked him. He could hardly see, but he wrote down his name from habit. The one I asked him for, he wrote on a check. He didn’t know it.”

  “And so?” Cardigan said dully.

  “The girl asked him to take it easy, and helped him off with his coat. In his pocket, she found the name of his bank and a couple of deposit slips. We took two slips and made out an original and a duplicate and stuck them with the check into an envelope and addressed the envelope to his bank, air mail. The check was for five grand.”

  “Who made the check out?”

  Bounds bit his lip.

  “Who made it out?”

  “I did.”

  “You made out a check for five grand to Hardesty. That’s it, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Bounds was running sweat by this time. “Evidence. I was to take it to Hardesty’s manager the day the Series opened, showing it had been endorsed and deposited by Hardesty. I was to say that Hardesty had promised to fake illness and stay out of the Series. We knew that with evidence like the check, Carmicheal would not only put Hardesty on the bench, but fire him. We’d have laid a lot of bets on the other team, through various fronts, and would clean up at least a hundred grand.”

  “And who chucked the wrench in the business?”

  Bounds tongued his lips.

  “What finally happened to Hardesty that night?” Cardigan asked.

  “Well, we took hi
m out of the girl’s apartment. Took him as far as his hotel and shoved him in the front door. Then we went home and sat around talking it over. It was open and shut then. But there was no killing on the bill. That wrecked everything.”

  Cardigan said: “I want the canceled check.”

  Bounds reached into his pocket, withdrew it and laid it on the table.

  “That,” said Cardigan, “clears Hardesty. Now who killed the jane?”

  Bounds took a deep breath, then kept his lips tightly shut. His eyes shimmered.

  THE raised guns in the hands of the small man shook. “You know damned well I killed her!” he cried. “And I’m proud of it. Same as I’m proud I killed Casey Smith and Spinack, like I’m going to kill you. I killed her. Why? Because when I went up to stir, I left her ten grand to keep for me till I come out, and ten for herself. And what happens? She spends it all. And not only that. When I come out, I get the go-by off her. She’s being set up swell by you three guys, and I don’t even get a look-in.

  “I used to watch her going around to all them swell places, looking like a million dollars. I didn’t have the dough to go to them places. I hadda live in a dump like this, and once I was in the dough. It drove me nuts, seeing her looking swell and knowing you guys swiped her off me. So the other night I busted wide open. I choked hell out of her! I couldn’t stop! And then I went after you guys, that swiped her!”

  He spun on Cardigan. “What right you got to butt in? You ain’t got no right, you lousy bum!”

  “Punk, learn how to talk to your betters.”

  “Punk, am I? Damn it, I was a first-rate rod till that woman ruined me! Let me give this guy what’s coming to him! I got rights! Damn it, ain’t a citizen got rights any more?”

  Bounds said: “I’ve got to get out of here, Cardigan.”

  “And I think no more of you,” Cardigan growled. “You tried to ruin one of the finest pitchers in the leagues. Not just for this Series, but forever. He can’t do anything but play baseball. You didn’t think about that. You meant to ruin him, chuck him out of the leagues for good. This little guy is a punk and rat, but so are you, and so were your pals!”