Everybody Had A Gun (16 page)

Breed said flatly, "Shut up."

"But, boss, it was him that sapped me. While the rest of the boys was in the office. Where's he get this? God Almighty, he—"

Breed growled, "Shut up, I told you. Boys, if you have to, shut him up good."

I butted in. "What do you bet, Breed, there's not much of a lump on Flick's skull? I shouldn't think Sader would tap his prize boy too hard. Hey! Maybe nobody sapped him."

Flick put a hand to the back of his head and mumbled, "Oh, Jesus. I was sapped. Feel it. He sapped me." Then he shut up fast as Lonely moved toward him.

I seemed to be out of the oasis, but I was still in the middle of the desert. I said, "Well, Breed? Am I making sense? How about a deal? Why not let the girl and me go? I can get you everything you want. Money, those lists I mentioned, even Sader."

"Let you go?" He was politely amazed. "Scott, if you'd double-cross Sader, you'd double-cross me." He chuckled.

"Don't get the idea I've swallowed all your talk, boy. So you double-cross Flick, that's all."

Hell, I wasn't even out of the oasis.

I said, "Let her go. All you need is me."

"And have her come back with a bunch of Sader's pals? That's a laugh."

"All right, all right. But how's this? I'll get in touch with Sader, get the money, the lists, get Sader." Hell, I'd have promised him Mars just to get out of this room with no ropes on my arms. "Then that'll prove I mean what I say. O. K.?"

Breed screwed up his red face and was quiet for a while. Then he said, "Here's your deal. You get Sader. Do all you've said you'll do. Then you can leave. You're your own boss then."

He sounded sincere as a preacher. He lied better than I did. I said, "O.K. Deal. Untie me and I'll get going."

"You can get in touch with Sader?"

"Sure I can get in touch with Sader. You think I been kidding you?"

And just like that I'd gone and done it. Things had been going my way too long and I had to get cocky and overplay it.

Breed smiled and said, "Fine. Then you can phone him from here. Got a phone on the desk. He knows you're his good right arm, so he'll be glad to talk to you."

This guy wasn't so dumb. He was no genius, maybe, but he was top boy in his line. And he had me squirming. But I had to blunder through with it now or I'd ruin everything I'd accomplished up to here.

I must have looked funny because Breed said, "What's the matter?"

I sighed. "That's not the way I wanted to do it, but you're the boss, Breed. Untie me. I can't phone with my hands tied."

I was starting to sweat. Breed, with five of his men behind him, probably wouldn't mind letting me call, and I could fiddle around with the phone—but what happened when I didn't get Sader? And life had never seemed sweeter. I glanced at Iris and she looked straight back at me. There was no disgust in her eyes any more, but she looked a little scared. If she was only a little scared, she was a lot braver than I was.

Joe-Joe went around behind me and cut the rope on my hands. They tingled as the circulation picked up. They'd be hurting in a minute. That sure worried me.

The first thing I did when my hands were free was to reach up and feel my head. Then I got up and walked slowly over behind Breed's desk and moved a wooden chair from the wall to the desk. "O.K. if I park here? I'm cramped from that damn chair you had me tied in."

Breed nodded, then scooted his swivel chair over to the opposite side of the desk and watched me. I wondered if any of what I was going through showed on my face. If it did, I was gone; I couldn't even remember the number of the Pit. I'd seen it when I looked up the address in the phone book after I'd first called on Mia, but I was double damned if I could remember even one of the numbers. Mia—I wondered where she was this fine night. I wondered a lot of things, but I pulled the dial phone over to me, lifted the phone off the hook, and stuck my finger in one of the holes. There was a sort of haze in front of my eyes and I'd have had to squint to make out the number. It made no difference; I didn't have the faintest idea who the hell I was calling.

I dialed a couple of random letters, then five numbers, looking determined and businesslike. Then I put the phone to my ear and listened to my heart pounding.

I listened to something else, too. The howling in my ear that meant I'd dialed a big nothing, a nonexistent number. It was a fairly faint noise, but I held the phone close to my ear where there was little chance Breed would hear it, then I pressed my fingers down on the receiver and looked across the desk at him. I said in as calm a voice as I could, "It's busy."

Iris knew the number of the Pit. All I had to do was ask her what it was and I'd get shot; I was afraid even to look at her. Sweat should have been splashing off me. Breed stared curiously at me as I hung up the phone.

And then Iris, dear, delightful, happy-tilting, wonderful Iris, did herself proud. Sweetly she asked, "Did you dial Michigan one-one-six-four-five?"

I loved her. I forgave her everything. From here on in we were even.

But I didn't look at her. I said gruffly, "Of course. Where the hell you think I'd call?" Michigan 1-1645. I repeated it once to myself, but it wasn't necessary. Those numbers were burned into my brain.

Breed squinted, his eyes licking from me to Iris and back to me again. He hadn't liked it. "Where's that?" he rumbled.

I took a small chance. What was a small chance? "That's Sader's number at the Pit," I said, like any fool would know it. "I think he'll be there by now."

Breed let it go. He still had all the cards; he could afford to be generous. I figured it was all right now to glance at Iris. She had a pleased-with-herself look on her face.

I waited as long as I could. Then I pulled the phone to me and dialed Michigan 1-1645.

The phone went buzz, buzz, buzz in my ear. Busy! For a minute it shocked me. Then I knew I couldn't mess around any longer. Breed was suspicious already. Besides, it wasn't too bad this way. I was the only one who knew the line was busy, and if Sader were at the Pit it was just as well I didn't start babbling nonsense at him. The boys here in the room might hear him yelling clear through my head.

I held the receiver tight against my ear and said, "Sader? Scott. Something's busted wide open. I'll tell you about it when I get there. And, look, the lists of the boys pushing the stuff. Have 'em there. Yeah, the lists. What? Hell, I haven't got time to explain, Marty. I'll be right down."

I paused as if listening, and I was thinking I was really playing it smart, when Collier Breed reached across the desk, snatched the phone out of my hand, and started to stick it up against his ear.

For a moment I froze. I just stared at the phone in his fat hand, moving toward his fat head, and the thought flashed through my mind that as soon as that buzz, buzz, buzz hit Breed's ear he'd hit the ceiling and the L. A. population was due to start decreasing. I'd made a nice stab at this, but all the time I'd been digging my own grave.

And then, with the phone halfway between me and Breed, I did the only thing I could do, and I did it fast. I slammed my fist down hard on the base of the phone and broke the connection.

Breed's face started getting purple. He glared at me, holding his breath, then he let it out in a rush. "Just what the hell was that, Scott?"

I thought in a hurry. "You want to spoil the whole play? One word out of you to Sader and he'd know I was with you. That blows up the whole deal. I don't get you, Breed."

He lowered his voice. "Oh, you don't? You don't get me? God damn it, I wasn't going to say anything. I was going to listen! You—Scott, you'd better be on the level." He pulled the phone toward him and said, "Now tell me that number, Scott. The number of the Pit."

He had me. Maybe he knew the number; maybe he didn't. But if he did and I gave him a phony number, it wouldn't be good. I said, "Michigan one-one-six-four-five."

He dialed the number.

I couldn't take much more of this. I was getting weaker and weaker. If I lived I was going to quit the business. I was going to be a file clerk—join a monastery.

Breed listened to the phone, then held it toward me. "Busy," he said. "How about that?"

"What do you expect?" I asked him. My voice cracked; I couldn't help it. I almost yodeled.

He leaned toward me. "What's the matter with you, Scott? What's the matter with your voice?" Cat and mouse, the bastard.

I took a huge breath. "Well, Jesus Christ, man. You pick up the phone and call Sader and you can still ask? If he gets wind of this double cross I'm dead. You trying to get me killed? Even if you didn't say a word, just called him and hung up, he'd smell something fishy. You pull that again and I'll have a heart attack." I wasn't kidding, but it seemed to satisfy him.

He asked, "What'd you mean just now? You asked me what did I expect."

"Just that. Sure the phone's busy. I told Sader there was some trouble. Also that we had to have the lists of pushers. He's almost sure to be on the phone, getting the lists and maybe calling some boys."

It was weak from my point of view, but Breed sighed and leaned back in his chair. "O.K., Scott. Get busy. But it'd better be good." He turned to the boys behind him. "Lonely, tie Flick up. You got his gun; give that to me. Then you boys take Mr. Scott on his little errand." He considered a moment and added, "All you boys better go, in case there's trouble."

"Hey!" I said. "If I bust in with a mob, what's Sader going to think?"

Breed chuckled. "It doesn't matter what he thinks; he won't think it long. That's one reason all the boys go with you. Besides, Scott, you didn't think you were going alone, did you?"

I hadn't. And I'd been a little behind, too. With what I'd given Breed, it was obvious that Sader was due for a deep grave. And, I asked myself, where does that leave me? And Iris, too?

"Breed," I said, "how about the girl? You can let her go."

He shook his head. "She stays with me and Flick. Till you—uh, get back." He grinned and I knew damn well what that meant. Somehow the idea of my not getting back wasn't a bit humorous to me, but I guess it's all in how you look at it.

I was practically twitching, and I'd burned up about a million brain cells, but I had one more thought. Maybe it wasn't worth much, but I played with it. The way it stood now, Lonely, Shenandoah, Joe-Joe, and Harry were all going to be my escort—and all concentrating like mad on me. Breed was going to be here with Flick and Iris, both of whom would be tied up. If Flick sat here with Breed, he might be able to go over my story piece by piece and find the flaws in it Flick might even get Breed to check with the girl he'd said he'd been with.

But if Flick went along with us, not only would he not be able to talk to Breed, but the boys would have to keep an eye on him, diverting a little of the attention from me. I wondered, though, if I could make Breed see it my way.

Lonely had already given Flick's gun to Breed and was starting to tie Flick's hands when I said, "I didn't think you'd want Flick tied up, Breed."

He looked at me, surprised. "You think I want him loose?"

"Uh-uh. That's not what I meant." I smiled, weakly, and added, "Somehow, Breed, I get the impression you don't trust me entirely. I think I've got you convinced about Flick, but why not let me prove it? It looks like I'm going to be working for you from now on—if I'm working for anybody. I'd like to prove I'm telling the truth about Flick; I want you as convinced as I am."

The idea of my working for him must have practically convulsed him, but he was content to let me dream. He asked me, "How you expect to prove that?"

"Simple. When we hit Sader's your boys can watch the play. Sader will welcome Flick with open arms. That'll be your proof."

He thought about it. Then the idea seemed to appeal to him and he nodded. He turned to Lonely. "O. K. You all go. But watch 'em. And," he added quietly, "if Scott is trying to pull a fast one, don't bring him back."

There wasn't any way I could twist that around so it meant anything except I'd be dead.

Breed said, "Get going. And, Lonely, you phone me. One way or another."

The boys herded Flick and me out in front of them and followed close behind. They separated us outside to put us into different cars, but before they did Flick hissed at me, "It won't be long, Scott. This is gonna bust right in your goddam face. And when it does, I'll kill you."

Lonely drove the black Cadillac I was pushed into, and Joe-Joe sat in the back seat with me. Joe-Joe and his 45-degree nose and .44 automatic. Behind us came the black Plymouth with Flick, accompanied by Shenandoah and Harry. Flick would be bending their ears all the way into town.

And so, one car right behind the other, we went rolling merrily on our way, like a stray segment of a funeral procession. And I couldn't help thinking that undoubtedly that was exactly what it was.

Chapter Fifteen

THERE WAS little traffic at this quiet hour. Now it was just after midnight, that lonesome time of morning, and the sky was partly overcast, with film across some of the dim stars. Occasionally headlights appeared coming toward us, flashing briefly upon our faces as the lights grew large and bright and then whipped by us. Then shadows would leap up inside the car again and it would seem darker than before. But always there was illumination from the street lights and from that other car following us into town.

Lonely kept his eyes on the road ahead of him, and Joe-Joe sat silently sucking on a cigarette and watching me. I could see, when I glanced at him, the automatic in his hand, centered on my middle.

And it was cold. Cold and windy. The gusts of wind that had been alternately swelling and dying all night long had grown in frequency and intensity until now, every once in a while, the Cadillac would sway momentarily as a heavy wall of wind buffeted the car. Lonely drove up Riverside Drive to the Freeway at Figueroa, then turned right and headed for the Civic Center.

I'd been perspiring back there at Breed's, and now my thin shirt was damp and felt like ice on my skin. The cold seeped into the car and ran up my back and crawled down inside my stomach.