Miss Shumway Waves a Wand (16 page)

Anyway, it was like a breath of home to Sam as we into the Square and picked our way through the kids that cluttered up the sidewalk.

“Where do we go from here?” I asked, feeling the eyes of the slatternly women hostile on my back as they stood in open doorways of their drab, dirty apartments.

“There’s a guy I used to know,” Sam said, head, “who had a gin mill around here some place. what was his name?” He screwed up his face while he thought.

I waited patiently, trying to pretend I wasn’t there. Even the kids had stopped playing and were watching us.

“Good-time Waxey,” Sam said suddenly. “That’s the runt. He’ll know about Andasca. He knew every punk around here.”

We found Good-time Waxey behind the bar of an evil looking dive at the corner of Mulberry and Kenmare. He was lolling over the bar, the mid-day sporting sheet spread out before him, looking down the list of horses for the three o’clock handicap.

He looked up suspiciously as we fumbled our way into the dark little tavern.

“Hey, Waxey,” Sam said, grinning, “still carrying your corns in a snood?”

Waxey stiffened. His fat, brutish face, glistening with sweat, lit up and he shoved out a fist the size of a mellon. “Bogle!” he said, shaking hands, “where ta hell yuh spring from?”

Sam grinned as he pumped the big man’s arm up and down. “Thought I’d look the old dump over,” he said. “How’s tricks, Waxey?”

Waxey lost his smile, “Looka,” he said, “six years I work in dis burg, an’ where does it get me? A lousy handout a thoity bucks a month! Starvin’ an’ freezin’… fuh what? Peanuts!” and he spat disgustedly on the floor.

“Gees!” Sam said, his eyes opening. “I thought this burg was all right.”

“It was,” Waxey returned darkly, “when da boys were around. Lucky … remember Lucky?. . When he was around, dat was somethin’. But, now… Hell, might as well wait for Santa Claus tuh take care of me.”

“Meet my pal Millan,” Sam said, pushing me forward. “He’s an all right guy, Waxey. We work together.”

Waxey looked at me sharply, then stuck out his hand. “Any pal a Sam’s pal a mine,” he said, crushing my hand in a grip that made me shuffle my feet.

“We looked in ‘cause we thought you might wise us up,” Sam said, lowering his voice. Waxey stroked his shapeless nose and his little green eyes showed interest. “Yuh in a racket, Sam?” he asked, hopefully.

“Not tight now,” Sam returned cautiously. “But, it looks like it was headin’ that way. What do you know about Andasca?”

Waxey blinked. “What yew mean?”

“Just that. This guy’s going to work for him,” Sam said, jerking his thumb in my direction.

“But he wants to know what line he’s in first.”

Waxey studied me. “Lu’s gettin’ somewhere,” he said at last. “Twenty buck shoits. A hundred an’ fifty buck custom tailored suits. Da fat a da land he live off of. An’ he’s got a flock a dames at’d make youse guys water at da mout’.”

“But what’s the set-up?” Sam persisted.

Waxey lowered his voice, “Peppi Kruger’s behind him,” he said “Between da two a dem, dey have da Bowery sewed up tight, see?”

“How tight?” Sam asked, looking hopefully at the row of dusty bottles behind Waxey’s head, “and how about a drink, Waxey?”

“Sure.” Waxey produced a black bottle without a label from under the counter. “Dis is da McCoy,” he went on, slapping the bottle down in front of us. “Help yuhselves.”

While Sam poured the drinks, I said, “I heard Kruger’s almost washed up, that’s why I’m nervous about going in with them.”

“Hoid what?” Waxey gasped, “yuh crazy? Looks yew, both dese guys are tops, see? Nuttin’s goin’ tuh stop ‘em. Dere ain’t any punk tuh touch ‘em now.”

But I wasn’t listening any snore. I was staring out of the tavern into the street. “Hang on, Sam,” I said suddenly, “I’ll be right back,” and I left them gaping after me.

From across the street I had caught a glimpse of a dog, moving along the shadows of the wall. That in itself wasn’t anything, but the dog was a wolfhound and you don’t see many wolfhounds in Mulberry Park.

I was certain it was Whisky.

By the time I got into the open he had disappeared, but I knew which way he had gone and I chased across the street, ducked down an evil smelling alley and ran on. Something on the ground made me pause and looking down I found that I was following a trail of bright bloodstains in a disjointed string of small circles.

I increased my pace and began calling. At the end of the alley I could see Whisky dragging himself forward painfully and slowly.

“Whisky!” I shouted and ran forward, just as the dog dropped wearily to the ground.

“What’s the matter, old dog?” I asked, bending over him anxiously.

There was no need to ask. There was a great patch of hardening blood on his shoulder. Across his head was a livid gash as if he had been hit very hard with a stick. Blood ran from his foot where he must have got himself a pretty severe cut. Whisky was in a bad way and from the exhausted look in his eyes I could see he was in need of some quick attention.

“Take it easy,” I said, kneeling beside him, “I’ll get you out of here.”

“Don’t waste time with me,” Whisky growled. “They’ve got her. They kidnapped her when she was going to meet you. That wasn’t Myra who was waiting for you at Manetta’s… that was the other one.”

“The other one?” I repeated stupidly. “Who kidnapped who? What are you talking about, Whisky boy?”

Whisky struggled to speak, then, a look of terrified dismay came into his eyes. His teeth clicked and he half struggled to his feet, only to flop back exhausted.

“Take it easy,” I said, “I’ll get Sam and we’ll fix you up, you poor old devil. But, I’ve got to know what you’re talking about. Why should anyone want to kidnap Myra?”

Whisky still clicked his teeth as if he were struggling to speak and then to my shocked and horrified surprise he began to bark.

So the girl hadn’t been Myra and Myra had been kidnapped. The sooner I got back to Ansell and put the screws to the girl the better. Now that Whisky had lost the power of talking, I wasn’t going to get much help from him. I would have to wait until he was well enough to take us to the place where he had been attacked. That might give me a clue.

It was no use telling Bogle that there were two Myras. He would only think I’d gone crazy. Besides, it would be a waste of time trying to convince him.

So I left Whisky in his charge and grabbed a taxi. I had told Sam to get Whisky to a dog hospital as quickly as he could and then get back to our apartment pronto. Sam, when he saw how badly hurt Whisky was, became wildly angry and upset. I managed to convince him how important it was for him to return immediately to the apartment without actually telling him details.

It was about the longest ride I ever had in a taxi and I kept urging the driver to greater speed. I don’t know why but I had the jitters all right.

When I reached our apartment block I tossed the driver his money and ran up the steps.

A moment later I was standing inside our apartment and for some unaccountable reason I felt scared. There was the same eerie atmosphere that I felt when I found Quintl’s body. No sound came to me and I called Ansell in a voice that I hardly recognized as my own.

I walked cautiously into the kitchen and looked round. There was no one there. More assured, I returned to the living room. Maybe Doc and the girl had gone out. I was just going to have a look in the bedrooms when something caught my eye which brought me up with a jolt.

From under the sofa I could see something red. I knelt down and looked. It was Myra’s flame coloured dress. It had been screwed up into a bail and shoved under the sofa. This startled me for a moment. I hooked it out and stood up.

As I unfolded it I touched a wet, sticky patch and looking at my hand I found blood on it. Right down the front of the dress was a large bloodstain, still damp.

Just for a moment I thought that she’d been killed and it gave me a tremendous shock. But when I examined the dress there was no sign of a bullet hole or a slit from a knife. It looked as if the blood had come not from her but from someone else.

Throwing the dress aside I went upstairs and blundered into Ansell’s bedroom.

He lay across the bed. There was blood on the floor and on the walls. I hadn’t realized what a little guy he was until I saw him lying like that. The front of his coat was bloodstained and his face was blue-grey. Until I touched him I thought he was dead.

And when I touched him and felt his cold hand I realized just how fond I had become of him and a wild, destructive rage swept through me. If I could have laid hands on the person who had done this I’d have killed without hesitation.

“Doc,” I said gently, scared to lift him, “what is it, Doc?”

He opened his eyes and blinked up at me, but no look of recognition came from him.

“It’s me… Millan,” I said, kneeling close to him. “What can I do? Are you badly hurt?” I knew the answer to that one before I said it. I didn’t think he’d last another two minutes.

He tried to speak, but couldn’t quite make it. I watched his lips move and I put my ear close to them, but I couldn’t hear what he was trying to say.

But he had to talk. He couldn’t go like that without telling me what had happened and who had done this. So I bolted to the sitting room and poured two Inches of Scotch into a glass and rushed back to him.

“Come on, Doc,” I said, lifting his head. “Get hold of yourself.”

The whisky did the trick, but I could see he was going fast. My only hope now was to keep him alive long enough to hear what had happened.

I could see he wanted to talk and I could see he was making a tremendous effort.

“You were right. She wasn’t Myra,” he whispered at last. “She attacked me soon after you left. I asked for It, I should have waited. Look out for her, Ross, she’s dangerous. Its the way I thought. She’s the bad one.” He closed his eyes and I thought he had gone, but he was only resting for a second or so.

I couldn’t really believe that it was possible and yet I knew the Myra we had worked with and fooled with could never have done this to him.

He began speaking again, “They’ll try and pin this on Myra,” he said falteringly. “You’ve got to cover it up somehow, Ross. I told you this might happen. Where’s Myra? What’s happened to her?”

“Now don’t worry, Doc,” I said. “I’ll fix it. You just relax. I’ll get a doctor for you. You’ll be all right.”

“You’ve got to find her and get her an alibi,” Doc went on. “Don’t call the cops until you’ve been through the place and cleaned up anything that might connect her with this. The other one’s bad. You’ve got to catch her and get rid of her before the end of the month. Don’t let her merge into Myra again. She’ll try and do it after the full moon.”

I couldn’t understand what he was talking about, but there was nothing else to do but to listen. His voice was getting weaker and he died as Sam walked in.

When Sam saw Doc he ran over to him, his eyes scared.

“He’s gone, Sam,” I said, getting off the bed. And then I realized the hopelessness of trying to explain to him how it had happened. But, I had to do it. Sam already knew too much and the thought of trying to get this fantastic business into his thick head appalled me.

Bogle took one look at Doc, then he turned and grabbed me. His grip nearly ripped the coat and shirt off my back. I thought he was going to have some kind of a fit. His face was dark with congested blood and his eyes were wild.

“Who did it?” he said, ramming me against the wall. “Open up, you punk, who did it?”

I knew it wouldn’t do to tell him. He wasn’t in a state to cope with a story like that. So I said I didn’t know and tried to break his grip. It was like heaving against the teeth of a bear— trap.

“Take it easy, Sam,” I said, “this won’t get you anywhere.”

He gave a snort and then shoved me away. I banged against the wall and nearly went over. He returned to Doc and kneeling by him he took his hand. Then he began to cry, so I went out quietly and left them together.

When I got downstairs, I didn’t know what to do. I felt sick about Doc. I felt scared for Myra and I wanted to get my hands on the other girl. I didn’t really think of her as the other girl, but as someone who had killed Doc. I went into the sitting room and poured myself out a stiff glass of whisky. Then I sat down and tried to think.

A murder had been committed. That meant the cops. It meant trying to explain something to them that I couldn’t explain to myself. If I didn’t get my explanation over, then Myra would be on the spot. The bloodstained dress was enough to set the law working on her right away. I finished my whisky and picked up the dress. Doc had said to destroy any clue that might point to her. Well, this was the first one to go.

Then the dress was snatched out of my hand by Bogle who had entered silently. He took one look at the bloodstain and he knew she had done it. “Where is she?” he said quietly.

I always looked on Bogle as a harmless sort of a jerk. But not now. He looked like a killer and he looked half crazy.

“We’ve got to talk about this,” I said. “Have a drink, Sam. It’ll pull you together.”

“So she killed him, did she?” he said, through his teeth. “She ain’t going to get away with it. That little punk was good to me. Him and me got along fine until you came along. You and her. You think a lot of that broad, don’t you? Well there won’t be much of her to think about when I’m through.”

“Don’t be a fool, Sam,” I said. “I know how you feel about Doc. He was a swell guy. But she didn’t kill him.”

“What’s this?” he held up the dress.

“Oh, I know it looks like she killed him, but she didn’t.”

“The cops can work it out,” he said, “I’m going to get a load of law here and let ‘em find her. Then if she slips off the hot seat, I’ll fix her,” and he went over to the telephone.

If the cops came and found that dress, then I knew nothing could save Myra. She’d be hounded all over the country.

I jerked him round, “Leave the cops out of this,” I said, “we’ll handle it, Sam. Kruger’s behind it. Can’t you see that?”

Bogle wrenched himself away. “Do you think I’m crazy?” he said, “I know you’re nuts about her, but that ain’t stopping me. If we don’t bring the cops in, how do you think we’ll explain about Doc.”

I shrugged. “Well, if that’s how you feel about it,” I said, and moved so that I was behind him.

I didn’t like doing it, but it was the only way. I had to have a little time to clear things and make sure that Myra hadn’t left anything for the police besides the dress.

But Bogle was expecting trouble. He turned and faced me. “Don’t start anything,” he said viciously. “It won’t get you nowhere.”

“There’s no harm trying,” I said and swung over a punch that caught him on his cheekbone. He swayed back as my fist landed, so he rode most of the steam out of it. Then he moved in and his fist caught me in the ribs, sending me against the wall. Bogle could punch all right.

He lowered his hands. “Cut it out,” he said, “I don’t want to hurt you and if you make me mad you’re going to get hurt plenty.”

I thought that was likely. But I could see the mess that was ahead if I didn’t stop Bogle.

I edged forward, “Can’t you use your head, Sam?” I pleaded, looking for an opening to land my right. “I tell you Myra didn’t kill him. She loved that old guy as much as you did. She wouldn’t touch him. You ought to know that.”

“Yeah?” Bogle said. “Then how come that dress? We left her with Doc, didn’t we? Where is she now?”

“Kruger’s got her, you fat fool,” I said, suddenly realizing that we were both wasting time.

“Don’t you see?” I went on, Kruger or some of his mob came here. For some reason they wanted Myra. Doc tried to stop them and they killed him. While we’re bellyaching, they’re taking her further away.”

For a brief moment, Sam looked as if he was going to fall for it, then his eyes darkened again. “The dress,” he said impatiently. “Why should Kruger want her? A guy as big as him wouldn’t want her.”

Then we both saw it at once. How I missed it in the first place I don’t know. I guess it was the shock of seeing the dress and then finding Doc that had blinded me to it. On the mantle-piece was a white envelope, propped up against the clock.

We both made a rush for it. I nearly reached it, but Bogle suddenly lashed out and his fist caught me below the ear, sending me over. It was like the Empire State Building had fallen on me and I don’t know how long I was out. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but it was long enough for Bogle to open the letter and read it.

I sat up slowly and one look at Bogle’s face told me that nothing further I could say would convince him that Myra hadn’t killed Doc.

“It’s for you,” he said in a cold flat voice. “She says she knocked him off and that she’s going away. She’ll write you again when things have eased down,” and he slipped the letter into his pocket. “Talk yourself out of that!”

I shook my head clear and stood up. I had to get that letter. That was enough to send Myra to the chair. That and the dress. I realized the full significance of what Doc had said. The girl who had killed Doc was determined to pin it on Myra. With Bogle as a witness the cops had an open and shut case.

Somehow, I had to explain about the two Myras to Sam. It was the only way to save her.

“For the love of mike,” I said, “will you listen to me? Doc told me what happened. When I reached him, he managed to say enough for me to know how it went. The girl who met me at Manetta’s was not Myra. It was the girl who’s been impersonating her. She’s exactly like her,” and I went on to tell him about Whisky.

Bogle said, “You’re soft on that girl, ain’t you? You’d do anything to save her neck. Well, you’re not kidding me with a yarn like that. Tell it to the cops.”

I never hoped he’d believe it, but I had to try. There was only one way to settle this. I had to destroy both the areas and the letter. So I went into action with both hands. But, I went in much more cautiously this time. I feinted with my left and then hooked with my right. Bogle knew all about that kind of fighting. He took the right on his forearm and came back with a heavy punch to my face. But, I was getting mad now and I rushed him, smothering his punches and driving him across the room. I forced him against the wall and slammed in two solid punches before he drove me away with a stunning uppercut.

I went in again and ran into a haymaker that nearly took my head off my shoulders. I felt myself floating and then I whammed against the wall with a jolt that knocked the wind out of me.

Bogle shuffled across the room after me. As I crawled to my feet, I caught a glimpse of his face and that sent me cold. He was fighting mad now and I’d be lucky to get out of this alive. He banged me one on the side of the head before I was half up and then pumped a couple into my stomach.

Being hit by Bogle was like being beaten by a sledge hammer. My ribs bent every time he hit me in the body. Those slams hurt more than when he caught me in the face.