Nothing In Her Way (14 page)

“I told him I’d do what I could, and that if I could possibly find out when one was coming off and what the name of the horse was I’d try to get in touch with him without letting you know. All very uncertain and iffy, you understand. Naturally, that wouldn’t do at all, so then he came up with the perfect solution.” She stopped and looked at me with her eyes brimming with laughter. She nodded toward the money. “I’m to get it bet, if I can.”

“O.K.,” I said. “We’ve got him. But there’s one thing. You let him give you too much money.”

“Why?”

“Well, he has to win this one, of course, for the come-on. And to make it look good we’ve got to set up a specific race—a long race, naturally, something a mile and a furlong or over—so you can show him what he won it on. Suppose a real long shot comes in? You may have to fork over fifteen or twenty thousand dollars. That’s pretty big bait.”

She shook her head, gesturing with the cigarette. “Naturally, I’m not going to bet all of it. I just couldn’t get it placed, because there wasn’t enough time. That’s part of the tease, you see. So when I do figure out a way to get past you and make a really good bet for the Happy Conspirator, he’ll unload like a dropped piggie bank.”

“That’s better,” I said.

“But wait,” she went on. “That’s not all. We’re going to carry your idea of a specific race one step further. I’m going to give him the word that I’ve got part of his money bet and tell him the horse, before the results come in over the radio.”

“How?” I asked. “The only way you can do that is to call some bookie for the results. They usually have them a few minutes to a quarter hour before the radio station gets around to them, but it’d be fairly obvious. He’d see through that.”

“Not if I’d been sitting in the bar with him for the past hour or two and he knew I hadn’t called anybody.”

“Fine,” I said. “But if you’d been sitting there with him for that long, why hadn’t you told him the name of the horse before?”

“Because,” she said, grinning, “you were there too. And of course I couldn’t say anything in front of you. The minute you leave, I tell him. And then in maybe ten minutes the results come in over the radio in the bar, and sure enough, the horse has won.”

“It sounds wonderful,” I said. “But how?”

“I’m working on it. The first thing we need is a telegram. You go downtown in the morning and send me one.”

We worked out the details. It was a beautiful piece of skullduggery, but it was going to take very precise timing to make it work. I went down the next morning and sent the telegram, and when it came we steamed it open so the envelope could be resealed, and saved it.

To make the whole setup look good we had to make him wait, and the longer he waited, the better it would be. The tension started to build up again as I got to thinking of Bolton and the police, and I was growing jumpy and irritable. He called her twice, wanting to know what was happening, and she stalled him. I kept watching the papers for a spot that looked good, and on the fourth night, when the morning papers hit the street, I found one. The eighth race on the next day’s card at Hialeah was at a mile and a quarter, a claiming affair for cheap horses. I bought a Racing Form and went back to the apartment to check on it.

It looked fine. The horses were a sorry lot, nonwinners since the first of the year, and there was nothing that stood out. The public selectors didn’t agree on anything, and unless the Miami papers all happened to hit on the same horse, there wouldn’t be any outstanding favorite. This was fine, because if there was a standout at a short price and he accidentally stumbled home in front it wouldn’t look too good. We were supposed to be dealing in long shots. It looked as if Country Mile, Sweet Bobo, and Dinny’s Queen would get most of the play, but in a field like that anything could win.

“This is the one,” I said. “Let’s go.”

“How many entries?” she asked.

“Nine. We won’t get the scratches until too late, but we can handle nine all right.”

We wrote them all down, with a code word consisting of a masculine name opposite each horse, and spent an hour memorizing them. There couldn’t be any slip, for if she got the wrong horse the whole thing would blow up. Around ten she called Lachlan, but he wasn’t in.

She tried again at midnight and got him. “Hello,” she said very quietly. “No. He’s in the bath. I just now got a chance to call. There may be something coming up tomorrow about—you know. He just got a phone call from Miami. No, I didn’t hear much of it, but there won’t be anything certain until morning, anyway…Yes, I’ll try.” Then she added hurriedly, “I’ve got to hang up now. I’ll call you.”

In the morning we went downtown together around eleven o’clock. She was supposed to hurry back alone just before one, call him from the apartment, and tell him excitedly that she had wonderful news and to meet her downstairs at the bar. Posttime for the eighth at Hialeah would be between two-thirty and two-forty p.m., Pacific time, and this would put her in the bar with him about an hour and a half before the race was even run. And she was going to tell him the name of the horse she had bet his money on. The gimmick was that I had to walk into the bar right behind her, before she could say a word to him.

When we got downtown we checked to be sure he wasn’t following us, and then went up to the Starlite Roof of the Sir Francis Drake for a drink and on over to a place on Geary for lunch. It was twelve-thirty when we came out of the restaurant. We parted and she walked on down toward Powell to get a cab in front of the St. Francis. I went the other way, intending to pick up a scratch sheet and see how many horses were out of the race.

It was just luck that I noticed him. He went by without looking at me at all, going in the opposite direction, the way she was headed. I froze up, not moving, waiting to be sure. Maybe he hadn’t seen her. The hell he hadn’t. He was following her. I turned and took after the two of them and when I caught up with him he was about thirty feet behind her. She never did look back. I grabbed his arm and wheeled him around.

“Looking for somebody, Donnelly?” I asked.

There was no expression on his face. “Well,” he said. “It’s Strong Boy. And still grabbing at people.”

She had flagged a cab and was climbing in. I took a deep breath of relief, and then it cut off suddenly as a big hand, descended on my shoulder from behind.

“You ought to grab somebody your own size, pal,” a voice said in my ear, and I turned, realizing too late that Donnelly’d had a convoy. The big slab of a face on a level with mine was tough and the eyes were full of a sour humor.

“Old friend of yours, Monk?” he asked Donnelly.

“I was following the broad and he loused it up.”

“Well, maybe he knows where she lives.”

“Yeah,” Donnelly said. “Yeah. Maybe he does.”

“I tell you how we could find out,” the humorist said. “We could ask him. Maybe he talks.”

“Yes,” I said. “I know where the broad lives. She lives with me.”

“Well, that’s nice. And where do you live? With her, I suppose.”

“That’s right.”

“You walk behind him, Monk, and I’ll walk on his right. Come along, pal.”

It was in the sunlight of high noon on Geary Street with a thousand people going by. They couldn’t do it.

“You couldn’t shoot here in the street,” I said.

“I’ll tell you how you can find out.”

I went.

It was only about two blocks away, a small hotel with a potted palm in the lobby. We went up to their room. Donnelly took the gun out of the holster under his left arm and clicked the safety off. He sat down on the bed and lit a cigarette, tipping his head to one side to let the smoke curl up.

The big man rocked on his feet and slammed me in the stomach. I fell back against the wall with my left arm across the rickety dresser. I got up, feeling sick, and lost my head. I started for him.

Donnelly motioned with the gun. “Uh-uh.” It was like something out of a gangster movie.

He hit me again and I slid down the wall to the floor, trying to get my breath.

“Ask him where the babe lives,” Donnelly said.

“Where does the babe live?”

I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t even breathe.

“Where’s the babe live?”

I shook my head and he hauled me to my feet and hit me again. He must have been a pro at one time, because he didn’t break his hands up hitting me in the face. He hit me in the belly.

“Where’s the babe?”

It was the lunch, and the water I’d drunk. I was in agony. He hit me again.

“He ain’t going to talk,” Donnelly said. “If we beat him up enough to make him sing he’ll be too big a mess to get out of here without the cops on us.”

“He’ll talk, all right. I been saving that one.”

“He’d just pass out. Leave him go.”

“The hell.”

“Leave him go.”

“How about one for the road?”

“What did I say?” Donnelly asked.

“All right.”

They waved me out the door. I could still stand up, and I made it. It didn’t add up, but I was too sick to think about it. Then I was in the street and breathing again and I knew how crazy it was. He wanted to know where Cathy was and he wouldn’t give up that easily. I walked to the corner before I arrived at the obvious answer. They were going to follow me. I looked back, but I didn’t see them. I turned a corner, walked another block, and turned again, watching the people behind me for a repeater. By the time I got down to Market I had him spotted. It wasn’t Donnelly or the big man, but someone I hadn’t seen before, a middleweight in a tan topcoat and high-crowned snap-brim hat. He was following me, all right, and I couldn’t go back to the apartment unless I could shake him.

Then suddenly I remembered, and I felt cold all over. I looked at my watch. It was five minutes of one. Cathy would be coming down to the bar to meet Lachlan and tell him the news she didn’t have yet, depending on me to be there to queer it until we got the results of the race. If I didn’t show up, the whole campaign was wrecked. What could she tell him? That she had bet his money, but she didn’t know the name of the horse? I started to run, looking for a telephone booth, frantic with fear that I was already too late.

There was a drugstore on the corner and I hurtled in, sidestepping customers and plowing my way to the booth at the rear. There was a woman in it, and a man waiting. I started to turn and run back to the street to look for another one when I saw the woman hang up and reach for the door.

I beat the man to it. “Pardon me. Emergency. Wife. Ambulance.”

He took one look at my face and stepped back. “Sure,” he said.

I dropped a coin in and dialed. The line was busy. I dug out the coin and popped it back into the slot. I got another busy signal. God, did they have only one trunk out of that board? Was everybody in the building calling out at once? I dialed again.

“Good afternoon, Montlake Apartments.”

“Dr. Rogers,” I said. “Nine-A.”

It was too late. She was certain to have started by this time. I could hear the telephone ringing. It rang again. And again. We were sunk.

Then it clicked, and I could feel the breath ooze out of me.

“Cathy?”

“Mike! I was just going out the door.”

“Don’t,” I said frantically. “Hang on until you see me getting out of a cab in front. I can’t explain now. But hold everything.”

“All right. But hurry.”

I went back out front. He was standing by a newspaper rack, reading the headlines and watching the door. I started down Market, walking slowly. When I saw a cab coming with no others behind it I waited until it was almost abreast and then leaped to the curb, waving my arm. He stopped and I climbed in. I could see my man standing by the curb, listening.

“Palace Hotel,” I said.

“Right, Chief.”

When we reached the next corner I leaned forward in the seat. “Never mind the Palace. Make it the Montlake.” My stomach felt as if I’d been stepped on by an elephant.

I looked at my watch again as I hurried into the lobby. It was nine minutes past one. Lachlan would already be in the bar. Everything now depended on my finding the right bellboy. He was a smart kid named Barney, with an alert eye for the easy dollar. I spotted him over near the desk and caught his attention.

I got him off to one side, reaching in my pocket at the same time. “You’ve got to do me a favor, Barney. I’ve got a big bet on a horse in the eighth race at Hialeah,” I said, almost whispering, and looking around the lobby like a criminal. “My wife’d raise hell if she knew it. So I want you to call the bookie for me and find out who won. Can you do that?”

“Sure, Doctor,” he said, eyeing the ten spot in my hand. “Where’ll you be?”

“In the bar. Or the apartment. Try the bar first. She’ll be with me, so write it on something and say it’s a phone call. No. Wait,” I said, hauling out the telegram. “I’ve got a better idea. Write it on this. On the front side of the wire. And then seal it up again. Say it’s a telegram that just came for me. You got that?”

“Sure.”

“You know the phone numbers of any bookies?”

He shook his head. “I used to know plenty. They’re hard to find now, though.”

“Well, here.” I handed him the slip of paper with the telephone number of the horse parlor I’d located.

I could see her stepping out of the elevator now. It was timed beautifully. She came toward us.

“Oh, there you are, dear. You’re late. I want a drink before lunch.”

“I’ll be right with you.”

She looked at us a little suspiciously. “What are you doing?”

“Just telling Barney I was expecting an answer to a wire, and where he could find me. You run along. I’ll be right with you.”

She started into the bar. Barney and I grinned at each other. “Remember, the race’ll be off around two-thirty-five. Call that bookie right away, and keep calling until you get it. And bring it right in. I’ve got too much on this one.” I handed him the ten.

“I know how you feel,” he said.

She had gone through the door now. I gave her a few more seconds, walking very slowly. When I came she had just sat down at the booth with Lachlan and was talking eagerly, her face alight with excitement. She looked up and saw me and her eyes went blank as she cut it off.

I walked up. “I thought I saw you coming in here when I got out of the cab. What are we drinking?”

Lachlan and I nodded. Cathy recovered and began chattering about something to cover the awkward pause. I sat down in a chair at the end of the table and ordered Scotch.

It should have been amusing, sitting there knowing Lachlan was raging to find out what Cathy had to tell him and knowing there wasn’t anything he could do about it. It wasn’t, however, for I wasn’t even thinking about it. Not any more. I was thinking about the fact that Donnelly was in San Francisco looking for her, and knew she was here, and that he had help now. Our time was running out so fast you could see it go.

San Francisco’s not New York, and looking for somebody who’s transient and who would be living the way she would is easy. You just cruise around Powell Street and Union Square and Nob Hill, and it’s only a question of time.

I tried to shake it off and get back to the matter at hand. We had to keep Lachlan here because the thing would be pointless unless she was with him every minute so he’d know she hadn’t had a chance to get the results of the race. There wasn’t much chance he would leave, but I held the bait out where he could see it.

“Have to get back downtown in a little while,” I said to Cathy, pretending to be unaware of the tension around the table. “Just time for a drink or two. Unless you want to have lunch?”

She glanced at Lachlan. “No, dear. I don’t think so. Why don’t you get something downtown?”

I knew she was wondering what held me up and why I’d sounded so strange over the telephone, but there was no way I could tell her. Time dragged. I ordered another round of drinks. Lachlan stalled as long as he could, hoping I would leave, but finally gave in and ordered.

“What time is your appointment, dear?” Cathy asked, making a good act of being impatient and trying not to show it.

I shrugged. “Any time after two-thirty.”

The conversation would flare up for a few minutes, then die out until somebody prodded it again. Two-thirty came, and then two-forty-five. The strain was getting me now. What was keeping Barney? All the horse parlors should have it by this time. We had to have it before the radio station put it on the air.

I was just starting to sweat in earnest when I saw him hurrying in from the lobby entrance. Paying no attention, I picked up my glass and started to take a drink.

“Dr. Rogers. Oh, Dr. Rogers.”

I turned. “Yes?”

“Telegram,” he said. “It just came, and I thought you were here in the bar.”

“Thanks,” I said. I handed him a dollar.

They were both watching me. I was at the end of the table, and of course they couldn’t see anything but the back of the telegram. I tore the envelope open and pretended to read. Barney had written it in pencil down in one corner. “Devil’s Toupee,” it said. I was conscious of thinking it was an awful name for a horse and it was no wonder he was running in two-thousand-dollar claimers. There was no payoff price, so Barney must have got it right off the griddle, before they posted it. I hoped it was official.

I stood up. They looked at me inquiringly. “It’s from Carl,” I said to Cathy. “I’d better call him. I’ll see you later.”

I folded the wire, stuck it in my pocket, and went out. “Carl” was the code name for Devil’s Toupee, and now she could tell him the name of the horse she’d bet his money on. They’d get the bartender to turn on the radio to the station that broadcast the race results between recordings.

It was a smooth trick. Of course, a sharper would probably see through that telegram stunt and would know I had told her some way, but the thing that Lachlan would never get past was the fact that she had started to tell him almost two hours ago, when I came in and she had to shut up. That was the snapper, and it was a good one.

I hurried across the lobby and went up to the apartment. Switching on the radio, I tuned in the station. There was music at first and then, after a commercial, the announcer came on with the results of the third at Santa Anita. Then there was another recording. I began to worry. Suppose it had already been broadcast? The whole thing would be like a joke without a punch line. I was curious about the price, too, because that was important. Devil’s Toupee should have been a long shot.

There was another long-winded commercial. Then it came. It was Devil’s Toupee, Country Mile, and Ladyboots. Devil’s Toupee paid $26.80, $14.60, and $9.00. I whistled, and did a quick calculation. She was going to tell—or had already told—Lachlan she had managed to get $400 of his money bet, so she’d have to pay off $5,360. That was a lot of bait. But it was going to be irresistible—better than twelve to one on a sure thing.

It was. She came in full of excitement about twenty minutes later and told me how it had gone.

“He’s got it,” she said, perching on the arm of my chair. “That easy-money fever. You could see that look in his eyes, and his hands were trembling after the announcer gave the payoffs. It’s not the money, Mike. It’s a disease. He’s helpless now, like a baby. I mean, the whole thing went off so perfectly. He’d fight you now if you even tried to tell him it was a gag.

“Just as I knew he would, as soon as I told him the name of the horse, he made the bartender turn on the radio so we could wait for the results. Then he dug up a newspaper that was around the bar and looked up the public selectors’ picks.

There are three of them, you know, and each one had three horses in that race, and not one of them even mentioned Devil’s Toupee. I just smiled at that, of course. Then when the results came in—that’s all, brother. He’s a sitting duck.”

She stopped to light a cigarette, and laughed at me through the smoke. “Then, of course, he started to cry because he didn’t have more money on it. I told him it was just impossible; I didn’t have enough time and bookies were too scarce now. And that I was taking a long chance, crossing you that way, even getting four hundred down. I said he had no idea what you were like when it came to letting out information—that you wouldn’t let your own mother in on it, and so on. I said you were dangerous in a rage and I was afraid of what would happen if you found out. He climbed down then and became very apologetic. I’m too good a thing to alienate, you see, and he has to keep me buttered up. Of course it wasn’t my fault. I’d done beautifully. The only thing was, he just had to figure out some way to get a real bet made the next time.”

“O.K.,” I said. “The thing to do is let him stew in his own juice for a while. He’ll be desperate to get that bet down by the time you have a way figured out for him to do it.” I stopped and looked at her. “There’s just one catch. We haven’t got much time.”

She stared at me. “Why? We’ve got all the time there is.”

“No, we haven’t. Donnelly’s here in town. Looking for you.”

“Oh, Donnelly’s foot!” she exclaimed impatiently. “I wish you’d quit worrying about that moronic pipsqueak.” She broke off suddenly, just remembering. “So that’s what it was? With all this other stuff, I forgot about it. What happened?”

I told her. She was furious at first. “Why, that chiseling little vermin! We ought to—” She stopped.

“That’s it, exactly,” I said. “We ought to—what? Call the police? He hasn’t done anything—yet. And, if I might point it out, we’re not in a very good position ourselves to be jumping into the lap of the police force.”