Seven Slayers

  Seven Slayers

  Paul Cain

  * * *

  Seven Slayers

  Paul Cain

  This page formatted 2004 Blackmask Online.

  http://www.blackmask.com

  Black

  Red 71

  Parlor Trick

  One, Two, Three

  Murder In Blue

  Pigeon Blood

  Pineapple

  * * *

  Black

  THE MAN SAID: “McCary.”

  “No.” I shook my head and started to push past him, and he said: “McCary,” again thickly, and then he crumpled into a heap on the wet sidewalk.

  It was dark there, there wasn't anyone on the street—I could have walked away. I started to walk away and then the sucker instinct got the best of me and I went back and bent over him.

  I shook him and said: “Come on, chump—get up out of the puddle.”

  A cab came around the corner and its headlights shone on me—and there I was, stooping over a drunk whom I'd never seen before, who thought my name was McCary. Any big-town driver would have pegged it for a stick-up, would have shoved off or sat still. That wasn't a big town—the cab slid alongside the curb and a fresh-faced kid stuck his face into the light from the meter and said: “Where to?”

  I said: “No place.” I ducked my head at the man on the sidewalk. “Maybe this one'll ride—he's paralyzed.”

  The kid clucked: “Tch, tch.”

  He opened the door and I stooped over and took hold of the drunk under his armpits and jerked him up and across the sidewalk and into the cab. He was heavy in a funny limp way. There was a hard bulge on his left side, under the arm.

  I had an idea. I asked the kid: “Who's McCary?”

  He looked self-consciously blank for a minute and then he said: “There's two—Luke and Ben. Luke's the old man-owns a lot of real estate. Ben runs a pool-hall.”

  “Let's go see Ben,” I said. I got into the cab.

  We went several blocks down the dark street and then I tapped on the glass and motioned to the kid to pull over to the curb. He stopped and slid the glass and I said: “Who's McCary?”

  “I told you.”

  I said: “What about him?”

  The kid made the kind of movement with his shoulders that would pass for a shrug in the sticks. “I told you—he runs a pool-hall.”

  I said: “Listen. This guy came up to me a few minutes ago and said 'McCary'—this guy is very dead.”

  The kid looked like he was going to jump out of the cab. His eyes were hanging out.

  I waited.

  The kid swallowed. He said: “Let's dump him.”

  I shook my head slightly and waited.

  “Ben and the old man don't get along—they've been raising hell the last couple of weeks. This is the fourth.” He jerked his head towards the corpse beside me.

  “Know him?”

  He shook his head and then—to be sure—took a flashlight out of the side-pocket and stuck it back through the opening and looked at the man's dead face. He shook his head again.

  I said: “Let's go see Ben.”

  “You're crazy, Mister. If this is one of Ben's boys he'll tie you up to it, and if it ain't...”

  “Let's go see Ben.”

  Ben McCary was a blond fat man, about forty—he smiled a great deal.

  We sat in a little office above his pool-hall and he smiled heartily across all his face and said: “Well, sir—what can I do for you?”

  “My name is Black. I came over from St. Paul—got in about a half hour ago.”

  He nodded, still with the wide hearty smile; stared at me cordially out of his wide-set blue eyes.

  I went on: “I heard there was a lot of noise over here and I thought I might make a connection—pick up some change.”

  McCary juggled his big facial muscles into something resembling innocence.

  “I don't know just what you mean, Buddy,” he said. “What's your best game?”

  “What's yours?”

  He grinned again. “Well,” he said, “you can get plenty of action up in the front room.”

  I said: “Don't kid me, Mister McCary. I didn't come over here to play marbles.”

  He looked pleasantly blank.

  “I used to work for Dickie Johnson down in K C,” I went on.

  “Who sent you to me?”

  “Man named Lowry—that's the name on the label of his coat. He's dead.”

  McCary moved a little in his chair but didn't change his expression.

  “I came in on the nine-fifty train,” I went on, “and started walking uptown to a hotel. Lowry came up to me over on Dell Street and said 'McCary!' and fell down. He's outside in a cab—stiff.”

  McCary looked up at the ceiling and then down at the desk. He said: “Well, well”—and took a skinny little cigar out of a box in one of the desk-drawers and lighted it. He finally got around to looking at me again and said: “Well, well,” again.

  I didn't say anything.

  After he'd got the cigar going, he turned another of his big smiles on and said: “How am I supposed to know you're on the level?”

  I said: “I'll bite. What doyou think?”

  He laughed. “I like you,” he said. “By——! I like you.”

  I said I thought that was fine and, “Now let's try to do some business.”

  “Listen,” he said. “Luke McCary has run this town for thirty years. He ain't my old man—he married my mother and insisted on my taking his name.”

  He puffed slowly at his cigar. “I guess I was a pretty ornery kid”—he smiled boyishly—“when I came home from school I got into a jam—you know—kid stuff. The old man kicked me out.”

  I lighted a cigarette and leaned back.

  “I went down to South America for about ten years, and then I went to Europe. I came back here two years ago and everything was all right for a while and then the old man and I got to scrapping again.”

  I nodded.

  “He'd had everything his own way too long. I opened this place about three months ago and took a lot of his gambling business away—a lot of the shipyard men and miners....”

  McCary paused, sucked noisily at his cigar.

  “Luke went clean off his nut,” he went on. “He thought I was going to take it all away from him....” McCary brought his big fist down hard on the desk. “And by the ——! Iam. Lowry's the third man of mine in two weeks.

  It's plenty in the open now.”

  I said: “How about Luke's side?”

  “We got one of the—” he said. “A runner.”

  “It isn't entirely over the gambling concession?”

  “Hell, no. That's all it was at first. All I wanted was to make a living. Now I've got two notch-joints at the other end of town. I've got a swell protection in with the law and I'm building up a liquor business that would knock your eye out.”

  I asked: “Is Luke in it by himself?”

  McCary shook his head slowly. “He don't show anywhere. There's a fellah named Stokes runs the works for him—a young fellah. They been partners nearly eight years. It's all in Stokes' name....”

  “What does Stokes look like?”

  “Tall—about your build. Shiny black hair, and a couple of big gold teeth”—McCary tapped his upper front teeth with a fat finger—“here.”

  I said: “How much is he worth to you?”

  McCary stood up. He leaned across the desk and grinned down at me and said: “Not a nickel.” His eyes were wide and clear like a baby's. He said slowly: “The old man is worth twenty-five hundred smackers toyou.”

  I didn't say anything and McCary sat down and opened another drawer and took out a bottle of whiskey. He poured a couple of drinks.

  “I think t
he best angle for you,” he said, “is to go to Stokes and give him the same proposition you gave me. Nobody saw you come in here. It's the only way you can get near the old man.”

  I nodded. We drank.

  “By——! I like your style,” he said. “I've been trying to get along with an outfit of yokels.”

  We smiled at one another. I was glad he said he liked me because I knew he didn't like me at all. I was one up on him, I didn't like him very well either.

  Stokes sat on a corner of the big library-table, his long legs dangling.

  He said: “You're airing Ben—how do we know you'll play ball with us?” His eyes were stony.

  I looked at the old man. I said: “Idon't like that fat—son of yours—and I never double-cross the best offer.”

  Luke McCary was a thin little man with a pinched red face, bushy white hair. He sat in a big armchair on the other side of the table, his head and neck and wild white hair sticking up out of the folds of a heavy blue bathrobe.

  He looked at me sharply. He said: “I don't want any part of it.”

  “Then I'll have to act on the best offer.”

  Stokes grinned.

  The old man stood up. He said: “Why—damn you and your guts....” He opened a humidor on the table and took out a small automatic. “I can shoot the buttons off your vest, young fella... I can shoot you for a yegg right now, and no one'll ever know the difference....”

  I said:“You'll know the difference—for not having taken advantage of talent, when you had the chance.”

  He put the automatic back in the box and sat down and smiled gently at Stokes.

  Stokes was looking at the floor. He said: “Five grand if you wipe out the whole outfit. Run 'em out of town, stick 'em in jail, poison 'em... Anything.”

  “Wouldn't you like a new railroad station too?”

  They didn't say anything for a minute. They looked at me.

  I went on: “No sale. I'll take care of Ben for that—but busting up the organization would mean sending for a few friends—would cost a hell of a lot more than five....”

  The old man looked the least bit scared for a second-then he said: “Ben'll do.”

  “How about laying something on the line?”

  Stokes said: “Don't be silly.”

  The old man cackled. “Well I never saw such guts,” he said.

  I said: “All right, gentlemen. Maybe I'll call you later.”

  Stokes went downstairs with me. He smiled in a strange way. “I never knew the old man to go for anything that look's as tricky as this. I guess it looks good because Ben thinks you're working for him.”

  I nodded. I said: “Uh huh—Ben's a swell guy. He'll probably blast me on sight.”

  “I don't think you'll find him at his joint.”

  I waited and Stokes leaned against the door, said: “There's a big outfit downstate that's been running twelve trucks a week through here from the Border. They've paid off for this division of the highway for years—to the old man. The last two convoys have been hi-jacked at Four-mile Creek, north of town—a couple drivers were killed....”

  He paused, looked wise a minute, went on: “That was Ben. There was a convoy due through last night—they run in bunches of four, or six—it didn't show up. It's a cinch for tonight—and that's where Ben'll be.”

  I said: “That's fine. How do I get there?”

  Stokes told me to follow the main highway north, and where to take the cutoff that crossed Four-mile. I thanked him and went out.

  I walked down to a drugstore on the corner and called a cab. When it came, I got in and had the driver jockey around until he was parked in a spot where I could watch the front door of the McCary house.

  After a while, Stokes came out and got into a roadster and snorted up past us and turned down the side street. I told the driver to follow him. I don't think the driver knew who it was. It didn't matter a hell of a lot anyway.

  I got out and told the driver to wait and walked on down Dell Street, keeping close to the fence. It was raining pretty hard again. I passed the place where Lowry had come up to me, and I went on to the corner; and then went back the same way until I came to the narrow gate I had missed in the darkness.

  It was more a door than a gate, set flush with the high fence. I finagled with the latch for a while and then pushed the gate open slowly and went into a yard. It was a big yard, full of old lumber and old box-car trucks—stuff like that. There was a long shed along one side, and a small two-story building on the far side.

  I stumbled along as quietly asI could towards the building and then I went around the corner of a big pile of ties, and Stokes' roadster was sitting there very dark and quiet in the rain. I went past it and up to the building and along the wall until I saw the lighted window.

  I had to rustle around quietly and find a box and stand on it to see through the little square window. The panes were dirty; the inside looked like a time-office. Stokes and Ben McCary and another man were there. They were arguing about something. McCary was walking around waving his arms; Stokes and the other man were sitting down. I couldn't hear a word they said. The rain was roaring on the tin-roof of the shed and all I could hear was a buzz of voices.

  I didn't stay there very long. It didn't mean anything. I got down and put the box back and wandered around until I found McCary's car. Anyway, I guessed it was his car. It was a big touring-car and it was parked near the gate on the opposite side of the block from Dell Street, where Stokes had come in.

  I got in and sat in the back seat. The side-curtains were drawn and it was nice to get out of the rain for a while.

  In about ten minutes, the light went out and I could hear voices coming towards the car. I sat down on the floor. The three of them stood outside for a minute talking about “a call from Harry”—then Stokes and the other man went off towards Stokes' car, and McCary squeezed into the front seat and stepped on the starter.

  I waited till we had burned through the gate and were halfway up the block, and then I put a gun against the back of McCary's neck. He straightened out in the seat and eased the brake on. I told him to go on to the old man's house.

  We sat in the big room upstairs. The old man sat in the big armchair by the table, and Ben sat across from him. I was half lying down in another chair out of the circle of light and I had the gun on my lap.

  The old man was fit to be tied. He was green with hate and he kept glaring at Ben out of his little red-rimmed eyes.

  I said: “Well, gran'pa—if you'll make out that check now, we'll finish this business.”The old man swallowed.

  “You can give meyour twenty-five hundred in cash,” I went on to Ben. “Then I'll put the chill on both of you—and everybody'll be happy.”

  They must have thought I meant it. Ben got rigid, and the old man cleared his throat and made a slow pass at the humidor.

  I fiddled with the gun. I threw a pack of cigarettes on the table and said: “Smoke?”

  The old man looked at the cigarettes and at the gun in my hand, and relaxed.

  I said: “Still and all—it don't quite square with my weakness for efficiency, yet. Maybe you boys'll get together and make me an offer for Stokes. He's the star—he's been framing both of you.”

  I don't think Ben was very surprised—but the old man looked like he'd swallowed a mouse.

  “He's been in with Ben on the truck heistings,” I went on. “He's been waiting for a good spot to dump you—working on your connections.”

  The old man said: “That's a—damned lie.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  I went on to Ben: “He made the five-grand offer for your hide, in Luke's name, tonight—and he gave me the Four-mile steer....” I hesitated a moment. “Only you wouldn't try three in the same spot, would you?”

  Ben finally got his smile working. He started to say something but I interrupted him:

  “Stokes told me you rubbed the two boys on the trucks, too.”

  Ben's smile went out like a ligh
t. He said: “Stokes shot both those men himself—and there wasn't any need for it. They were lined up alongside the road....”

  Something in the soft way he said it made it sound good.

  I said: “He'll be around your place—no?”

  “He went home.”

  Ben gave me the number and I called up, but there wasn't any answer.

  We sat there without saying anything for several minutes, and then the door downstairs opened and closed and somebody came up.

  I said to Ben: “What'll you bet?”

  The door opened and Stokes came in. He had a long gray raincoat on and it made him look even taller and thinner than he was. He stood in the doorway looking mostly at the old man; then he came in and sat down on a corner of the table.

  I said: “Now that the class is all here, you can start bidding.”

  The old man laughed deep in his throat. Stokes was watching me expressionlessly, and Ben sat smiling stupidly at his hands.

  “I'm auctioning off the best little town in the state, gentlemen,” I went on. “Best schools, sewage system, post-office.... Best street-lighting, water supply....”

  I was having a swell time.

  The old man was staring malevolently at Stokes. “I'll give you twenty-five thousand dollars,” he said to me, “to give me that pistol and get out of here.”

  If I'd thought there was any chance of collecting, I might have talked to him. Things happen that way sometimes.

  I looked at my watch and put the gun down on the arm of the chair where it looked best and picked up the phone.

  I asked Ben: “Where's the business going to be pulled off tonight?”

  Ben wanted to be nice. He said: “A coffee joint about six miles north of town.” He glanced at Stokes. “This—tried to swing it back to Four-mile when he thought you'd be there sniping for me.”

  “The boys are there now?”

  He nodded. “The trucks have been stopping there to eat lately.”

  I asked the operator for long-distance, and asked for the Bristol Hotel in Talley, the first town north. The connection went right through. I asked for Mister Cobb.

  When he answered, I told him about the coffee place, and that I wasn't sure about it; and told him he'd find the stuff that had been heisted in the sheds of the yard on Dell Street. I wasn't sure of that either, but I watched Ben and Stokes when I said it and it looked all right. Cobb told me that he'd gotten into Talley with the convoy about midnight and had been waiting for my call since then.I hung up. “There'll be some swell fireworks out there,” I said. “There's a sub-machine-gun on every truck—double crews. And it don't matter much,” I went on to Ben, “how good your steer is. They'll be watching out all the way.”