“Not with me.”
He threw a lot of profanity around. Then:
“It’s my money and I won’t have it wasted on a lot of damn-foolery. If you won’t take it for what you’ve done, give it back to me.”
“Stop yelling at me,” I said. “I’ll give you nothing except a good job of city-cleaning. That’s what you bargained for, and that’s what you’re going to get. You know now that your son was killed by young Albury, and not by your playmates. They know now that Thaler wasn’t helping you double-cross them. With your son dead, you’ve been able to promise them that the newspapers won’t dig up any more dirt. All’s lovely and peaceful again.
“I told you I expected something like that. That’s why I sewed you up. And you are sewed up. The check has been certified, so you can’t stop payment. The letter of authority may not be as good as a contract, but you’ll have to go into court to prove that it isn’t. If you want that much of that kind of publicity, go ahead. I’ll see that you get plenty.
“Your fat chief of police tried to assassinate me last night. I don’t like that. I’m just mean enough to want to ruin him for it. Now I’m going to have my fun. I’ve got ten thousand dollars of your money to play with. I’m going to use it opening Poisonville up from Adam’s apple to ankles. I’ll see that you get my reports as regularly as possible. I hope you enjoy them.”
And I went out of the house with his curses sizzling around my head.
VIII. A Tip on Kid Cooper
I spent most of the afternoon writing my three days’ reports on the Donald Willsson operation. Then I sat around, burned Fatimas, and thought about the Elihu Willsson operation until dinner time.
I went down to the hotel dining room and had just decided in favor of pounded rump steak with mushrooms when I heard myself being paged.
The boy took me to one of the lobby booths. Dinah Brand’s lazy voice came out of the receiver:
“Max wants to see you. Can you drop in tonight?”
“Your place?”
“Yes.”
I promised to drop in and returned to the dining room and my meal. When I had finished eating I went up to my room, fifth floor front. I unlocked the door and went in, snapping on the light.
A bullet kissed a hole in the door-frame close to my noodle.
More bullets made more holes in door, door-frame and wall, but by that time I had carried my noodle into a safe corner, one out of line with the window.
Across the street, I knew, was a four-story office building with a roof a little above the level of my window. The roof would be dark. My light was on. There was no percentage in trying to peep out under those conditions.
I looked around for something to chuck at the light globe, found a Gideon Bible, and chucked it. The bulb popped apart, giving me darkness.
The shooting had stopped.
I crept to the window, kneeling with an eye to one of its lower corners. The roof across the street was dark and too high for me to see beyond its rim. Ten minutes of this one-eyed spying got me nothing except a kink in my neck.
I went to the phone and asked the girl to send the house copper up.
He was a portly, white-mustached man with the round undeveloped forehead of a child. He wore a too-small hat on the back of his head to show the forehead. His name was Keever. He got too excited over the shooting.
The hotel manager came in, a plump man with carefully controlled face, voice and manner. He didn’t get excited at all. He took the this-is-unheard-of-but-not-really-serious-of-course attitude of a street fakir whose mechanical dingus flops during a demonstration.
We risked light, getting a new globe, and added up the bullet-holes. There were ten of them.
Policemen came, went, and returned to report no luck in picking up whatever trail there might have been. Noonan called up. He talked to the sergeant in charge of the police detail, and then to me.