Lucky Stiff by Craig Rice (best large ebook reader txt) 📕
This was their wedding anniversary. He couldn't even remember which one. It didn't really matter. All that mattered was the waking up every morning and seeing her long, silky hair spread out on the pillow, and her face, childlike in sleep, nestled in her arm. Coffee in the sunroom in the morning, Helene in her violet chiffon negligee, or her fluffy white robe, or her bandanna sunsuit, or, on special occasions, the blue satin house pajamas she'd been wearing the first time they met.
"Helene," he said, "every time I look at you I feel as if someone had just given my heart a hot-foot."
Her eyes warmed. "Darling," she whispered, "I didn't know you were a poet!" This time her hand reached out for his, and it wasn't icy cold.
Jake Justus, ex-reporter, ex-press agent, and, as he occasionally reminded himself, definitely ex-amateur detective, sighed again. Happily, this time. That unpleasant knot of anxiety in h
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“Not half as bad as I feel,” the lawyer growled. “Sit down.” He scowled at the top of his desk. “Are we still working together?”
“We were the last I heard. By the way, I don’t suppose you’ll ever be able to collect from those two mugs now. Too bad. I’d thought maybe you’d split the fee with me.”
“I’m thoroughly ethical,” Malone said primly. “I never split fees.” He took out a cigar and began unwrapping it. “I may be able to wind everything up, for you and me both, if you’ll tell me a couple of things.”
“Chum,” Harmon said, chain-lighting a cigarette, “I’m the original quiz kid. Ask anything you like.”
“What were you talking about with Mrs. Childers in The Happy Days saloon, and when you went to the St. Clair girl’s apartment last night, why did you go upstairs first?”
Al Harmon stared at him for a moment in sheer amazement. Then he grinned.
He said, “I’m beginning to think you’ve got second sight. O.K., here’s the works.” He leaned back in his chair. “While I was mousing around this protection racket, I tumbled to a couple of things. One, Big Joe had heard about it, and he didn’t like it. It was the sort of thing he wouldn’t stand for, especially not in his territory. I had a hunch Big Joe found out who was back of it. Two, Big Joe was killed in The Happy Days saloon. Catch?”
Malone nodded and said, “You cast two and two upon the waters and it came back cake.”
“Right, pal. So I figure, suppose the babe isn’t guilty. Suppose Al Harmon makes like a detective, finds out who is guilty, saves the babe, and is a hero all over the place—just as a little sideline to the main job, see? Only it don’t work out so good.”
“So,” Malone prompted him, “you decided to go to work on Mrs. Childers.”
“Right again. But I had the murder all figured out, see. Big Joe wanted to smash this nice, profitable racket. He got bumped, and his girl friend got framed. Her lawyer, who was mixed up with the racket, helped frame her. Why frame her? Well, she must have known too much about the racket. Big Joe probably confided things to her.”
“Only,” Malone said, “if she did—why did she keep her mouth shut after he was killed?”
“At that point,” Al Harmon said cheerfully, “I am stuck.” He lit another cigarette. “And when I first went to work on Mrs. Childers, I was stuck. As far as she was concerned, the verdict was correct, the case was closed, everything was settled, and the hell with it.” He paused.
“And yesterday?” Malone said.
“Yesterday she comes looking me up at The Happy Days. She sees everything different now. Her eyes have been opened. Justice must be done. I say, O.K., and pressure her to give with the facts. The facts she gives me you can put in your right eye and still have room for a camel. While we’re having this pleasant little chat over a couple of short beers, something happens which throws The Happy Days crowd into a spin. We beat it out, she tells me she’ll see me later, and scrams.”
“What was the incident that occurred?
“This babe comes in,” Al Harmon said, “Mrs. Justus. Her angle is, she’s supposed to be meeting her husband there. As if a guy in his right mind would pick a joint like The Happy Days to meet his wife in. Especially one that looks like her.” He whistled admiringly and blew a kiss toward the ceiling.
“Never mind that,” Malone said. “Go on.”
“Well, Justus was one of the guys in The Happy Days when Big Joe was shot. He gave a lot of trouble afterward. Now she turns up. Acts nosy as hell. Finally she asks where the John is and heads down the hallway. Everybody scrams. The relief bartender and the relief bouncer come in, and a new batch of customers. Because the bunch that were there happened to have been the same bunch that were there when Big Joe got shot. Actually, I don’t think a damn one of ‘em knows anything about the murder, but that bunch don’t ask for trouble if it can duck.”
Malone thought of Helene, alone and unprotected, in The Happy Days saloon, and cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He knocked the ash off his cigar and said, “So you didn’t learn anything from Mrs. Childers?”
Al Harmon sighed and said, “I’m doing an awful lot of talking, pal.”
Malone rose, got the bottle out of the file drawer, and poured two drinks.
“Thanks,” Al Harmon said. “I do like to meet a guy who can take a hint.” He downed his drink, lit a cigarette, and said, “Big Joe kept a diary from the time he was a kid. Always kept it hid. After he got bumped, all the volumes from about the year one turned up in a safety deposit box. All, that is, except the last one.”
“It looks,” Malone said thoughtfully, “as though he had a hiding place for the current volume, and as soon as he finished one, he put it in the safety deposit box. Question is, where is that last volume?”
“Brother,” Al Harmon said, “if you can answer that one, I’ll give you a drink.”
“Could he have destroyed it?”
“Now, I ask you,” Harmon said, “when a guy has saved all his diaries since he was twelve years old, does he throw away the last one?”
“Suppose he decided to stop keeping a diary?”
“Then why not burn up the whole bunch and save paying for the safety deposit box?’
“All right,” Malone said wearily. “It must be somewhere.”
“O.K. So Mrs. Childers slips me her husband’s key to this chick’s apartment. She’s searched every inch of the official Childers’ residence, and it ain’t there. It ain’t in what used to be his office. Well, I get hold of a pal of mine who really can search. He could find a—”
“A camel in your right eye,” Malone said.
“Right. I figure Big Joe ain’t gonna leave his secret diary around where his girl friend can find it. He also has the top floor apartment. So, we start there and, brother, we search! Finally we give up. We don’t start on her apartment because— there was a slight interruption.”
“I know,” Malone said. He frowned. “I think the diary will turn up.”
“Anything else you want to know, pal?” Al Harmon asked.
“No. But a couple of things I want you to do,” Malone told him. “You’ve got official papers and I haven’t, and I’ve got an idea and you haven’t. So maybe you’d better call on Big Joe’s doctor and ask him a few questions.”
“No need,” Al Harmon said, grinning. “I can tell you right now. Big Joe had cancer of the stomach. He’d have been dead, anyway, in a few months.”
Malone sat silent for a long moment. “How do you know?”
“When I got this idea of mine,” Al Harmon said, “I didn’t miss a thing. I went over Big Joe’s life like I was going to write his life story to be played by Don Ameche. I know how many fillings he had in his teeth, when he had his eyes tested last, and the lovelife of his cook. Naturally, I talked to his doctor.” He paused. “But, so what?”
Malone didn’t answer.
“Nobody murders a guy because he’s got cancer of the stomach, unless he happens to be a terribly good pal, and in that case he doesn’t frame the guy’s girl friend for the murder.”
“That’s right,” Malone said. He added, “Well, I thought it might be important.”
“What’s the other thing you want me to do?” Al Harmon asked.
“You know the layout of The Happy Days saloon. Duck over there to spend the evening. You know the door leading to the alley. Unlock it, and see that it stays unlocked. That’s all. And hang around.”
“I’ll be there,” Al Harmon said. He rose, poured himself another drink, and walked to the door. “You know, pal,” he said, “sometimes you puzzle me.” He went out.
For a few minutes Malone sat at his desk, his head resting on his hands. He felt tired and indescribably depressed. A lot of things were going to happen before the night was over. He knew all about them, and he didn’t like any of them.
At last he called Anna Marie. “I’ll be over pretty soon. Get all dressed up, we’re going out.” He resisted the impulse to call her “darling.”
He took one drink, put the bottle back in the file drawer, and went out.
But he didn’t go straight to his hotel. He called a cab, drove to Anna Marie’s apartment, and said, “Wait here.” He went to the second floor apartment, and the cab driver had to wait a long time before he came out again.
“I hate leaving Malone all by himself,” Helene said in a worried voice.
“He’ll be all right,” Jake told her. “The doctor said he wouldn’t bat an eye until tomorrow. Besides,” he added, “Malone’s a big boy now.”
“But suppose he did wake up?”
“He won’t.”
“Maybe that bomb was intended for Malone. Suppose the murderer goes up to the apartment while we’re gone, and Malone is asleep and helpless—”
“For Pete’s sake!” Jake exploded. “In the first place the murderer wouldn’t know he was there. In the second place he wouldn’t be able to get in.”
“And in the third place,” Lou Berg said, “from all I remember of Malone, he could take care of himself even if he was asleep.”
Helene sighed and was silent. She swung the big car and headed south. “Jake, you said you’d stop by Malone’s hotel and pick up his mail.” She nudged him.
“That’s right,” Jake said. “We’ll go there first.” As she parked the car, he said, “You two wait here, I won’t be a minute.”
He took the elevator up to the floor where Malone had lived for years, and where he maintained a room to hide out important witnesses. He knocked softly on the door of the latter room and called out softly, “It’s me, Jake Justus.”
“I’m in bed,” Anna Marie called back.
“Get dressed then, quick. This is something important,” Jake said.
“Wait a minute.”
He heard footsteps, and a moment later the door opened. Anna Marie stood there, wrapped in a deep rose bathrobe, her hair loose over her shoulders. There was the remains of dinner on a tray, the pillows were propped up against the head of the bed, and a book lay face down on the covers.
Jake went in and sat down on the arm of the one easy chair.
“I know it’s early,” she said, “but you’ve no idea how tired I am. Everything that’s happened has exhausted me— and last night was just too much. I thought that as soon as the dinner tray went downstairs I’d turn out the light and sleep just hours and hours.”
“You thought wrong,” Jake said. “You’ve got some very important things to do.”
She frowned and said, “Where’s Malone? I was going to leave a note for him, telling him I’m sleeping.”
“Malone’s been in a little accident.”
Her eyes widened prettily with surprise and horror. “Tell me!” ‘
“Now don’t be worried,” Jake said hastily. “He’s all right. He’s up in our apartment. The doctor gave him some sleeping pills and told us he’d sleep till morning and be perfectly all right in a day or two.”
“But what happened to him?”
“I don’t know,” Jake said. “He’ll tell
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