Читать книгу A Half Interest In Hell - Emile C. Tepperman - Страница 3

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At midnight, when Marty Quade returned to his hotel after a quiet evening, he found two telegrams waiting for him. They were from Connecticut. The first was time-stamped 11 P.M.:

M. QUADE HOTEL BALTIC NY. $600 WAITING FOR YOU IF YOU WILL BE AT MAX'S BAR OPPOSITE RAILROAD STATION IN BRIDGETOWN AT SEVEN O'CLOCK TOMORROW EVENING. ASK FOR SANDRA

There was no signature to that one. The other one was time-stamped 11:20 P.M. and read:

M. QUADE HOTEL BALTIC NY. DON'T COME TO BRIDGETOWN. SANDRA MEANS YOU NO GOOD. I AM WIRING YOU ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS CARE OF WESTERN UNION AS FEE FOR STAYING AWAY FROM BRIDGETOWN TOMORROW EVENING. (SIGNED) MADGE

Marty frowned at the two telegrams, and laid them back on the desk. "I don't think these are for me, Joe," he said to the clerk. "I don't know any Sandra, or any Madge in Bridgetown. In fact, I don't know anybody in Bridgetown. And what's more, I don't want to."

Joe Hazelton grinned. "They must be for you, Mr. Quade. There's no other M. Quade in the hotel." He glanced through the two messages. "They must be nice girls—Sandra and Madge. Looks like they have money to burn. I think I'd prefer Madge, if you ask me—"

"So I won't ask you," Marty growled. He took the telegrams, left the desk, and crossed the lobby to the Western Union counter at the other side.

"Have you got a thousand dollars for me, wired from Bridgetown by a girl named Madge?"

"Madge who?" asked the Western Union girl.

Marty shrugged. "I wouldn't know. Just Madge. Here's the telegram."

"I'll look," she said. "I just came on duty, so I don't know what's in the file."

She went through the remittance drawer, and came up with a paper. "Here it is, all right. One thousand dollars to M. Quade." She gave Marty a sly look. "Gee, Mr. Quade, the girls must certainly go for you in a big way. She sends a thousand dollars, and doesn't even give her last name. How will you have it? I can give you a Western Union check, or I can give you the cash—"

"Hold on to it for a while," Marty said thoughtfully. "I don't know yet if I want it."

"You mean to say you're going to turn down a thousand dollars?"

"Sometimes," Marty told her sourly, "it's cheaper to turn down cash—till you know what you're letting yourself in for."

He started away from the counter, toward the elevators. The telegraph operator at the machine behind the girl called out: "Hey, Mr. Quade. Here's another one for you."

Marty frowned, and took the form which the operator ripped out of the machine and handed him. As he read it, his frown deepened.

M. QUADE BALTIC HOTEL NY. DONT TAKE MADGES MONEY AND DONT BELIEVE A WORD SHE SAYS. BE SURE TO COME TO BRIDGETOWN. I AM TOPPING HER OFFER WIRING FIFTEEN HUNDRED JUST TO MAKE SURE YOU COME AND LISTEN TO PROPOSITION. WILL PAY YOU PLENTY MORE IF YOU ACCEPT. (SIGNED) SANDRA

"Gee!" said the Western Union girl, reading the form over his shoulder. "Some people have all the luck!"

The telegraph operator ripped another form out of the machine and gave it to the girl. "There's the authority to pay out fifteen hundred dollars to M. Quade."

Marty scowled. "If I keep on getting telegrams," he said, "I'll be a millionaire before morning." He waved the form at the Western Union girl. "Hold that money, too, till I decide which I'll take—if any." On the way to the elevator he stopped at the desk for his key.

Joe grinned. "The boys are upstairs in your room, Mr. Quade. They said it was all right for me to give them the key, that you wouldn't mind if they used your room for a little poker game."

"Oh, hell!" said Marty. He went up in the elevator and knocked at the door of his own room; and then opened the door.

"May I come in?" he asked sarcastically. "Do you boys mind very much if I disturb you?"

There were five of them in there; three plainclothesmen from the local precinct house, a safe-and-loft man from headquarters, and a sergeant from the homicide detail. A couple of times a week they crashed Marty's room for a quiet poker game, without even asking his permission. They had set up two bridge tables in the middle of the floor, and they had stacks of money and highballs around the tables.

"Come on, Marty," said Sergeant Gill of homicide. "We're saving a place for you."

"Thanks," Marty said sourly. "I'd rather sleep."

But he took off his coat, vest and shoulder holster, draped them over the back of a chair—and joined the game.

They played till four o'clock in the morning. The game would have lasted longer, but some of the boys had to report for the four-to-noon shift.

Marty left the stuff littered around the room, and started to undress. He was just getting ready to step under the shower, when a bellboy knocked at the door with another telegram.

Marty swore luridly under his breath. He gave the boy a quarter, and read the message on the way back to the shower:

M. QUADE BALTIC HOTEL NY. HAVE JUST LEARNED THAT SANDRA OUTBID ME. CANT RAISE MORE THAN THE THOUSAND I SENT YOU SO I GUESS SANDRA WINS AND YOU'LL COME TO BRIDGETOWN. IF YOU COME BEWARE OF CLEOPATRA (SIGNED) MADGE

Marty swore some more, crumpled the telegram into a ball and threw it on the floor, took his shower and went to bed.

He didn't get much sleep, because at nine o'clock sharp his telephone rang. He pawed around blindly for it, and upset an uncorked bottle of Scotch which some one had left on the night table. It spread beautifully over the rug, and didn't put him in any better humor. He finally found the phone, picked it up and growled: "What the hell do you want?"

"Hello," said a woman's voice. "This is Sandra. I just wanted to make sure you're coming to Bridgetown tonight."

"No," said Marty. "I'm not coming." And he hung up.

He turned around and closed his eyes, and the phone rang again.

"Hello," said another woman's voice. "This is Madge. Can I induce you to stay away from Bridgetown tonight? I think I could raise another thousand dollars in an hour or so, and I'll wire it to you. That'll top Sandra's offer by five hundred."

"Listen," said Marty, "do you think this is an auction?"

"Well, I just thought if I pay you more than Sandra, you'll take my money and send hers back."

"Why don't you want me to go to Bridgetown?"

"For the same reason that she wants you to come here."

"I see," said Marty. "That makes everything perfectly clear. Send me the other thousand, and I'll promise not to come near your damned town for the rest of my life. Goodbye."

Once more he hung up and went back to sleep. The next time the phone rang, it was noon. The switchboard operator said: "Two gentlemen are on their way up to see you, Mr. Quade."

"Did you say gentlemen?"

"Well, yes. They're policemen. Sergeant Gill and Inspector Hanson."

Marty gave up in disgust. He got out of bed, went into the bathroom and stuck his head under the shower. He dried quickly, and started to dress. By the time he had his trousers on, his visitors were knocking at the door. He let them in, and waved to the chairs around the littered bridge tables. "Sit down. Have a drink. Make yourselves at home."

"I hope we aren't disturbing you," Inspector Hanson said, not sounding very much as if he meant it. He looked around the room, and grunted. "I see you were having a little poker game. Anybody in it that I know?"

Marty looked at Sergeant Gill, who reddened. Then Marty grinned, as he put on his socks and shoes. "Sure, inspector. They were all boys that you know."

"Well, well. No wonder you have so many inside lines to headquarters, Quade. Might I ask who they were?"

"You might," said Marty. "But I might not tell you."

Sergeant Gill breathed a sigh of relief, and flashed a smile of gratitude to Marty.

Inspector Hanson grumbled. He seated himself in one of the chairs. "All right, Quade, let's skip that. Gill and I are here on other business."

"Fire away," said Marty, sliding into his shirt.

"I want to talk to you about Felix Gildey," Hanson went on slowly, watching Marty carefully.

Marty stood in front of the mirror, knotting his tie. "Gildey? You mean the guy they're after for the Bronx payroll robbery?"

"Come off it," said Hanson. "You know damned well all about Felix Gildey."

"Sure," said Marty. "So does everybody else. It was spread all over the papers. Gildey's mob rubbed out a cashier and two guards, and got away with a quarter of a million bucks in small bills. So far, there's been no trace of him or his mob. So what?"

"So I have information," Hanson said heavily, "that Gildey double-crossed his mob, and lammed with the whole two hundred and fifty grand, leaving the rest of his boys out in the cold."

"I've heard that, too," Marty said. "Gildey's mob are after him, as well as the police. But so far, he's been able to outsmart all of them. Nobody can find hide nor hair of him."

"That," said Inspector Hanson, "is what we've come to see you about!"

"Me?" Marty finished patting his tie into place, turned around to face Hanson. "What have I got to do with it?"

"We got the dope from a stoolie," said Hanson. "That Gildey is going to try to use you to square things up with his mob. He's going to offer them a settlement through you. He's afraid they're on to where he's hiding out, and he wants to buy them off."

"Well," Marty told him flatly, "your dope is wrong. Gildey hasn't contacted me. What's more, I don't know where he is. And what's more, if I knew where he was, I'd turn him in. There's a fifty-thousand dollar reward on his head—dead or alive."

Sergeant Gill interrupted hastily: "That's what I told the inspector, Marty. I told him you'd never cover up for a murder rap. I told him he's wasting his time ribbing you on it, because you'd never lend yourself to such a thing."

Hanson smiled sardonically, "You have a lot of faith in Quade, haven't you. Sergeant Gill?"

"Yes, sir, I have!" Gill said hotly. "Marty is a friend of mine."

"All right," Hanson said, getting up. "Since you're such a good friend of his, he won't mind if you tail him. I'm assigning you to shadow him twenty-four hours a day, from this minute on. You're a cop above everything else, Gill. If you see anything suspicious about Quade's actions—anything that leads you to believe he's contacting Gildey—you'll report it. Otherwise, Gill, it would be too bad for both of you."

He went to the door, and put his hat on carefully. "Goodbye, Mr. Quade. I trust you will enjoy Sergeant Gill's company."

"Wait a minute," said Marty. "This stoolie—who is he?"

Hanson wagged a finger at him. "Naughty, naughty. You wouldn't want me to reveal the name of a stoolie, would you? But I'll tell you this—he comes from Bridgetown."

When the door had slammed after Hanson, Marty looked at Gill. "Johnny! Did he say—Bridgetown?"

Sergeant Johnny Gill nodded. "That's what he said, Marty. I don't know who the stoolie is. It's one of Hanson's private connections. But it's Bridgetown, all right. Hanson had a long-distance phone call from there, a half hour ago. That's why he came hotfooting over here."

Thoughtfully, Marty strapped on his shoulder holster, and checked his automatic. The phone rang. He reached for it, saying: "Yes?"

"Hello. This is Sandra. What the hell do you mean by hanging up on me? Give me a chance to talk, will you?"

"Go ahead and talk," said Marty.

"I sent you fifteen hundred dollars. It's waiting for you at Western Union. But I just found out that Madge is ending you another thousand. Well, look. I'll shoot the works. I'll give you five grand to come to Bridgetown tonight. You go to Max's bar and ask for Sandra, and there'll be an envelope waiting for you, with another thirty-five hundred in it."

"What will you want me to do for it?"

"Just listen to my proposition. If you don't like the proposition, you can turn it down and go back to New York and keep the five thousand to cover your time for coming up. If you like the proposition, and agree to do what I want done—I'll pay you more."

"How much more?"

"We can talk about that when you get up here."

"What's your last name?"

"We can talk about that, too—when you get up here."

"Who's Cleopatra?" Marty asked.

The woman laughed harshly. "That must be something Madge told you in her telegram. Pay no attention to it. You have nothing to fear from Cleopatra."

"All right," Marty said. "I'll be there at seven o'clock."

He hung up and looked at Sergeant Gill. He picked up one of the bottles of Scotch, and poured two drinks, and gave him one of them.

"I'm taking a little trip, Johnny," he said.

"A trip? Where to?"

"Bridgetown."

Sergeant Gill almost choked over the drink. "Say! Then Hanson's dope was right. You are mixed up with Gildey!"

"Not yet," Marty told him. "But I may be."

"I'm going with you, Marty. It's Hanson's orders."

"Not with me, Johnny. I'm going alone. But I can't stop you from following me. Only don't get in my way. Give me rope."

"I'll give you plenty of rope, Marty," Sergeant Gill said. "I only hope Hanson doesn't hang you with it."