She said in a low voice, “Cattley was mixed up in a big dope traffic. He started off in a small way, peddling the stuff and taking a rake-off. That was when I knew him. Then he got big and began to make money. Weidmer was his boss. Gleason was the big shot. Cattley got tired of taking orders and he stole the list of customers——”
“Stop!” Duffy’s voice sounded like the snap of a steel trap. He took the little note-book from his pocket and put it on the coverlet before her. “Is this the list?”
Her startled face told him. “So that’s it,” he said. He thumbed the book through. “Why, these guys can’t operate without this list… the dope buyers must be hopping mad.” He shut his eyes and tried to think.
“How… how did you get that?” she asked.
He opened his eyes. “I got it from Cattley’s joint. Annabel came down to look for it, and I took it off her. This makes things pretty clear. Hell! They certainly operated in a big way. Look at those names, for God’s sake.”
She put her hand on his arm. “They’ll get it away from you,” she said, fear coming into her eyes. “It means millions to them.”
Duffy turned on his elbow and looked at her. His tired eyes searched her face. “You know,” he said, speaking slowly, “years ago, I used to think of being in a spot like this. To have the chance of grabbing a million dollars from a bunch of toughs. Well, I’ve got my chance. I’m going to play the ends against the middle.”
“What do you mean?”
“If they find you’ve squawked, you’re going to be washed up. I like you, honey. Will you come in on this with me?”
Her eyes became shrewd again. “How?”
“This guy Morgan,” Duffy said, “you ain’t heard about him. I can’t quite see how he fits, except he’s looking for easy dough.”
She looked blank. “Morgan?”
Quickly and with economy, he told her about Morgan and the three toughs. “They thought they’d blackmail Annabel. It’d be good enough to publish a photo of Cattley and Annabel to upset old man English. I thought it was deeper than that. Gee! I gave her the benefit and thought they killed Cattley to pin it on her. All the time she had killed Cattley herself, and I was sucker enough to help her shift the body. Anyway, that’s her funeral now. I’m selling the book to the highest bidder.”
Olga said, “Why should Morgan want to buy it?”
Duffy grinned. “Use your head,” he said. “This crowd here,” he tapped the note-book, “is lousy with dough. They’d pay anything to hush up scandal. How’d it look if it got round that they traded in dope?”
She leant back in the bed and brooded. Then she said, “I believe you’ve got something.”
Duffy put the note-book away. “You bet I’ve got something,” he said. “Why not? Why the hell shouldn’t I make a little dough out of these punks? Why shouldn’t you?”
“How much will it be?” she asked.
“Fifty grand, hundred grand, anything.”
She lay back flat, and ran her fingers through her thick hair. Duffy thought she was a very nice broad indeed. “We could do a lot with that money, couldn’t we?” she said, her voice thrilling.
Duffy patted her hand. “Yeah,” he said, “we could do a lot.” He glanced at the clock and got stiffly to his feet. “I’m going to have a little sleep. There’s action coming.”
She put her hand on his arm. “You look so tired,” she said.
He dug up a grin. “You’re dead right, sister.”
She lay there, her eyes very bright, and he could see the sudden rising and falling of her breasts under the sheet. She said, looking into his eyes, “I could make you better. Won’t you come?”
He sat down on the bed again. “You’re swell,” he said. “Not tonight. Tomorrow we’ll get out of here.” He paused, then he nodded his head to the next room. “They’re nice people. It wouldn’t be fair on them. Tomorrow.”
He put his hand against her face. “Didn’t you think Alice was swell?” He stepped away from the bed. “They mustn’t know about this. This is between you and me.”
She watched him go from the room, then turned out the light. She lay in the dark a long time, before she fell asleep.
PART TWO
It Finishes
CHAPTER IX
DUFFY STEPPED INTO ROSS’S garage and looked round the dim shed. Ross came out of the little office at the far end of the shed. He was big and fat, with a glistening rubbery face. He plodded over the oily concrete, waving a short thick arm.
“Don’t tell me,” he wheezed when he saw Duffy. “Let me guess.”
Duffy drew his lips off his teeth in a mirthless grin. “Ain’t seen you for years,” he said.
“I bet you’re in a jam.”
Duffy shook his head. “You’re wrong,” he said. “It ain’t anything like that. I want to spend some dough with you.”
Ross put his broad hand on Duffy’s arm. “Well, well,” he began, leading Duffy to the office. “I’ve got a bottle in there that’ll suit you.”
Duffy sat down in a basket chair and looked round the small box-like room. Ross nearly filled it.
“Gettin’ mighty hot, ain’t it?” Ross said, bringing out a black bottle from his desk cupboard. He wiped the mouth of the bottle on his shirt-sleeve and pushed it over to Duffy. “You be careful of that liquor,” he went on, “that’s Tiger’s sweat okay.”
Duffy took a swig, rolling the liquor round his mouth before swallowing. Then he grunted a little. “Yeah,” he said, “it’s fierce.”
Ross took the bottle from him and raised it to his lips. Duffy watched his Adam’s apple jump in his fat throat. Ross put the bottle on the table, wiped his wet mouth on the back of his hand, and hitched his chair forward a little. “Now, what’s the business?”
Duffy lit a cigarette and rolled another across the table to Ross. “You still got that old Buick around?” he asked.
Ross’s little eyes opened a trifle. “You mean the armoured one?”
“That’s it.”
Ross nodded. “Sure I’ve got it.”
“Does she run?”
Ross grinned’. “Does she run? Listen, all my cans run. That bus’s as good as new.”
Duffy said, “I want to rent her for a bit.”
Ross shrugged. “That’s okay,” he said simply. “Why not have my Packard? Now that’s a swell job.”
Duffy shook his head. He got to his feet. “I want the Buick,” he said. “I might need a little protection from now on, and I’d feel a lot safer in the Buick.”
Ross said, “I knew it, you’re in a jam.”
“Show me the wagon.”
Ross led him out into the shed again. “That’s her.”
The Buick was just an ordinary-looking car, slightly shabby in the body, although she had been freshly washed down. Duffy looked her over thoughtfully. “Sell her to me,” he said at last.
Ross took a quick look over his shoulder, then plodded over. “She looks the berries, don’t she?” he said. He opened the door. “You try that.”
Duffy had to make a strong effort to get the door to shut. “That’s steel,” Ross said. “Good thick stuff, see?” He opened the door again and climbed inside. Duffy leant against the door and put his head forward.
“The guy that threw this bus together knew all about it,” Ross said, settling his hindquarters firmly on the padded seat. “The roof is armour plate. Take a look at the windows.” He rolled one down. “Looks all right from the outside, but see how thick they are.”