He slid sideways into the black chair behind Steiner’s desk and raked the telephone towards him by putting the Luger around it. He frowned at the telephone, then frowned at me.
«I think we’ll have some law,» he said.
«Suits me.»
Slade’s eyes were narrow and as hard as jet. He didn’t like my agreeing with him. The veneer had flaked off him, leaving a well-dressed hard boy with a Luger. Looking as if he could use it.
«Just who the hell are you?» he growled.
«A shamus. The name doesn’t matter. The girl is my client. Steiner’s been riding her with some blackmail dirt. We came to talk to him. He wasn’t here.»
«Just walk in, huh?»
«Correct. So what? Think we gunned Steiner, Mr. Slade?»
He smiled slightly, thinly, but said nothing.
«Or do you think Steiner gunned somebody and ran away?» I suggested.
Steiner didn’t gun anybody,» Slade said. «Steiner didn’t have the guts of a sick cat.»
I said: «You don’t see anybody here, do you? Maybe Steiner had chicken for dinner, and liked to kill his chickens in the parlor.»
«I don’t get it. I don’t get your game.»
I grinned again. «Go ahead and call your friends downtown. Only you won’t like the reaction you’ll get.»
He thought that over without moving a muscle. His lips went back against his teeth.
«Why not?» he asked finally, in a careful voice.
I said: «I know you, Mr. Slade. You run the Aladdin Club down on the Palisades. Flash gambling. Soft lights and evening clothes and a buffet supper on the side. You know Steiner well enough to walk into his house without knocking. Steiner’s racket needed a little protection now and then. You could be that.»
Slacle’s finger tightened on the Luger, then relaxed. He put the Luger down on the desk, kept his fingers on it. His mouth became a hard white grimace.
«Somebody got to Steiner,» he said softly, his voice and the expression on his face seeming to belong to two different people. «He didn’t show at the store today. He didn’t answer his phone. I came up to see about it.»
«Glad to hear you didn’t gun Steiner yourself,» I said.
The Luger swept up again and made a target of my chest. I said:
«Put it down, Slade. You don’t know enough to pop off yet. Not being bullet-proof is an idea I’ve had to get used to. Put it down. I’ll tell you something — if you don’t know it. Somebody moved Steiner’s books out of his store today — the books he did his real business with.»
Slade put his gun down on the desk for the second time. He leaned back and wrestled an amiable expression onto his face.
«I’m listening,» he said.
«I think somebody got to Steiner too,» I told him. «I think that blood is his blood. The books being moved out from Steiner’s store gives us a reason for moving his body away from here. Somebody is taking over the racket and doesn’t want Steiner found till he’s all set. Whoever it was ought to have cleaned up the blood. He didn’t.»
Slade listened silently. The peaks of his eyebrows made sharp angles against the white skin of his indoor forehead.
I went on: «Killing Steiner to grab his racket was a dumb trick, and I’m not sure it happened that way. But I am sure that whoever took the books knows about it, and that the blonde down in the store is scared stiff about something.»
«Any more?» Slade asked evenly.
«Not right now. There’s a piece of scandal dope I want to trace. If I get it, I might tell you where. That will be your muscler in.»
«Now would be better,» Slade said. Then he drew his lips back against his teeth and whistled sharply, twice.
I jumped. A car door opened outside. There were steps.
I brought the gun around from behind my body. Slade’s face convulsed and his hand snatched for the Luger that lay in front of him, fumbled at the butt.
I said: «Don’t touch it!»
He came to his feet rigid, leaning over, his hand on the gun, but the gun not in his hand. I dodged past him into the hallway and turned as two men came into the room.
One had short red hair, a white, lined face, unsteady eyes. The other was an obvious pug; a good-looking boy except for a flattened nose and one ear as thick as a club steak.
Neither of the newcomers had a gun in sight. They stopped, stared.
I stood behind Slade in the doorway. Slade leaned over the desk in front of me, didn’t stir.
The pug’s mouth opened in a wide snarl, showing sharp, white teeth. The redhead looked shaky and scared.
Slade had plenty of guts. In a smooth, low, but very clear voice he said:
«This heel gunned Steiner, boys. Take him!»
The redhead took hold of his lower lip with his teeth and snatched for something under his left arm. He didn’t get it. I was all set and braced. I shot him through the right shoulder, hating to do it. The gun made a lot of noise in the closed room. It seemed to me that it would be heard all over the city. The redhead went down on the floor and writhed and threshed about as if I had shot him in the belly.
The pug didn’t move. He probably knew there wasn’t enough speed in his arm. Slade grabbed his Luger up and started to whirl. I took a step and slammed him behind the ear. He sprawled forward over the desk and the Luger shot against a row of books.
Slade didn’t hear me say: «I hate to hit a one-armed man from behind, Slack, And I’m not crazy about the show-off. You made me do it.»
The pug grinned at me and said: «Okay, pal. What next?»
«I’d like to get out of here, if I can do it without any more shooting. Or I can stick around for some law. It’s all one to me.»
He thought it over calmly. The redhead was making moaning noises on the floor. Slade was very still.
The pug put his hands up slowly and clasped them behind his neck. He said coolly: «I don’t know what it’s all about, but I don’t give a gooddamn where you go or what you do when you get there. And this ain’t my idea of a spot for a lead party. Drift!»
«Wise boy. You’ve more sense than your boss.»
I edged around the desk, edged over towards the open door. The pug turned slowly, facing me, keeping his hands behind his neck. There was a wry but almost good-natured grin on his face.
I skinned through the door and made a fast break through the gap in the hedge and up the hill, half expecting lead to fly after me. None came.
I jumped into the Chrysler and chased it up over the brow of the hill and away from that neighborhood.
TEN
It was after five when I stopped opposite the apartment house on Randall Place. A few windows were lit up already and radios bleated discordantly on different programs. I rode the automatic elevator to the fourth floor. Apartment 405 was at the end of a long hall that was carpeted in green and paneled in ivory. A cool breeze blew through the hall from open doors to the fire escape.
There was a small ivory push button beside the door marked 405. I pushed it.
After a long time a man opened the door a foot or so. He was a long-legged, thin man with dark brown eyes in a very brown face. Wiry hair grew far back on his head, giving him a great deal of domed brown forehead. His brown eyes probed at me impersonally.
I said: «Steiner?»
Nothing in the man’s face changed. He brought a cigarette from behind the door and put it slowly between tight brown lips. A puff of smoke came towards me, and behind it words in a cool, unhurried voice, without inflection. «You said what?»
«Steiner. Harold Hardwicke Steiner. The guy that has the books.»
The man nodded. He considered my remark without haste. He glanced at the tip of his cigarette, said: «I think I know him, But he doesn’t visit here. Who sent you?»