Fast One Read online

  “That's all right, Willie. You can talk to 'em.”

  Cullen grinned mirthlessly. “I haven't spoken to a copper for four years.”

  Kells straightened in his chair. “Listen. Doc went to Perry's to see me.... What for? I was with Jack Rose being propositioned to come in with him and Doc, on the Joanna. They're evidently figuring Fay or Hesse to make things tough and wanted me for a flash.” He looked at his watch. Cullen was stirring ice into another drink.

  Kells went on, swiftly: “When I open the door at Perry's, somebody lets Doc have it and goes out through the kitchen. Maybe. The back door slammed but it might have been the draft when I opened the front door. Dave is cold with an egg over his ear and Ruth Perry says that a little queen with glasses shot Doc and sapped Dave when he spoke out of turn....”

  Cullen said: “You're not making this up as you go along, are you?”

  Kells paid no attention to Cullen's interruption. “The rod is on the floor. I tell Ruth to stick to her story... Cullen raised one eyebrow, smiled faintly with his lips. Kells said: “She will,” went on: ”... and try to keep Dave quiet while I figure an alibi, try to find out what it's all about. I smack her to make it look good and then I get the bright idea that if I leave the gun there they'll hold both of them, no matter what story they tell. They'd have to hold somebody; Doc had a lot of friends downtown.”

  Kells finished his drink, picked up his hat and put it on. “I figured Ruth to office Dave that I was working on it and that he might keep his mouth shut if he wasn't in on the plant.” Cullen sighed heavily.

  Kells said: “He was. Shep tells me that Dave says I had an argument with Doc, shot him, and clipped Dave when he tried to stop me. Shep can't get a line on Ruth's story, but I'll lay six, two, and even that she's still telling the one about the little guy.” He stood up. “They're both being held incommunicado. And here's one for the book: Reilly made the pinch. Now what the hell was Reilly doing out here if it wasn't tipped?”

  Cullen said: “It's a set-up. It was the girl.” Kells shook his head slowly. “Dave knows it and is trying to cover for her,” Cullen went on. “She told you a fast one about the little guy and I'll bet she's telling the same story as Dave right now.”

  “Wrong.”

  Cullen laughed. “If you didn't think it was possible you wouldn't look that way.”

  “You're crazy. If she wanted to frame me she wouldn't've put on that act. She wouldn't've...”

  “Oh, yes, she would. She'd let you go and put the finger on you from a distance.” Cullen scratched his side, under the arm, yawned.

  Kells said: “What about Dave?”

  “Maybe Doc socked Dave.”

  “She'd cheer.”

  “Maybe.” Cullen got up and walked to a window. “Maybe she cheered and squeezed the heater at the same time. That's been done, you know.”

  Kells shook his head. “I don't see it,” he said. “There are too many other angles.”

  “You wouldn't see it.” Cullen turned from the window, grinned. “You don't know anything about feminine psychology—”

  Kells said: “I invented it.”

  Cullen spread his mouth into a wide thin line, nodded ponderously. “Sure,” he said, “there are a lot of boys sitting up in Cjuentin counting their fingers who invented it too.” He walked to the stair and back. “Anyway, you had a pretty good hunch when you left Exhibit A on the floor.”

  “I'm superstitious. I haven't carried a gun for over a year,” Kells smiled a little.

  Cullen said: “Another angle—she's Fay's sister.”

  “That's swell, but it doesn't mean anything.”

  “It might.” Cullen yawned again extravagantly, scratched his arms.

  Kells asked: “Yen?”

  “Uh huh. I was about to cook up a couple loads when you busted in with all this heavy drama.” Cullen jerked his head toward the stair. “Eileen is upstairs.”

  Kells said: “I thought the last cure took.”

  “Sure. It took.” Cullen smiled sleepily. “Like the other nine. I'm down to two, three pipes each other day.”

  They looked at one another expressionlessly for a little while.

  A car chugged up the short curving slope below the front door, stopped. Kells turned and went into the semidarkness of the kitchen. A buzzer whirred. Cullen went to the front door, opened it, said: “Come in.” A little Irishman in the uniform of a cab driver came into the room and took off his hat. Cullen went back to the chair and sat down with his back to the room, picked up his drink.

  The phone rang.

  Kells came out of the kitchen and answered it. He stood for a while staring vacantly at the cab driver, then said, “Thanks, kid,” hung up, put his hand in his pocket and took out a small neatly folded sheaf of bills. “When you brought me here from the hotel about four o'clock,” he said, “I forgot to tip you.” He peeled off two bills and held them toward the driver.

  The little man came forward, took the bills and examined them. One was a hundred, the other a fifty. “Do I have to tell it in court?” he asked.

  Kells smiled, shook his head. “You probably won't have to tell it anywhere.”

  The driver said: “Thank you very much, sir.” He went to the door and put on his hat.

  Kells said: “Wait a minute.” He spoke to Cullen: “Can I use your heap, Willie?”

  Cullen nodded without enthusiasm, without turning his head.

  Kells turned to the driver. “All right, Paddy. You'd better stall for an hour or so. Then if anyone asks you anything, you can tell 'em you picked me up here—on this last trip— and hauled me down to Malibu. No house number—-just the gas station, or something.”

  The driver said, “Right,” went out.

  “Our high-pressure police department finally got around to Stella.” Kells went back to his chair, sat down on the edge of it and grinned cheerfully at Cullen. “How much cash have you got, Willie?” Cullen gazed tragically at the ceiling.

  “It was too late to catch the bank,” Kells went on, “and it's a cinch I can't get within a mile of it in the morning. They'll have it loaded.”

  “I get a break. I've only got about thirty dollars.”

  Kells laughed. “You'd better keep that for cigarets. I've got to square this thing pronto and it'll probably take better than change—or maybe I'll take a little trip.” He got up, walked across the room and studied his long white face in a mirror. He leaned forward, rubbed two fingers of one hand lightly over his chin. “I wonder if I'd like Mexico.”

  Cullen didn't say anything.

  Kells turned from the mirror. “I guess I'll have to take a chance on reaching Rose and picking up my twenty-four Cs.”

  Cullen said: “That'll be a lot of fun.”

  * * * * *

  THE FIRST STREET lights and electric signs were being turned on when Kells parked on Fourth Street between Broadway and Hill. He walked up Hill to Fifth, turned into a corner building, climbed stairs to the third floor and walked down the corridor to a window on the Fifth Street side. He stood there for several minutes intently watching the passersby on the sidewalk across the street. Then he went back to the car.

  As he pressed the starter, a young chubby-faced patrolman came across the street and put one foot on the running board, one hand on top of the door. “Don't you know you can't park here between four and six?” he said.

  Kells glanced at his watch. It was five thirty-five. He said: “No. I'm a stranger here.”

  “Let's see your driver's license.”

  Kells smiled, said evenly: “I haven't got it with me.”

  The patrolman shook his head sadly. “Where you from?” he asked.

  “San Francisco.”

  “You're in the big city now, buddy.” The patrolman sneered at Kells, the car, the sky. He seemed lost in thought for a half-minute, then he said: “All right. Now you know.”

  Kells drove up Fourth to the top of the hill. His eyes were half closed and there was an almost tender expre
ssion on his face. He swore softly, continuously, obscenely. His anger had worn itself out by the time he had parked the car on Grand and walked down the steep hill to the rear entrance of the Biltmore. He got off the elevator at the ninth floor, walked past the questioning stare of the woman at the key desk, down a long hall, knocked at the door of Suite 9D.

  Rose opened the door. He stood silently, motionlessly for perhaps five seconds, then he ran his tongue over his lower lip and said: “Come in.”

  Kells went into the room.

  A husky, pale-eyed young man was straddling a small chair, his elbows on the back of it, his chin between his hands. His sand-colored hair was carefully combed down over one side of his forehead. His mouth hung a little open and he breathed through it regularly, audibly.

  Rose said: “This is Mister O'Donnell of Kansas City... Mister Kells.”

  The young man stood up, still straddling the chair, held out a pink hand. “Glad t' know you.”

  Kells shook his hand cursorily, said: “I stopped by for my dough.”

  “Sure.” Rose went to a cabinet and took out a bottle of whiskey and three glasses. “Why didn't you pick it up at the store?”

  Kells walked across the room and sat down on the arm of a big, heavily upholstered chair. O'Donnell was in his shirtsleeves. O'Donnell's coat was lying across a table, back and a little to one side of Kells.

  Kells said: “I want it in cash,”

  Rose put the bottle and glasses down on a wide central table.

  “I haven't got any cash here,” he said, “we'll have to go over to the store.” He went toward the telephone on a desk against one wall. “I'll order some White Rock.”

  Kells said: “No.”

  Rose stopped, turned—he was smiling. O'Donnell unstraddled the chair and sauntered in Kells' general direction. His pale eyes were fixed blankly on Kells' stomach. Kells stood up very straight, took two long swift sidewise steps and grabbed O'Donnell's coat. The automatic in a shoulder holster which had been under the coat clattered to the floor. O'Donnell dived for it and Kells stamped hard on his fingers, brought his right knee up hard into O'Donnell's face. O'Donnell grunted, lost his balance and fell over backward; he rolled back and forth silently, holding both hands over his nose.

  Rose was standing by the central table, holding the whiskey bottle by the neck. He was still smiling as if that expression had hardened, congealed on his face.

  Kells stooped and scooped up the gun.

  There was a wide double door at one side of the room, leading to a bedroom, and beyond, directly across the bedroom, there was another door leading to a bath. It opened and a very blonde woman stuck her head out. She called: “What's the matter, Jack?”

  Kells could see her reflected indistinctly in one of the mirrors of the wide double door. He and O'Donnell were out of her line of vision.

  Rose said: “Nothing, honey.” He tipped the bottle, poured a drink.

  “Is Lou here yet?” She raised her voice above the sound of water running in the tub.

  “No.”

  The blonde woman closed the door. O'Donnell sat up and took out a handkerchief and held it over his nose.

  Kells said: “Now...”

  Rose shook his head slowly. “I've got about a hundred an' ten.”

  Kells rubbed the corner of one of his eyes with his middle finger. He said: “All right, Jakie. I want you to call the shop, and I want you to say 'Hello, Frank?'—and if it isn't Frank I want you to wait till Frank comes to the phone, and then I want you to say 'Bring three thousand dollars over to the hotel right away.' Then I want you to hang up.”

  Rose picked up the glass and drank. “There isn't more than four hundred dollars at the store,” he said. “It's all down on the Joanna —for the opening.”

  Kells looked at him thoughtfully for a little while. “All right. Get your hat.”

  Rose hesitated a moment, looked down at O'Donnell, then walked over to a chair near the bedroom door and picked up his hat.

  Kells said: “Now, Jakie, back into the bedroom.” Kells transferred the automatic to his left hand, took hold the back of O'Donnell's collar with his right, said, “Pardon me, Mister O'Donnell.”

  He dragged O'Donnell across the floor to the bedroom door—keeping Rose in front of him—across the bedroom floor to the bathroom. He opened the bathroom door, jerked O'Donnell to his feet and shoved him inside. The blonde woman in the tub screamed once. Then Kells took the key from the inside of the door, slammed the door, cutting the sound of her second scream to a thin cry, locked it.

  Rose was standing at the foot of one of the twin beds. The dark skin was drawn very tightly over his jaw muscles. He looked very sick.

  Kells put the key in his pocket. He grinned, said: “Come on.

  They walked together to the outer door of the suite. Kells lifted one point of his vest, stuck the automatic inside the waistband of his trousers. He let his belt out a notch or so until the gun nestled as comfortably and as securely as possible beneath his ribs, then pulled the point of his vest down over the butt. It made only a slight bulge against the narrowness of his waist.

  He said: “Jakie, have you any idea how fast I can get it out and how well I can use it?”

  Rose didn't say anything. He ran the fingers of one hand down over the left side of his face and looked at the floor.

  Kells went on: “I've been framed for one caper today and I don't intend to be framed for another. The next one'll be bona fide—and I'd just as soon it'd be you, and I'd just as soon it'd be in the lobby of the Biltmore as any place else.” He opened the door and switched out the light. “Let's go.”

  They went down in the elevator, out through the Galleria to Fifth Street and up the south side of the street to Grand, walked up the steep hill to the car.

  Kells said: “You'd better drive, Jake. I haven't got a license.”

  Rose said he didn't have a license either.

  * * * * *

  ROSE DROVE. They went up Grand to Tenth, over Tenth to Main. When they turned into Main, headed south, Kells twisted around in the seat until he was almost facing Rose. Kells' hands were lying idly in his lap. He said: “Who shot Doc?”

  Rose turned his head for a second, smiled a little. “President Roosevelt.”

  Kells licked his lips. “Who shot Doc, Jakie?”

  Rose kept his eyes straight ahead. He turned his long chin a fraction of an inch towards Kells, spoke gently, barely moving his mouth: “Perry and the DA and all the papers say you did. That's good enough for me.”

  Kells chuckled. He said: “Step on it. Your chum from Kansas City won't stay kicked up forever.” He watched the needle of the speedometer quiver from twenty-five to thirty-five. “That'll do.”

  They went out Main to Slauson, east to Truck Boulevard, south.

  Kells said: “You're a swell driver, Jakie—you should've stayed in the hack racket back in Brooklyn.” He looked at the slowly darkening sky, went on, as if to himself: “There must be a very tricky inside on this play. The rake-off on all the boats together wouldn't be worth all his finaygling— shootings and pineapples and what have you.” He turned slowly, soft-eyed toward Rose. “What's it all about?”

  Rose was silent. He twisted his lips up at the corners. As they neared the P & O wharf where the Joanna motor launches tied up, Kells said: “You look a lot more comfortable now that you're getting near the home grounds. But remember, Jakie—one word out of turn, one wrong move, and you get it right in the belly. I'm just dippy enough to do it. I get mad when a goose tries to run out on me.”

  They left the car in a parking station, walked down the wharf. It was too early for customers. A few crap and blackjack dealers, waiters, one floor man whom Kells knew slightly were lounging about the small waiting room, waiting for the first boat to leave. They all stopped talking when Kells and Rose went into the waiting room.

  The floor man said, “Hello, boss,” to Rose, nodded to Kells.

  Rose said: “Let's go.”

&nbs
p; The man who owned the launches came out of his little office. He said: “Mickey ain't here yet. He makes the first trip.

  Rose looked away from him, said: “Take us out yourself.” The man nodded doubtfully, locked the office door and went out toward the small float where the four boats that ran to the Joanna were tied up. The dealers and waiters got up and followed him. The floor man lagged behind. He acted as if he wanted to talk to Rose.

  Kells took Rose's arm. “Let's go over here a minute, first,” he said.

  They crossed the wharf to where one of the Eaglet launches was moored at the foot of a short gangway. A big red-faced man was working on the engine.

  Kells called to him: “Has Fay gone aboard yet?”

  The man straightened up, nodded. “He went out about six o'clock.”

  Kells said: “You go out and tell Fay that Kells sent you. Tell him I'm going aboard the Joanna to collect some money. Tell him to send some of the boys with you, and you come back and circle around the Joanna until I hail you to pick me up. Got it?”

  The red-faced man said: “Yes, sir—but we're expecting quite a crowd tonight—and one of the boats is out of commission....”

  Kells said: “That's all right—one boat can handle the crowd. This is important.” He grinned at Rose: “Isn't it, Jakie?”

  Rose smiled with his mouth: his eyes were very cold and far-away.

  The red-faced man said: “All right, Mister Kells.” He spun the crank, and when the engine was running he put the big aluminum cover over it, cast off the lines and went to the wheel.

  Kells and Rose went across the wharf and down onto the float and aboard the Joanna launch. A helper cast off the lines and the launch stood out through the narrows, down the bay.

  Darkness came over the water swiftly.

  They rounded the breakwater, headed toward a distant twinkling light. One of the dealers talked in a low voice to the man at the wheel; two of the waiters chattered to each other in Italian. The others were silent.

  In the thirty-five or forty minutes that it took to clime up to the Joanna, the wind freshened and the launch slid up and down over the long smooth swells. The lights of the Joanna came out of the darkness through thin ribbons of fog.