Black Mask (Vol. 33, No. 3 — September 1949)

Mark Stigler sat straight up. “Man, that looked just like—!” His voice faded as he met Ragan’s eyes.

“It was!” Ragan replied, grimly.

A curtain in an apartment house window went up and down rapidly, three times. “Let’s go,” Ragan said, “we’ve got to hurry.”

An officer in uniform admitted them to the apartment next door to that of Luretta Pace. A recording was already being made, and through the hidden mike in the next apartment they could hear the voices, hear them plainly.

“—I don’t care who he is!” A man was speaking, a voice that stiffened Sam Blythe to the same realization that had touched Mark Stigler on the outside. “Keep him away from here!”

“I don’t intend to keep anyone away whom I like. As a matter of fact, I don’t care for him.”

“Then tell him so!”

“Why don’t you tell him?” Luretta’s voice was taunting. “Are you afraid? Or won’t he listen to you?”

“Afraid? Of course not! Still, it wouldn’t be a good idea. I’d rather he not know we’re acquainted.”

“You weren’t always so hesitant.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Why, you never approved of Charlie, either. You knew I liked him, but you didn’t want me to like him.”

“That’s right. I didn’t.”

“One thing I’ll say for Charlie. He was a good spender. I don’t really care whether a man spends money on me or not, but it helps. And Charlie did.”

“You mean that I don’t? I think I’ve been pretty nice, lately.”

“Lately. Sometimes I wonder how you do it on your salary.”

“I manage.”

“As you managed a lot of other things? Like Charlie, for instance?”

There was no sound, then the man’s voice, lower and colder. “Just what do you mean by that?”

“Well, didn’t you? You didn’t really believe that I thought he was killed in a gang war, did you? Nobody wanted Charlie dead — nobody but you.”

The man laughed. “I always did like a smart girl! Well, now you know the sort of man I am, and you know just how we stand, and what I can do to you or anyone. The best of it is, they can’t touch me!”

There was a sound of a glass put down on a table. “Luretta, let’s drop this nonsense and get married. I’m going places and nothing can stop me.”

“No, I won’t marry you. This has gone far enough as it is.” Luretta’s voice changed. “You’d better go now. I never knew just what sort of person you were, although I always suspected. At first, I believed you were making things easy for me by not allowing too many questions, but now I realize you were protecting yourself.”

“Naturally! But I was protecting you, too.”

Joe Ragan got up and took his gun from the shoulder holster and slid it into his waist band. Blythe was already at the door. His jaw was set hard.

“I neither wanted nor needed protection,” Luretta was saying, “I cared for Charlie. I want you to know that. No, I wasn’t in love with him, but he was good to me, and I hadn’t any idea that you killed him. If I had, I’d never have spoken to you. Now get out!”

The man laughed. “Don’t be silly! We’re staying together, especially now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why, I wouldn’t dare let you go now. We’ll either get along together or you’ll get what Charlie got.” There was a bump as of a chair knocked over and a shout. “Stay away from that door!”

Ragan was moving fast, his face white. He swung into the hall and gripped the knob, but it was locked. There was a crash inside, and in a sudden fury of fear for the girl, he dropped his shoulder against the door in a lunge. The lock broke and he stumbled into the room.

Lieutenant Wells Ryerson threw the girl from him and grabbed his gun, but Ragan came too fast. Slapping the gun aside, he smashed a right to the chin, then a left. Ryerson fell backward, firing as he fell, then scrambled to his feet, lifting his gun.

Joe Ragan drew and fired in the same instant and his shot slammed Ryerson back against the wall, while the other bullet buried itself harmlessly in the wall. The gun dribbled from Ryerson’s fingers and he slipped to the floor.

His eyes opened and for a moment as they met Ragan’s they were sharp, clear and intelligent. “I told you,” he said hoarsely, “to close this one up fast. An air — tight case.”

His voice faded, and then he fought for air, and whispered, “It looked so — easy! The file — those — those ex-cons on the loose. I... I could make — record, and — money, too.”

He seemed to catch his breath, then exhaled slowly. He did not inhale again.

Mark Stigler stared at him. “Ryerson! Who would ever have believed it!” He glanced at Ragan, who stood with Luretta’s face buried against his shoulder. “What tipped you off?”

Ragan waved a hand. “It had to be somebody with access to the modus operandi file, and who could be out between three and five a.m. It couldn’t be you, Mark, because your wife wouldn’t stand for it. And Sam likes his sleep too well, but what really tipped me off was this,” he picked up a split paper match from an ash tray. “It was a habit he had of splitting the end of those matches.