Fast Buck

‘Aw, forget it. If there’s a thing I hate more than a stye in the eye, it’s a mysterious cop.’

The front door to Baird’s apartment house opened, and Baird came quickly down the steps.

‘Jeepers!’ Burns mut ered. ‘The punk’s going for a walk.’

‘Looks like he’s going on the lam,’ the cop said.

Baird was carrying a grip. He glanced at the cop and the parked car and went quickly down the street, away from them.

Burns scrambled out of the car.

‘Listen, brother, this is important. One of my buddies is due along any moment to relieve me. Will you tell him Baird’s left with a grip, and I’m going after him?’

‘I don’t mind,’ the cop said. ‘Not if you make it worth my while.’

‘And they say the police aren’t corrupt in this town,’ Burns said bitterly. He produced a five-dollar bill. ‘Stick around until he turns up. You can’t miss him. He walks pigeon-toed and wears a hand-painted tie.’

‘I’ll tell him,’ the cop said, pocketing the bil . ‘Nice to have known you.’

Burns snorted and set out after the fast-disappearing figure in the distance.

He had some difficulty in shortening the distance between Baird and himself. Baird swung along at a fast clip, and once or twice Burns had to break into a run or he’d have lost him.

Baird’s quick, suspicious ears heard the pat er of feet behind him, but he didn’t look around. He kept on, not sure yet if he was being tailed. Was it the police? he wondered. He turned down a side street, swearing softly under his breath. He had cut it fine. The train was due out at two, and he had yet to reach the depot and get his ticket. But he had to be sure no one was following him.

When he reached a dark patch of the road, he glanced back. A short, fat man was walking rapidly after him, keeping in the shadows. He didn’t look like a cop, and he puzzled Baird.

Baird kept on until he reached an alley that cut through to the railroad depot. He had ten minutes before the train left. Once in the darkness of the alley, he stopped and set down his grip and waited.

But Burns was too experienced to walk into that kind of trap. As soon as he could no longer hear Baird’s footfal s, he guessed Baird had spot ed him and was waiting for him in the al ey.

He walked slowly past the mouth of the alley, so Baird could see him, and kept on down the street until he was out of ear-shot, then he doubled back on tiptoe until he reached the mouth of the alley again.

He stood just out of sight, listening.

Although he had moved silently, Baird had heard him. Baird guessed this fat punk wouldn’t venture into the alley so long as he was uncertain Baird was still there.

Time was getting on. Baird couldn’t afford to hang about any longer, nor could he afford to let anyone interested in him know he was catching a train.

His hand slid inside his coat and came out again, holding his Colt. Silently he began to edge back along the alley, moving like a ghost.

Burns stood straining his ears, sure now that Baird was still in the alley. He decided not to show himself, but to wait Baird out. He didn’t hear Baird creeping along the al ey, and he had no idea of his danger until a hand came around the corner of the wall and grabbed hold of his coat.

He let out a yell as he felt himself jerked forward, and he hit out blindly. Then something hard and heavy smashed down on his head, and his world snuffed out into darkness.

Baird dragged Burns into the alley, turned him on his back and went through his pockets. He found one of Burns’s cards and he struck a match to read it.

International Detective Agency! A shamus following him! He gave Burns a hard nudge with the toe of his shoe and stood up, his face hard and set.

He hadn’t time now to think what it meant. If he didn’t hurry he’d miss his train. He left Burns’s body in the alley and ran towards the railroad depot.

***

Forty minutes later Harmon Purvis was startled out of a heavy sleep by the furious ringing of his telephone bell. As he picked up the receiver he glanced at his bedside clock. It showed a quarter-past three.

‘Who is it?’ he demanded.

‘This is Ed,’ Dal as’s voice barked over the line. ‘Baird’s given us the slip. Burns is in hospital with a fractured skull. I thought you’d welcome the good news.’

‘Any idea what happened?’ Purvis said, dropping back on his pillow and frowning up at the ceiling.

‘The Gil is girl cal ed on her brother tonight. She left around eleven-thirty. I watched Gillis’s window until he turned off the light and presumably went to bed. It was after two before I got away. I ran into Ainsworth on his way to relieve Burns. I went with him. We found Burns’s car near Baird’s place, but no Burns. A cop told us Baird had left his house, carrying hand-baggage, about five minutes before we showed up, and Burns had gone after him. We went after them. Obviously from the direction, Baird was heading for the railroad depot. We found Burns in an alley, bleeding like a pig, and the top of his head shoved in. No sign of Baird.’

Purvis made clicking noises with his tongue.

‘Is Burns bad?’