Fast Buck

He paused again at the end of the alley. Keeping in the shadows, he looked over at the apartment house. There were a few personal things in the apartment he wanted: a book of photographs, a suitcase of clothes, another gun. He was prepared to take the risk of returning to his rooms for the photographs alone. To anyone else the photographs were valueless; snaps he had taken when he was a kid of his home, his mother, his brother, his sister and his dog. They were the only links in a past long blotted out.

His mother had been killed by a police bullet in a battle between G-men and his father. His sister was walking the streets in Chicago, and at this moment was probably inveigling some drunk into her apartment. His brother was serving a twelve-year stretch at Fort Leavenworth for robbery with violence.

His dog had run out of the house when the G-men had come and had never been seen since.

Baird didn’t want to remember them as they were now. He wanted to remember them as they were before his father hooked up with Dillinger, when the farm was a happy place, and his mother was always laughing, in spite of the endless hours of work.

But if Olin suspected him, he would have the house covered by now, and he wasn’t going to walk into a trap, no matter how much he wanted that book of photographs.

He remained in the shadows, watching the house. There was no one in sight, and there was nothing suspicious about the house. His two windows, overlooking the street, were in darkness, but for all that, instinct warned him to take no chances.

After five long minutes of standing motionless, he decided it would be safe to cross the street. He pulled the Colt from its holster and held it down by his side. As he was about to step into the light of a street standard, he saw a movement from a dark doorway opposite him.

He froze, his pale eyes searching the doorway. It was several minutes before he made out the dim outlines of a man, standing against the wall.

Baird showed his teeth in a bitter, mirthless smile. So Olin was on to him, and he had nearly walked into a trap. Very possibly there were coppers in his apartment waiting to put the blast on him as he opened his front door. Cautiously he edged back, then when he was out of sight of the house, he turned and walked quickly back the way he had come.

At the other end of the alley was a drug store. He pushed open the door and crossed over to a row of pay booths. There was no one in the store except a young girl in a white coat, reading a paper-backed book, behind a soda fountain. She glanced up to give Baird an indifferent glance, then went on reading.

Baird shut himself in the booth and dialled Rico’s number. He had to be sure Olin was covering the house. It would be infuriating to be stampeded by some loafer waiting for his girl. He would never forgive himself if he were panicked into leaving those photographs when it would be so simple to cross the street and get them.

Rico came on the line.

‘Are they looking for me?’ Baird whispered, his lips close to the mouthpiece. He heard Rico catch his breath in a startled gasp.

‘Who’s that?’ Rico asked feverishly. ‘Who’s talking?’

‘Did Olin call on you?’ Baird said, stil keeping his voice low.

‘Yes,’ Rico said. ‘Get off the line, you fool! They may be listening in! They’re after you! Olin says he knows you did it! Don’t come near me! He’s after me too!’

‘Don’t lose your head,’ Baird said, seeing in his mind’s eye Rico’s twitching, terrified face. ‘They can’t prove anything. They’ve got to have proof…’

But he found himself speaking over a dead line. Rico had hung up.

Baird replaced the receiver. The muscle under his right eye was twitching. As he turned to leave the booth his quick, suspicious eyes spotted a movement at the drug-store entrance. He ducked down out of sight behind the panel of the booth door, his Colt jumping into his hand. He heard the drug-store door open and heavy feet walk over to the counter.

‘Police, Miss,’ a curt voice said. ‘Anyone been in here within the last few minutes?’

Baird eased back the safety catch. They must have spotted him while he was retreating down the alley. He wondered if there were any more of them outside.

He heard the girl say, ‘There was a big fel a in here about three minutes ago. He must have gone.’

‘In a brown suit?’ the detective asked. ‘A tal , broad-shouldered guy with a white, hard face?’

‘That’s right. He used the phone over there.’

‘Which way did he go?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t see him leave.’

There was a sudden sharp silence. Baird knew in a split second the detective would guess he was still in the pay booth. He didn’t hesitate. Reaching up, he took hold of the door handle, turned it gently and flung the door open.

He had a glimpse of a short, stocky man facing him, whose hand was flying to the inside of his coat.

He saw the girl in the white coat, jumping off her stool, her mouth opening, her eyes sick with terror.