He Won't Need it Now

     “Sure, I'm all right. There's nothing to worry about.” He paused and then went on, “Listen, honey, you're right. This is getting me nowhere. I'm quitting. I got nineteen grand salted away, and another little packet tomorrow, then I'm through. English is taking the heat off, and it's going to turn out swell.”

     She said, “I'm... I'm glad. It is all right, isn't it, Bill?” He thought she was crying.

     “You see,” he said, “tomorrow we'll have a party. You and Sam and me. It's going to be fine. And listen, I'm coming round in the afternoon, and you and me will go shopping. You can buy yourself the world. Doll yourself up and surprise Sam. How do you like that?”

     She said, her voice still anxious, “I shan't rest until you're with us.”

     “Good night,” he said. “You're worrying about nothing.”

     When he hung up, he sat on the edge of the bed thinking. A little shiver ran through him suddenly, and he got up impatiently. “Hell,” he said. “I guess my feet are damp.”

CHAPTER XVII

     DUFFY WOKE WITH A start. Across the room, the sun leaked round the side of the blind, throwing ragged lines of light on the walls.

     The telephone was ringing, grinding shrilly.

     He said, “Goddam it,” and turned over in the bed. Pulling the blanket over his ears, he tried to ignore the jarring noise, but the bell went on ringing, insistently.

     He turned over again and climbed stiffly out of the bed. Scooping up the telephone, he shouted, “What the hell is it?”

     Sam was yelling at the other end. He was so excited that Duffy couldn't understand a word. He said, “I can't hear you. What is it?”

     Sam choked, then came over quieter. “For God's sake, Bill,” he said. “Hell's broken loose this end. English's double-crossing you. He's slapped every rap he can lay hold of on you.”

     Duffy stiffened. “Tell me,” he said.

     “They arrested Morgan on some counterfeit charge. Then English got on to headquarters and withdrew his protection. I was there when he did it. He's thrown you to the wolves. They're indicting you for Olga's, Gleason's and Annabel's murder.”

     Duffy sat limply on the bed, still holding the telephone. “The lousy rat,” he said.

     Sam said urgently, “You've got to go carefully. They can't hope to make all those raps stick.”

     Duffy's mouth twisted. “They'll carry me to the station, that it?”

     Sam said, “English is pulling wires. They're waiting for you to run, then they'll come after you with gunpowder.”

     “That'll let English right out of this, won't it? Me stiff, he can pin all his lousy scandal to my tombstone.”

     “What the hell are you going to do?”

     Duffy said, “Skip. I guess I might make it in the Buick.”

     Sam said, “They'll be watching your joint by now. The news came over ten minutes ago. They started right away.”

     Duffy said, “Do they know you're in this?”

     “No. They don't even know I know you.”

     “If I can't make it, can I hide up at your place?”

     “Sure,” Sam spoke without hesitation. “Why not come on over and lay up, until the heat's cooled?”

     “'I'll try a getaway first.” Duffy said gently, “Thanks, soldier, you've been a swell help. My love to Alice. Don't tell her more than you need.” He hung up and looked quickly at the clock. It was just after ten o'clock.

     He dressed with cold unhurried haste. He made sure that he had his money safely distributed in his pockets, then picking up his hat he walked to the door, shot the bolt and stepped quietly into the passage.

     As he walked into the deserted bar, he heard the faint wail of a siren, approaching rapidly. He smiled, without being amused, turned back and ran to the front door. He stepped into the street and walked across the road fast, but without any panic. He walked like a man about to start a day's work, who knows he's a little behind the clock.

     He could see a long closed car swinging round the bend at the far end of the road. The siren was silent. He stepped hastily into the shadow of the garage and walked over to the Buick.

     Schultz said, “Wait!” His voice had an edge to it.

     Duffy peered and saw him standing in the dim light, half hidden by a big Packard.

     “The cops are moving in,” Duffy said in a low voice. “I'm skipping. Want to come?”

     Schultz shook his head. He was standing very still. Duffy looked again, then stiffened. Schultz was holding a shotgun in his hands; he was pointing it directly at Duffy.

     Duffy said with stiff lips, “What's the idea?”

     “Put that dough on the floor,” Schultz said, “then you can skip.”

     Duffy said, “The cops are just across the road. You can't start anything.”

     Schultz's face was white, beads of sweat stood out on the backs of his hands. He said, “Don't talk. Put the dough down quick.”

     Duffy slowly put his hand inside his coat. The Colt-butt felt cold under his touch. Something was forcing him to pull that gun. A hidden instinct to keep what was his. His fingers closed over the butt and he braced himself. Then he jerked at the butt, at the same time he threw himself to one side.