I'll Get You For This

  "Just because you're an irresponsible citizen without a job, to lose, don't think there aren't people who have to consider their futures," Davis snorted. "I'm one of them. This guy's got the bit in his teeth, and I want to know into what kind of hell he's dragging me."

  "You'll know," I said. "I have one chance to get into that jail, and I'm taking it. That's why

we've come here."

  "You'll come here after you've been to the jail," Davis pointed out. "Maxison will give you a swell funeral."

  "Quiet!" I said, then turned to look at Tim. "Maxison live over the premises?"

  "Yep," Tim said. "He's lived there for years."

  "Come on," Davis pleaded. "Don't be mysterious. Tell me. I want to know."

  "This is a long chance," I said, fishing out a packet of cigarettes and lighting one. I offered them round. The others lit up. "You heard what Mitchell said. No one can get near the jail unless he's an official. He also told us a woman prisoner died this morning, and she's to be posted tomorrow morning. Then she'll be buried. Tim tells me Maxison is the only mortician in town. He does all the official burials, and that includes prison burials. I'm going to be his assistant. In that way I hope to get into the jail."

  Davis's mouth fell open.

  "For crying out loud!" he gasped. "Now that's what I call a damn smart idea. How did you think of it?"

  "I thought of it," I said.

  He took out his comb, lifted his hat, combed his hair.

  "Wait a minute," he said. "What makes you think Maxison will play, and suppose they recognize you at the jail?"

  "Maxison will play," I said quietly. "Tim tells me he has a daughter. I don't want to do this, but I have to. We're going to hold his daughter as hostage. If he tries to double-cross me, we'll threaten to knock the girl off."

  Davis's small eyes popped.

  "We're gangsters now, eh?" he said. "Jeeze! I don't think I like this much."

  "You can duck out whenever you like," I said, shrugging. "Hetty will look after the girl. It's just a threat. I must have some hold on him."

  "Don't be a sissy," Tim said to Davis. 'You've always looked like a gangster. It's time you acted like one."

  Davis grunted. "Well, okay," he said. "Kidnapping carries the death sentence now. Who cares?"

  I opened the car, got out.

  "Hey," he went on, leaning out of the car. "Suppose they recognize you in the jail? What happens then?"

  "Let's wait and see," I said. "You stay with the heep. Tim and I'll handle this. If a copper shows, sound your horn and beat it. We don't want them to get a line on you just yet."

  He wrinkled his fat nose. "We don't want them ever to get a line on me," he pointed out. "Well, go ahead, I'll sit here and pray. I'm good at that."

  Tim and I went to the side door near the display window. I rang the bell. We waited.

  There was a short delay, then we heard someone coming along the passage. The door opened and a thin, narrow-shouldered girl stood in the doorway.

  I tipped my hat.

  "I wanted to see Mr. Maxison," I said.

  She stared at me, then at Tim. "It's very late," she said. "Couldn't you see him tomorrow?"

  "Well, no," I said. "It's something I would like him to handle and it's urgent."

  She hesitated, then nodded.

  "If you'll wait," she said, and turned away. She got half-way down the passage, then came back. "What is the name, I please?"

  "He wouldn't know my name," I said.

  "Oh," she said, looking at me again, and went away.

  "That's Laura Maxison," Tim said. "Maxison thinks a lot of her. Odd little thing, ain't she?"

  I shrugged. "I guess if you had a daughter you'd think a lot of her whichever way she looked."

  "I guess you're right," he said.

  The door opened again, and a lean, elderly man with a stoop peered at us.

  "Good evening," he said. "Was there something?"

  "Yeah," I said, eyeing him over. He was bald, with a great dome of a forehead, and his eyes were small and close set. He looked what he was, and foxy as well. "Can we come in?"

  "I suppose so," he said doubtfully, standing to one side. "It's very late for business."

  "Better late than never," Tim said for something to say.

  We entered the passage and followed Maxison into the green-carpeted reception-room. The air in there smelt musty. There was also an odour of floor polish and embalming fluid, aromatic, sweet and sickening.

  Maxison turned on a few more lights, and took up his stand by a large glass showcase full of miniature coffins.

  "Now, gentlemen," he said, pulling nervously at his faded purple and white tie. "What can I do for you?"

  "I'm Chester Cain," I said.

  He took an abrupt step back, his hand jumped to his mouth. Fear made him look old and stupid. His thin, almost skull-like face turned the colour of ripe cheese.

  "You don't have to worry," I said, watching him closely. "I'm here on profitable business . . . profitable business to you."

  His teeth began to chatter. "Please," he stuttered, "you mustn't stay here. I can't do business with you . . ."

  I jerked a straight-back chair towards him. "Sit down," I said.

  He seemed glad to.