Tiger By The Tail

"It will. Carson's killing will be blamed on Holland. That's what I call organizing, Adams," O'Brien said, showing his teeth in a fixed grin.

Gilda was shaking so badly she couldn't hold the receiver.

"I can't do it, Sean," she moaned.

"Leave it!" he said sharply. "I'll handle it. Go into your bedroom. Don't worry, kid. You're in the clear."

Gilda turned, stumbled across the room, opened her bedroom door, went inside and shut the door.

O'Brien looked at Adams.

"So long, smart cop," he said.

He didn't see Leo come out of the kitchen. The dog trotted up to him and stood up, its paws against O'Brien's knee.

Startled, O'Brien, looked down, then kicked the dog away.

Adams' hand flew inside his coat, yanked out his gun.

O'Brien fired a shade late.

Adams' gun barked and a red splash of blood appeared under O'Brien's right eye. He dropped his gun, staggered back as Adams fired again.

O'Brien slammed against the wall, heeled over and spread out on his face.

"The punk had me sweating," Adams said softly. He blew out his cheeks, wriggled his shoulders inside his coat, and grinned at Ken. "Did he make you sweat, too?"

Ken didn't say anything. He went unsteadily to a chair, sat down, holding his head in his hands.

Adams looked at him, shrugged, and went quietly to the bedroom door, turned the handle and pushed open the door.

Gilda was standing in the middle of the room, her hands to her ears, her face drawn. When she saw him, she gave a sharp scream.

"It didn't work," Adams said. "You're right out on your own now, sister. Come on. We'll go down to headquarters and talk this thing out."

Gilda backed away.

"The dog foxed him," Adams went on, moving slowly towards her. "He hadn't got the dog organized. I got him before he got me. Come on, sister, don't play it the hard way."

"Keep away from me!"

Her voice was a croak. Her face was ugly with terror.

"The jury will love your legs," Adams said comfortingly. "You'll only get twenty years. You'll be out of all the misery that's coming when they drop the H-bomb. You don't know it yet, but you're a lucky girl."

Gilda turned and ran. She took five swift steps before she reached the big, curtained window. She didn't stop. She went through the curtains, through the glass and out of the window.

Adams heard her thin wailing scream as she went down into the darkness, and the thud of her body as it struck the sidewalk, sixteen stories below.

He lifted his shoulders, walked quickly back into the sitting-room, ignoring Ken, who still sat with his head in his hands, and called headquarters on the telephone.

"Get an ambulance and a squad to 45 Maddox Court, fast," he said into the mouthpiece, "and when I say fast, I mean fast!"

He dropped the receiver back on to its cradle, went over to Ken and jerked him to his feet.

"Get the hell out of here! Don't you want to go home?"

Ken stared blankly at him.

"Go on, beat it!" Adams said. "You're in the clear. Keep your mouth shut and you won't hear anything more about it. Go on, get the hell out of it!"

Too shocked to speak, Ken went unsteadily to the door.

"Hey!" Adams said, pointing to the Pekinese who had taken refuge under the sideboard. "How about this dog? Wouldn't you like to give it a home?"

Ken looked at the dog in horror.

"No!" he said, his voice shaking. "It's all right with me if I never see another Pekinese again in my life."

He went down the stairs at a stumbling run.

IV

A few minutes to half-past eight the next morning, Ken stopped his car at the corner of Marshall Avenue where he could see down the road. He waited a few minutes, then he saw Parker open his gate and come towards him.

The usual spritely snap had gone out of Parker's walk. He came towards Ken as if it were an effort to drag one foot after the other. He looked pale, haggard and depressed.

Ken got out of the car.

"I thought I'd give you a lift to the bank," he said awkwardly.

Parker started and stared at him.

"Of all the damn nerve!" he said angrily. "You can't go to the bank! The police are looking for you. Now look here, Holland, you've got to give yourself up. I can't have you with me all day, not knowing when the police are coming to arrest you. I won't have it!"

"Keep your shirt on," Ken said. "I've been to the police and explained. They caught the killer last night, and I'm in the clear."

Parker gaped.

"They got the killer? Then you didn't do it?"

"Of course not, you dope!"

"Oh! Well, I don't want anything more to do with you. You're a damned dangerous influence. You've ruined my home."

Ken asked the question that had been torturing him for the past few hours: "Did you tell your wife I went to see Fay?"

"Tell her?" Parker's voice shot up. "Of course not! You don't think I'd tell her I gave you an introduction to a tart, do you? It's bad enough now, but she would never have forgiven me."

Ken drew in a deep breath of relief. He suddenly grinned, and clumped Parker on his back.

"Then this lets me out!" he said. "You'll keep quiet about this to Ann, won't you?"

Parker scowled at him.