The Fabulous Clipjoint by Fredric Brown (the reader ebook TXT) đ
- Author: Fredric Brown
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I sat back down on the sofa. Claire put her hand in mine, and we sat there, not looking at each other, not talking, staring into a fireplace that didnât have a fire in it and never would have.
Anyway, looking at the fireplace, we didnât have to look at Dutch on the floor behind us.
But he was there. He didnât get up and leave. He never would.
He wouldnât ever do anything. He was dead.
And his being there got bigger and bigger until it filled the room.
Claireâs hand tightened convulsively in mine and she started sobbing again, very quietly.
I waited till sheâd stopped crying and then I said, âWeâve got to do something. We can call the police and tell them the truth; thatâs one thing. Another; we can scram out of here and let them find it whenever they do. The third would be tougher; we could put it somewhere else for them to find.â
âWe canât call the police, Ed. Theyâd find out Harry had been living here. Theyâd find out everything. Theyâd nail me as an accessory to every job he ever pulled. Theyâdââ Her face got white as a sheet. âEd, they did take me along on one job, made me wait in the car and act as lookout. God, what a sap I was not to see he was deliberately fixing me up so I could never talk. The police know Dutch was on that job, and ifââ
I said, âCould they identify you, and tie you in with that job?â
âIâI think they could.â
I said, âThen weâd better not call them. But youâre getting out of here anyway, going back to Indianapolis. Couldnât you just leave tonight?â
âYes, butâIâd be wanted. They could trace me when they found Dutch dead here. They could find out who I was and where I came from. I couldnât go back to Indianapolis; Iâd have to go somewhere else. Thereâd be dodgers out for me. All the rest of my life, Iâd beââ
I cut her short. âOkay,â I said. âWe canât call copper and we canât walk off and leave him. How could we get him out of here?â
âHeâs awful heavy, Ed. I donât know if we could do it, but thereâs a service elevator at the back of the hall that goes to a back door off the alley. And itâs after midnight. But weâd need a car once we got him to the alley. And heâs awful heavy, Ed. Do you think we could?â
I stood up and looked around till I saw the phone. I said, âIâll see what I can do, Claire. Wait.â
I went over to the phone and called the Wacker, and I gave Uncle Amâs room number.
When his voice answered, I felt so relieved my knees got weak and I sat down in the chair by the phone table.
I said, âThis is Ed, Uncle Am.â
âYou young squirt, what you mean walking off on me? I been waiting for you to call. I suppose you got yourself in a jam, huh?â
I said, âI suppose I did. Iâm calling fromâfrom the phone number we had.â
âThe hell. Youâre doing all right, kid. Or are you?â
âI donât know. It kind of depends on how you look at it. Listen, we need a car or aââ
He cut in, âWhoâs we?â
âClaire and I,â I told him. âListen, this call is through the hotel switchboard, isnât it?â
âShall I call you back, kid?â
âItâd be an idea,â I said.
The call came in five minutes. He said, âThis is from a booth, Ed. Go ahead.â
I said, âClaire and I were getting along, but we had company. A guy named Dutch. Dutchâuhâdrank a bit too much and sort of passed out on us. We want to take him home without taking him through the front lobby. Itâd be best if he wasnât found here. Now if somebody had a car and parked it in the alley back of here, by the service entrance, and then gave us a hand getting him down the service elevatorââ
âOkay, kid. Would a taxi do?â
I said, âThe driver might be worried about Dutch. Heâs prettyâuhâstiff, if you know what I mean.â
Uncle Am said, âI guess I know what you mean. Okay, kid, hold the fort. The marines are coming.â
I felt a hell of a lot better when I put down the phone and went back to the sofa beside Claire.
She gave me a funny kind of look. She said, âEd, you called the guy Uncle Am. Is he really your uncle?â
I nodded.
She said, âThat wild, screwy yarn you pulled about Harry killing yourâyour father last week and you and your uncle hunting him for that, only your uncle was asleepâwasnât that in with the seven-foot snow on Michigan Boulevard and the dog teams giving out andââ
I said, âIt wasnât. It was the straight story. I told that first because I knew you wouldnât believe it, the way I put it. I didnât know where you stood then.â
She put her hand in mine again. She said, âYou should have told me.â
âI did, didnât I? Listen, Claire, think hard. Did you ever hear Harryâor Dutch or Bennyâmention the name Hunter?â
âNo, Ed. Not that I remember, anyway.â
âHow long have you known them?â
âTwo years. I told you that.â
I wanted to believe her. I wanted like hell to believe everything sheâd told me. But I had to be sure.
I asked, âDid you ever hear the name Kaufman? George Kaufman?â
She didnât even hesitate. âYes, aboutâI guess two or three weeks ago. Harry told me a man named Kaufman might call up this number and give me a message. He said the message could be an address, and I was to copy it down and give it to him. Or that it might be that someone Harry was interested in meeting was at the tavern Kaufman owned. And that if it was that the guy was there, I was to get in touch with Harry quick, if I knew where he was.â
âDid Kaufman call?â
âNo. Not any time I was here, anyway.â
âCould anyone else have taken the message?â
âHarry might haveâif it was over a week ago. There would have been times he was here and I was out. Nobody else could have. Ed, this man Harry wanted to meet if he came in Kaufmanâsâwould it have been your father?â
I nodded. It checked; it fitted Kaufmanâs story like a glove, and proved that both he and Claire were telling the truth about it.
I asked her, âKnow anything about Harryâs brother, Steve?â
âOnly that heâs in jail. I think in Indiana. But that was before I met Harry. Ed, I do want a drink now. How about you? Can I mix you a Martini? Or would you rather have something else?â
I said, âA Martini would be swell.â
When she stood up, she caught sight of herself in the mirror over the mantel. She gasped a little. She said, âIâllâIâll be back in a minute, Ed.â
She went through the door behind which Iâd hidden not so long ago, and I heard another door open and close and water running. She was feeling better, I knew. When a girl starts worrying about how she looks, sheâs feeling better.
She came back looking like a million bucks in crisp new currency.
She had a glass of ice cubes and a bottle of vermouth in her hands when the doorbell rang.
I said, âItâs Uncle Am. Iâll get it.â
But I had my hand on the revolver in my coat pocket when I opened the door, on the chain.
It was Uncle Am. He was wearing a taxi-driverâs cap, grinning.
He said, âYou phone for a cab?â
I unhooked the chain. âYeah,â I said. âCome on in. We got a little packing to do yet.â
I closed the door behind him and locked it. He said, âYeah, youâve been doing all right. Wipe that lipstick off your mush and youâll look better, though. Where is it?â
We went into the living room. His eyebrows went up a little when he saw Claire. I saw his lips make the slight involuntary motion toward a whistle that menâs lips often make when they look at something like Claire.
Then he turned his head a little and saw Dutch. He winced a little.
He said, âKid, you should have told me to bring a derrick.â He walked over and stood looking down. He said, âNo blood, no marks. Thatâs something, anyway. Whatâd you do, scare him to death?â
I said, âIt was almost the other way around. Uncle Am, this is Claire.â
She put out her hand and he took it. He said, âEven under the circumstances, itâs a pleasure.â
She said, âThanks, Am. A Martini?â
She was already getting out a third glass. Uncle Am turned and looked at me and I knew what he was thinking. I said, âIâm all right. I had two thimblefuls of green ink, but that was several weeks ago. And one rye in the bar downstairs, but that was last year.â
She finished the cocktails and handed one to each of us. I sipped mine. It tasted good; I liked it.
Uncle Am said, âHow much have you told, Ed?â
âEnough,â I told him. âClaire knows what the score is. Sheâs on our team.â
He said, âI hope you know what youâre doing, Ed.â
âI hope so, too,â I told him.
âWell, you can tell me all about it tomorrow. Thereâs always another day.â
I said, âThereâs the rest of tonight.â
He grinned. He said, âI doubt it. Well, letâs get going. Think you can manage half of our drunken friend?â
âI can try.â
He turned to Claire. âThe cab is in the alley, outside the service door. But itâs locked; I came in the front way. You got a key?â
âIt opens from the inside. And we can put a piece of cardboard so the catch of the lock will stay back and we can get in again. The elevator will be at the first floor. I think I can run it; Iâll go down now and bring it up to the fourthââ
âNo,â Uncle Am said. âElevators are noisyâespecially ones that arenât supposed to be in use in the middle of the night. Weâll get him down those back stairs. You just stay ahead of us so we donât run into anybody. If you see anybody, speak to âem; weâll hear your voice and stop to wait.â
She nodded.
Uncle Am took Dutchâs shoulders and I took his feet. He was just too heavy for us to try walking him between us like an ambulating drunk. Weâd have to carry him and take our chances.
We got him through the hall and down the stairs. It wasnât a job Iâd want to do regularly.
We got all the breaks. The door was like Claire had said it would be. There wasnât anyone around the alley. We got him into the cab, jackknifed on the floor of the back seat, and put over him a blanket Claire had brought down for the purpose.
I sat down and wiped the sweat off my forehead. Uncle Am did, too.
Then he got in behind the wheel and Claire and I got in back.
He said, âAny choice of a final resting place?â
I said, âThereâs an alley off FranklinâNo, skip it; thatâs the last place weâd want to put him.â
Claire said, âI know where he used to live, up to a few weeks ago. An apartment building on Division. If we left him in the alley back of thereââ
âSmart girl,â Uncle Am said. âIf
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