The Fabulous Clipjoint by Fredric Brown (the reader ebook TXT) đ
- Author: Fredric Brown
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Uncle Ambrose said, âHe was planning to marry Madge. He knew she liked him and that sheâd be looking for another husband pretty soon. Her type always marries againâshe wouldnât have wanted to go back to being a waitress when a guy with a good job like Bunnyâs wants to support her. And she isnât so young any more andâwell, I donât have to draw a diagram, do I?â
Bassett said, âYou mean he didnât know about that premium receipt and thought Madge wouldnât know about the policy until after heâd married her? But howâd he account for having hidden the policy?â
Uncle Am said, âHe wouldnât have to. After theyâre married he could pretend to find it somewhere among some stuff of Wallyâs. And Madge would let him use it for starting his own printing shop; he could talk her into that, because that way it would give them an income for life.â
Bunny nodded. âShe was always at Wally to get ambitious that way,â he said. âBut Wally didnât want to.â
Uncle Am took off his hat and wiped sweat from his forehead. He didnât look so cool any more. He said, âBunny, I still donât get it. UnlessâBunny, whose idea was this? Yoursâ or Wallyâs?â
Bunny said, âHis. Honest. He wanted me to kill him, or Iâd never even have thought of it. He kept dogging me. I donât mean he ever came right out and said âKill me, pal,â but after I took to going around with him and he found out I needed money for my shop, and that I liked Madge and she liked me, he kept at me.â
Bassett asked, âHow do you mean, kept at you?â
âWell, he told me where he kept the policyâin his locker at work, and said nobody else knew about it. Heâd say, âMadge likes you, Bunny. If anything ever happens to meââ Hell, he worked out the whole thing. He told me that if something happened to him, itâd be better for Madge if she didnât know about the policy right away, that if she got the money direct sheâd head for California or somewhere and blow it in, and he wished he could fix it so she wouldnât know she had the money coming until she was safely married to some guy who could invest it for her.â
Bassett said, âBut man, that wasnât suggesting you kill him. He just said if he died.â
Bunny shook his head. âThat was what he said, but not what he meant. He told me he wished he had the nerve to kill himself, but that he didnât. That anybodyâd be doing him a favorââ
Bassett asked, âWhat happened that night?â
âJust like I told Ed, up to half past twelve. I took Madge home then, instead of half past one. Afterwards, I figured she wouldnât have known what time it was and if I said one-thirty Iâd be protecting both of us.
âIâd given up looking for Wally by then. I knew where there was an all-night poker game on Chicago Avenue over near the river. I was walking up Orleans Street and was almost to Chicago when I met Wally coming the other way. Heading home with four bottles of beer. He was pretty tight.
âHe insisted I walk home with him. He gave me one of the bottles to carry. One. He picked the darkest alley to cut through. The street light was out at the other end of it. He quit talking when we started through it. He walked a little ahead of me, and then he took off his hat and carried it in his handâand, well, he wanted me to do it, and if I did I could have Madge and my own shop like Iâve always wanted andâwell, I did.â
Bassett asked, âThen why did youâ
My uncle said to him, âShut up, copper. Youâve got all you need. Let the guy alone. I understand the whole thing now.â
He walked over to the dresser and poured some drinks out of the bottle. He looked at me, but I shook my head. He stopped at three drinks and gave the stiffest one to Bunny.
Bunny stood up to drink it. He gulped it down and started for the bathroom door. He was almost there when Bassett seemed to realize what was happening. He yelled, âHey, donâtââ and started across the room to grab the knob of the closing door before it could lock on the inside.
My uncle stumbled into Bassett, and the bathroom doorâs bolt slid home with a click.
Bassett said, âGoddam it, heâs gonnaââ
âSure, Frank,â my uncle said. âYou got any better ideas? Come on, Ed, letâs get out of here.â I wanted out quick, too.
I almost had to run to keep up with him after we were downstairs and out on the sidewalk.
We walked fast, under the blazing afternoon sun. We walked for blocks before he seemed to realize I was there with him.
He slowed down. He looked at me and grinned. He said, âWerenât we a couple of marks, kid? Going hunting for wolves and catching a rabbit?â
âI wish now weâd never gone hunting.â
He said, âSo do I. My fault, kid. When I saw that note an hour ago I knew Bunny did it, but I couldnât guess why. Iâd never met him, andâ Hell, why should I excuse myself? I should have gone to see him alone. But no, I had to grandstand and go along with Bassett.â
I asked, âHow did the noteâ? Oh-oh. I see it now, now that I know thereâs something to see. He spelled the name right; thatâs what you mean, isnât it?â
Uncle Am nodded. âAnders. Heâd heard it over the phone from you, and you didnât spell it for him. Heâd have written it âAndersâ if he hadnât read it on the insurance policy he said he didnât know existed.â
I said, âI read the note and didnât see it.â
My uncle didnât seem to hear me. He said, âI knew it wasnât suicide. I told you about that psychological quirk of Wallyâsâ he couldnât have committed suicide. But I never dreamed heâd gone downhill to where heâd pull a stunt like that. I guessâ well, if thatâs what life did to him, Ed, itâs just as well. To play a trick like that on Bunnyââ
âHe thought he was doing Bunny a favor.â
âLetâs hope so. He should have known better.â
I asked, âHow long do you think heâd been planning this?â
âHe took out that policy five years ago in Gary. He took that bribe from Reynolds to vote for his brotherâs acquittal, and then he voted for conviction. He must have figured the Reynolds gang would kill him for that.
âBut either something happened to change his mind, that time, or he lost his nerve. He scrammed out of Gary and covered his trail. He couldnât have known Reynolds was here in Chicago, or he wouldnât have bothered with Bunny. He could have gone to Reynolds and had the job done cheaper.â
âYou mean for five years heâs wanted toââ
âHe must have kept it in mind, Ed. He kept up the policy, once he had it. Maybe he decided to ride it out until you were through school, started in a good job. Maybe he started working on Bunny about the time you started to work at the Elwood. My God.â
We were waiting for lights to change, and I saw we were waiting to cross Michigan Boulevard. Weâd walked plenty far, farther than Iâd realized.
The lights said, âWalk,â and we went across.
My uncle said, âWant a beer, kid?â
I said, âIâll take a Martini. Just one.â
âThen Iâll give you one in style, Ed. Come on, Iâll show you something.â
âWhat?â
âThe world without a little red fence around it.â
We walked north two blocks on the east side of Michigan Boulevard to the Allerton Hotel. We went in, and there was a special elevator. We rode up a long time, I donât know how many floors, but the Allerton is a tall building.
The top floor was a very swanky cocktail bar. The windows were open and it was cool there. Up as high as that, the breeze was a cool breeze and not something out of a blast furnace.
We took a table by a window on the south side, looking out toward the Loop. It was beautiful in the bright sunshine. The tall, narrow buildings were like fingers reaching toward the sky. It was like something out of a science-fiction story. You couldnât quite believe it, even looking at it.
âAinât it something, kid?â
âBeautiful as hell,â I said. âBut itâs a clipjoint.â
He grinned. The little laughing wrinkles were back in corners of his eyes.
He said, âItâs a fabulous clipjoint, kid. The craziest things can happen in it, and not all of them are bad.â
I nodded. I said, âLike Claire.â
âLike your bluffing down Kaufmanâs loogans. Like the swat between the eyes you gave Bassett telling him where the Waupaca money is. Heâll spend the rest of his life wondering how you knew.â
He chuckled. âKid, a few days ago you were a bit startled because at your age Wally had fought a duel and had an affair with an editorâs wife. You ainât doing so bad yourself, kid. Iâm a bit older than you and Iâve never yet killed a bank robber with a twelve-ounce poker, nor slept with a gun-moll.â
âBut itâs over now,â I said. âIâve got to go back to work. You going back to the carney?â
âYeah. And youâre going to be a printer?â
âI guess so,â I said. âWhy not?â
âNo reason at all. Itâs a good trade. Better than being a Carney. Thereâs no security in that. You make money sometimes, but you spend it. You live in tents like goddam Bedouins. You never have a home. The food is lousy and when it rains you go nuts. Itâs a hell of a life.â
I felt disappointed. I wasnât going with him, of course, but Iâd wanted him to want me to. It was silly, but thatâs the way it was.
He said, âYeah, its a hell of a life, kid. But if youâre crazy enough to want to try it, Iâd sure like to show you the ropes. You could get along; youâve got what it takes.â
âThanks,â I said. âButâwellââ
âOkay,â he said. âI wouldnât talk you into it. Iâm going to send a wire to Hoagy and then go back to the Wacker to pack up.â
âSo long,â I said.
We shook hands. He went off and I sat down at the table again and looked out.
The waitress came back and wanted to know if I wanted anything else and I told her I didnât.
I sat there until the shadows of the monstrous buildings got long and the light blue of the lake got darker. The cool breeze came in the open window.
Then I got up, and I was scared as hell that heâd gone without me. I found a phone booth and called the Wacker. I got his room and he was still there.
âItâs Ed,â I said. âIâm going along.â
âI was waiting for you. You took a little longer than I thought.â
âIâll rush home and pack a suitcase,â I said. âThen shall I meet you at the depot?â
âKid, weâre going back by rattler. Iâm broke. Just got a few bucks left for eats on the way.â
âBroke?â I asked. âYou canât be broke. You had two hundred dollars only a few hours ago.â
He laughed. âItâs an art, Ed. I told you a carneyâs money didnât last long. Listen, Iâll meet you at Clark and Grand in an hour. Weâll catch a streetcar
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