However, all readers - sooner or later - find for themselves a literary genre that is fundamentally different from all others. Lucky Stiff by Craig Rice (ebook pdf reader for pc TXT) đź“–
- Author: Craig Rice
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Malone had been brought up in a neighborhood where the average small boy learned to dodge policemen at least a year or two before he learned his alphabet. He headed south in the direction of Chicago Avenue, adroitly ducking into doorways and disappearing in the shadows of buildings whenever a squad car came unpleasantly close. Two blocks of this and he was safe.
He was on a badly lighted residential street in a neighborhood that changed abruptly from Italian to Polish. He was weak and exhausted and walking with difficulty. He wished that a taxicab would come along and rescue him.
Once, in fact, he sat down on the curbstone, mopped his brow, and muttered, “There’s as much chance of finding a taxi on this street as there is of finding a snowflake in a haystack.” He thought that over for a moment and amended it to, “Finding a needle in hell.”
He finally reached Chicago Avenue at a point just east of its junction with Milwaukee Avenue. There wasn’t much chance of finding a taxi here, either. It was nearly seven o’clock but the eastbound streetcars were still jammed to the doors with homebound workers.
Anna Marie must be starving for her dinner by now, Malone reflected, starving and, he hoped, worrying about him. But he couldn’t arrive looking like this. He’d better go to Jake and Helene’s first.
He thought it over and decided that a streetcar would be the safest bet. He caught the first one that came along, shoving his way through the crowd, catching a precarious foothold on the step, and finally inching his way into the vestibule where he dropped his fare in the box, clutched a pole, and stood hanging onto it for dear life.
The crowd thinned out rapidly along the way. By the time the car crossed Wells Street it was half empty. Malone still stood there clutching the pole. The car was between Clark and State Streets when a fellow passenger said sympathetically, “What happened, bub? Been in a fight?”
“Uh-uh,” Malone said. He opened his eyes, saw where he was, and prepared to get off. “I was blown up in an undertaking parlor.”
The other passengers laughed appreciatively. Malone climbed down the steps, shook his fist in the direction of the streetcar, and said, “Damn it, I was blown up in an undertaking parlor! I can prove it!”
He walked over to the sidewalk, leaned against the wall, and waited until a taxi came along. He climbed in, relaxed against the cushions, and gave the address of the apartment hotel where Jake and Helene lived.
The cab driver was another sympathetic soul. He said, “Been having a little trouble?”
“It wasn’t any trouble to me,” Malone said.
He decided the wisest policy would be to use the back elevator and not expose himself to more sympathetic questions as he walked through the lobby. Any minute now, he told himself, his head would clear. It would keep on getting more and more filled with fog right up to a certain point and then, miraculously, everything would be right again. But it was getting very foggy now.
He clutched the side of the elevator for support. The name Louis Perez had gasped out kept beating an annoying percussion accompaniment to the thoughts that whirled madly through his mind. The name didn’t seem to have anything to do with what had happened so far. It was a name he had never heard before and hoped he would never hear again.
Maybe the name was important. Maybe that was why Louis Perez had whispered it just before lapsing into unconsciousness, or maybe—maybe psychology or something—or just maybe—
Malone staggered out of the elevator, its door clanging shut behind him revived him for a moment. He started down the corridor toward Jake and Helena’s apartment, only occasionally pushing the wall away with the flat of his hand.
Ten feet from the door he halted. A short, paunchy man with sleek black hair was being welcomed by Helene at the door. For a moment Malone stood there, undecided. But the familiar-looking stranger seemed harmless, at least at this distance. And the floor and walls were beginning to play merry-go-round now. He wasn’t at all sure he could find the back elevator again, or that he could trust it if he did find it. He groped his way to the door, pounded on it, and nearly fell in when it was opened.
“Malone,” Helene gasped. “What happened to you? Were you robbed?”
“No,” Malone gasped. “I was bombed.”
Jake grabbed him by the elbow and said, “Hello, Malone. You remember Lou Berg, don’t you?”
“Sure do,” Malone muttered. He aimed at the ex-band leader’s outthrust hand and missed it by a good six inches. Jake steadied him.
“Call—her—” the little lawyer gasped. “Tell her—
late to take her to dinner—can’t have her worry—” The room was spinning now. “Send to the hotel—for clean clothes—razor—get cleaned up–-go meet her— ” He pitched forward. Jake caught him just in time.
“Funny thing,” Malone whispered, “for a minute—thought I knew who—but can’t remember name now—”
The walls stopped spinning and mercifully turned black.
“It’s just a mild concussion,” the doctor said. “Coupled with shock and exhaustion. He’ll be up and around in a day or two.” He tucked the sheet around Malone’s chin, put a little box on the table. “Give him two of these if he wakes up. What happened to him, anyway?”
“I don’t know,” Helene said truthfully.
“From the symptoms,” the doctor said, “I’d think he’d been in an explosion, but of course—”
Malone lay very still and kept his eyes closed.
“I don’t suppose you have any idea how it happened?” the doctor said.
Helene opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again.
“Well, don’t worry about him,” the doctor told her. He picked up his bag. “A little rest and quiet, and he’ll be all right.
Jake frowned. “There’s a chance we’ll have to go out and leave him alone. Shouldn’t we get a nurse in?”
“No need for it,” the doctor said. “Once he’s taken those capsules, he’ll stay asleep for twelve hours. I’ll come in in the morning.”
Malone repressed his indignation. Feed him capsules, would they! Keep him asleep for twelve hours! He’d show them!
He heard a low murmur of voices from the next room, and the opening and closing of a door. He waited craftily until he was sure the doctor couldn’t be called back and then moaned softly.
Helene and Jake were at his side in two seconds flat. Malone opened his eyes and looked dazed. “Where—am—I?” he said in a feeble whisper.
“You’re here,” Helene said, taking his hand.
“Where’s—here?”
Jake said, “Malone, what happened?”
The little lawyer blinked and looked bewildered. “What happened to who?”
“To you,” Jake said.
This time Malone didn’t answer. He simply looked blank and faintly puzzled.
“For Pete’s sake,” Helene scolded, “don’t bother him with questions now. Let it wait until he’s had some sleep.”
Malone gave her a faint smile of gratitude.
“You just need a nice little nap,” Helene said soothingly. “And then you’ll be perfectly all right again. You take those two little pills the doctor left for you.”
Malone nodded obediently, inwardly seething. Nice little nap! Twelve hours! Be perfectly all right again! Why, the female Judas!
He opened his mouth, let her slip in the capsules, and managed to anchor them under his tongue. He took one small sip of water and closed his eyes.
“He’ll be asleep in no time,” Helene whispered. “Let’s get out of here and not disturb him.”
Malone heard them tiptoe to the door, heard it close very softly. Then he hastily took out the capsules and tucked them under his pillow. There! Now, it was just a question of waiting until they left.
It was pleasant to lie still and think. His head throbbed, and he felt weary. Wide awake, though. Wide awake, and able to cope with any situation that might come along.
It occurred to him that Jake and Helene might try to take matters into their own hands. Anna Marie would have to be warned.
He listened for a moment. There was a very faint murmur from the next room. He propped himself on one elbow, wincing at the effort, reached for the telephone on the bed table, called his hotel, identified himself, and gave Anna Marie’s room number.
“Listen,” he said in a very low voice. “I’ve got to talk fast, so get all this straight. I want you to send down for some dinner, then get into bed. Jake and Helene may turn up and try to get you to go somewhere or do something. I don’t know where or what. They’ll tell you I’ve been hurt and I’m asleep, but don’t believe them. It’s a trap. Tell them you’re very tired from last night and you’ve gone to bed and you’re going to sleep. Stay right in your room and wait for me, I’ll be along as soon as I can.”
He hung up the phone, feeling very pleased with himself. He’d fixed that business all right!
Someone had gone to pretty great lengths to make sure that Earl Wilks and Louis Perez wouldn’t talk. Why? If what Al Harmon had said was correct, they wouldn’t be able to give much dangerous information about the protection racket. Only the name of their immediate contact. Or had they been in the inner circle, so to speak? Was the name Perez has gasped out the name he, and Al Harmon, and a lot of other people, had tried to learn?
Guillermo. Who the hell was Guillermo? Malone puzzled over it. He knew practically all the large-and small-scale racketeers in the city, at least by reputation, and he’d never heard of anyone named Guillermo. He felt that somehow it ought to connect up with something in his mind, and it didn’t.
Had the bomb been thrown because Perez and Wilks could tell something else of importance? As far as he knew, they hadn’t been tied up with Ike Malloy. But could they have known who planned the murder of Big Joe Childers?
There was a third, and distinctly disquieting, possibility. The bomb hadn’t been thrown because Louis Perez and Earl Wilks were in the back room of Rico’s undertaking parlor, but because he himself was there.
He didn’t like the idea, but he couldn’t discard it. Malone scowled and asked himself what he knew that might make him dangerous. The hell of it was, he suspected, that he did know something important. If only he could remember–
The name, Guillermo, was important, but he couldn’t think why. Something Helene had told him was important. Something to do with Milly Dale. If it would only come back to him. He wished he could call Helene and ask her, but he was supposed to be asleep.
Milly Dale. Something Helene had told him before Milly had been killed.
Just some one fact that he’d forgotten—that was all he needed now to pull everything together.
He lay very still, his eyes closed, thinking. Little by little facts began to fall into their proper place in his mind. The name, Guillermo, and the fact about Milly Dale belonged side by side. They were twin facts. Identical twins.
Suddenly he knew the answer.
He wished Jake and Helene would hurry up and clear out. Now that he knew he wanted action. He told himself to be patient, and waited.
Out in the other room Helene said, “I wish I knew what happened to Malone. He said he’d been bombed.” She turned
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