Tough as Nails: The Complete Cases of Donahue From the Pages of Black Mask (3 page)

When the phone rang Donahue merely blinked, did not budge a muscle. The bell stopped. Donahue watched the shimmering disc of the electric fan. When the phone rang again Donahue made a face. He turned his face towards the phone, regarded it with a scowl. It rang boisterously, insistently.

“Hell,” muttered Donahue, and reached for it. Into the mouthpiece he said, “Hello.”

“Donahue?”

“Yup.”

“Stein. I’m coming up.”

Donahue frowned, then said, “Come on.” He hung up, his face a little puzzled. He rose and walked over to unhook the door with the horizontal blinds. He went back to the bed, sat down on the edge of it, picked up a rumpled packet of cigarettes from the desk, took one out and put it between his lips. He tore a paper match from a book of matches, struck it, lit the cigarette and lay sidewise on one elbow.

When Stein knocked he said, “Come in.”

Stein came in, small and thin and neat in a suit of Palm Beach cloth and a broad-brimmed Panama hat. He let the door close behind him and stood looking at Donahue. His thin face with the shiny horn-rimmed glasses looked grave and portentous.

“Well,” he said, “what do you think happened?”

“Sit down,” said Donahue.

“Cross got bumped off.” Donahue finished taking a drag on his cigarette and let the smoke lazily from his nostrils.

“Did he?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing in the papers.”

“He was found about two hours ago in an alley down by the river. He must have been bumped off last night.”

“That’s tough.”

Stein took off his hat, walked to a chair and sat down. He stared levelly at Donahue. “Now what the hell are you after?”

“What’s that got to do with Cross?”

Stein’s glasses flashed. “Listen to me, Donahue. That cheap outfit you work for has retained me in this city to help out any of its operatives who might need help here. I’ve a right to know what you’re after. You’re primed to get in Dutch, so I might just as well know. Play ball.”

“I told Cross to get a line on a guy named Micky Shane, alias Shannon, alias Hannon, alias O’Shane.”

“All right. Why?”

“I’m looking for Micky Shane.”

“That’s no answer.”

Donahue got up, poured some bourbon into a glass, threw in some cracked ice, made the glass half-full with Perrier. He half-turned.

“Want a drink?”

“No!”

Donahue sat down on the bed with the drink, looked at Stein, began to smile and then grinned.

He said, “How the hell will I get in Dutch?”

“That Greek Constantine was a friend of Cross’s. You met Cross there, didn’t you? The gumshoes will poke around to all the joints and the Greek might remember that you and Cross had a talk the other day. If I’m going to be your lawyer, I want facts or you and the whole damned Interstate can go to hell.”

“Calm yourself, Stein—calm yourself! On a hot day like this! I get hot watching you. Don’t worry about me, old-timer. I can find my way after dark. Calm yourself! Think of your temperature!”

“I don’t feel like joking, Donahue, so cut it out!”

Donahue took a drink. “When I get in Dutch, Stein, I’ll tell you about it. But just now I’m all right. If you think Hinkle will tell you more, there’s the telephone. Ask for long distance. The number is Beekman double-o-six-o.”

Stein stood up, slapped on his Panama. He pulled a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and mopped his face. He regarded Donahue with sharp eyes behind large glasses.

“Just a bull-headed Mick, eh?”

“Don’t get sore, Stein. Have a drink.”

Stein said, “Go to hell,” and strode out.

At Police Headquarters in Clark Avenue Detective Hocheimer sat at a battered desk and gnawed at the stem of a corncob pipe. He sat in shirtsleeves, bald head splotched with red heat-spots and high blood-pressure, white hair above the ears damp, thick jowls hanging over a soiled stiff collar, big round eyes bleary.

A head poked in the door, “Guy wants to see the guy on the Cross job.”

Hocheimer erupted to say, “Well, ain’t I the guy?”

“What I said.”

“Who is he?”

“Dunno. Want to see him?”

“Well… well, send him in.”

The head disappeared. A little later Donahue came in, fanning himself with his straw hat

“Hot, ain’t it?” he remarked.

“You’re about the tenth guy’s asked me that. What you want? Who are you?”

Donahue pulled a swivel-chair around and sat down. He laid his hat on the table, took time off to wipe his face and neck with a damp handkerchief.

Hocheimer looked like some modernized fat Buddha, sitting there hunched in his chair, with fat hairy arms dangling towards the floor, and big round eyes drooping biliously from their sockets.

His voice was rough, asthmatic. “Well, well—who are you? What do you want?”

Donahue took out his wallet, took from it a card, passed the card to Hocheimer. Hocheimer glared at the card, glared at Donahue, pulled in his lower lip and let it go with a wet smacking sound.

“Yeah. Well?”

“I knew Cross.”

“Yeah, yuh did?”

“Yeah. I had a few drinks with him the other day in a Greek speak in Sixth Street.”

“I know the place. The Greek says Luke met a guy there. So you’re the guy.”

“I’m the guy. I’d met Cross a couple times before when I was in this burg, and I called him up and made a date. I thought he could help me out.”

“And what are you here for?”

“I’m looking for a guy. I thought Cross could give me a steer. He was a good egg.”

“What guy? What do you want him for?”

Donahue pulled his chair six inches closer to Hocheimer. He tapped Hocheimer’s knee. “Not so fast. Listen. I may be able to give you a break if you give me one. I’m not going to go into detail, so get that straight.”

“You might be in a tough spot, buddy.”

“Not at all. I haven’t done anything except ask Cross to give me a steer on a guy I was tailing. There’s nothing to show that he got bumped off because of that, and even if he did, it’s no fault of mine. Have you had a line-up yet?”

“No. We’re picking up a lot of guys and we’ll go over them in the morning.”

“Good,” said Donahue. “Now if the guy I’m after is in that line-up, I’ll tip you off, provided—provided—you give me an hour alone with him before you get your hooks in him.”

Hocheimer sat farther back in his chair. He raised his fat hairy arms and laid them across his bulging thighs. He lowered his head and his jowls lay almost against his shoulders. His thick, shapeless mouth twisted.

“You trying to bargain with me, Donahue?”

“What’s it sound like?”

Hocheimer sat up straight, put his elbows on the arms of the chair, thrust his huge face forward.

“You got a hell of a nerve, Donahue!”

“My eye! I’m giving you a break!”

“Suppose,” said Hocheimer with a gentleness that did not fit his voice or bulk, “I lock you up on general principles.”

Donahue’s eyes darkened, but he shrugged. “You wouldn’t be such a fool.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

“Well, maybe you would be a fool. Try it.”

There was a long moment of silence during which Hocheimer bulged motionless in his chair, his fat wet eyes sliding back and forth across Donahue’s brown muscled face, his breath wheezing in his throat behind a lower lip that hung loose and shiny and revealed his lower teeth. Donahue’s brown clear eyes never wavered. They did not squint. They regarded the fat mass of Hocheimer’s face with blunt, bold frankness. About his neat wide mouth was the vaguest spectre of a droll smile.

“Wouldn’t I?” croaked Hocheimer thickly.

“Try it. The Interstate has lots of money behind it. You haven’t got a leg to stand on except suspicion, and I’d be out inside of eight hours, and just for spite I’d let you try finding this guy yourself.”.

“Yeah?”

Donahue suddenly made an impatient gesture. “You hick cops are the berries, believe me! Well, what are you going to do, pinch me? If you are, go to it. Or if you want to get a break, play ball.”

“Who is the guy?”

“If he’s in the line-up you’ll find out.”

“And if he ain’t?”

“Hell, we’ll both be out of luck.”

Hocheimer creaked in his chair, put fat palms together and massaged them. “If he ain’t, Donahue, you and me will have a long talk. I got no use for private dicks that come out here from New York and cause a lot of trouble. If he ain’t, remember, you’re going to spring your whole story.”

Donahue laughed. “But a hell of a lot of good that will do you!”

“Remember,” said Hocheimer hoarsely, “if he ain’t.”

Donahue said, “Be your age, Hocheimer!” and grinned with all his straight hard teeth.

Summer rain….

Donahue stood by the window watching the sheets of rain thrash against the glass. Clark Avenue was barely visible through the smeared panes. Thunder rumbled afar, drawing nearer, and rapiers of lightning impaled the wet gloomy murk, and automobile horns complained in a half-dozen different tones.

When the door opened Donahue did not hear it. Hocheimer, grinning loosely, barged in and rocked across the floor and slapped Donahue on the back. Donahue turned his head without turning his body.

Hockeimer jerked a thick thumb over his shoulder. “Take a go at him, Donahue.”

Donahue turned then and put his hands on his hips and grinned at Hocheimer.

Hocheimer said, “You ain’t such a bad guy, Donahue.”

Donahue still grinned. Then he took hold of Hocheimer’s arm.

“Lead me, brother.”

Hocheimer chuckled and they went out of the room, through a corridor, into another room that was small, gloomy. There was a dusty desk, two straight-backed chairs. A young man sat on one of the chairs. He had yellow hair and a thin white face, and his mouth was thick and red-lipped, loose, rather weak. His eyes were insolent. His hands were manacled together. A policeman leaned against the desk.

Hocheimer said, “All right, Schwartz.”

Schwartz twirled his stick and strolled out of the room. Hocheimer looked at the pale-faced youth on the chair, looked at Donahue, winked one of his fat watery eyes, said, “Okey,” and went out.

Donahue turned slowly to stare at the door. He stared at the door for fully a minute. Then he crossed to it, put his hand around the knob, turned the knob and opened the door. Hocheimer was standing there. He coughed behind his hand, waved the hand, said, “Okey, Donahue.” Donahue grinned at him. Hocheimer chuckled hollowly, coughed again, then walked away whistling.

Donahue closed the door, turned and leaned against it, slipping one hand into his jacket pocket and letting it lounge there. His dark deep-set eyes settled on the pale-faced youth and studied him keenly. The youth’s eyes were mutinous and he was trying to make his mouth hard. Thunder rumbled roughshod over the roof. Lightning blazed in the room. The pale-faced youth blinked his eyes and appeared to cringe momentarily. The thunder tumbled away, diminishing, growling afar.

Donahue left the door, picked up a chair and dragged it across the room. He put it down in front of the youth, straddled it, put his arms on the back of it. His back was to the window, his face dimly in shadow.

“Hard guy, eh?” he said offhand.

The youth spat one word.

Donahue said, “How long have you been out of diapers?”

The youth repeated the word.

Lightning blazed whitely in the room. For one split-second the youth’s face was a white frozen mask. Thunder exploded overhead, shook the room. Another flash showed the youth’s thick, soft red lips agape, his eyes wide.

Donahue’s chuckle was low. “Little boy afraid of lightning?”

“—for you!”

“Ah, don’t be tough, Micky,” chided Donahue. “I’m a good guy, no kidding. Let’s be friends.”

“—for you!”

“Honest, a guy like you, just out of stir, should be careful. What did you want to get caught in this line-up for? I’m ashamed of you.”

“Don’t be a wisenheimer!”

“I’m no wisenheimer, Micky. I’m just a poor guy trying to make a living. Now be nice. Why did you leave New York?”

“You’re so wise you ought to know.”

“Well, I know a few things. I know about that shooting in Ninth Street, when they almost got you. And I know about that other shooting in Harlem when they tried to get you again. You sure bear a charmed life, kid. Yeah, I know you blew the town to come out here and lay up, but there’s something else I want to know, Micky, that seventy-thousand-dollar diamond engagement ring.”

“Jeeze!” It was an expression of disgust

“You know about it, Micky. You’ve got it. That’s why your boy friends tried to get you. You were holding out on them.”

“I was like hell!”

“Kid, the insurance company hired us to watch you as soon as you came out of stir and we’ve been watching you. When you pulled that job in Westchester two years ago, I’ll admit you got a tough break. You did the inside job, blew the safe, and your buddies on the outside breezed when the cops came. You got away by the skin of your teeth but the cops got you a week later. They got all the jewelry except the seventy-thousand-dollar hunk of ice. I’ll say you had guts to plant that and take the beatings they gave you. I don’t blame you for holding out on the guys that left you in a tough spot. You needed the jack when you came out, and that hunk of ice was big enough to bring you fifty thousand from a fence. All of that is okey. But, kiddo, I’m on a salary to get that ring or find out where it is. And I’m going to get it.”

Micky snarled, “You’re all wet. I haven’t got it. I never had it. I’m flat broke.”

“Let’s tune out the bed-time story, kid. The guys who stuck up the house with you were after you when you came out. I tailed you here and got Cross to help me get a line on you. Hocheimer’s got you for that job, with a good motive. You found out that Cross was looking for you and you let him have it.”

“That’s a lousy lie. I never saw Cross, and I didn’t know he was looking for me. I left New York because those guys were after me. Them yaps thought just like you—that I’d planted the ring before I went up and got it when I came out. But I didn’t. For crying out loud, d’you think I’d come out here if I had a hunk of ice worth fifty thousand at a fence’s price? Snap out of it!”