Tough as Nails: The Complete Cases of Donahue From the Pages of Black Mask (43 page)

They got off at the twelfth floor and Donahue led the way down the corridor. He whistled light-heartedly, but his eyes were glued on the door towards which they walked. He inserted the key, turned it and opened the door. His apartment was dark. He reached in and found the button, made light. His eyes flicked the living-room.

“Come in, Kelly.”

McPard came in. His eyes took in the living-room with one sweep. He plodded on into the bedroom, and Donahue took his hand from his pocket, read the slip in his palm.

The “pooch” is out. I hope I did what you meant.

He crushed the paper, took a long breath, let it out and sang a bar from Chloe. He idled to the bedroom entry and saw McPard coming out of the bathroom.

He pointed: “There’s a closet, Kelly. And don’t forget to look under the bed.”

McPard looked in the closet and under the bed. He came across the room, his brows bent, worried.

“Say, Donny, that crack about a pooch. I didn’t think you went in for dogs.”

Donahue was cramming a pipe. He paused, his back to McPard. His eyes dragged to the ceiling with a weary hopelessness. Then he turned and said: “I like dogs, Kelly. Always have.”

“I’d like to see the pooch.”

Donahue darkened. “Go to hell! I sent the pooch downstairs. The bellhop sent it down by the service elevator. He does that every night.”

McPard smiled. “I want to see the pooch. I like dogs myself.”

Donahue threw pipe and pouch on a table. He yanked up the phone. “Bell desk.” He tapped his foot. “Hello, Roy. This is Mr. Donahue. Sergeant McPard doesn’t believe I have a dog. Will you go down the basement and bring it up?… Yeah, right now.”

He hung up and said: “By and by, Kelly, I’m going to get sore.”

Three minutes later there was a knock on the door and Roy stood there with a wire-haired. “Here’s Laddie, Mr. Donahue.” He gulped and handed over a very sleepy pup. He remained in the doorway.

Donahue stroked the dog and said:

“He’s just a dumb Irish dick, Laddie…. Well, Kelly, what should I do now—have the pooch stunt or something?”

McPard growled, reddened. “Do what you want with it!”

Donahue gave the dog back to the red-head. “Thanks, Roy. Take the pooch down and see they don’t feed it too much.”

“Yes, sir.”

The door closed and Donahue spread his palms. “Now what?”

“Now that you’ve got your hat and coat we’ll go over the precinct.”

“What!”

“You’re going to talk, Donny, and it’s not going to hurt me more than it does you. Come on.”

Kelly McPard took Donahue out a side exit. He didn’t bother with handcuffs; didn’t even bother to remove Donahue’s gun. And he wore a concerned look.

“I hate to do this, Donny.”

“Isn’t it the crocodile sheds false tears?”

“Oh, hell—don’t ride me like that.” He stopped. “Listen, Donny. Come clean. I hate like hell to tote you over the precinct. I tell you, the boss is a rough egg.”

“Kelly”—Donahue’s face was grave, lined—“you’re a white guy. I always said you were. You can’t help being a cop. Let’s go to the precinct.”

Two shadows behind suddenly materialized into two men with guns drawn.

“All right, you guys! Calm, now!”

Donahue and McPard turned. McPard looked at the muzzles of two guns and then at the shadowed faces.

He said: “Boys, I’m a cop. Lay off that baloney.”

“We sure hate to pick on you, copper—but there’s no other out. Start walking.”

“Get, you!” the second man snapped.

Donahue let go of a lazy, dry chuckle.

Homer and Archie got on either side of them and began walking them down the side street towards a parked sedan. Mr. Bunn sat at the wheel, looking pious and detached.

“Cover ’em, Bunny,” Homer growled.

Mr. Bunn drew a gun and trained it on Donahue and McPard as they were hustled into the rear. Archie got in and pulled down spare seats, straddled one about-faced. Homer straddled the other and Mr. Bunn got the car in motion. The car was big and possessed of serene, certain power.

McPard cleared his throat. “Strangers in town?”

Archie laughed. “Don’t you know?”

“I only know that home town boys would think twice before monkeying around with Kelly McPard. I’m McPard.”

“Really! How interesting!”

“Brave, huhn? I’ve seen your kind get shaky before.”

Donahue chuckled. “Yeah, you said it, Kelly.”

“Pipe down, you!” Archie snapped.

“Easy,” Homer growled. “Don’t get excited now.”

The car cut westward across town. It struck quiet streets. A cop standing on a corner, twirled his nightstick, saw it go by but saw nothing wrong. The car turned south, sharply; hummed contentedly past dark windows and hulking warehouses. It turned east for a block, then south again; crossed a vacant square and slid down a narrow cobbled street. It passed a large square building, all lighted, from which issued the roar and clank of machinery. The sound made tremors in the street, beat upon the air like a gigantic pulse.

The car stopped a few feet beyond in front of a narrow brick building of three stories above a high basement. From the sidewalk to the front door was a flight of a dozen steps. There was a sign on the door: For Rent or Sale.

But Homer had a key. He got the front door open. Mr. Bunn had parked the car two blocks down the street. Homer and Archie had Donahue and McPard in the lower hall by the time Mr. Bunn returned with his quaint air of aloofness and his out-of-line eyebrows.

Archie was using a flashlight in one hand, his gun in the other. The blotched walls trembled to the beat, beat of the machinery next door. The worn wooden stairs up which they climbed throbbed and the rickety banister vibrated. Donahue and McPard were driven to the top floor and prodded into a large room containing a rusty iron cot, bare of covering or mattress. Archie lit a candle that stood on a dusty wooden mantel. Above it a heavy gas bracket jutted from the wall. It vibrated. The sound of the machinery was dull, deadening—a low mechanical roar.

Without warning Archie struck McPard on the head with his gun. McPard hit the spring on the cot, bounced and lay quiet.

Donahue moistened his lips. The yellow candlelight lapped the shadows like lazy waves, made a waving pennant of dim radiance across Homer’s grim, coarse face.

“That seemed lousy,” Donahue said.

“Pipe down,” Homer said.

Archie came over hefting the gun he had taken from McPard. His eyes glittered. His teeth broke whitely in his half-shadowed face. While Homer held a gun against Donahue, Archie went around behind and took away Donahue’s gun. Then he took a piece of piano wire from his pocket, crossed to the cot and tied each of McPard’s wrists to the spring. McPard was out—cold.

Donahue lifted his voice hoarsely: “What’s the idea of taking it out on him?”

“Because, wiseguy,” Archie snarled, “I’m bugs on cops. We had to take him along.”

“He’ll know this place.”

“Who cares? This is just one of our hide-outs. We came to look at it a month ago. The agent lent us the keys to look at it. It took us an hour. In that time Bunny there made a duplicate. Then we took the others back, didn’t like the place—we said.”

“Smart, huhn?”

Homer crowded him. “We want the truth now, sweetheart. You pulled a fast one in your hotel, but you’re in our backyard now—and let us play ball.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I want to know if you’re working for the District Attorney.”

“No.”

“Where’s the papers you swiped from Buck and Louie?”

“I told you.”

“Yeah, you told us a story. We want the truth.”

“I’ve told you the truth.”

Archie cursed and kicked Donahue in the stomach. Donahue fell down with a hoarse outcry and writhed on the floor. Homer knocked his knees down and straddled him with his weight full on Donahue’s stomach.

“Oh—get off!”

The floor beneath his head shuddered to the sound of the machinery. No one would hear his cries. He beat his head furiously against the floor in an effort to bring on unconsciousness. But Archie stopped that by kneeling and holding Donahue’s head in his hands.

“Nice head,” he cooed. “Nice Irish head.” Then he hammered the heel of his hand into Donahue’s face; his lips got wet and red, gleaming, and his eyes glittered.

Homer was thick-voiced: “Come on, Donahue. We’re goin’ to get rough if you don’t come across. We want to know where we can get those letters.”

Donahue spat blood from his lips on to Homer’s tie. Homer cursed and bounced up and down on Donahue’s stomach. Donahue yelled and struggled and McPard opened his eyes and watched. Mr. Bunn was smoking a cigarette, oddly detached. He strolled over and used a little finger to shave hot tobacco embers into McPard’s face. McPard couldn’t use his hands. He shook his head until the ashes fell off. Mr. Bunn twitched his eyebrows, bowed and turned to watch Archie and Homer at work on Donahue.

Donahue fainted. Archie used piano wire to tie his feet and hands. Then the three men went out into the hall, closed the door. The room throbbed, the pound of the machinery went on and on.

“Donny,” said McPard.

Donahue stirred. “Huhn?”

“What’s all this about?”

“Hell!” mumbled Donahue.

McPard said: “These guys are crazy, Donny. They’re wipers. What are you holding out on them?”

“If you think you can soft-soap me into talking my head off, you’re dumb.”

McPard sighed. “Hell, you’re stubborn.”

“I can take it.”

“Where’s it going to get you?”

The men came in again. They found Donahue awake and went to work on him. It took them ten minutes to put him to sleep. Archie got up and swore and Homer said: “This thick Mick is beginnin’ to get my goat!”

“I’ll murder the bum before I’m through!” Archie cried.

McPard growled: “Lay off him.”

Archie whirled. “Man, how I hate cops!” He fell upon McPard, hammering his face until Homer dragged him off.

“Archie, don’t lose your temper that way.”

McPard spat red. “He’s sore, I guess, because Donahue’s holding out.”

“I’ll kick your face in, shamus!” Archie screamed.

Homer struggled with him to the door. Mr. Bunn opened it and helped Homer get the cop-crazed Archie out into the hall. The door banged.

After a while Donahue opened his eyes, groaned between puffed and lacerated lips.

McPard said: “Donny—Donny, these eggs’ll kill you. There’s nothing worth dying for. I know: They’re after the same thing I’m after—those papers you took from Louie—”

“You’re off your nut!”

“Donny, listen. For——sake, listen! I had you wrong. I thought you got those papers and was promoting a deal with guys they concerned.”

Donahue groaned. “Shut up, Kelly! Shut up!”

“Listen, kid. You’re in a tough spot. These guys are hired to get those papers. They’ll kill you if they don’t get ’em.”

“I notice you did enough clowning around.”

“Donny, I had you wrong. I thought you were angling to cash in on them with guys they concerned, like I said. Klay said Louie had them. He swore it. So you must have got ’em when you knocked Louie over after he shot Klay. If you haven’t got ’em now, there’s only one man’d have them.”

“Go ahead—shoot.”

“The District Attorney—”

“To hell with you, Kelly!”

“All right—to hell with me. But you’re in a jam and you’ll get yourself killed if you don’t stop being so stubborn.”

Donahue scowled at him. “You know why you wanted those papers! Because you’re a cop and part of a system and because you knew some other cops were named in them! Because Klay was named in them! Because Klay asked you to give him a break. Because you are a cop and you’re so square you think no cops can do wrong—and if they do, you want to keep it in the family!”

McPard lay back. “You’re right, Donny—part of the way. Klay did ask me—”

“And you’ll never get ’em, Kelly! And these guys’ll never get ’em!”

“I know. But if the District Attorney has ’em—why all this strong, silent stuff?”

Donahue choked. “Because he hasn’t got ’em yet. They’re in the mail. He’ll get ’em the first thing in the morning. And if these eggs knew that they’d have a gang up at his apartment house waiting for the mailman. Now you know! And what the hell good will it do you?”

“I’ll tell these guys.”

Donahue heaved. “My eye you will! That stinking political crowd sent these heels after me. They’ve beat hell out of me and if you did tell them they’d hold us here till they got the papers. I can take it, Kelly. I’m taking it. I’m taking it because those papers will be delivered and that cheap crowd will pay through the nose. For this beating, among other things.”

“Donny, they’ll murder you.”

“I’ll take the chance. I’ve taken too much to squeal now and if you squeal I’ll cry it all over town what a yellow rat you turned out to be. It’s not my fault that you’re here. You walked into it. You keep your mouth shut. Damn you, you walked me into it!”

The door opened and Archie and Homer came in, rubbing their hands.

“Ready, Donahue?” Homer said.

“I can take it,” Donahue said, a little crazed now. “I can take it like that pink-faced punk with you could never take it!”

McPard bit his lips to silence.

Homer grabbed Donahue by the throat with one hand, struck him with the other.

McPard cried: “Damn you, cut that out!”

Archie hissed, spun, took one leap and kicked McPard on the jaw. The bedspring creaked.

The door opened and Mr. Bunn stood there, forefinger to lips. “Listen!” he cried softly. “I think there’s someone in the house!”

Homer stood up and Archie’s eyes shimmered. They drew their guns. They went out and Mr. Bunn went with them and closed the door.

McPard groaned: “Who could—have—followed—them?”

Donahue’s eyes were glazed, intense. “There’s only one—” He stopped short.

“What, Donny?”

But Donahue was wriggling towards the iron cot. He lifted his bound wrists and began sawing the piano wire against the sharp edge of the cot. His wrists dripped blood but he kept on sawing.

“Donny, you’ll tear your wrists apart!”

“Shut up!”