with These Hands (Ss) (2002) (16 page)

Brusa's eyes swung around to Huber.

"He's lyin', boss!" Huber exclaimed in a panic. "He's lyin'!"

"He said the body was floatin'," Brusa replied brutally.

"Why would he say that unless they'd found it?"

"You didn't go through those doors at all, Brusa," I broke in. "You didn't have to. The furs were all ready for you in the armored car, waiting to be driven away. Only two men knew how they got there, and one of them was honest, so you decided you had to kill him. Mat Bryan!"

Right then, I was praying for Briggs or the cops to get to me before the lid blew off. It was going to come off very soon and I was afraid I was expecting too much.

I kept on talking. "Bryan wanted to get off early because of the wedding, so your finger man hinted that he might leave the furs in the truck and have them all set to go in the morning, that would save time. All you had to do was wait until the plant opened in the morning, then go in and drive the truck away. Burgeson butted in, so you killed him.

"That was a mistake. According to the watchman's time schedule, he should have been inside the plant by then.

Only something happened to throw him off, and he was there in the loading dock and tried to stop you.

"Murder changes everything, doesn't it, Jake? You weren't planning on killing, but you got it, anyway. If Burgeson and the furs disappeared, well, he would get credit for stealing them, only Huber here did a bum job of sinking the body.

"You picked the right man for the finger job, too. A smart man, and in a position where he could get all the inside information, not only from his own firm, but from others. But now I've got a feeling you've killed one man too many!"

"Then one more won't matter!" Brusa said harshly.

"I'm going to kill Mat Bryan, but first I'm going to kill you!" His hand went to the drawer in front of him.

"Look out, boss!" Huber screamed. "He's got a rod!"

He dove at me, clawing at that coat pocket. But my right hand slid into my jacket and it hit the butt of my .38, which came out of the armpit holster, spitting fire.

My first shot missed Brusa as Huber knocked me off balance.

My second clipped Lincoff, and he cried out and grabbed at his side. Then I swung the barrel down Huber's ear and floored him.

Grabbing at the doorknob, I jerked it open and even as a slug ripped into the doorjamb over my head, I lunged out of the door with a gun exploding again behind me.

The stairs offered themselves, but I wanted Mat Bryan.

There was another door down the hall, and I hit it hard and went through just as Brusa filled the doorway of the room behind me. I tripped on the rug and sprawled at full length on the floor, my gun sliding from my hand and under the desk across the room.

There was no time to get it because Jake Brusa was lunging through the door. I shoved myself up and hit him with a flying tackle that smashed him against the wall, but he took it and chopped down at my ear with his gun. I slammed him in the ribs, then clipped his wrist with the edge of my hand and made him drop the gun.

I smashed him with a left as he came into me, but he kept coming and belted me with a right that brought smoke into my brain and made my knees sag. I staggered back, trying to cover up, and the guy was all over me, throwing them with both hands.

I nailed him with a right and left as he came on in, then stood him on his toes with an uppercut. He staggered and went to the wall. I followed him in and knocked him sprawling into a chair. It went to pieces under him, and he came up with a leg, taking a cut at my head that would have splattered my brains all over the wall had it connected.

I went under it throwing a right into his solar plexus that jolted his mouth open. Then I lifted one from my knees that had the works and a prayer on it.

That wallop caught him on the jaw and lifted him right off his Number Elevens. The wall shivered as if an earthquake had struck and Brusa was out, but I was already leaving. I made a dive for my gun, shoved it into my belt, and went out the door and down the carpeted hall. My breath was coming in great gasps as I grabbed the knob and jerked the door open.

Lincoff had beat me to it, only I came in faster than he expected and hit him with my shoulder before he got his gun up. He hit the floor in a heap, and I grabbed up a paring knife lying beside some apples on the table and slashed the ropes at Bryan's wrists.

I got in that one slash, then dropped the knife and grabbed at the gun in my waistband. Lincoff had got to his feet and had his gun on me by that time. I knew once that big cluck started to shoot, he'd never stop until the gun was empty, so I squeezed mine and felt it buck in my hand.

His gun muzzle pointed down as he raised on his tiptoes, and then it bellowed and the shot ripped into the floor. Lincoff dropped on his face and lay still. Thrusting the gun back in my pants, I wheeled to help Mat. He was almost free now, and it was only a minute's work to complete the job.

Down the hall there was a yell, then quiet, and then the pounding of feet. Briggs loomed in the door, a plainclothesman and a couple of harness cops with him.

"You!" Briggs's face broke into a relieved grin. "I might have known it. I was afraid they'd killed you!"

There wasn't much talking done until we got them down to Moffit's office. When we marched them in, he got up, scowling. Hudspeth was there, and I've never seen a man more frightened.

Jake Brusa and Huber, handcuffed, looked anything but the smart crooks they believed themselves to be. Brusa stood there glowering, and Huber was scared silly. But they were only the small fry in this crime. We wanted the man behind the scenes.

"All right," Briggs said, "it's your show." Most of the story he'd heard from me on the way over from the Sporting Center, and Bryan had admitted to the furs left in the truck.

"There's only one thing left," I said, watching one of our men come in beside a tall young fellow in a decrepit sharkskin suit, "and that's nailing the inside man, and we've got him. Dead to rights!"

Moffit sat up straight. "See here! If one of my men had been-" His eyes shifted to Hudspeth. "You, Warren?"

"No, Moffit," I said, leaning over the desk, "not the man you hired to be your scapegoat! You!"

His face went white as he sprang to his feet. "Why, of all the preposterous nonsense! Young man, I'll have-"

"Shut up, and sit down!" I barked at him. "It was you, Moffit. You were the man who informed these crooks when a valuable haul could be made! You were the man who cased the jobs for them! You knew the inside of every warehouse in town, and could come and go as you liked.

"We've got the evidence that will send you to prison if not to the gas chamber where you rightly should go! I'll confess I suspected Hudspeth. I know he had done time, but-"

"What?" Briggs interrupted. "Why, you investigated this man. You passed him for this job."

"Sure, and if I was wrong, we'd have to make the best of it. Hudspeth was in trouble as a kid, but after looking over his record, I decided he'd learned his lesson. I checked him carefully and found he had been bending over backwards to go straight.

"Nevertheless, knowing what I did and knowing it was my responsibility if anything went wrong, I kept a check on his spending and bank account. That day in the office when I first came in, he acted strangely because he knew something was going on and he was scared, afraid he'd be implicated.

"Another reason I originally let him stay was that I found that Moffit had hired him while knowing all about that prison stretch. I figured that if he would take a chance, we could, too. Now it seems Moffit was going to use him if anything went haywire."

"That's a lie!" Moffit bellowed. "I'll not be a party to this sort of talk anymore!"

Briggs looked at me. "I hope you've got the evidence." I looked at the man in the gray sharkskin suit and he stepped forward. "It was him, all right," he said, motioning toward Moffit. "He opened the doors this morning and he was standing by when the crooks knocked Pete out and took him away. He talked with this man," he added, pointing at Brusa.

"That's a lie!" Moffit protested weakly. "How would you know?"

"Tell us about it," I suggested to the man in gray.

He shifted his feet. "Pete Burgeson and me were in the same outfit overseas. But I got wounded and I've been in and out of the hospital for the last two years. He told me to come around and he'd give me money for a bed and chow. When I got here, the rain was pouring down and I couldn't make him hear. I tried to push up that back window and it busted, so I opened it and crawled in. Pete was some upset but said he'd take the blame. There weren't any burglar alarms on the annex.

"I was out of the hospital just a few days, and I got the shakes, so I laid down on those tarps under the bench after sharing Pete's lunch with him. Pete came along and put his coat over me.

"When I woke up, I saw them slug Pete. Moffit was standing right alongside. Every morning, I have to rub my legs before I can walk much and knew if I tried to get up they'd kill me, so I laid still until they left, then got away from there. One of the detectives found me this morning in the park."

"All right, boys," Briggs said, turning to the plainclothesman and the cops. "They're yours. All of them."

Jerking my head at Hudspeth, I said to one of the cops, "We represent the insurance company as well as this firm, so Hudspeth might as well stay in charge. The lawyers will probably want a reliable person here."

"Sure," Briggs said. "Sure thing."

We walked outside and the air smelled good. "Chief," I suggested, nodding at the man in the gray suit, "why not put this guy to work with us? He used to be an insurance investigator."

The man stopped and stared at me. Briggs did likewise.

"How, how the devil did you know that?" he demanded.

"You told me about the gray threads, the dampness on the tarp, the crumbs on the table, all the evidence that somebody was with Pete! But this-next thing you'll be telling me what his name is!"

"Sure," I agreed cheerfully. "It's Patrick Donahey!"

"Well, how in-" Donahey stared.

"Purely elementary, my dear Watson." I brushed my fingernails on my lapel. "You ate with your left hand, and insurance investigators always-"

"Don't give me that!" Briggs broke in.

"Okay, then," I said. "It did help a little that I found his billfold." I drew it out and handed it to Donahey. "It fell back of that tarp. But nevertheless, I-"

"Oh, shut up," Briggs said.

*

The radio announcer's voice sounded clearly in the silent room, and "Deke" Hayes scowled as he listened.

"Boyoboy, what a crowd! Almost fifty thousand, folks!

Think of that! It's the biggest crowd on record, and it should be a great battle.

"This is the acid test for the 'Tiger Man/ the jungle killer who blasted his way up from nowhere to become the leading contender for the world's heavyweight boxing championship in only six months!

"Tonight he faces Battling Bronski, the Scranton Coal Miner. You all know Bronski. He went nine rounds with the champ in a terrific battle, and he is the only white fighter among the top contenders who has dared to meet the great Tom Noble.

"It'll be a grand battle either way it goes, and Bronski will be in there fighting until the last bell. But the Tiger has twenty-six straight knockouts, he's dynamite in both hands, with a chin like a chunk of granite! Here he comes now, folks! The Tiger Man!"

Deke Hayes, champion of the world, leaned back in the | chair in his hotel room and glanced over at his manager.

"Toronto Tom" McKeown was one of the shrewdest fight managers in the country. Now he sat frowning at the radio and his eyes were hard.

"Don't take it so hard, Tom," Deke laughed. "Think of the gate he'll draw. It's all ballyhoo, and one of the best jobs ever done. I didn't think old Ryan had it in him. I believe you're actually worried yourself!"

"You ain't never seen this mug go," McKeown insisted. '

"Well, I have! I'm telling you, Deke, he's the damnedest j fighter you ever saw. Talk about killer instinct! '

"There ain't a man who ever saw him fight who would be surprised if he jumped onto some guy and started tearing with his teeth. This Tiger Man stuff may sound like ballyhoo but he's good, I tell you!"

"As good as me?" Deke Hayes put in slyly.

"No, I guess not," his manager admitted judiciously.

"They rate you one of the best heavyweights the game ever saw, Deke. But we know, a damned sight better than , the sportswriters, that you've really never had a battle yet, j not with a fighter who was your equal. j "That Bronski thing looked good because you let it. But \ don't kid yourself, this guy isn't any sap. He's different. ]

Sometimes I doubt if this guy's even human."

Toronto Tom McKeown tried to speak casually. "I talked to Joe Howard, Deke, Joe was his sparrin' partner for this brawl. That Tiger guy never says anything to anybody! He just eats and sleeps, and he walks around at night a lot, just. . . well just like a cat! When he ain't workin' out, he stays by himself, and nobody ever gets near him."