Rackets, Inc.: A Johnny Merak Classic Crime Novel. John Glasby
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low voice saying big things, but the brain knowing full well that I lacked the courage or the ability to carry them out.
“But why do you have to take all the risks, get yourself beaten up and shot up?”
“I’m the only one who can do it, don’t you see? There’s blood on my shadow already. Maxie’s blood. They’ve got me framed so tight I can’t wriggle out. Maxie’s gone, but I’m still around. They won’t leave it to the cops to pick me up, that would be too uncertain. They’ll come looking for me themselves. Now I have to get out of here. Maybe you don’t know how they treat women. I do.”
“They don’t scare me.” Her face was uplifted towards mine, her eyes shining as they had the night before.
“No, I guess you don’t scare so easily,” I said. There was a quick, deep look. She came to me quietly, put her arms around me, lifting her mouth to mine. That was when I really found her, and it was like nothing I had ever known before.
“Do you realise how powerful these people really are I’m trying to fight?” I asked. “Do you know that they’d cut your pretty face into little ribbons and laugh while they were doing it?”
“It’s odd,” she said quietly. “You seem to be more concerned about me than I am myself.” She smiled. “I know them. I’ve met their type before and they don’t frighten me.” Her mouth twisted in contempt.
“Don’t underestimate them, Dawn. Never do that.” I was deadly serious.
Dawn looked at me, her eyes deep and black, her lips half-open. Her face was without expression.
“What do you intend to do?”
“There’s only one way of meeting trouble,” I said, “and that’s halfway. No sense in running away from it. That’s what I’ve been doing ever since Maxie left. The first thing I’ve got to do is get a lead of some kind. There must have been somebody who saw what happened last night.”
“Do you think they’ll talk? Especially to you.”
“I’ll find some way of making them,” I said seriously, and meant it. Time was running out for me.
“Take my car, if you like,” said Dawn, placing her hand on my arm. “But watch yourself.” She went over to the window overlooking the street, pulled back the curtain gently and peered out.
“Anybody there?” I asked pointedly.
She shook her head. “The street looks deserted. Nobody in sight.”
I drank another cup of coffee, found a half-full bottle of whiskey in the small kitchen, and had that best of all morning drinks.
The little thoughts in my mind had a final chance to scamper around my brain as I made my way down the garden path and slid myself behind the wheel of Dawn’s car. Usually, girls like Dawn Grahame don’t act this way towards strangers, particularly a man with a record like mine. There was something more behind it. Something I meant to find out as soon as the opportunity presented itself.
CHAPTER THREE
THE BLIND ALLEY
I turned the ignition key, pushed the starter. The car was warm-hearted and started up immediately with a sudden whir of power. She slid forward easily, and the last glimpse of Dawn I had was a slight figure out the window waving her hand a little uncertainly. Then I turned the car into the street and headed downtown.
Ahead of me there was nothing but trouble, and behind me nothing but a lifetime of bitterness and regrets. A hell of a way to start the day.
The flashy bars in the east end of town would be open even at this early hour, and many of them well patronised. Perhaps there I might be able to pick up some shred of information, which would give me the lead I needed so desperately.
Frenchie’s was open and busy as I drew up alongside the kerb. I threw a swift glance up and down the street before climbing out of the car. A few characters were lounging at the corner of an intersection twenty yards away, but they were the usual touts looking for handouts.
The barman looked at me as I went inside, didn’t recognise me as one of the regulars, and nodded in a friendly way. Most likely he had me tagged already—a guy who always got into trouble.
“Straight bourbon,” I said, eyeing the joint. The place was almost empty, but there were one or two characters who’d obviously been there throughout the night.
The barman poured the drink, then settled his elbows on the bar and eyed me curiously.
“Been doing the town?” he inquired.
“Some,” I agreed. “Why, anything happened?”
He polished a glass in an absent manner, then the leaned over the bar so that his face almost touched mine. “They say that Maxie Temple tried to make a comeback last night, only they got him at the airport. Only just stepped off the plane, so they say.”
“Maxie Temple, eh?” I feigned surprise. “Have they got the guy who did it?”
“No. The cops couldn’t pick anybody up even if they saw him do it with their own eyes.” The barman sounded sarcastic.
“You got all this information from the police?”
He looked scared for a minute, licking his lips as he eyed me up and down.
“Just who are you?” he asked thinly.
“Don’t worry about that,” I said quickly. “I’m not from the police, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s just that I knew Maxie in the old days. We weren’t exactly friends, but now that he’s dead, I thought there might be something I could do to find his killer.”
“Don’t bother about that. Clancy Snow was around here last night. Seems he’s interested in that, too.”
I kept quiet and finish my drink. Clancy Snow! It hadn’t taken him long to get his teeth into the case. He wouldn’t mention my name, of course. Everything would have to be done efficiently, and discreetly.
Do something, Johnny. Don’t just sit there drinking bourbon and wait for them to close in on you. Maybe, even now, they’re outside, cruising around in their lush limousines, eyes alert, scanning the early morning crowds, hoping to pick you out.
I got up, tossed a coin onto the polished top of the bar and hurried out. I would learn nothing there.
Twenty minutes later I was cruising through the slum quarter of Los Angeles, watching the bars and the people on the sidewalks. Somewhere, behind one of the hundreds of faces, in a quick and furtive brain, there would be the information I wanted. But how to find it?
It wasn’t until an hour later that I spotted a face among the others that I recognised immediately. Square-jawed, with a thin, clipped moustache. The soft, brimmed hat was there, too, pulled low over the eyes, and it was that which first attracted my attention to him. I slowed the car to a crawl, following him at a respectable distance.
He gave no sign that he knew he was being followed, and a moment later disappeared down a small back alley. I stopped the car, got out, and went after him.
A door closed softly halfway down the alley. There was urgent tension building up inside me again, and I was suddenly glad of the .38 in my pocket. I slipped it out, checked it, then pushed open the door.
There was a hallway beyond and a half-open door at the end of it. Cautiously, I pushed it open, kicked it hard so that it slammed back against the wall, then went inside.
The hoodlum was coming for me fast and I tried to bring the gun up to cover him, even though I knew at the back of my mind that there wasn’t time for that.
I was half-turned by the time he got to me, standing as a solid target for the straight right that he threw at my jaw. The blow knocked me against the table. He was lunging forward again, but I slid sideways to the right, going down onto the rough carpet