The Fabulous Clipjoint Page 3

  “With a carney, it’s a doniker. Other side of the lot. But hell, this is just a dirt lot. Go ahead and be sick. Or go outside, if you’d rather.”

  I went outside, around back of the tent, and got it over with. When I came back, my uncle was through packing the suitcase. He said, “One drink oughtn’t to have made you sick, kid, even if you aren’t used to it. You been eating?”

  “Gosh,” I said, “not since supper last night. I never thought about it.”

  He laughed. “No wonder. Come on. We go to the chow top first; you put yourself outside a meal. I’ll take the suitcase, and we hit for the station from there.”

  Uncle Ambrose ordered me a meal and waited until he saw me really start to eat it, then he said he’d be gone a little while again, and left me eating.

  He came back just as I was finishing. He slid into the seat across the table and told me, “I just phoned the station. We can make the train that gets in Chi at six-thirty this evening. And I called Madge” — Madge is Mom’s name —”and got the low-down. Nothing new’s come up, and the inquest’s tomorrow afternoon. It’s at Heiden’s funeral parlors, on Wells Street. That’s where — where he is now.”

  “Wouldn’t — I thought he’d be taken to the morgue,” I said. My uncle shook his head. “Not in Chicago, Ed. The system’s to take a body — unless it’s somebody or something special — to the nearest private mortuary. City stands the bill, of course, unless relatives turn up and arrange for the mortician to handle things. A funeral, I mean.”

  “What if they don’t turn up?”

  “Potter’s Field. Point is, they open an inquest right away to get down testimony while it’s fresh. Then they adjourn it if they have to.”

  I nodded. I asked, “Was Mom mad because I sort of — well — ran off?”

  “I don’t think so. But she said the detective in charge of the case had wanted to talk to you, and was annoyed. She said she’d let him know you were on the way back.”

  “The hell with him,” I said. “I can’t tell him anything.”

  “Don’t be like that, kid. We want him on our side.”

  “Our side?”

  He looked at me strangely. “Why, sure, Ed,” he said, “on our side. You’re with me, aren’t you?”

  “You mean you’re going to — to — ”

  “Hell, yes. That’s why I had to fix things with Hoagy and Maury — he bought the carney this season but kept Hobart’s name on it — so I could stay away as long as I had to. Hell, yes, kid. You don’t think we’re going to let some son of a bitch get away with killing your dad, do you?”

  I said, “Can we do anything the cops can’t?”

  “They can put only limited time on it, unless they get hot leads. We got all the time in the world. That’s one point. We got something they haven’t got. We’re the Hunters.”

  I got a tingling sensation when he said that, like a shock.

  I thought, we are the Hunters. The name fits. We’re going hunting in the dark alleys for a killer. The man who killed Pop.

  Maybe it was screwy, but I believed him. We’ve got something the cops haven’t got. We’re Hunters. I was glad now I hadn’t sent a telegram.

  I said, “Okay. And we’ll get the son of a bitch.”

  The twinkle was back in his eyes. But back of it was something — something deadly. In spite of that twinkle, he didn’t look like a funny little fat man with a big black moustache any more. He looked like someone you wanted on your side when there was trouble.

  When we got off the train in Chicago, Uncle Ambrose said, “We’ll separate here for a while, kid. You go back home, make your peace with Madge and wait for the detective, if she says he’s coming around. I’ll phone you where I am.”

  “And after that?” I asked.

  “If it’s not too late, and you’re not ready to turn in, maybe we can get together again. We might even figure something to do — I mean getting a start. You find out what you can from that detective. And from Madge.”

  “Okay,” I said. “But why don’t you come home with me now?”

  He shook his head slowly. “The less Madge and I see of each other, in general, the better we’ll get along. She was okay over the phone when I called from Janesville, but I don’t want to crowd it, see?”

  “Look,” I said. “I don’t want to stay there. Why can’t I get a room, too? Near yours or maybe even a double. If we’re going to be working together —”

  “No, Ed. Not right away, anyway. I don’t know how things are between you and Madge, but you got to live home — at the very least till after the funeral. It wouldn’t look right or be right if you left now. See?”

  “I guess so. I guess you’re right.”

  “And if you left, and Madge didn’t like it, she’d blame me and we’d both be in her doghouse and well — look, if we’re going to work on the case we got to stay friendly with everyone connected with it. Get what I mean?”

  I said, “Mom didn’t do it, if that’s what you mean. They scrapped once in a while, but she wouldn’t have killed him.”

  “That isn’t what I meant, no. I don’t think she would have, either. But we got to have you staying at home, for a while. That’s where your dad lived, see? We got to be able to trace this thing every way from the middle. Not just from the outside. You keep in with Madge, just like I want you to keep in with the detective, so you can ask ’em questions any time we find any questions need asking. We’ll need every break we can get. Understand?”

  Mom was there alone when I got home. Gardie was out some-where; I didn’t ask where she was. Mom was wearing a black dress that I didn’t recognize. Her eyes were red, like she’d been crying plenty, and she didn’t have on any make-up except a little lipstick that was a bit smeared at one corner of her mouth.

  Her voice didn’t sound like her at all. It was flat, sort of half-dead, without much inflection in it.

  We were like strangers, somehow.

  She-said, “Hello, Ed,” and I said, “Hello, Mom,” and I went on in the living room and sat down and she came in and sat down too. I sat by the radio and fiddled with the dials without turning it on.

  I said, “Mom, I’m sorry I — well, kind of ran out on you this morning. I should have stayed around.” I was sorry, too, although I was glad I’d got Uncle Ambrose.

  “That’s all right, Ed,” she told me. “I — I guess I understand why you wanted to get out. But how did you know about it? I mean, you weren’t here when the cops came and —”

  “I was on the stairs,” I said. “I heard it. I — I didn’t want to come in. Did you call the Elwood Press and tell them?”

  She nodded. “We called from the undertaker’s. I thought you’d gone to work alone, and we called to tell you. The foreman was nice about it. Said for you to take off as long as you wanted. To come back whenever you’re ready. You — you are going back, aren’t you, Ed?”

  “I guess so,” I said.

  “It’s a good trade. And W-Wally said you were getting along swell learning it. You ought to stick to it.”

  “I guess I will.”

  “Have you eaten, Ed? Can I get something for you?”

  She was sure different. She’d never given much of a damn before whether I ate or not.

  “I ate at Janesville,” I said. “Uncle Ambrose went to a hotel. He said he’d phone and let us know where he took a room.”

  “He could have come here.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. I went back to fiddling with the radio dials, not looking at her. She looked so miserable I didn’t want to look at her.

  After awhile she said, “Listen, Ed —”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “I know you don’t like me, much. Or Gardie. I know you
’ll want to go out on your own now. You’re eighteen, and we’re just step-relatives to you and — I didn’t blame you. But will you stay here awhile, first?”

  “After awhile, we’ll work it out. Gardie and I will find a smaller place, and I’ll get a job. I want her to finish high school, like you did. But the rent’s paid till the first of September, and we’ll have to give a month’s notice then and pay another month, and this place is too big for just us and — you see what I mean. If you can stay here that long —”

  “All right,” I said.

  “It’ll help out. We can get along till then, can’t we, Ed?”

  “Sure.”

  “Right after the funeral, I’ll get a job. A waitress again, I guess. We can sell the furniture before we leave here. It’s all paid for. Not worth much, but maybe we can get enough to almost cover the funeral cost.”

  I said, “You can sell it, but you don’t need to worry about the funeral. The union mortuary benefit ought to cover that.”

  She looked puzzled, and I explained about it. Pop had been out of the trade for a few years, a bit back, and didn’t have continuous membership long enough to draw the maximum, but there ought to be about five hundred coming from the international and the local together. I didn’t know exactly, but it would be close to that.

  She asked, “You’re sure, Ed? That there is a benefit, I mean?”

  “Positive,” I said. “The I. T. U.’s a good union, all right. You can count on it. Maybe something from Elwood, too.”

  “Then I’m going down to Heiden’s right now.”

  “What for, Mom?”

  “I want Wally to have a good funeral, Ed. The best we can give him. I thought we’d have to go in debt for it, and maybe square off part of it with the furniture. I told him I thought about two hundred was all we could afford. I’m going to tell them to double that.”

  I said, “Pop wouldn’t want you to spend it all on that. You should have some to start on. To get you and Gardie set up. And there’ll be rent and expenses besides the funeral, and — well, I don’t think you ought to do it.”

  She stood up. “I’m going to. A skimpy little funeral — ”

  I said, “It’s day after tomorrow. You can change it tomorrow, after we know how much the mortuary benefit is. Wait till tomorrow morning, Mom.”

  She hesitated and then said, “Well, all right. Tomorrow morning won’t be too late. I’m going to make some coffee, Ed. We’ll have a cup; even if you’re not hungry you can drink coffee.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Thanks. Can I help?”

  “You sit right here.” She glanced at the clock. “The man from homicide that wants to talk to you — his name’s Bassett — will be here at eight o’clock.”

  She turned in the doorway. She said, “And thanks, Ed, for — for deciding to stay, and everything. I thought maybe —”

  There were tears running down her face.

  I felt almost like crying myself. I felt like a damn fool sitting there not saying anything. But I couldn’t think of what to say.

  I said, “Aw, Mom —”

  I wished I could put my arms around her and try to comfort her, but you can’t do something like that all of a sudden when you never have. Not in ten years.

  She went on out into the kitchen and I heard the click of the light switch. I felt all mixed up again inside.

  | Go to Contents |

  Chapter 3

  Bassett came at eight o’clock. I was drinking coffee with Mom and she put out another cup, and he sat across the table from me. He didn’t look like a police detective. He wasn’t big; just average height, my height, and no heavier than I am, either. He had faded reddish hair and faded freckles. His eyes looked tired behind shell-rimmed glasses.

  But he was nice, and he was friendly. He wasn’t like a copper at all.

  Instead of asking a flock of questions, he just asked, “Well, what happened to you, kid?” and then listened while I told him all about it from the time I’d knocked on the door of their room and Pop hadn’t answered. Only thing I didn’t mention was Mom’s being dressed all but her shoes. That couldn’t have anything to do with it, and wasn’t any of his business. Whereever she’d gone, it didn’t matter any now.

  When I’d finished, he sat there, not saying anything at all, just sipping at his coffee. I didn’t say anything, and neither did Mom. The phone rang, and I said it was probably for me, and went into the living room to answer it.

  It was Uncle Ambrose. He had a room at the Wacker on North Clark Street, only a few blocks away.

  “Swell,” I said. “Why don’t you come on around, right now? Mr. Bassett — the detective — is here.”

  “Like to,” he said. “Is it okay with Madge, you think?”

  “Sure, It’s okay. Make it right away.”

  I went back to the kitchen and told them he was coming.

  “You say he’s a carney?” Bassett asked.

  I nodded. “He’s a swell guy,” I said. “Look, Mr. Bassett, mind if I ask you something, straight?”

  “Shoot, kid.”

  “What are the chances of the pol — of you finding the guy who did it? Kind of slim, aren’t they?”

  “Kind of,” he said. “There’s almost nothing to go on, see? A guy who pulls a job like that takes a plenty big chance of getting caught — at the time he does it. He’s got to worry a squad car might go by — and they flash their spots down alleys in that district. He’s got to watch out for the beat cop. The guy he tackles just might show fight and get the best of him.

  “But once he’s done it, see, and got away in the clear, he’s pretty safe. If he keeps his lip buttoned — well, there’s a chance in a thousand, ten thousand maybe, that he’s not got away with it.”

  I said, “On a case like this” — somehow I wanted to keep it general; I didn’t want to talk about Pop —”just what would that one chance be?”

  “Could be a lot of things. Maybe he takes a watch off the man he kills. We turn over the number to the pawnshop detail and maybe later it turns up in a pawnshop and we can trace it back.”

  “Pop wouldn’t have had his watch,” I said. “He left it to be repaired a few days ago.”

  “Yeah. Well, another way. He might have been followed. I mean, he might have flashed money in a tavern, so when he leaves, somebody leaves just after him. Somebody in the tavern might remember that and might give us a description, or even know the guy. See?”

  I nodded. “You know where he was last night?”

  “On Clark Street, first. Stopped in at least two taverns there; could be more. Had only a couple beers in each. He was alone. Then we picked up the last place he was; we’re fairly sure it was the last place. Out west on Chicago Avenue, other side of Orleans. He was alone there too, and nobody left just after he did.”

  I asked, “How do you know that was the last place?”

  “He bought some bottle beer there to take home. Besides, that was around one o’clock, and he was found at about two.And then where he was found was between here and there, like he’d started home. Then there aren’t any taverns to speak of between here and there, along that route. The couple there are, we checked damn thoroughly. He could’ve stopped in one of them, but — well, what with the bottle beer and the time and everything, it’s odds on he didn’t.”

  “Where — where was he found?”

  “Alley between Orleans and Franklin, two and a half blocks south of Chicago Avenue.”

  “Between Huron and Erie?”

  He nodded.

  I said, “Then he must have walked south on Orleans and cut through the alley toward Franklin. But — gosh, in that neighborhood, why’d he want to go through an alley?”

  Bassett said, “Two answers to that.
One is — he’d been drinking a lot of beer. Far as we know, he hadn’t drunk much else, and he’d been out and around from nine o’clock to one. A guy starting home with a skinful of beer might easy want to cut through an alley, although like you say, it’s no neighborhood to do it in.”

  “What’s the other answer?”

  “That he didn’t cut through the alley at all. He was near the Franklin end. So he could have walked over Chicago to Franklin and south on Franklin. He’s stuck up at the mouth of the alley, and the stick-up man, or men, take him into the alley, roll him there and then slug him. Those streets are pretty deserted that time in the morning. There’ve been plenty of holdups there under the el on Franklin.”

  I nodded thoughtfully. This Bassett didn’t look like a detective, but he wasn’t a dumb cluck at all. Either of the things he’d said could have happened. It had to have been one way or the other, and the odds looked about even.

  And they looked pretty slim for getting the guy who did it. Like he said, about a thousand to one against.

  Could be, I thought, he’s smarter than Uncle Ambrose on things like this. He was smart enough to have traced Pop pretty well, and that was no cinch in a district like this. On Clark Street and on Chicago Avenue they don’t like coppers. Even the most of them who are inside the law.

  When Uncle Ambrose came, Mom let him in. They talked a few minutes out in the hall and I could hear their voices but I couldn’t tell what they were saying. When they came in the kitchen they were friendly. Mom poured another cup of coffee.

  Bassett shook hands with him and they seemed to take to one another right away. Bassett started asking him questions, just a few. He didn’t ask him whether I’d been in Janesville; he asked, quite casually, what train I’d come on and how service was coming back and some things like that. And little points he could check with the story I’d told him so he’d know if I’d been telling him the truth.

  A smart duck, I thought again.

  But I didn’t know the half of it until Uncle Ambrose started asking a few questions about the investigation. Bassett answered the first couple and then one corner of his mouth went up a little