Poisons Unknown Page 11

  Liddell nodded. “So I did.” He turned back to Camden. “You must use a crystal ball. You all acted as though you expected me.”

  “We find a one-way glass more practical,” Camden told him good-naturedly. His voice was silky, smooth with an elusive trace of the Boston Back Bay where he’d gotten his start. His sandy hair had receded from his brow to the crown of his head, exposing a freckled pate. His ready smile plowed white furrows into the mahogany of his cheeks.

  Liddell turned, looked at the door he’d come through. From the inside it was transparent, laced with a fine steel mesh. Anyone sitting inside the room could see everything that went on, on the balcony.

  “To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure, Liddell?” Camden asked.

  “I dropped by to get the negatives and any other prints you may have of those pictures of Donna.”

  Camden raised his eyebrows. “Did you really!” He pulled a cigarette holder from his pocket, fitted a cigarette to it, and tilted it in the corner of his mouth. “And how did you propose to get them?”

  “I intend to take them,” Liddell told him.

  Camden took the cigarette holder from between his teeth and stared at Liddell for a moment. Then he burst out laughing. “You hear that, Sammy? He intends to take them!”

  “He’s a real tough guy.” The man holding the gun on Liddell grunted. He was a counterpart of the man on the balcony. This edition was a shade shorter, but what he lacked in height, he more than made up in breadth.

  “What are you going to do with him, Mike?” Gabby demanded.

  Camden pursed his lips, chewed on the stem of the cigarette holder. “I don’t know. I think maybe I’ll leave that up to Sammy and Lewis.”

  The man with the gun licked at his lips. “We’ll take care of him.”

  Gabby shook her head.

  “We can use him.”

  Camden scowled. “How?”

  “That job he did on Lewis out there. That was a real professional job, wasn’t it?” she insisted.

  Camden nodded. “And Lewis is supposed to be good. What do you think, Sammy?”

  The tuxedoed guard growled deep in his chest. “He never could’ve done it if Lewis expected the joker to jump him.”

  “But he did do it,” Gabby argued. “Look, Mike, this operation can use some muscle like his. Muscle with brains.”

  “Turn off the pitch, Gabby. Where would I fit in this operation? A bouncer? A Mickey Finn in a tuxedo like this character?”

  Sammy swore under his breath and shuffled toward Liddell.

  “Hold it, Sammy,” Camden snapped. He tapped a quarter inch of ash from the end of his cigarette, flicking off the few specks that settled on his trousers. “All right, Liddell, we’re impressed with how tough you are. You interested in a place in the organization? Gabby’s right. We can use some muscle with brain.” He scowled in the direction of the unconscious man on the balcony. “Muscle we got plenty of.”

  Liddell seemed unimpressed. “What do you need brains for? To build up a stable of part-time hustlers?”

  “Maybe you don’t have as much brains as I thought,” Camden snapped.

  “Wait a minute, Mike.” Gabby reached down the side of her chair and brought up a sheaf of papers. “Look, Johnny, this isn’t just a nickel-and-dime operation. Real big shots don’t go for pros. They like amateur stuff they don’t have to be ashamed to be seen with.” She waved the papers. “Here’s a list of big shots ripe for plucking. The name of the girl, the name of the guy who hired her, and for how much.” She dropped the papers into her lap. “The take in dollars and cents from that end is chicken feed, but the possibilities are unlimited. I can use your help in collections.”

  “Blackmail?”

  Camden shrugged. “Let’s say that as a side line we’re in the novelty business. We sell these big shots homemade movies and homemade tape recordings. Some of those items come pretty high.”

  “You can sell out to them, Liddell, but not me,” Donna Espirito yelled. “Nobody’s dragging me into a filthy racket like that.”

  Camden turned, studying her impersonally. His right hand whipped upward in an arc and caught her on the side of the face with a sharp crack, sending her reeling backward. Liddell reacted but relaxed when Sammy jabbed the gun’s snout into his back.

  “One of the first things you learn when you’re working for me is not to talk until you’re spoken to,” Camden drawled. He turned back to Liddell. “It takes time to teach some of these chippies discipline, but they learn.”

  “Suppose one of them blows the whistle?” Liddell wanted to know.

  Camden smiled indulgently. “It’s not very likely. Neither they nor the big shots we do business with are in any position to go yelling copper.” He held up a reel of film. “Our little friend here wouldn’t want certain people to see this film, for instance. She’ll do what she’s told. They all do.”

  “I’ll bet,” Liddell growled.

  “What about it, Johnny?” Gabby asked tensely. “Are you in?”

  Liddell pinched his nostrils between thumb and forefinger.

  “Don’t be a sucker, Johnny,” Gabby pleaded. “I know it doesn’t smell good at first, but it’s here to stay. You might as well get your share.”

  “What’s the matter? Alfred want too big a share for doing the dirty work? That why you and your mob had him killed?”

  “We had nothing to do with Alfred’s getting himself killed,” Camden asserted. “We try to keep killing down in an operation like this. Stirs up too much attention.” He took the cigarette holder from between his teeth and examined the thin gray collar of ash at its end. “On the other hand, we can’t afford to take chances with a guy who knows too much. So, you’re either in or—” He rolled his eyes up from the cigarette, studied Liddell from under lowered lids, and shrugged.

  Liddell turned his head, looked at the man holding the gun on him, estimated his chances, and decided they weren’t very good. The hand that held the .38 was steady as a rock.

  Mike Camden stared at him for a moment, grinning frostily. “Take all the time you want as long as it’s made up by the time I get back.” He pulled his lanky frame out of the chair, nodding at Sammy. “If he tries anything, burn him. I’ll see how Lewis is.” He walked across the room, pulled open the glass door, and went out.

  “Don’t let them do it to me, Liddell,” Donna begged in a low voice. “I’d rather kill myself.”

  “Stop being so melodramatic,” Gabby snapped. “From the looks of those pictures, you haven’t got too much to lose. Besides, there’s as much in it for you as there is for us.”

  “Five years do a lot of things to a gal like you, don’t they, Gabby? Five years and a lot of easy money make a big difference, don’t they?”

  “Why not? They pass it out for free. Then they scream like they’re being murdered when we put them in line to get paid plenty, wear the best clothes, meet the best people, go to the best places for doing the same thing. What’s so terrible about that?”

  “It’s like I said about the city, Gabby. It’s amazing that anything that beautiful could hide so much that’s rotten.”

  The man with the gun licked his lips. “You’re a real tough guy, Liddell. You mussed up the kid out there. Made him look bad. He’s my kid brother.” His eyes narrowed. “You heard what the boss said. If you try anything-”

  “Cut it out, Sammy. Camden won’t like it.” Gabby’s voice was edged.

  “He’s got it coming to him. What do we need him for? Me and Lewis can handle all the muscle this operation needs.” His finger whitened on the trigger.

  “I said cut it out,” Gabby snapped. In her hand she held a ridiculously toylike .25. “You’re still taking orders from me.”

  The gunman’s eyes swiveled from Liddell to the girl. He swung the gun and snapped a fast shot at her. It hit her shoulder and half swung her around. His second shot caught her squarely, slamming her back against the wall. She pressed her hand to her breast and slid to her knees
.

  Liddell was on the gunman before he could swing the gun back. He deflected it with his left hand and put every ounce he had into a punch that landed under Sammy’s right ear.

  The gun fell from the guard’s nerveless fingers. Liddell caught him by the shoulder, swung him around, and planted his left to the elbow in Sammy’s midsection. Then as the guard toppled forward, Liddell brought up his knee and caught him in the face. There was a dull, crunching sound as the man’s nose broke. Liddell chopped down at the other man’s neck in a vicious rabbit punch. Sammy hit the floor and didn’t move.

  Liddell crossed the floor to where Gabby sat. Her hand was against her breast in a futile effort to stem the blood that was already seeping through her fingers. Liddell tried to lift her to a chair. She shook her head, managing a semblance of a smile. “Don’t move me, Johnny.”

  Gently, he removed her hand, tore open her blouse, and examined the wound. “You’re going to be all right, baby.”

  Gabby looked past his shoulder at the door. Her fingers dug into his shoulder. “Camden. He’s coming back, Johnny.”

  Liddell glanced toward the glass door. Through it he could see the night-club owner straightening up from an examination of the guard. He looked down with a contemptuous expression, tried to stir the unconscious man with the tip of his shoe. Finally, he gave up in disgust.

  Liddell looked around for his gun, then realized he didn’t have time to get it. He walked over to the door and waited until Camden’s hand had closed over the knob on the other side. Then Liddell yanked the door open suddenly, pulling Camden off balance.

  Camden’s eyes opened wide when he recognized the private detective. He tried to regain his balance, to go for his gun, but surprise had slowed his reflexes. Before he could get set, Liddell hit him in the stomach with a looping left, followed it with a right to the jaw. Dazed, the night-club owner reeled backward. Liddell was on top of him relentlessly, gave him no chance to get set. Another right to the jaw sent Camden reeling back farther, staggering through the door of the office. The low railing of the balcony caught him in the small of the back, gave way with a screech.

  Liddell had a momentary impression of a grin frozen on Camden’s face as he disappeared over the side.

  From below came a long sustained scream; the orchestra stopped in the middle of a bar. Liddell walked to the edge and looked down.

  Mike Camden was spread-eagled over a table. Nearby, a woman in an evening gown seemed transfixed, her clenched fist in her mouth. Her escort pulled her by the arm, rushing her toward the exit. As Liddell watched, the hardier diners started toward the table, congregating morbidly around the body. Near the door, the headwaiter was struggling desperately to get through the crowd that was streaming toward the street.

  12

  JOHNNY LIDDELL squirmed uncomfortably on the hard wooden bench in the district attorney’s anteroom. He smoked glumly, watching Sergeant Hennessy pace the length and breadth of the office, hands clasped behind his back, chin sunk on his chest.

  After what seemed like hours, the door to the corridor burst open, and the district attorney stamped in. He was in a tuxedo, wore a black Homburg, and looked irritated. He nodded briefly at both men, crossed the anteroom with long steps, and flung open the door to his private office.

  “All right, sergeant. In here.” He tossed a nod in Liddell’s direction. “Bring him in with you.”

  He snapped on the overhead light, tossed his hat at a coat rack, and bustled around behind the desk. Once seated, he looked from the sergeant to Liddell and back. “Well, what was so important that I had to leave right in the middle of a formal dinner?”

  Hennessy tugged on the lobe of his ear. “There’s been some trouble down in the Quarter, Mr. Wilson.”

  “How bad?”

  “Plenty. Mike Camden’s dead.”

  The district attorney’s eyes widened. “Camden? The night-club man?”

  Hennessy nodded. “Ran the Café Valentin.”

  Wilson swore under his breath, swung his eyes in the direction of Liddell, and glowered at him. “Liddell do it?”

  The sergeant nodded, looking unhappy.

  “I warned you not to pull anything in my town, Liddell.” The district attorney slammed the desk with the fiat of his hand. “What the hell’s he doing wandering around, sergeant? Why isn’t he booked?”

  Hennessy managed to look unhappier. “It was self-defense, Mr. Wilson. Liddell’s partner, the Benton girl’s over at Mercy Hospital with a bullet in her lung.” He sighed, shook his head. “All hell’s going to break loose.”

  The district attorney subsided and shrank back into his chair. “Suppose you break it down for me?” He looked toward Liddell. “What were you and Benton doing there? Why was she shot?”

  “Camden was running a top-drawer vice operation. Liddell stumbled on it. They tried to shut him and his partner up.” Hennessy walked to the window and looked down on the darkened streets below. “The whole damn thing is loaded with dynamite.”

  Wilson continued to stare at Liddell. “Fill it in, Liddell.”

  “I got a call at the hotel today from a girl. She was in trouble, left word that she had to see me right away,” Liddell told him.

  The district attorney’s eyes jumped to the sergeant.

  Hennessy nodded. “We checked the hotel. The clerk read him the message over the phone, then destroyed the message. He doesn’t remember the girl’s name, but he does remember she wanted Liddell to see her as soon as he got the message.”

  “Go on,” Wilson nodded to Liddell. “Who was the woman?”

  “She’s a client, and I’d rather not reveal her identity.”

  The district attorney’s face started to turn a brick-red, but he controlled it with an effort. “I’m trying to be patient with you, Liddell, but—”

  Liddell shrugged. “I’m trying to co-operate with your office, too, Mr. District Attorney, but I don’t intend to reveal confidential—”

  “You don’t intend to!” Wilson roared. He hit the end of his desk a resounding blow with his clenched hand. “I’ll have you thrown into the can for so long—”

  “You’d better hear the rest of it first, Mr. Wilson,” Hennessy told him wearily.

  The district attorney dropped back into his chair and glared at Liddell.

  “All right, go on.”

  “I’ll tell you this much about my client—she comes from a highly respectable family out near Baton Rouge. She started running around with a wild crowd, ended up by going out to the Eye Almighty Temple one night.” He paused, fished a cigarette from his pocket, and stuck it between his lips where it waggled when he talked. “That’s Brother Alfred’s setup over in San Vincente.”

  The district attorney nodded impatiently, fumbling nervously with the wing of his tie.

  “I don’t know if you know what goes on out there?” Liddell asked.

  “It’s out of our jurisdiction,” Wilson grunted.

  “Well, I can tell you this. They stage some of the God-damnedest orgies out there I’ve ever seen. My guess is that they spike their wine with either an aphrodisiac or hashish or both. Anyway, the night my client went out to the temple, she was tricked into posing for some pretty lewd pictures. A couple of days later, she got a call from one of Camden’s goons telling her how she could buy them back.”

  Wilson grabbed a fat Havana from his humidor, sank his teeth into it. “How?”

  “By services rendered.”

  The district attorney snorted. “Compulsory prostitution? What are you giving me? That went out with the hoop skirt!”

  “Well, then, it’s come back with the Bikini. That’s the deal.”

  Wilson glared at him. “Why do they have to go out recruiting new girls? They can get all the girls they want from the back country without any pressure.”

  “The prostitution aspect of it is only a small phase of the operation.” Hennessy walked back to the desk, stood with his hands sunk in his pockets. “It was a prop for the d
amnedest blackmail setup you ever heard of. He needed girls like this one to attract the big shots he wanted to get.”

  Liddell nodded. “It’s a new type of vice operation, Mr. District Attorney. No pros. Café-society gals you don’t have to be ashamed to be seen with. Hell, with the hold Camden and his boys had over half the women in this town through the temple, he could deliver anything from a dowager to a deb. And he had the enforcers to make it stick.”

  Wilson rolled the cold cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other. “This girl told you all this?”

  “Some of it. The rest I filled in for myself.”

  “What did she call you for? Why not the police?”

  Liddell sighed. “She didn’t want those pictures to get to her father. She was afraid it would kill him. She wanted me to get them back for her.”

  “How?”

  “She left that up to me.”

  Wilson snorted, then turned his eyes to Hennessy. “Any proof at all to this wild tale?”

  Hennessy nodded. He walked out to the anteroom, came back with a bulging Manila folder. “Here’s just a sample of the stuff we took out of Camden’s files.” He flicked his finger through the stacks of pictures, lists of prominent clients. “Some of the names on those lists would make your hair curl.”

  The district attorney looked up, annoyed. “My hair is already curled.”

  Hennessy belatedly recalled Wilson’s sensitivity over the kinkiness of his hair. “Just an expression,” the sergeant grumbled.

  Wilson picked up a list, let his eyes run down the names, and his face dropped. He looked up at the homicide man, who nodded sadly. “All top drawer.”

  “There’s enough here to blow the lid right off this town.” The district attorney nodded. “Where did they ever get pictures like these? Certainly these men never went out to the temple.”

  “Some of them did. The rest were set up by girls who were buying their own pictures back from Camden the hard way.”

  Liddell nodded. “Camden told me he did a land-office business in homemade recordings and homemade movies.” He waved at the pile of pictures on the desk. “He had enough on most of those people to hang them.”