Black Mask (Vol. 29, No. 3 — January 1947)

The theory that Slabbe liked was this: Pola undoubtedly had told Happy and Silk that she was going to Nikki’s place to look Max over and that she’d contact them and tell them how she’d made out. When she didn’t do this, Happy and Silk had got worried and had come to Nikki’s apartment to check up. They’d found Pola dead, they hadn’t killed her at all.

At first they’d suspected that Tommy had double-crossed them all, killed Pola and grabbed the stones. This was the only explanation to account for Happy chasing straight to the Carleton Arms Hotel and shooting at Tommy. Happy had been hot, looking for revenge. The answer to how he and Tommy had teamed up together again could only be that after they’d pounded out of the hotel lobby they’d come together outside and Tommy had convinced Happy that he had no part of any double-cross at all, and that if someone had pulled a fast one it must be Max or Nikki.

Tommy was in the clear for the simple reason that he hadn’t got to town till 2:30, and Pola had been dead by then.

Tommy and Happy had then come after Max. Slabbe licked his lips. He could imagine the shellacking Max was in for.

“If they don’t kill him, he’ll fry anyway,” Slabbe grunted and prowled the garage. If Max had had Nikki’s dead body in his car and was going somewhere with it, he was their boy. He

was the one who’d done the double-crossing. He’d killed both girls. His plan undoubtedly was to dispose of Nikki’s body, so that it would look as if she’d killed Pola and had lammed with the jewels.

Slabbe found corroboration of his theory in a trash barrel — bloody automobile seat covers. The amount of blood on them, still sticky, showed that Nikki had been knifed as she sat in the car.

Slabbe locked the garage and peeked up the street to where a couple of dolly cars had parked beside Max’s shiny black sedan. He saw nothing of Carlin’s squad car. Probably the lieutenant wouldn’t come up on this one, since he couldn’t know that there was a connection yet. It would be quicker to head to the City Hall and see Carlin in his office, then get set for when Charlie Somers called in to report where Happy and Tommy had taken Max.

Waiting for a street car, Slabbe glanced at his railroader’s-type watch. It was a quarter after five and had been a tolerably busy afternoon. Slabbe crossed the street to a drugstore and telephoned his office. The phone rang a dozen times, but no one answered. Slabbe grimaced. “Dam’ that Abe. He’s supposed to be there. If he got cute again, I’ll mobilize him!”

It called for a change of plans, however, for someone had to be on hand at the office when Charlie Somers reported. Slabbe went straight there. A headquarters dick was lounging outside. Al Gage was asleep on the couch. Slabbe shook him. The Zenith op struggled awake, green eyes bleary.

“Where’s Abe Morse?” Slabbe growled.

“Should I know?” Gage yawned. “He wasn’t here when I came in. Nobody was.”

“When did you come? How’d you get away from Carlin?”

“Like you said, Carlin is a great believer in letting a guy go and shadowing him. He let me scram right after you walked out over at the girl’s apartment. I came straight here and flopped. A dick followed me. Didn’t you see him outside?”

“Whyn’t you answer the phone?” Slabbe snapped, but his eyes were cloudy. Abe Morse wouldn’t have left the office voluntarily without making arrangements for someone to be on hand.

Gage rubbed his eyes. “It’d take more than a telephone to snap me out of it. I could sleep for a week.”

Slabbe sandpapered his jaw with the back of a hand, strode out of the office to the elevators. He talked to one of the elevator boys, learned that Abe Morse had certainly come into the office, though he hadn’t been seen leaving. Ditto for Whitey Fite.

Slabbe went back to the office, muttering. He complained to Gage: “Abe only does what he thinks is right, he says. The little monkey! Whitey Fite came here and spilled something, it looks like, and Abe and him went somewheres.”

“Is that bad?” Gage yawned.

“I dunno,” Slabbe confessed. “I don’t see how anything new could have cropped up if I got it figured right. The only way Abe could get in trouble would be if he somehow finds out where Happy and Tommy took Max, and goes there and sticks his neck out.”

Gage stifled his yawning, looked alert. “What’s this? Who’s Max? How would Happy and Tommy get hold of him, and why?”

“He’s the guy who was going to fence the stuff,” Slabbe explained absently, “only he crossed the gang up and knocked off both those girls, Pola and Nikki. Tommy and Happy got together again and came at him. They’re working him over right now, I’d say.”

“Well, let’s get on it, bo!” Gage exclaimed. “Get your friend Carlin to get a squad together and—”

Slabbe grunted. “There’s only one small point yet — I don’t know where they are. Charlie Somers is still tailing ’em and will call in first chance — if things break right. But until then, we sit and sweat.”

Gage cursed softly. “This game is like war.”