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

Tommy said: “There’s still the other guys that were with him. We only came to him first because it was easy to find out who he was when you described him around.”

“Yeah,” Happy replied hungrily. “There was two other peeps with him outside the apartment. The one guy tried to stop me and Silk; the other guy shot Silk. They’re next!”

“Maybe he’ll tell us where to find them,” Tommy said wolfishly. “Go to work.”

Slabbe’s eyes swam open. They were bearing down on him again. Somehow they’d got it into their heads that Slabbe or Al Gage or Abe Morse had glommed the jewels. There’d be no talking Happy out of it. Tommy had a bit more imagination, though.

“Tommy—” Slabbe coughed. “Look, you’re clean on everything that happened today. You’re alibied on the murders because you were tailed down from Philly and we know you couldn’t have done them. That ought to mean something to you, boy.”

“Nuts!” Happy grated.

“What are you getting at?” Tommy asked softly. “Nobody tailed me on the train. You think I’m an amateur?”

Slabbe rasped the back of his hand over bloody lips. Even though Charlie Somers would realize from the way Slabbe had ended their telephone conversation that Happy and Tommy had barged in, it would be another quarter of an hour before he could get here. And Lord help Al Gage if he came back with the sandwiches and waltzed in half asleep.

Slabbe swallowed mightily, tried to focus a steady glance on Tommy. “All I’m trying to tell you is that it ain’t just larceny now. Somebody’s gonna fry for Nikki and Pola. You couldn’t have killed ’em, because you were tailed whether you know it or not, but every step you take now is making you an accessory.”

Happy Lado cursed and slashed Slabbe’s cheeks.

“Cut it!” Tommy ordered lazily.

Slabbe said thickly: “You’re stuck for the jewels, I’d say. I haven’t got ’em. The two guys Happy saw with me don’t have ’em — the one guy works for me regular and is O.K., the other guy couldn’t have ’em because I happen to know he came down on the same train from Philly as you.”

Tommy scratched one of his small, close set ears with the sight of his gun barrel. “So?”

“Look, I’m telling you you’re just stuck for ’em,” Slabbe said. “None of the people we know about in this got ’em, that’s all. Somebody else must have.”

“Who?”

“How the hell do I know?” Slabbe swallowed. “Don’t you think anybody else in town knew Pola was here and was packing the stuff? She had it, didn’t she?”

Tommy nodded. “She kept it on her every second since the heist. Happy here and Silk were with her in St. Louis. When I was due out of the hospital, I passed them the word to meet me. They got it back to me that they had a guy who’d handle the stuff and I should meet Pola at the Carleton Arms Hotel here.”

“And she had the stuff when we got in, today.” Happy leered. “She had it when she went into that apartment, and some wise guy went to her and said he was from Tommy and got rid of Nikki, then worked on Pola.”

“I’ll give you that,” Slabbe said. “But it wasn’t anybody that we connected with yet. What you don’t get is that other people could have known you were in town and made a play for the stuff.”

Happy moved his twisted lips over closer to Slabbe.

“Who else knew it? How could anybody else find out?”

“Why, you were seen getting off the train, you cluck,” Slabbe said. “A stoolie saw you right off. How do you think I found out where Pola was? If the stoolie told me, Lord knows how many other parties he told, too. Figure that, will you?”

Tommy and Happy looked at Slabbe, then at each other, then back at Slabbe. Slabbe held his breath. He’d given them something to think about. Maybe—

Happy snarled: “It don’t change nothing! We just go after that stoolie and beat out of him who all he told about us. Isn’t that right, Tommy?”

Tommy Rex nodded evenly, pointed his gun at Slabbe. “And we still find out from him where to go.” He nodded to Slabbe, “O.K., peeper, who’s this stoolie and where do we find him?”

Slabbe tried to figure out how much time had passed since he’d hung up on Charlie Somers. It must be ten minutes, but he couldn’t be sure. It hadn’t been time enough for Charlie to get here, anyhow.

Slabbe stalled: “I already dropped word for him to come here. He ought to pop in any minute. Take a seat.”

“Work on him,” Tommy said thinly. “He’s trying to slow us up.”

Happy Lado moved in eagerly, gun cutting up under Slabbe’s jaw. “Who’s the stoolie? Where is he?”

Slabbe had been snapping out of it a bit, feeling his normal strength return but he’d needed a couple minutes more grace to be in shape to make a move.

There was no help for it, though. The first slash of the gun told him that it would take only another one like it to jelly his muscles again. This time his chair was back against the wall. He heaved back, pulling both feet up, knees folding into his chest, then snapping straight and stiff again.