The Golden Spiders (Crime Line)

“I met a guy there once that made his own cartridges. I’ve never saw nothin’ like it. He claimed his own powder mixture had more zip, but that was all hooey; he was a goddam maniac, that’s all it was. If I ever found myself falling for a nutty idea like that I’d quit and hoe beans. Sure enough, a coupla years later I heard that this guy got it out in St. Louis, Missouri. I guess he musta forgot to put in the zip.”

He laughed. Until then I had had no special personal feeling toward him, but that laugh was objectionable.

“Was you ever in St. Louis, Missouri?” he asked.

“No,” Fred said.

“Neither was I. I understand it’s on the Mississippi River. I’d like to see that goddam river. A guy told me once there’s alligators in it, but I’d have to see ‘em to believe ‘em. About eight years ago I-”

A buzzer sounded-inside the room, I thought. A long buzz, then two short, close together, then another long. The man sidled to the wall, keeping his eyes and the gun on Fred, got his thumb on a button, and pressed it. It looked like one short, two long, and one short. Then he circled to the door and stood straddling the sill, facing the stairs, but with Fred well in range. In a moment there were footsteps overhead, and then the feet appeared on the stairs, descending. I ducked low, behind the car. It would be natural for a new arrival to glance around, and I wasn’t ready to join the party.

“Hello, Mort.”

“Hello, Lips. We been waiting.”

“Is he clean?”

“Yeah, he had a S and W under his arm takin’ his tempachure.”

I stayed down until the newcomer’s steps had crossed to the door and entered, then slowly came up until one eye reached the glass of the car’s door. Mort had circled back to his former position and was standing beside the chair. Lips Egan stood across the table from Fred. He was fairly husky, with saggy shoulders, and was gray all over except for his blue shirt-gray suit, gray tie, gray face, and some gray in his dark hair. The tip of his nose tilted up a little.

“Your name’s O’Connor?” he asked.

“Yes,” Fred said.

“What’s this about Matt Birch and your wife?”

“Someone told me they saw her in a car with him last Tuesday afternoon. I think maybe she was cheating on me. Then he got killed that night.”

“Did you kill him?”

Fred shook his head. “I never heard about her being with him until yesterday.”

“Where were they seen?”

“The car was parked in front of Danny’s. That’s why I went there.”

“What kind of a car?”