Chapter Twenty

Out on the street Malone considered the difficult problem of transportation to Rico’s. The streetcar would take too long. A taxi would do very well one way, but there still remained the question of explaining to the driver the baskets of flowers at this hour of the morning. Right now Malone didn’t want to call any more attention to himself than he could avoid.

He decided on a simple solution; he would borrow Helene’s car.

It was a short taxi ride to the near north side apartment hotel. On the way he made up his mind that it would be wiser not to call Helene. The car would be in the hotel garage, the keys would be in the lock, and the attendant knew him. Helene was probably sound asleep by now, and there was no point in waking her. Besides, she would probably want to go along.

He decided on the sedan instead of the convertible. It would hold more flowers. Roses, violets, gladioli, carnations, orchids. The little lawyer hummed contentedly to himself as he made the turn into West Division Street.

Anna Marie was going to be very happy when she opened her eyes. He pictured the times she’d opened them in a particularly cheerless prison cell, and shuddered. But he was going to make everything up to her, a hundred times over.

As he drove, he tried to piece together the meager information Joe the Angel had given him, and to fit it in with what he knew already. The protection racket was widespread and well-organized. What part did it play in the murder of Big Joe Childers and the framing of Anna Marie?

It wouldn’t have interested Big Joe. Good, respectable political graft, bookie joints, gambling houses, and what the reform newspapers liked to refer to as Dens of Vice, had been his specialty. Big Joe had always been an honest man, Malone reflected, with a high degree of social responsibility.

Besides, Big Joe would have laid off Jake and Joe the Angel. Very definitely, then, he had to be ruled out.

Malone sighed. All the facts and all the people were in some way linked together, and yet, even the manner in which they were linked didn’t make sense. Names, places, facts, and wildly implausible theories revolved in his mind. Finally he came to the conclusion that he could think better after he’d had a bath and a shave.

He parked the sedan carefully in the shadows of the gloomy alley back of Rico di Angelo’s new undertaking parlor. For a moment he stood in the alley, listening. Everything was silent. Almost too silent. The whole neighborhood seemed deserted.

Malone reminded himself encouragingly that Rico’s place had just opened for business, and there would hardly be any clients laid out inside. He took out the tools he’d borrowed from Fran Herman’s brother and went to work on the back door. Five minutes later it opened and he stepped in.

There was an eerie coldness in the air. Malone shivered, and stood still for a moment just inside the door, his eyes slowly becoming accustomed to the darkness. Then he began moving slowly and stealthily across the room. Suddenly he bumped into something and halted again, breathing hard. The something, he discovered, was a table, unpleasantly long and narrow.

Malone fumbled for a match, found one at last and struck it. The feeble glare showed him that the room had white walls and a white ceiling, with cabinets along two sides, and that the long narrow table was an embalming table. Then the match went out.

Maybe, he reasoned, it would be simpler, and wiser, to abandon this project and break into a florist shop somewhere. He was familiar with the layout of the one he usually patronized, and he could leave payment for the flowers on the counter. In fact, he told himself, that was what he should have done in the first place. He turned around, and at that instant the door to the alley began to open, very slowly.

Malone ducked to the side of the room in one bound. A figure appeared in the doorway, a slight, slender figure wearing a raincoat. It had a flashlight in one hand and what looked very much like a gun in the other.

Even if there was a place to hide in this devilish room, Malone realized, he could never find it in the dark. The flashlight beam began playing around the room, and the little lawyer inched away from it, moving toward the door. Perhaps if the intruder came on into the room, he could slip out unnoticed through the door and make it to the car without being observed.

The intruder showed no signs of coming into the room. That left only one other thing to do. Malone moved to easy striking distance and prepared for a quick surprise blow. But in that moment the intruder suddenly turned the flashlight squarely into Malone’s face.

Momentarily blinded, Malone ducked. He aimed his head at the intruder’s stomach and sent him crashing against the doorjamb. He shot a fist into the arm holding the gun, which fell and went sliding across the floor. Then a blow landed on Malone’s chin and he went down.

Before he could scramble to his feet, a third figure came in through the doorway, this one tall and lanky. He tackled the intruder, who also went down.

All Malone could tell of the scuffle that followed was that the tall, lanky stranger seemed to be on his side. He could make it into the alley and to the car now, but a better idea struck him. If he and the stranger between them could hold and subdue the intruder, it would be possible to find out who he was. It might even be possible to find out a few other interesting things.

Evidently, the intruder, seeing that the odds were against him, decided not to stay. He managed to get loose and get as far as the door. Malone dived at him, but the butt end of the flashlight caught him squarely in the right eye, and he went down for a second time. The intruder vanished into the darkness of the alley.

This time, Malone decided to stay down. He closed his eyes and lay still. It was pleasantly quiet and peaceful now in the room. Perhaps he could just drift contentedly off to sleep, right here on the floor. Rico wouldn’t mind. Just a short nap, anyway.

He realized someone was bending over him solicitously.

“Malone,” Jake’s voice said, tight with anxiety, “Malone, are you hurt?”

“I’m killed,” the little lawyer said, opening his eyes. He felt gingerly of his jaw; it seemed to be in one piece. He glared at Jake. “Next time you start a fight, I wish you’d pick on someone my size.”

“I start a fight,” Jake said indignantly. “I should have let him beat you up before I tackled him. Next time I will.” He helped Malone to his feet. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“In simple justice,” Malone said, “I can ask you the same question.”

“I’m here,” Jake told him, “because Joe the Angel called me up just as I was starting to go to bed and told me you were on your way here. He added that you were being followed by a man in a tan raincoat and that maybe I’d better come along and look after you.”

“I can look after myself, anytime, anywhere,” Malone said with icy dignity, brushing himself off.

“Now,” Jake said, “explain. Including why you stole Helene’s car.”

“Flowers,” Malone said. “Roses, violets, gladioli, carnations, orchids.”

“Malone,” Jake said, the anxiety returning to his voice, “are you sure you feel all right?”

“Never felt better in my life,” the lawyer lied. He explained the project and the borrowing of the car.

Jake raised his eyes and talked to heaven for a good five minutes about insane, drunken, Irish lawyers.

“I won’t argue the point,” Malone said, “but while I’m here, I might as well get the flowers.” He paused and scowled. “Why do you suppose he followed me?”

Jake yawned. “Maybe he wants you to get a parking ticket fixed for him. Or maybe he’s a relative of Rico’s and didn’t know you meant to pay for the flowers. Anyway, let’s get them and get out of here.”

He took out a small pocket flashlight. Its beam reflected on the shiny metal of the gun the intruder had dropped. Jake took out a handkerchief and picked it up gingerly. “Might as well take this along. Ballistics might like it for a souvenir. Or it might have fingerprints.” He wrapped it carefully and put it in his pocket, and led the way into the front room.

It was filled with flowers, huge gilt baskets of them, vases of them, ornamental display pieces of every size and shape. The air was heavy with their odor. In the center of the room was an elaborate and expensive-looking coffin, evidently placed there for the admiration of Rico’s guests.

Malone strolled around the room, admiring the bouquets and reading the cards. “Rico ought to feel proud,” he remarked. “Practically the whole City Hall is represented. And some other very notable people.” He stopped in front of a large heart-shaped design which had “GOOD LUCK RICO” spelled out in red and white roses and glanced at the card. “That must have set Bugs Brodie back a nice piece of change.”

“Pick out your posies and let’s go,” Jake said. “I haven’t had any sleep tonight.”

Malone finally settled for two baskets, a vaseful of roses, and a set piece made of orchids. “Maybe she doesn’t care for dahlias,” he said, “but since they came from the mayor, I thought it would be a nice sentiment.”

“Let’s go!” Jake repeated. He turned toward the door, and as he did so, the beam from his flashlight fell on the display coffin.

Malone, following him, stopped suddenly. “Jake!”

Jake looked. There, neatly laid out in the coffin, was the body of the late Jesse Conway.