The Fabulous Clipjoint - Fredric Brown (book recommendations website .txt) 📗

would give us an up on Bassett. Well, tomorrow we can try a couple more razzle-dazzles. We can be a phone-quiz radio program giving a hundred-buck prize to whoever answers a phone number picked at random if he can tell us the capital of Illinois and his address. Or we can be—”

“Listen,” I said, “I can get the listing on that phone number for you.”

“Huh? How, kid? Those unlisted numbers are hard to get.”

“Bunny Wilson’s sister-in-law, his brother’s wife, works for the phone company, in the office where they handle those numbers. He found out one for Jake, the foreman at the plant, once. Just so we don’t get his sister-in-law in trouble for it, he can get it for us.”

“Kid, that’s great. How soon could we get it?”

“If I can find Bunny tonight,” I told him, “we can have it by tomorrow noon, I think. He could see his sister-in-law before she goes to work; then she could phone him when she goes out to lunch. She couldn’t call from work, about that.”

“Bunny got a phone?”

“His landlady has—but he can use it only daytimes. I can go over there, though. He lives on Halsted Street.”

“He’s home from work by now?”

“He should be. If he isn’t, I’ll wait.”

“Okay, kid. We’ll split up for a while, then. Here’s ten bucks, Give it to Bunny to give his sister-in-law to buy herself a new hat or something. I’m going to hunt up Bassett and find out what gives on the inquisition. He’ll go easier when I tell him we blew Kaufman open. Or maybe he’s convinced by now that he was on the wrong street.”

“Where’ll we meet?”

“Come back here. I’ll tell the desk clerk to give you my key if I’m not in. You run along; I’ll try to find out where Bassett is by phone before I go chasing after him.”

I walked down to Grand, and was lucky enough to see an owl car coming, so it was only a few minutes before I got to Halsted and walked south to the place where Bunny roomed.

His light was off, which meant he was either out or asleep, but I went upstairs anyway. This was important enough to wake him up about.

He was out; I knocked till I was sure.

I sat down on the stairs to wait, and then I remembered that he was usually careless about locking his door, and sure enough it was unlocked. So I went in and found a magazine to read.

When it got to be four o’clock I made coffee in his little kitchenette. I made it plenty strong.

He came home, stumbling up the stairs, just as I got the coffee made. He wasn’t too drunk, just an edge on. But I got two cups of coffee down him before I told him what I wanted. I didn’t give him the whole story, but enough of it that he knew why we needed the listing on that phone number.

He said, “Sure, Ed, sure. And t’hell with the ten bucks. She owes me a few favors.”

I stuck it in his pocket and told him to give it to her anyway.

“Can you talk to her before she goes to work this morning?” I asked him.

“Sure, easy. She lives way out—gets up at five-thirty. I’ll stay awake till I can phone her then. Then I’ll set my alarm for eleven so I’ll be awake when she phones me back. You can phone me any time after noon—I’ll stick around till you do.”

“That’s swell, Bunny. Thanks.”

“Skip it. You going home now?”

“Back to the Wacker.”

“I’ll walk part way with you.” He looked at the clock. “Then by time I get back here, it’ll be time for me to phone from the all-night drugstore on the corner.”

We walked over Grand Avenue, over the bridge.

He said, “You’re different lately, Ed. What’s changed about you? You’re different.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe it’s the new suit.”

“Nope. Maybe you grew up, or something. Whatever it is, I like it. I—I think you could go places, Ed, if you want to. Not get stuck in a rut, like I am.”

“You’re not in a rut,” I said. “I thought you were going to have a shop of your own.”

“I don’t know, Ed. Equipment costs like hell. I got a little saved, yeah, but when I think what it takes—Hell, if I had sense enough to stay sober I could save more, but I haven’t. Here I am forty, and I got maybe half enough saved up for what I want to do. Rate I’m going, I’ll be old before I even get started.”

He laughed a little, bitterly. “Sometimes I feel like finding one of these big-time gambling games you hear about, where there’s no limit, and betting my little bankroll on one blackjack hand, quit win or lose. Then either I’d have enough, or nothing. And nothing wouldn’t be much worse than half enough. Maybe better.”

“Better, how?”

“Then I could quit worrying about it. Then every time I spent a quarter for a shot of whiskey or a dime for a glass of beer, it wouldn’t hurt me. I’m not worried about going to hell, Ed, but I begrudge the money the ticket costs.”

We walked in silence a little while and then he said, “It’s my own fault, Ed. I got no kick coming, really. A guy can have anything he wants, damn near, if he wants it bad enough, if he’s willing to give up other things to get it. Hell, on my income, and living alone, I could save thirty bucks a week, easy. I could have had enough money years ago. But I wanted fun out of life, too. Well, I’ve had it, so what the hell am I squawking about?”

We were almost to the el now, and he said, “Well, guess I’ll turn back here.”

We stopped walking. I said, “Come up to the flat some afternoon, Bunny, or your next evening off. Mom—Mom hasn’t got many friends. She’ll be glad to see you.”

“I’ll do that, Ed. Thanks. Uh—say, how about having one drink with me? Across the street there.”

I thought a minute, and then I said, “Sure, Bunny.”

I didn’t want the drink, really, but I could feel that, for some obscure reason, he really wanted me to drink with him. There was something in the way he said it.

We had it, just one, and then we parted in front of the tavern. I crossed over under the el and walked toward Clark Street.

I got to wondering about Mom and Gardie, whether they were home or not, so I turned north on Franklin and then cut through the alley back of our flat. When I got into the alley I could see our kitchen windows, and there was a light on in the kitchen.

I didn’t know whether it was the police, still searching, or Mom home again, so I stood there and watched awhile until I saw Mom cross the window. She was still dressed, so I knew she hadn’t been home long. I saw Gardie, too. Mom was going to and from the stove, and I guess they’d just got home and were getting something to eat before they turned in.

I didn’t want to go upstairs. Bassett would have told Mom I was staying with Uncle Am and she wouldn’t be wondering about me. She’d worry, maybe, if she knew I was still chasing around.

I walked on through the alley and over to Clark Street. The sky was turning light with dawn.

At the Wacker, I asked the desk clerk if a key had been left for me. It hadn’t been, so I knew Uncle Am was back.

Bassett was there with him. They’d swung out the writing table so one of them could sit on each side of it and they were playing cards. There was a bottle on the table between them. Bassett’s eyes looked glassy.

Uncle Am asked, “Feel better with the tummy full, kid?”

I knew he was tipping me off what he’d told Bassett about where I was, so I knew the phone number was still a secret.

I said, “I ate three breakfasts. I’m set for all day now.”

“Gin rummy,” Uncle Am said. “Penny a point, so be quiet.”

I sat down on the edge of the bed and watched the game. Uncle Am was winning; he had a lead of thirty points and two boxes. I looked at the paper they were scoring on and saw it was their third game; Uncle Am had taken the first two.

But Bassett won that hand. He took a long pull out of the bottle and turned around to face me while Uncle Am dealt the next hand. His eyes were owlishly wide. He said, “Ed, that sister of yours—somebody oughta—”

“Pick up your hand, Frank,” my uncle said. “Let’s get the game over with. I’ll bring Ed up to date later.”

Bassett picked up his cards. He dropped one of them and I got it for him. He finally got his hand arranged and took another pull at the bottle. It was a quart, and it was almost empty.

Bassett won that hand, too, but Uncle Am went gin on the next one and that put him over a hundred, and out.

Bassett said, “That’s enough. Add ‘em up. Jeez, I’m tired.” He reached for his wallet.

Uncle Am said, “Skip it. It’s about ten bucks for the three games; add ‘em onto the expense account. Look, Frank, I’m going to get something to eat now. Whyn’t you rest awhile? Ed might as well go home. When I get back, if you’ve gone to sleep, I’ll wake you up.”

Bassett’s eyes were plenty glassy now, and half shut. All of a sudden the whiskey was hitting him, and he was very drunk. He sat on the edge of the bed, swaying.

My uncle put the table back where it belonged. He looked at Bassett and grinned, and then gave him a slight push on his left shoulder. Bassett fell back and sideways and his head landed on the pillow.

Uncle Am picked up his feet and put them on the bed, too. He untied Bassett’s shoes and took them off. He took off Bassett’s shell-rimmed glasses and his hat and put them on the dresser. He loosened the detective’s tie and opened the button at the collar of his shirt.

Bassett opened his eyes then. He said, “You son of a bitch.”

“Sure,” said my uncle, soothingly. “Sure, Frank.”

We turned off the light and went out.

Going down in the elevator, I told him about Bunny and the phone number and that we could get the listing any time after noon.

He nodded. He said, “Bassett knows we’re holding out something on him. He’s a smart boy. I wouldn’t put it past him to go see Kaufman himself and turn on a little heat.”

I said, “You had Kaufman plenty scared. It’ll take a bit of heat to crack him again. I think he’s more scared of us now than he was of this Harry Reynolds.” I thought a minute, then asked, “Say, what would we have done if that alarm clock had gone off before he broke?”

Uncle Am shrugged. “Looked pretty silly, I guess. How’s about some breakfast—for real?”

“I could eat a cow,” I told him.

We went to Thompson’s at Clark and Chicago, and while we got outside ham and eggs, he told me what he’d learned from Bassett.

Gardie had admitted giving the billfold to the Reinhart boy. Her explanation had been just about what Uncle Am had suggested. Pop had an extra wallet—an old one. I’d known that. What I’d not known,