Read Hammett (Crime Masterworks) for Free Online

her head and laughed, a full-bodied laugh that engaged her whole frankly voluptuous body. ‘If you really tried to cure a dose that way, you’d be in trouble.’
    Crystal returned with a big German mug with a hinged pewter lid. She set it on the red lacquer telephone stand at Molly’s elbow. Molly drank deeply.
    ‘
I’m
not in trouble,’ the bull-like one told her. ‘
You
are.’
    Molly wiped away her foam mustache and waited until Crystal had departed.
    ‘You’d better drift, boys, before I use the telephone.’
    ‘That’s what we’re interested in, Molly. I’m Victor Atkinson, this is my associate Dashiell Hammett. We want to know just who you
do
call when you get into trouble. Also, who you pay . . .’
    Molly laughed again. ‘You must be out of your mind.’
    ‘Not really.’ Hammett spoke for the first time. ‘The DA’s got you where your pants hang loose.’
    Molly allowed herself a slight sneer. ‘Keeping a Disorderly House?’ She shook her head. ‘C’mon, boys, what’s that even if he could make it stick? A fine and—’
    ‘How about Contributing to the Delinquency of a Minor?’ said Hammett. ‘Three felony counts?’
    Contributing. Jesus! That carried a heavy jolt! Molly buried her nose in her tankard again, then said, ‘One of those kids, I knew his goddamn
grand
father, can you believe that? I was just a kid myself then, in the old Parisian Mansion on Commercial Street . . .’
    ‘Quit stalling, Molly.’ Atkinson loomed over her chair. ‘We need some names. Who do you juice in the police department? How are the payoffs made? You play ball with us, Molly, and—’
    ‘Sorry, boys. Like I told you, we’re closed today.’
    ‘We’ll be around,’ said Atkinson. Hammett followed him to the door, then paused and tipped his hat.
    ‘Charmed,’ said the lean writer.
    The door had barely closed behind them when the phone rang. She swung open the phone stand and removed the receiver from the hooks. ‘This is Molly.’
    ‘This is your old sweetheart,’ said Boyd Mulligan’s nasal tones.
    ‘Yeah? Which one?’
    ‘How many sweethearts you got, for Chrissake?’
    ‘Oh,
Boyd
darling. I haven’t heard your voice in so long I didn’t recognize it.’
    After she had opened the house five years before, Boyd Mulligan had been around twice a week to get a piece of Molly as well as of the action. He was a mean son of a bitch with a woman, so she’d been happy when he’d finally started just sending a messenger for the Mulligan Bros Bailbond Company share.
    ‘I’ve been busy, but I’ve been keeping tabs on you just the same. Tommy Dunne called to say a gumshoes out of LA named Victor Atkinson was around to your place.’
    ‘I was just going to call you about that.’
    ‘What did they want?’
    ‘Names. Figures . . .’
    ‘Just what I thought.’ There were vicious undertones in the nasal voice. ‘I’ve been sitting here thinking, what if Molly decides to spill her guts to these birds? What if they promise she can cop a plea or get immunity if she does? What if—’
    ‘Don’t lean on me, Boydie-babyl’ she snapped. ‘I’ve had Chicago amnesia in the past, and will again if it comes to that. But
don’t lean on me
.’
    ‘Aw, look, sweetheart, I didn’t mean it that way. I tell you what, tomorrow morning you go see Brass Mouth Epstein. Tell him we’re picking up his fee and that we don’t want you to be tried for Contributing. How he gets you off is his concern.’
    ‘What if he says disappear?’
    ‘Then disappear – only make sure we know where you are. And I’ll tell you what: If you have to dump that thousand bucks bail you put up Friday night, we’ll swallow it.’
    She found warmth for her voice. ‘What can I say except thanks?’
    ‘As long as that’s
all
you say, sweetheart.’ He gave his nasal chuckle. ‘You let me know what Epstein says tomorrow, okay? I’ll be at the shop.’
    After she’d hung up, Molly sat staring at the thick Oriental carpet. Why was