After some mumbling I couldn’t make out too clearly, Benny and Blinder walked down the hall to the study. As they passed my little lookout, I saw Blinder wearing a brown homburg and his old overcoat, holding that walking stick of his.
They must have settled into the chairs because I could hear them talking. I could hear Benny’s side of the conversation better than Blinder’s, but I could hear enough of Blinder’s voice to tell he wasn’t happy.
I left the staircase and walked over to the kitchen door so I could hear better.
Benny was being tough. “We’re partners, Addison, but that doesn’t mean I won’t bust your balls.” He laughed. “If I can find them.” He laughed again. But there wasn’t anything friendly or pleasant in it.
I could smell cigarette smoke. I guess Blinder didn’t care much about Benny’s feelings.
“Where will the money come from, now that Clayman’s dead Addison?”
“I have all I need, Benny. I’m an old man and I live simply. I’ve accomplished all I wanted. It’s unfortunate Roger didn’t live long enough to appreciate his loss. But I’m satisfied.”
“I’m not satisfied, old man. I need money. You’ll help me get it.”
“Why would I do that Benny?”
“Remember Jack? You and I got to watch out for each other.”
No one said anything for a minute or more.
“You’re right, Benny. We do have to watch out for each other.” Blinder’s voice was strong and firm. The old lawyer had guts. I’ll give him that.
“But I have no reason to trust you. You have something you can use whenever it suits your purpose.” Blinder stopped – maybe he was smoking – and then he said, “I have something on you as well, but that doesn’t make me any safer, does it? Someday you’ll decide you’re better off without me. And I’ll go out a window or turn up with a hole in my back.”
Benny laughed and, with exaggerated friendliness, said, “Don’t talk like that Addison. We’re pals. We’re in business.”
“No, we’re not. We’re done.”
Benny got tough again. “I want dope and I want it in kilos. Not grams. And you’ll get it for me.”
Blinder replied harshly, “That’s finished, Benny. Finished.” He was quiet, and then, more resigned than angry, he said, “I couldn’t. Even if I wanted to.”
“You will.”
“It’s impossible. A few grams here and there, that’s easy, Benny. I’ve been doing that for years. But more than that? Too many people. Too much money. Too much attention.” He paused, then added, “It’s falling apart already. My nervous Belgian friend has started asking questions.”
“You’ll solve it, Addison. You’re smart. But I want the stuff. And lots of it.”
Blinder didn’t respond immediately, but when he finally spoke, his voice was flat and resigned.
“I have about seven grams of morphine and a little more than two grams of heroin. I’ll keep a gram of the morphine, and you can have the rest. But that’s the end of it.”
Benny was quiet for a moment. “What about the rocks? You still got those?”
“I paid you for them Benny. Just as we agreed.”
“We agreed on a lot of things, but that don’t matter now. Just tell me about the rocks. You still got ‘em?”
“Of course I do Benny. That was the point.”
“Gimme six of the diamonds. That leaves you one more than half.”
“I’m not breaking those pieces up and selling them bit by bit. They’re too beautiful for that. And they’re mine now. Just as they are.”
“Then give me five grand. I could get that much for ‘em easy.”
“I’m not giving you any more money Benny. I paid you to get them for me. Your young man came through.” He grunted and said, “Finally.” With that steel voice of his, he added, “And you got paid. For all your troubles.”
I’d heard enough and wanted to get out. I was looking in the cupboards again for oil or lard to grease the lock and keep it quiet when I felt a hand on my shoulder and another reaching across my mouth.
I dropped down, stepped back with one leg, twisted, and shoved my elbow into my attacker’s ribs as hard as I could. I kept turning until I was looking at him, and hit him in the face with my flashlight, hard and solid. The blow brought him up, and I rammed the palm of my hand into his nose. His head snapped back, the blood started flowing, and I slammed my foot into his knee. He tumbled to the floor.
It was Nick Drakos. I bent down and started looking for that Colt automatic of his, but I heard Benny Tsongis say, “Hello snooper.” And then I felt the sharp pain of a foot in my side. When I collapsed on to Drakos, Benny kicked me again.
Then his big hand was in my hair, pulling me up, making me stand, and a gun was jabbing into my ribs. Drakos was moaning, with his hands on his face, when Benny kicked him in the head. Hard. After that, Drakos stopped moving, and he didn’t moan much.
Benny said “Go,” and shoved me towards the hall. Blinder was standing there, still wearing his overcoat and holding onto his walking stick. He looked at me with a face full of doubts.
Benny marched me into the study, pushed me into the chair behind the desk, moved his gun to his left hand, did a quick pat down on me and found the gun under my arm. He pulled it out and put it on the desk. Blinder leaned his stick against the desk, put his hands in the pockets of his coat, and sat in the chair across from me.
Without looking at me, Benny raked his gun across my face. Something tore into my skin, and I could feel blood on my cheek. The blow stung and the hurt spread until every part of my head ached. Then he did it again.
Blinder said, coolly, without nerves, “Don’t kill him here. Take him away. Do it somewhere else.”
Benny looked at Blinder, his face flushed with anger, and said, “I’ll take care of this snooper my own way, in my own time.” As if to prove his point, he threw one of his big fists into my face, a short, terrible jab that sent a wave of pain across my skull and down my neck and into my shoulders. I could taste the metallic sting of blood in my mouth. I tried to stand, and he slapped me with the back of his hand and pushed me back down into the chair. He looked at me and said, “Don’t move again, snooper.” To make sure I got his point, he put another solid punch into my face, and I stopped thinking about going anywhere.
Tsongis, boiling with adrenalin and rage and with his gun in his hand, turned to the small, old lawyer, and with all the menace he had, said, “I want those rocks and all the dope. I didn’t get into this just to end up with three grand. I want everything.”
He walked towards Blinder.
A gun coughed. Benny twisted to one side and his gun fell out of his hand and bounced on the floor. But he didn’t stop moving towards Blinder. Standing in front of him, he slapped the other man hard and then reached for him, as if he wanted to pick him up and shake him. There was another shot. Benny jerked backwards this time and stumbled against the desk. His face turned towards me for an instant, and I could see anger and pain. I couldn’t tell where the second shot hit – somewhere in Benny’s gut, I supposed. But from what I could see, it must have hurt and hurt bad. But it didn’t knock him down and it didn’t stop him.
Benny picked up that fancy walking stick of Blinder’s and swung it viciously at the lawyer’s head. There was a sickening, wet crunch, and the chair and the old lawyer toppled down to the floor.
Benny dropped the stick, bent down – groaning – picked up his gun, and shot Blinder in the face.
I pulled myself out the chair and grabbed across the desk for my gun.
Benny stood up and wobbled and groaned some more. He put his hand to his belly, low near the top of his thigh. When he pulled his hand away, it was bathed in blood. His face was going white, and his eyes were going glassy. Blood pooled at his feet. I figured Blinder’s little derringer had found an artery, and Benny’s heart was busy pumping all his blood out of his body.
I walked towards him, and he started lifting his gun towards me, but it got nowhere. I slapped his face with barrel of my gun, and he fell. His gun skittered across the floor.
He laid there, and his face lost all its color, and the dark stain grew as his blood drained away. His hand, scraping along in an arc, searched for his gun, but his eyes were locked to mine. He had dark brown eyes and I expected them to be angry, bitter, and insolent, I guess. But they weren’t. They were just brown glass beads – hard and blank. I held my gun on him and waited and watched.
He must have become more desperate, because his hand started flopping here and then there, as if he believed instinct or fate would lead him to his weapon. His hand landed close to the gun a few times, but he moved on, unaware of how near his fingers had come. I kept trying to read his eyes while watching his hand. I got nowhere.
And then he found it. I think I saw a smile in his eyes. I don’t know. He scratched at the gun, trying to pull it into his hand, but he could only reach its barrel. Still, he moved without hurry, and I don’t think his eyes left my face.
He spun the pistol so he could grab its handle, but he spun it too hard, and it moved just beyond his reach. I kept watching.
He stretched his arm and patted around until he found the gun again. He wrapped his fingers around it, picked it up, and slowly brought it to him with a shaking hand. He laid the weapon down on his chest, near the little hole Blinder’s first bullet had torn into him, and he ran his fingers along the thing until they found the handle.
Maybe his eyes smiled then. Maybe they didn’t. But his twisted mouth did. And I took a step or two towards him, and I was standing over him, with my gun just inches from that cruel, misshapen face of his. He was terribly pale, and his breath came in rapid, shallow gulps. Blood pooled on the floor next to him and the puddle now reached all the way to Blinder’s dead foot.
Benny slowly wrapped his fingers around the gun’s handle. His eyes never left my face.
He lifted the gun. He wasn’t moving quickly, but deliberately, and his hand shook. Did he expect to kill me? I don’t know. Everything I knew said he wanted to. But his eyes were cold and unreadable. Just like the eyes of a dying bird.
I kicked his arm. The gun fell, and it bounced across the floor, far out of his reach, and stopped over by the door.
I looked at Benny and said, “Oh, I want you dead. Don’t think I don’t. But I don’t need to help you along. You won’t even make the hospital.”
I went to Blinder’s desk, sat down with my gun in my lap, and started to call for an ambulance.
Drakos shuffled into the doorway with that big Colt automatic of his pointed at me. Blood smeared his mouth and stained his shirt. He looked at Blinder and Tsongis and at me and said, “What a mess.”
He walked into the room and smiled a mean, ugly smile. “And everyone said you were so smart. But you’re a dope.”
While he was talking, I moved my right arm off the desk and into my lap. Benny moaned, and Drakos looked down at him. Then he saw Benny’s gun, bent down to pick it up, and said, “This’ll make it more fun for the cops.”
When he stood up, my gun was out, and I shot.
He looked surprised.
I shot again, and he fell.
Lettres d'un Inconnu 