Sir Lancelot’s Crime Wave

“I thought you were a good boss to work for. Isn’t that silly? He bought me this ring, you know.” She held her hand out as she took another step toward him.

Jamison had watched this type before. He saw the tanned finger tightening on the trigger. He knew that Gardener, in spite of fear and panic, was thinking of the percentages. His hope lay in killing all three, trumping up a story of attempted robbery. He saw resolve on Gardener’s face.

In a flat, mechanical tone, Jamison said, “I’m a cop, Gardener.”

The new factor was injected into the boiling equations in Gardener’s brain. The new factor slowed the reflexes, gave rise to momentary hesitation.

As Jamison saw the faint waver of the gun barrel, he drove forward in a long frantic dive, straight-arming Corrine in the shoulder as he passed her, sending her spinning into a far corner of the room.

The deafening smash of the heavy weapon, pivoted down as he dived for Gardener’s knees, drew a white line of fire across Jamison’s left leg, numbed his left foot. His shoulder smashed against Gardener’s knees, toppling the man back.

Once his hands were on Gardener, Jamison worked with quick skill. One slug was slammed up against the ceiling as the small bone in Gardener’s wrist cracked. He thudded a knee up into Gardener’s bulk, heard the gun slide away. Pinning Gardener’s throat with his left forearm he smashed the man heavily and perfectly on the angle of the jaw.

Jamison lay on the hospital bed on his stomach and looked without amusement at the way Ringold shook with muted laughter.

“He couldn’t have shot you in a better place,” Ringold said. “Just where I would have shot you myself.”

“Lay off,” Jamison said softly.

Ringold sobered. “I talked to the girl. She puts up a good fight for you, Jamie.”

“How is she?”

Ringold shrugged. “Shock. Okay now. The report you dictated came out pretty close. He opened up nice. The kid was too eager. He got Seaton to give him a case of the powders. When he went out with them to sell them in his own area, he carries a bottle in his hand. The guy in the store takes the bottle and gives him a fifty. This Kiern catches on quick.

“Seems Gardener was taking standard medicines, cooking out the tiny amounts of dope, accumulating it, bottling it as his private powders and unloading it. Around two hundred bottles a month at fifty per. Kiern got wise and put the arm on him. Gardener told Kiern that with the kid’s help he could expand. He told the kid he wanted him in a better section of town and had an apartment for the kid to look at. He softened him up by giving him some more money.

“At the warehouse he slugged him, rolled him on a dolly onto the pier, wired scrap to his ankles and to the luggage and dumped the works off the end. The kid came to just before Gardener dumped him in.”

“I had to guess the place,” Jamison said. “He didn’t have much time, so it had to be there.”

“If you had enough to go on, Jamison,” Ringold said, “you had enough to refer it to Homicide. What did you have?”

“Gardener being too careful. He wanted the parking lot guy to think that Kiern left from his own car. So he drove in fast. He whistled like Kiern. From the back corner of the lot he threw rocks to draw the attendant away from the gate. Tossing the keys in on the gatehouse floor didn’t sound like Kiern. Then I found the firm was losing money, and yet keeping on one hell of a big staff. Cover up. Tell me, is that enough to take to Homicide?”

Ringold fingered his chin. “No. I guess not. But why break it yourself?”

“I didn’t. Honest, I just wanted to get hold of one of those bottles and turn it in to the lab. When I get out of here, do I have to be receptionist?”

Ringold stood up. “Happy birthday. I’m giving that detail to Carl Case for a while.”

“I don’t know how to—”

“Are you trying to thank me? You’re going into traffic for six months. By then you’ll appreciate being a receptionist again. And you’ll be quicker to ask permission to chase wild geese.”

Jamison was still groaning when he heard Corrine’s soft voice at his elbow say, “Darling, does it hurt that bad?”