Free Sinful Woman by James M. Cain Page B

A tall man and a thin man came in, pitched a package of telegrams and letters on the desk. The tall man said: “Fan stuff mostly, been coming in at the hotel ever since the story went on the air. I told Western Union to hold the rest of it and we’d pick it up. This stuff, I thought we better take charge of it, so nothing gets lost.”
    “O. K., Bushy. Thanks.”
    Benny sat nervously down. Mr. La Bouche suddenly said “Oh,” as though he had just remembered something, and found a letter in the stack of telegrams. Leaning close he mumbled: “It’s that special Vicki sent her, in case she wouldn’t answer his call. I took it along, because God knows how it’ll affect her. Better hang onto it a few days, hah? Before we give it to her to read?”
    Dmitri fingered the letter, stared at the special delivery stamp, at the round clock with an arrow showing the time of receipt, that had been stamped by the hotel. Then, looking straight at Mr. Layton, he said: “Boys, I got an awful premonition creeping up my back that in this communication Victor Adlerkreutz announces his intention to take his own life.”
    “What?”
    Benny’s mouth hung open in amazement, but Mr. La Bouche grabbed him quickly and said: “Shut up! I would think you’d know by now that when Mr. Spiro has something creeping up his back, he’s practically never wrong.”
    But Mr. Layton, so badly crossed up he didn’t quite know what he was doing, was already at the door. To Dmitri he said: “I’m going. If that’s a suicide note, I know you don’t want any strangers around when you read it.” Then, not sure that he shouldn’t make some show of encouragement, he turned a ghastly smile at Dmitri and said: “Yeah, I know you’re kind of unstrung about it.”
    Promptly at 5:30, Mr. Gans came up the ramp, his jaw stuck out and his lower teeth visible against his lip. He listened to what Mr. Layton had to say, made no comment until they were almost in the centre of town. Then, with explosive vehemence, he said: “Great! You’ve done the right thing, Layton! You’ve used your head and you’ve used your guts and Southwest General of N. A. is proud of you! I always say, be aggressive! Move fast! But, if the other party listens to reason, be reasonable! After all what are we, Layton? Insurance men, not hangmen!”

Chapter Eight
    M R. LAYTON HAD BARELY left the room when Tony leaped at Dmitri, caught him by the arm and began shaking him savagely. “Are you nuts? Listen, fellow, you can’t trifle with this thing! What’ll they think of us, cooking up a dilly like we told them already, and then saying it isn’t so? Spiro, you dealt these cards, and there’s no way now to make it a misdeal! You’ve got to play them!”
    “Didn’t you hear what he said?”
    “Couldn’t you make a deal?”
    “Didn’t you hear me try? What happened?”
    “Couldn’t you sock him in the jaw?”
    “ Me? He was a big guy. You sock him.”
    “Taking it lying down—”
    “Wait a minute, fellow—wait a minute. This wasn’t just a guy. He was from a big insurance company. What good would it do to sock him?”
    “It would do plenty of good. A cheap jack of an agent comes out here, lights a cigar, and scares you so bad you turn around and pitch it all out, what’s been done. Don’t you get it? I’m in on it too! I’ve been your witness, I’ve stood for what had to be said to put across accident. Look where that puts me in this town if you go around and tell them it’s all just a lie you thought up.”
    Mr. La Bouche spoke in a quiet, worried way. “We think we been getting away with it, but who says we have? Who says that mug is from an insurance company at all? Who says he’s not a cop’s stool pigeon?”
    “But switching, that’ll fix it, hey?”
    They all sat in gloom for a few minutes. Then Dmitri picked up the letter. “And besides this note can’t go to the Sheriff. It must be another note. Because who knows what this says? Maybe some fool