Authors: Brad Latham
Muffy’s eyes went wide, and he knew he had scored. “And not only that, but even before you had the jewels, you told Muffy
you were getting them for her. She knew it on opening night.” He turned to her. “That’s why you reacted the way you did when
I spoke to you.”
“Liar!” It was Muffy, trying to fight back.
Lockwood just smiled. Most of the time he didn’t like to make people squirm, but for these two he could make an exception.
A very willing exception.
“I’m going to make a supposition here, Muffy,” he said. “No way I can back this up, but based on what I know about you….”
His lips twisted. He glanced at Bunche, who was still sitting there, immobile, awaiting his chance, seething till it came,
and he directed his attention back to the young blond heiress, who had her feet drawn up under her on the couch now, like
a very young girl.
“You were going to take the jewels from Jock.
And
the $50,000 from my company. You were going to be the big winner. Sure, you’d have to pay Jock off a bit; another pound or
so of flesh, but you were used to that. Even enjoyed it a bit, maybe, the Queen taking her pleasure from the serving-man.”
Muffy surprised him. Her head went back and a roar of laughter escaped her. “My God, aren’t you the one!”
“It’s not really something to laugh about, Muffy. People have died because of this robbery. Because of you.”
“Because of
me?
Ridiculous!” But this time she wasn’t laughing.
“Not so ridiculous. When Jock’s man went back for the jewels, the fence didn’t have them. Maybe Stymie stalled him once, maybe
twice, but sooner or later One-Eye realized Stymie had double-crossed him, had sold the jewels to someone else.”
“I don’t see where that makes me responsible for anyone’s death.”
“You will. The next time One-Eye visited Stymie, he was undoubtedly under instructions to get the jewels, at least find out
who had them. And so he worked Stymie over, knocked him around till he squealed.” He turned to Bunche. “Care to finish this
for me?”
Bunche glared at him, and his voice was thick with hate. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The Hook shrugged. “Okay by me. I don’t really need your help.” He took out another Camel. “Stymie finally gave One-Eye a
description of the person who got your jewels,” he told Muffy. “And then Jock and One-Eye knew who’d aced them out. Cracks
Henderson.”
Bunche swore under his breath, and Muffy seemed to crumble a little.
“So Jock sent One-Eye off to get Cracks. And he did. And Cracks must have told him something about the jewels that got Widwer
very angry. So he held a gun on him, had him turn around, and put a bullet through the back of his head.”
Muffy had gone pale. “Cracks—is—dead?”
“You didn’t know?”
“I had the night off last night. I was—was on Long Island.”
In somebody else’s bed, probably, Lockwood decided, or Brannigan would have reached her Southampton home.
Bunche’s lip curled into a sneer, and for the first time he seemed assured. “Some theory, insurance man. But you forget one
thing. Cracks didn’t have any money. Show me one musician with a spare buck in his pocket.”
“You’re right. That might have occurred to me. Ordinarily, I’d have wondered if Cracks was just doing somebody else’s business,
like One-Eye did for you.”
“You can’t tie me up with Levinskey,” Bunche said.
“With One-Eye and Cracks’ murder? Maybe not,” Lockwood said. “But then again maybe so. You’ve got a lot of ‘business’ associates,
Bunche. Could be a couple of them were there when you gave One-Eye his orders. And you’d be amazed at how easy it can be to
get your kind of buddies to talk.”
Bunche was on his feet again, his face beet red, but once more the .38 flashed into view. “Sit down, Jock. I haven’t finished
yet.” The big man hung there, and Lockwood repeated the order. “Sit.” This time Bunche obeyed, eyes murderous.
“As I say, I might have thought Cracks couldn’t have done it, or at most did it for someone else, if something hadn’t happened
first. Something that immediately began to give things around here a little perspective.” He turned to Muffy. “Would you like
to clue him in?”
“You bastard,” she said.
He didn’t know on whom to keep the more wary watch now. Muffy’s eyes were charged, as if she were as ready to kill as Bunche.
The tension in the room was almost palpable.
“You’re sure?” he asked.
“Scum!” she shrilled.
“Cracks was obsessed with Muffy,” he told Jock. “Insane about her. One-Eye could have told you that if he’d ever returned
from Cracks’ apartment. As it happens, he ran into me first.”
Bunche looked at him, nothing registering.
“One-Eye’s dead, Bunche. He’s lying in the morgue now, waiting for somebody to claim him.”
“You?”
The Hook nodded.
“Okay. Now I really owe you,” Jock snarled at him. “You’re not getting out of here alive!”
“Don’t try it,” Lockwood warned him. “I’m good at what I do. You’re muscle-bound. By the time you got those biceps into action,
going for your pistol, you’d be sucking on a bullet.”
Sweat began to break out on Bunche’s forehead, his breathing coming sharp and hard, but his mouth clamped down, and for the
moment he held back, waiting for his chance.
“You probably had no idea of what you meant to Cracks,” he told Muffy. “You’d never really noticed him, I’m sure, never realized
how his eyes followed you every moment he was with you. The sort of thing you expected, probably, of all the world.”
“What do you think I am? Some kind of monster?” She was near hysterics, voice harsh, almost out of control.
“Some kind. Yes. You never saw Cracks’ room, probably,” he told her. “Pictures of you, all over it. You and his music. That’s
undoubtedly all that mattered to Cracks, and near the end, probably even the music was forgotten.”
He looked at Bunche. “Cracks died happy, though. He was your discovery, your court entertainer, and it paid off for him. It
meant he had to hang around you and your bunch, and when that happens, it’s hard to avoid picking up things here and there.
Somewhere along the line he must have heard you or one of your chums talking about Stymie, and Muffy’s jewels.”
Bunche laughed derisively. “You’re the one’s insane. Who’d be nuts enough to try a dumb stunt like that?” He looked over at
Muffy, smiling possessively, but she turned her head away from him.
“Dumb? You were dumb that way, too.”
“Watch it, dick! Don’t compare me to that piano-playing creep!”
“That piano-playing creep beat you out. Twice. The first time,” he told Bunche, “was when he got the jewels from Stymie.”
“I tell you it couldn’t have been him! He had no money!” Bunche had double reason to protest now. It couldn’t be. Not Cracks
and Muffy.
“That’s right. He had no money. But he had something better than that!”
The Hook stood up, moved a few feet to his left, then leaned back against the bedroom doorway. “Ordinarily, Stymie wouldn’t
have crossed you up. He’s too smart for that. Too yellow, too, for that matter. But Cracks offered Stymie something that made
him lose sight of what could happen to him by not honoring his deal with you. Stymie is a collector, as obsessed in his way
with what he collects as Cracks was for Muffy.”
Bunche sneered unbelievingly. “I tell ya, Cracks had no money. What’d he do for him, play ‘Nola’ on the piano?”
“Not quite. Stymie collects jade, and somewhere, somehow, Cracks came up with the piece that turned the trick.”
Bunche went livid. “Jade! So that’s what happened to it! That slimy jerk-off! He stole from me! Me! The guy who made him!”
One more piece had fit into the puzzle. It was almost complete now, Lockwood told himself. After a moment, he said, “He stole
more than the jade from you, Jock. He stole Muffy from you, too. For a time.”
Bunche’s eyes were murderous as he looked at Muffy, her face a mask.
“Cracks had guessed right. Maybe he didn’t sense the avarice in Muffy, just wanted to make her happy, but in any event it
worked. I know it worked,” he paused. “I caught them together.”
Bunche wheeled toward Muffy. “Cunt!”
“Don’t believe him, Jock! Don’t believe him! He’s a liar. Can’t you see he’s lying?”
“Balls! He’s right about you! I can see it now! I thought you were something special, and you’re just like all the rest of
them! A cunt! Goddamn it,” he was about to spring at her, but Lockwood leapt forward and shoved him back into his chair.
Bunche looked sulky now, his rage for the moment spent. “You can’t pin anything on me. I never touched the jewels.”
“That’s true,” Lockwood agreed. “But conspiracy in Cracks’ murder,” he began, then stopped, as he heard a sound behind him.
He moved back against the wall, where he could cover Bunche and Muffy and still get a look at who was coming through the door.
It was Raff, holding something in his upraised hand. “Used my personal key,” he smiled, showing it. “Didn’t expect to find
a party going on.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Raff,” Lockwood told him, quietly.
“Always good to see you too, Hook, old boy,” Raff studied the others. “What’s wrong with them? They don’t seem to be having
a particularly good time.”
“I’ve been telling them about Muffy’s robbery, Raff.”
“Oh?” Raff smiled casually. “I thought they already knew about it.”
“A few new details I’ve been able to fill in.”
“Really?”
“Muffy has the jewels.”
Raff’s eyebrow shot up. “I don’t understand.”
“I figured that might surprise you.”
“Well, of course! Why shouldn’t it?”
“In fact, it might be a good idea to look for them right now.”
“I thought you said she had them.”
“True. But I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell us just where they are?” he asked her.
Muffy glared at him, not answering.
“I suggest you look through the desk, while I keep my attention on Jock and Muffy.”
Raff looked puzzled, then grinned, shrugged, and did as Lockwood asked.
“Nope. No jewels,” he said, finally.
“Try the seat cushions, and under the couches. Stand up and to the side,” he told Bunche and Muffy, and they obeyed. Raff
lifted up the cushions, digging his hand down behind the springs, then looked underneath the sofas. “Nothing,” he told Lockwood,
at last.
“Try the bedroom,” Hook told him.
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Aren’t you afraid if I find ‘em, I’ll gobble ’em up myself?”
“No. You’ve no reason to.”
Raff shot him a bemused look, then moved off into the bedroom. The three of them heard closet doors opening, slamming shut,
drawers pulled out and replaced. A full five minutes went by.
Raff was back. “Sorry. I don’t like disappointing you, but they’re just as gone as they ever were. Even poked around in the
john, peeked in the tissue-paper holder, everything.”
“Thanks, Raff.” He addressed Muffy. “Take off your blouse.”
“
What?
” It was Raff. “My dear Hook, there are gentlemen present—”
“Perhaps. But no lady. I think you know that.”
Raff sent him a quizzical look, but said nothing.
“Take off your blouse,” Lockwood said again.
“No.”
“Then give us the jewels.”
“I don’t have them.”
“Muffy, shall I ask Jock to search you? Would you like that?”
Muffy gave a frightened look at Jock and slowly began to unbutton her blouse.
“Are you sure—” Raff tried again, but Lockwood motioned him to be silent.
Muffy had the blouse unbuttoned.
“Drop it,” Hook instructed, and slowly, reluctantly, she did so, letting it slip to the floor. Her fine-boned shoulders and
tight little waist gleamed in the morning sun that filtered through the windows, the white brassiere standing out dramatically
against the rich tan of her skin.
“Now the brassiere.”
All three of them were looking at him now, wide-eyed. Lockwood was impassive. “The brassiere.”
“Look here—” Raff began.
“Don’t,” Lockwood told him, in a tone that caused him to subside.
“Do what I told you,” he instructed Muffy again, and this time she obeyed, time now seeming to stand still, as if it were
all happening in slow motion.
She had her arms up, cradling the bra as she slowly pulled it away from her back, sliding off the small white straps that
hung over her shoulders, bunching the material in front of her, clutching it, slowly pulling it down.
She had the bra off now, and was bringing it down to her side, her free hand covering her naked breasts. “No,” Hook told her,
“don’t hold it there. Drop it to the floor.”
She looked at him imploringly, then seeing he wouldn’t give in, she let her fingers go slack, and the bra fell near her feet.
There was a slight cracking sound, and a glint of blue showed through the white.
“There they are.” Lockwood had turned toward Bunche. “My guess is Muffy didn’t expect you this morning, and was wearing all
of it—the necklace, the earrings, the bracelet, when you arrived. If you also have a key like Raff here, then she had to act
fast, and stuffed them down into the one place women usually put things like that.”
“You really did it,” Bunche told her. “You really let that little pale-faced creep into your pants.”
Muffy began to weep. It had all become too much for her.
“I don’t know why you’re that surprised, Bunche,” Lockwood snapped. “This kind of thing is no news to Raff.”
Raff went taut. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Of course you do,” Hook said. “That’s how all of this began.”
Muffy was looking at Raff now, eyes wide.
A hint of a cloud passed over Raff’s face, and then the charming insouciance returned, as if it had never gone. “Really, old
boy, I’m totally at a loss—”
“It was finding out that Jock and Muffy hadn’t broken up that did it. Somehow or other, you realized their affair was still
continuing, that Muffy was simply stringing you along.”
“I never figured you for someone who gets lost in fantasy, Hook.” His voice had gone sharp now, and he was studying Lockwood
intently, blue eyes glinting like razors.