Part 12 (2/2)

Fenner got to his feet. He was surprised Blandish wasn't a bigger man. Only slightly above middle height, the millionaire seemed puny beside Fenner's muscular bulk. His eyes gave his face its arresting power and character. They were hard, shrewd and alert eyes of a man who has fought his way to the top with no mercy asked nor given.

Blandish gave Fenner a quick critical look as the two men shook hands.

”I have a proposition for you, Fenner,” Blandish said. ”I think you're the man I'm looking for. I hear you have connections with the underworld. I believe the only way to bring to justice the men who kidnapped my daughter, is to employ someone like you who can freelance among the mobs with no restrictions. What do you think?”

”I think you're right,” Fenner said, sitting down behind his desk. ”Anyway, the theory's right, but your daughter was kidnapped three months ago. The trail's pretty cold now.”

”I am aware of that,” Blandish said. He took out a pigskin cigar case and selected a cigar. ”I had to give the Federal Agents every chance of finding these men before I started interfering. Well, they haven't found them. Now I'm going to try. I've talked to them and I've talked to the Police. It was Captain Brennan who suggested I should contact you. He tells me you have a good reputation as a newspaper man and wide connections among the thugs in this City. He said if I employed you, he would cooperate with you to the best of his ability. I'm prepared to give you the opportunity of finding these men if you are interested. I will pay you three thousand dollars right now and if you find them, you'll get a further thirty thousand dollars. That's my proposition. What do you say?”

Fenner sat for a moment slightly stunned, then pulling himself together, he nodded.

”I'll certainly have a try, Mr. Blandish, but I'm not promising to deliver. The F.B.I. are the best in the world. If they've failed to find these hoods, I'll probably fail too, but I'll have a try.”

”How do you propose to start?”

”It so happened I covered the kidnapping for the Tribune,” Fenner said. ”It was the last job I did before leaving the paper. I've got a file covering all the facts. This I want to study. One thing has always struck me as odd. I knew both Riley and Bailey personally. I was continually running into them in dives and clubs when I was checking for information during the course of my work. They were strictly small time. How they ever found the nerve to go through with the kidnapping beats me, and yet, apparently they did. It doesn't make sense. If you knew the hoodlums the way I know them, you'd feel the same way about these two. Kidnapping is out of character. The most they would ever aspire to is a small bank holdup. Anyway, there it is. They kidnapped your daughter. Then I ask myself how could they have vanished into thin air? How is it none of the ransom money has ever appeared? What are these kidnappers living on if they aren't spending the ransom? Another thing; Riley had a girl friend: Anna Borg. The Federal Agents spent hours questioning her, but they didn't get a thing out of her. I know for a fact Riley was crazy about her and yet he just walked out of her life as if she never existed. It doesn't add up.” He paused, then went on, ”I'll see Brennan right away, Mr. Blandish. I'll go through the file to make sure I've missed nothing there that might give me a lead. In a couple of days I'll be able to tell you if I think I have a chance or not of finding these men.” He looked searchingly at Mr. Blandish. ”You don't ask me to find your daughter. You think...?”

Blandish's face hardened.

”She is dead. I have no doubt about that. It would be an impossible thought to think of her still alive and in the hands of such men. No, she's dead.” He took from his pocket a checkbook and wrote out a check to Fenner for three thousand dollars. ”Then I expect to hear from you in two days' time?”

”That's right.”

Fenner went with Blandish to the door.

”Money is no object,” Blandish said. ”I'm not restricting you. Get among the underworld and let them know there's money to be had for talking. I'm sure it's the only way to get the lead we want.”

”You leave it to me,” Fenner said. ”I'll try not to disappoint you.”

When Blandish had gone, Paula came rus.h.i.+ng into the room.

”What did he want?” she asked anxiously. ”Has he hired you?”

Fenner showed her the check.

”We're in the money, sweetheart,” he said. ”Here, take a look. Three thousand bucks! Saved in the nick of time! You can relax. You've still got a chair to park your f.a.n.n.y on.”

2.

Captain Charles Brennan, City Police, a fat, red-faced man with blue hard eyes and sandy-colored hair, greying at the temples, reached across his desk to shake hands with Fenner.

”Never thought the day would come when I would be glad to see a detective in my office,” he said. ”Sit down. How's tricks?”

”Could be worse,” Fenner said, sitting down. ”I'm not the grumbling kind.”

”I was surprised to hear you had applied for a licence to operate as an investigator,” Brennan said, lighting a cigar. ”You should have stuck to newspaper work. A detective's life isn't fit for a dog.”

”I don't aim to live as well as a dog,” Fenner said, cheerfully. ”Thanks for the introduction to Blandish.”

Brennan waved his hand airily.

”Between me and you and my aunt's wooden leg, Blandish has been gradually driving me nuts. With any luck now, he'll drive you nuts and lay off me.”

Fenner stiffened to attention.

”What do you mean?”

”You wait,” Brennan said with s.a.d.i.s.tic relish. ”Blandish hasn't got off my neck since his G.o.dd.a.m.n daughter was s.n.a.t.c.hed. In self-defense I had to suggest he should hire you. Morning, noon and night he was either here in my office or on the telephone. When was I going to find the men who kidnapped his daughter? If I heard that once, I've heard it a thousand times. Those words, when I'm dead, will be found engraved on my liver!”

”Well, that's pretty nice,” Fenner said bitterly, ”and I was thinking you were doing me a good turn.”

”I'm no boy scout,” Brennan said. ”I'll tell you this much: you have as much chance of finding those punks as you have of winning a beauty prize.”

Fenner let that ride.

”But they must be somewhere.”

”Sure, they're somewhere. They could be in Mexico, Canada, heaven or h.e.l.l. Every policeman in the world has been looking for them for three months--not a sign, but I agree with you, they must be somewhere.”

”How about the girl? Do you think she's dead?”

”Yeah. She must be dead. Why should they keep her alive? She would only be a danger to them. I wouldn't mind betting they knocked her off when they killed MacGowan, but where they buried her beats me.”

”How about Anna Borg?” Fenner asked. ”What became of her?”

”She's still around. I've had one of my boys trailing her for the past two months, but it's a waste of time. She has a new boy friend now. I guess she got tired of waiting for Riley to show up. She's doing an act now at the Paradise Club.”

”Who's the new boy friend?”

”Eddie Schultz.”

Fenner frowned, then he snapped his fingers.

”I know him, one of the Grisson gang; a tall, big, good-looking punk.”

”That's him. The Grisson gang have taken over the Paradise Club: a down-at-the-heel joint run by an Italian: Toni Rocco. They bought him out, put money in the joint and it's quite a club now.”

Fenner looked interested.

”Where did the money come from? The Grisson gang weren't in the dough, were they?”

”I checked all that,” Brennan said, looking wise. ”Abe Schulberg is financing the club. He's done a deal with Ma Grisson. She runs the club and gives him a fifty percent cut.”

Fenner lost interest. He lit a cigarette, sliding down in his chair.

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