Red Harvest by Dashiell Hammett Read Free Book Online Page B

away.
    When he came back lie looked completely satisfied.
    "He says," he reported, "'Go to hell.'"
    "Get the rest of the boys down here," Noonan said cheerfully. "We'll knock it over as soon as it gets light."
    The burly Nick and I went around with the chief while he made sure his men were properly placed. I didn't think much of them-a shabby, shifty-eyed crew without enthusiasm for the job ahead of them.
    The sky became a faded gray. The chief, Nick, and I stopped in a plumber's doorway diagonally across the street from our target.
    Whisper's joint was dark, the upper windows blank, blinds down over cigar store windows and door.
    "I hate to start this without giving Whisper a chance," Noonan said. "He's not a bad kid. But there's no use me trying to talk to him. He never did like me much."
    He looked at me. I said nothing.
    "You wouldn't want to make a stab at it?" he asked.
    "Yeah, I'll try it."
    "That's fine of you. I'll certainly appreciate it if you will. You just see if you can talk him into coming along without any fuss. You know what to say-for his own good and all that, like it is."
    "Yeah," I said and walked across to the cigar store, taking pains to let my hands be seen swinging empty at my sides.
    Day was still a little way off. The street was the color of smoke. My feet made a lot of noise on the pavement.
    I stopped in front of the door and knocked the glass with a knuckle, not heavily. The green blind down inside the door made a mirror of the glass. In it I saw two men moving up the other side of the street.
    No sound came from inside. I knocked harder, then slid my hand down to rattle the knob.
    Advice came from indoors:
    "Get away from there while you're able."
    It was a muffled voice, but not a whisper, so probably not Whisper's.
    "I want to talk to Thaler," I said.
    "Go talk to the lard-can that sent you."
    "I'm not talking for Noonan. Is Thaler where he can hear me?"
    A pause. Then the muffled voice said: "Yes."
    "I'm the Continental op who tipped Dinah Brand off that Noonan was framing you," I said. "I want five minutes' talk with you. I've got nothing to do with Noonan except to queer his racket. I'm alone. I'll drop my rod in the street if you say so. Let me in."
    I waited. It depended on whether the girl had got to him with the story of my interview with her. I waited what seemed a long time.
    The muffled voice said:
    "When we open, come in quick. And no stunts."
    "All set."
    The latch clicked. I plunged in with the door.
    Across the street a dozen guns emptied themselves. Class shot from door and windows tinkled around us.
    Somebody tripped me. Fear gave me three brains and half a dozen eyes. I was in a tough spot. Noonan had slipped me a pretty dose. These birds couldn't help thinking I was playing his game.
    I tumbled down, twisting around to face the door. My gun was in my hand by the time I hit the floor.
    Across the street, burly Nick had stepped out of a doorway to pump slugs at us with both hands.
    I steadied my gun-arm on the floor. Nick's body showed over the front sight. I squeezed the gun. Nick stopped shooting. He crossed his guns on his chest and went down in a pile on the sidewalk.
    Hands on my ankles dragged me back. The floor scraped pieces off my chin. The door slammed shut. Some comedian said:
    "Uh-huh, people don't like you."
    I sat up and shouted through the racket:
    "I wasn't in on this."
    The shooting dwindled, stopped. Door and window blinds were dotted with gray holes. A husky whisper said in the darkness:
    "Tod, you and Slats keep an eye on things down here. The rest of us might as well go upstairs."
    We went through a room behind the store, into a passageway, up a flight of carpeted steps, and into a second-story room that held a green table banked for crap-shooting. It was a small room, had no windows, and the lights were on.
    There were five of us. Thaler sat down and lit a cigarette, a small dark young man with a face that was pretty in a chorusman way until you took