The Condemned Don’t Pay Well Chapter 7

Ray Irish Mystery Case File #3

Ray woke to the muffled sound of a gunshot. The sound was distant, dreamlike, as he lifted his head. Irish fought to recover his ability to function while his brain remembered the last seconds before he went down. He sat up slowly. Groggily, he realized that his flashlight and gun were missing. Still, his eyes looked around the ground while his mind screamed at him for letting the killer take it.

Stumbling to his feet, the shamus wanted to puke because of the pounding headache. The killer cracked him across the head, but, for some unknown reason, the person left him alive.

Damn, I’m an idiot!

As he headed inside the house, Irish guessed the reason he remained alive. Either he was the patsy or a witness to something coming.

My luck is I’m the patsy, he thought with a sneer.

But not for long, Stewart!

In the second-floor bedroom of Mr. Anderson, the old man looked at the doorway with wide eyes and growing fear. The flashlight showed him his broker stepping through the haze of black powder that slowly filled the room.

“How? I can’t miss from this distance!”

Crawford gave the man a ghoulish smile.

“Only a fool would use that old pistol for protection,” he replied. “You should have kept an eye on it better. It’s easy to pop out the lead bullets if you don’t crimp it down right. I figured you’d be too shaky to pay much attention to your weapon when you came back to the house. I had Ainsworth leave the gunpowder inside.”

The fat man chuckled as he pointed Ray’s .45 auto at Anderson.

“Ainsworth? Do you mean he’s helping you?” The old man’s voice broke at the news.

“Yes, along with Dodson as well.” The broker’s smile broadened as he enjoyed Anderson’s shocked expression at his servant’s betrayal.

“You ol’ skinflint. You treat your servants like a pack of mules, keep them isolated in this damn place, then promise them a cheap pension. It’s easy to get them to see the benefits of my idea.”

Anderson’s head dropped at the news.

“I trusted them. And you, you got paid well. How could you do this to me?”

The broker chuckled.

“You paid me well? I should kill you just for that comment. Everyone knows you required me to have no other clients. I was no better than your servants getting fifteen a week while handling thousands of dollars in assets. Who else would put up with your damn craziness?”

Crawford shook his head.

“Yeah, I put up with it, thinking you would accept my ideas on how to make more money and giving me a chance to cash in. But you never even considered it. It’s tough when someone betrays you. That’s something I worried about with them for a while, but I’ve solved that problem. Now, let’s get back to business. Unlike that antique you’re holding, this gun uses modern shells, which will do major damage to your body.”

The broker waved the gun in his hand.

“Now, show me where you keep the money!”

“Go to hell!”

Crawford pulled the trigger, and the wood exploded next to the old man’s leg. Anderson dropped his flashlight and grabbed his leg in reaction to the loud explosion from the pistol. His old pistol fell to the floor as well.

“Now, the hard way is I’ll shoot you in the knees if you don’t answer my question, Mr. Anderson. I’ve heard the pain is unbearable. So, do you really want me to make this hard on you?”

Anderson glanced over at the closet, then lifted his hand to shield his eyes from Crawford’s flashlight.

“Oh, so you’re like those little old ladies’ who hide their jewelry in the closet.”

The man pointed his flashlight at the closet and noticed the two small valises sitting by the twin doors.

“I see you’re planning on running out with the money in hand. Looks like I finally scared the old man out of his house.”

Both men heard the creak of a floorboard

The broker immediately moved behind the open door as he turned off the flashlight. The only light in the room came from Anderson’s flashlight on the floor next to him. Anderson listened for another footstep when his eyes glimpsed his revolver still lying beside him. He reached over and switched off his flashlight.

From his perch behind the door, Crawford scowled at the sudden darkness filling the room. He barely made out Anderson’ shadow as the old man scrambled over to his suitcases. Anderson lifted his bags and headed to the balcony.

“Damn him,” the broker hissed.

Crawford moved toward Anderson. As the man took the last step to get behind the old man, Crawford stumbled, causing Anderson to look back. The partially opened door into the room suddenly flew open with a loud bang.

Irish attacked the portly shadow he saw outlined near the windows of the balcony. He slammed into Crawford. Holding onto the killer’s wrist as they fell, Ray pressed his advantage. However, the broker’s weight caused the shamus problems as they tussled on the floor.

With surprising speed, Anderson moved to the door, holding his suitcases tightly as he retrieved his flashlight.

Ray and Crawford twisted in a savage battle on the floor. Irish slammed his fist into the broker’s face, then he grabbed at the gun.

Ray’s gun slid out of Crawford’s hand and skittered across the wood. The steel struck the heel of Anderson, making him stop and look back at the shadows tumbling around. The old man reached down and picked up the gun, then went out the doors onto the balcony.

Crawford kicked Ray in the groin and rolled away. The broker’s hand went into his pocket, and he pulled out his gun as the shamus lifted himself from the floor while sucking in air from the kick he received. In the feeble light coming from the flashlight on the floor, Crawford’s expression was triumphant.

“You lost, shamus!”

“You and Ainsworth lined Mendez and Dodson up for their hangings,” Irish ignored the gloat, trying to buy time. “Too bad I blew up your plans. My hunch is you needed my alibi. The suitcase in Ainsworth’s room set him up for the fall.”

“Not bad, shamus. I thought you might figure it out eventually.” Crawford shrugged. “You got to the fakes too quickly, so I needed to adjust. I thought about killing you outside like I did the others. But it’s better to watch you suffer because you know I beat you.”

Irish smiled at the man. He had already noticed the old man leave the room.

“You made your biggest mistake at the start by bringing me here. You got too anxious. When you mentioned something about the estate having an evil history, yet you showed surprise when you saw that fake book.”

The killer’s face turned dark.

“I guess I’ll correct my first mistake.”

“You killed your partner downstairs so he can’t help you. Anderson’s out of your reach since he’s already left.” Ray replied with a surprising calmness he didn’t feel.

“So what? He’s an old man. Hell, I’ll catch him before he can get too far. That skinflint’s money carrying my money that I’ve brought out over the years. And I don’t need Ainsworth. Burn this place down after the bodies get put inside and the cops will never figure out what happened. So why do you think I killed my principal partner?”

“Either you weren’t convinced he would keep his mouth shut after you split the money, or you decided you deserved the entire amount.”

The killer raised his pistol.

“Good guess, but it was for both reasons. He helped the most, but it’s the brains that will keep the money. Goodbye, shamus!”