places: clayton's office

 The night was wearing on and I had gotten tired and careless.  I drove to Clayton’s place and parked the car where I had found it.  There wasn’t another car there this time.  The house lights were still on.

I turned off the engine and got out of the car.  I took the sawed-off with me.  I slipped around the back of the house.  There was no one outside.

I walked around and checked the back door.  It was locked.  I didn’t want to risk making any noise by breaking the back window.  I moved around the house toward Clayton’s office.  It was on the second floor on the back side of the house.  There was a way up, the drainage pipe looked sturdy enough to bare my weight.  I strapped the sawed-off over my shoulder and commenced to climb.

It was a little awkward but doable.  Most of the upstairs windows all around were opened.  Crouching on the narrow eave, I peered through the window.  I half expected to see Clayton behind his desk.  There was only a little light, the room was partially lit by the bankers light from the desk.  The only noise was an oscillating fan that had been left on.

I forced the window open so I could slip in.  I quietly moved across the room toward the door.  I stuck my head out and checked the hall.  There seemed to be no one there.  I had never been there when it was only Clayton.  An empty house just didn’t feel right.

I wondered if I should check the place out, but figured that if I was to find anything, it would be in this room.  To clear the house might be taking an unnecessary chance.  I’ll keep it down and rummage through Clayton’s things.

The office was sparce.  There was a wooden file cabinet and a chiferobe.  There was nothing of interest in the file cabinet that I thought important.  The drawers in the chiferobe rendered more of the uninteresting same.  I guess Clayton couldn’t risk keeping much of his business in his office.  Looking into his empty waste can, I could see where he made a habit of burning all traces of his practices.

There had to be something here.

I hit pay-dirt in the bottom drawer.  Four more un-delivered parcels.  Clayton had these for the next delivery.  Like the others, the address was on the parcel.

Another drawer...Clayton loved his cigars.

Curiously, one drawer was empty.  All the other drawers were full but this one.  Why was this one empty?  I pulled it completely out.  There was nothing in it or attached to under it.

I reached into the hole and felt around.  I got on my knees and looked in.  Too dark.  I pulled out my Zippo and stuck it into the darkness.  There, underneath the desktop, was a narrow shelf.  I saw the cover of a small black notebook.  I reached in and pulled it out.

I then heard movement.  I then heard screen door close.

I slid the drawer back into place and made my way toward the open window.

There were footsteps.  One or two people rushing up the stairs.

I was still holding the notebook.  I looked to the window.  I didn’t have time.  I tossed the book down into the bushes below.  I was reaching for the shotgun when the door opened.

I wasn’t fast enough.

A man burst into the doorway with a Thompson gun. 

He didn’t say a word.

Another more familiar face stepped into the room from behind him.  It was the Russian.

He had a luger, but immediately put it away for having no need for it.  The machine-gun limited any option I had of escape.  Eight hundred .45 rounds a minute.  I’ve seen what a tommy could do to a man at close range - worse than Swiss cheese - more like puree.