The Red Gem of Mercury Read Free Page B

the intruder.
    Then, suddenly, he was running forward unsteadily, gripping Vane’s arm with skeletal fingers, drawing him back into the store.
    â€œSteve! Come in here, quick! They’re all looking for you. Did anyone see you come in?”
    Vane smiled, but let himself be pulled back through faded curtains into the back room, where Uncle Tobe lived with his adopted grandson. He sank down on a rickety couch and pulled his hat lower over his eyes. No use frightening his hosts.
    â€œHold on,” he said. “I’m in no danger, Uncle Tobe. Really. I—the police can’t touch me.”
    â€œYou’re cleared? They know you were framed?”
    â€œNot—yet,” Vane said slowly, and hurried on. “Listen, I want some information. Does Pasqual still collect his protection dough from you?”
    â€œYeah,” the boy broke in. “He sure does. Raised the ante, too. That dirty gorilla of his—he busted Uncle Tobe smack across the face when we was half a buck short. We cleaned out the till, too, but we couldn’t make it.”
    The old man’s eyes searched Vane’s face. “Something’s happened to you, Steve,” he said, frowning. “What is it?”
    â€œNever mind that. When is the collector due again?”
    â€œToday,” the youngster burst out. “I’m going to stick a knife in—”
    â€œMickey!” Uncle Tobe’s voice was sharp. “You want to grow up to be a gangster? You shut up!”
    Vane said, “Okay. I’m going to wait right here. I want some information from Pasqual’s thug, but when he comes I want you to pay him off as usual.” Uncle Tobe bit his lips nervously. “I haven’t the money this week, Steve. I’m five dollars short. I’ve been trying to borrow it, but everybody else is hard up too.”
    â€œSwell. Don’t worry about that.” Vane paused as he heard the sound of a motor starting across the street. He smiled a little. His weird power was still with him. He stood up and put his hand on the old man’s stooped shoulder.
    â€œDon’t worry about it, Uncle Tobe,” he said quietly. “Remember when I was a little kid, you used to slip me candy whenever I came in the store? Remember why you did that?”
    The other nodded. “Sure, Steve. You swiped a peppermint stick out of the case once, and I caught you at it. You never did it again.”
    â€œNo. I remember what you told me—that there was always a right way and a wrong way of getting things, and the wrong way wasn’t ever necessary. You said if I wanted candy, you’d give it to me. Well—I owe you plenty, Uncle Tobe. I’ve thought of what you said a lot of times. And—”
    The bell tinkled. Mickey went to the curtain and turned back a white face. “It’s Stohm. Uncle Tobe—don’t go. I’ll go—”
    The old man shook his head, smiling, and went past the boy into the shop. Mickey followed. Vane stepped to the curtains, parted them a trifle, and peered through the aperture.
    Uncle Tobe was talking to a hulking, unshaved man who looked like a prizefighter. His cauliflower ear seemed to verify that conclusion. His neck made a beefy roll of red fat over a dirty collar. Small black eyes, embedded in little pits of gristle, watched the old grocer.
    Stohm’s hand lay palm up on the counter. He turned it over and smacked it against the wood.
    â€œI can’t help that,” he grunted. “I want the dough. And now.”
    â€œI’d give you all I have,” Uncle Tobe said. “I’ll make up the rest next week.” Stohm said nothing, but waited. Mickey stood against the counter and glared, his freckles standing out against rage-pallid skin.
    Slowly the old man counted out greasy bills, silver, and pennies into the fat palm. Stohm thrust the money carelessly into his pocket.
    He said, “Just to make sure you