Mouthpiece Read Online Free

you?” He wrenched the arm again and beads of sweat darted out
against the lawyer’s gray forehead.
    Men in evening clothes were pulling at Mat’s arms,
trying to pry him away from Swartz. Voices were blended in an excited,
hysterical roar.
    Mat whipped about, still holding to Swartz, brushing
away the men as though they were made of paper.
    â€œGet back! This is my party!” The sheer strength of his
voice seemed physical and the crowd swept away, staring, once more silent.
    Turning to Swartz, his eyes deadly, Mat snapped, “Talk,
Mouthpiece. Go on and talk. You got plenty to tell and no doubt your friends
will want to hear about it.” With a slow smile he reached into his pocket and
brought forth a folded sheaf of papers which he crackled in front of Swartz.
    â€œSee these? Well, they’re signed confessions by your
little pals Petey and Blake. They squealed, see? Turned state’s evidence. I got
it here in black-and-white that it was your bullet which knocked off my dad!”
    â€œIt’s a lie!” screamed Swartz, pitiful in his terror.
“It’s a lie. They did it for me! They did it and I can prove it! I had a party
that night and anybody’ll tell you I didn’t do it! I didn’t, hear me? I
didn’t.”
    The silence of the room deepened. Swartz stared wildly
about, suddenly realizing what he had done. His knees crumpled under him and
his head rolled forward, shining in the colored lights. But Mat grabbed the
front of his coat and held him up, shaking him.
    Mat’s words whipped and lashed about Swartz. “You had me taken for a ride tonight. Gave me a dud gun and planted your gorillas on me.
Sent me after a right guy ! Now, what have you got to say?”
    He shook the lawyer savagely, holding the dangling feet
clear off the floor. “Where’s the cash you stole off my dad?”
    Swartz gurgled and looked up, beaten, whipped. “All
right, Lawrence. All right.” His voice was dead and his eyes were glued to the
papers Mat still held before him. “I’ll talk!”
    He wailed suddenly. “I’ll talk! But don’t shake me! Set
me down!”
    â€œTalk!” snapped Mat.
    â€œThe key’s in my pocket!” cried Swartz. “The key to the
safe-deposit box at the First National! It’s all there! Every penny of it’s
there!”
    â€œYou’re witnesses,” Mat said to the crowd, dropping
Swartz to the yellow hardwood floor. He ransacked the pockets of the lawyer’s
dress suit and brought to light a ring of keys. “Which one?”
    â€œThat one,” moaned Swartz, pointing.
    As Mat extracted the designated key from the ring, a
tall, dignified gentleman with white hair tapped him on the shoulder.
    â€œI’m Judge Halloway,” said the man. “I can act in an
official capacity. You have reference to the Lawrence murder, is that right?”
    â€œYes,” affirmed Mat, getting to his feet. “I got the
goods on Swartz and those two lads outside. They tried to bump me tonight.”
    With a glance at the heap of broadcloth and palsied
flesh which was Swartz, Halloway drew Mat to one side. “You’d better give me
those confessions.”
    â€œWhat confessions?” Mat was puzzled for an instant and
then grinned, looking down at the sheaf in his hand. “Oh! These aren’t
anything. They’re just some estimates for mules to haul dirt, out at the power
project.”
    â€œBut,” faltered Halloway, “how did you know that Swartz
was guilty?”
    Mat grinned and pulled out the automatic which Petey had
given him. “Swartz gave me this through a gangster named Petey. He thought I’d
try to pull some rough stuff and use it; and as long as I’d asked for it, he
gave it to me.”
    He slipped a cartridge out of the clip and quickly bit
the lead out of the brass shell with his teeth, to pour white sand in his palm.
“He had to