No Orchids for Miss Blandish

  No Orchids for Miss Blandish

  James Hadley Chase

  CHAPTER ONE

  1

  IT BEGAN on a summer afternoon in July, a month of intense heat, rainless skies and scorching, dust-laden winds.

  At the junction of the Fort Scott and Nevada roads that cuts Highway 54, the trunk road from Pittsburgh to Kansas City, there stands a gas station and lunchroom bar: a shabby wooden structure with one gas pump, run by an elderly widower and his fat blonde daughter.

  A dusty Lincoln pulled up by the lunchroom a few minutes after one o'clock. There were two men in the car: one of them was asleep.

  The driver, Bailey, a short thickset man with a fleshy, brutal face, restless, uneasy black eyes and a thin white scar along the side of his jaw, got out of the car. His dusty, shabby suit was threadbare. His dirty shirt was frayed at the cuffs. He felt bad. He had been drinking heavily the previous night and the heat bothered him.

  He paused to look at his sleeping companion, Old Sam, then shrugging, he went into the lunchroom, leaving Old Sam to snore in the car.

  The blonde leaning over the counter smiled at him. She had big white teeth that reminded Bailey of piano keys. She was too fat to interest him. He didn't return her smile.

  "Hello, mister," she said brightly. "Phew! Isn't it hot? I didn't sleep a wink last night."

  "Scotch," Bailey said curtly. He pushed his hat to the back of his head and mopped his face with a filthy handkerchief.

  She put a bottle of whiskey and a glass on the counter.

  "You should have beer," she said, shaking her blonde curls at him. "Whiskey's no good to anyone in this heat."

  "Give your mouth a rest," Bailey said.

  He carried the bottle and the glass to a table in a corner and sat down.

  The blonde grimaced, then she picked up a paperback and with an indifferent shrug, she began to read.

  Bailey gave himself a long drink, then he leaned back in his chair. He was worried about money. If Riley couldn't dream up something fast, he thought, we'll have to bust a bank. He scowled uneasily. He didn't want to do that. There were too many Feds around for safety. He looked through the window at Old Sam, sleeping in the car. Bailey sneered at the sleeping man. Apart from being able to drive a car, he was useless, Bailey thought. He's too old for this racket. All he thinks about is where his next meal is coming from and sleeping. It's up to Riley or me to scratch up some money somehow--but how?

  The whiskey made him hungry.

  "Ham and eggs and hurry it up," he called to the blonde.

  "Doesn't he want any?" the blonde asked, pointing through the window at Old Sam.

  "Does he look like it?" Bailey said. "Hurry it up! I'm hungry."

  He saw through the window a dusty Ford pull up and a fat, elderly man get out.

  Heinie! Bailey said to himself. What's he doing here?

  The fat man waddled into the lunchroom and waved to Bailey.

  "Hi, pal," he said. "Long time no see. How are you?"

  "Lousy," Bailey grunted. "This heat's killing me."

  Heinie came over. He pulled out a chair and sat down. He was a leg man for a society rag that ran blackmail on the side. He was always picking up scraps of information, and often, for a consideration, he passed on any useful tips that might lead to a robbery to the small gangs operating around Kansas City.

  "You can say that again," Heinie said, sniffing at the ham cooking. "I was out at Joplin last night covering a lousy wedding. I was nearly fried. Imagine having a wedding night in heat like this!" Seeing Bailey wasn't listening, he asked, "How's tricks? You look kinda low."

  "I haven't had a break in weeks," Bailey said, dropping his cigarette butt on the floor. "Even the goddamn horses are running against me."

  "You want a hot tip?" Heinie asked. He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Pontiac is a cinch."

  Bailey sneered.

  "Pontiac? That nag's a fugitive from a merry-go-round."

  "You're wrong," Heinie said. "They spent ten thousand bucks on that horse and it looks good."

  "I'd look good if anyone spent all that dough on me," Bailey snarled.

  The blonde came over with his plate of ham and eggs. Heinie sniffed at it as she put the plate on the table.

  "Same for me, beautiful," he said, "and a beer."

  She slapped away his exploring hand, smiled at him and went back to the counter.

  "That's the kind of woman I like--value for money," Heinie said, looking after her. "Two rolled into one."

  "I've got to get some dough, Heinie," Bailey said, his mouth full of food. "Any ideas?"

  "Not a thing. If I do hear I'll let you know, but right now there's nothing your weight. I've got a big job tonight. I'm covering the Blandish shindig. It's only for twenty bucks, but the drinks will be free."

  "Blandish? Who's he?"

  "Where have you been living?" Heinie asked in disgust. "Blandish is one of the richest guys in the state. They say he's worth a hundred million."

  Bailey speared the yolk of his egg with his fork.

  "And I'm worth five bucks!" he said savagely. "That's life! What's he in the news for?"

  "Not him: his daughter. Have you ever seen her? What a dish? I'd give ten years of my life for a roll in the hay with her."

  Bailey wasn't interested.

  "I know these rich girls. They don't know what they're here for."

  "I bet she does," Heinie said and sighed. "Her old man's throwing a party for her: it's her twenty-fourth birthday--just the right age. He's giving her the family diamonds." He rolled his eyes. "What a necklace! They say it's worth fifty grand."

  The blonde came over with his meal. She was careful to keep out of his reach. When she had gone, Heinie pulled up his chair and started to eat noisily. Bailey had finished. He sat back and began to pick his teeth with a match. He was thinking: fifty grand! I wonder if there's a chance of grabbing that necklace? I wonder if Riley would have the nerve to make a try for it?

  "Where's the party--at her house?"

  "That's right," Heinie said, shoveling food into his mouth. "Then she and her boy friend, Jerry MacGowan, are going on to the Golden Slipper."

  "With the necklace?" Bailey asked casually.

  "I bet once she puts it on, she'll never take it off."

  "But you're not sure?"

  "She'll be wearing it all right. The press will be there."

  "What time will she be at the roadhouse?"

  "Around midnight." Heinie paused, his fork near his mouth. "What's on your mind?"

  "Nothing." Bailey looked at him, his fleshy face expressionless. "She and this guy, MacGowan? No one else?"

  "No." Heinie suddenly laid down his fork. His fat face was worried. "Now look, don't go getting any ideas about the necklace. You'd start something you couldn't finish. I'm telling you. Riley and you aren't big enough to handle a job like that. You be patient. I'll find something you can handle, but not the Blandish necklace."

  Bailey grinned at him. Heinie thought he looked like a wolf.

  "Don't get excited," he said, "I know what I can and can't handle." He stood up. "I guess I'll be moving. Don't forget: if anything comes up, let me know. So long, pal."

  "You're in a hurry all of a sudden, aren't you?" Heinie said, frowning up at Bailey.

  "I want to get off before Old Sam wakes up. I'm not buying him another meal as long as I live. So long."

  He went over to the blonde and paid his check, then he walked over to the Lincoln. The heat hit him like a clenched fist. After the whiskey it made him feel a little dizzy. He got in the car and paused to light a cigarette, his mind busy.

  Once the word got around about the necklace, he was thinki
ng, every little gangster in the district would sit up and wonder. Would Riley have the nerve to grab it?

  He nudged Old Sam awake.

  "Come on!" he said roughly. "What the hell's the matter with you? Don't you do anything but sleep these days?"

  Old Sam, tall, wiry and pushing sixty, blinked as he slowly straightened up.

  "Are we going to eat?" he asked hopefully.

  "I've eaten," Bailey said and set the car moving.

  "How about me?"

  "Go ahead if you've got any dough. I'm not paying," Bailey snarled.

  Old Sam sighed. He tightened his belt and pushed his greasy, battered hat over his long, red nose.

  "What's gone wrong with this outfit, Bailey?" he asked mournfully. "We never have any money now. One time we were doing all right; now nothing. Know what I think? I think Riley spends too much time in the sack with that broad of his. He isn't concentrating on business."

  Bailey slowed the car and pulled up outside a drugstore.

  "Give your mouth a rest," he said and getting out of the car, he walked into the drugstore. He shut himself in a telephone booth. He dialed, and after a long wait, Riley came on the line.

  Bailey could hear the radio blaring and Anna singing at the top of her voice. He started to tell Riley what he had learned from Heinie, but gave up.

  "You can't hear what I'm saying, can you?" he bawled. "Can't you stop that goddamn noise?"

  Riley seemed half dead. Bailey had left him in bed with Anna. He was surprised he even bothered to answer the telephone.

  "Hang on," Riley said.

  The music stopped, then Anna began to shout angrily. Bailey heard Riley bellow something and then the sound of a loud smack, Bailey shook his head, breathing hard down his nose. Riley and Anna fought all day. They drove him nuts when he was with them.

  Riley came back to the telephone.

  "Listen, Frankie," Bailey pleaded. "I'm roasting alive in this goddamn booth. Will you listen? This is important"

  Riley began to beef about the heat at his end.

  "I know: I know." Bailey snarled. "Will you listen? We've got the chance of grabbing a necklace worth fifty grand. The Blandish girl will be wearing the necklace tonight. She's going to the Golden Slipper with her boy friend-- just the two of them. I got the word from Heinie. It's the McCoy. What do you say?"

  "How much?"

  "Fifty grand. Blandish--the millionaire. How about it?"

  Riley seemed to come alive all of a sudden.

  "What are you waiting there for? Come on back!" he said excitedly. "This is something we got to talk about. Come on back!"

  "I'm on my way," Bailey said and hung up. He paused to light a cigarette. His hands were shaking with excitement Riley wasn't as yellow as he thought, he said to himself. If we handle this right, we're in the money!

  He walked with quick strides back to the Lincoln.

  Old Sam looked at him sleepily.

  "Wake up, stupid," Bailey said. "Things are cooking."

  2

  Bailey moved self-consciously around the outer fringe of the tables in the main restaurant of the Golden Slipper. He was glad the lights were dim. Although Anna had washed his shirt and cleaned up his suit, he knew he still looked like a bum and he was worried someone would spot him and throw him out.

  The roadhouse was crowded and doing a roaring business. The staff was too busy to notice him. He got in a dark corner where he had a general view of the big room and leaned against the wall.

  The noise of voices struggling to get above the sound of the band deafened him. He kept looking at his watch. The time was ten minutes to twelve. He looked around the room. Over by the main entrance, three or four photographers stood waiting with flash cameras. He guessed they were waiting for the Blandish girl. He had never seen her and knew he wouldn't be able to recognize her so he watched the photographers.

  It was like Riley to play the big shot and make him go into the club while Riley sat outside with Old Sam in the Lincoln, Bailey thought. He was always getting the dirty end of the stick. Well, when they split the money, he would quit the gang. He had had about enough of Riley and Anna. With the money he'd get from the diamonds, he would buy himself a chicken farm. He had come from a farming family and if he hadn't got into trouble and had to serve a three year stretch he wouldn't have ever teamed up with Riley.

  His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the band breaking off and going into their hot version of "Happy Birthday to You."

  Here she comes, Bailey thought and raised himself on his toes to look over the heads of the crowd. Everyone had stopped dancing and were looking towards the entrance. The photographers were shoving each other, maneuvering for better positions.

  A bright spotlight suddenly went on as Miss Blandish made her appearance, followed by a tall, handsome man in a tuxedo.

  Bailey had only eyes for Miss Blandish. He sucked in his bream sharply at the sight of her. The hard light caught her red-gold hair and reflected back on her white skin. He thought he had never seen such a beautiful girl. She wasn't like any of the girls he knew. She had everything they had and then a lot more. He watched her wave gaily to the crowd who stamped and shouted around her. He stood tense, staring at her, and he didn't relax until the row had died down and she had seated herself with MacGowan at a distant table.

  He had been so impressed with the girl's beauty that he had forgotten the necklace, but now, as he got over the first impact of her loveliness, he saw the necklace and again his breath sucked in between his clenched teeth.

  This splendid collar of flashing diamonds brought him out in an excited sweat. Looking at them, he suddenly realised what a commotion there would be when they were stolen. This was going to be the big take, he thought. Every cop in the country would be after them. Maybe he had been crazy to have encouraged Riley to grab it, he thought, wiping his sweating hands. Blandish had millions and he would raise hell. Once they had that necklace, the heat would be fierce.

  Bailey looked across at Miss Blandish's table. He noticed that MacGowan was flushed. He seemed to be drinking steadily, and once when he refilled his glass, Miss Blandish put her hand on his as if trying to persuade him to stop drinking. MacGowan just grinned at her, emptied his glass, then getting up took her out onto the dance floor.

  That bird's getting stiff, Bailey thought. If he goes on drinking like that, he'll be out on his feet.

  The crowd was getting rowdy. Everyone seemed half drunk. Bailey sneered at them. Have enough money, he thought, bitterly, and you behave like hogs.

  He caught sight of Miss Blandish being jostled in the crowd. She suddenly broke away from MacGowan and made her way back to the table. MacGowan followed, protesting. They sat down. MacGowan began to drink again.

  At a table near where Bailey stood, a blonde girl was quarreling with her escort, a fat, elderly man who looked pretty drunk. The blonde suddenly got to her feet, lifted a bottle of champagne out of its bucket and poured the contents of the bottle over her escort's head. He sat there, gaping at her, the champagne soaking his white tuxedo and plastering down his hair.

  The blonde put the bottle back into the bucket and sat down again. She blew a kiss to the fat man. The people near them had all turned to stare. Some of the men were laughing. The fat man got slowly to his feet. His red face was tight with rage. He threw the contents of his soup plate in the girl's face. She began to scream frantically. A youngish man jumped to his feet and punched the fat man who staggered back and cannoned into the table behind him, upsetting it with a crash of glass and china. The two women at the table jumped up, screaming.

  Hogs! Bailey thought. He looked across the room at Miss Blandish. She was standing, shaking MacGowan's arm impatiently. MacGowan got unsteadily to his feet. He followed her to the exit.

  The girl who had had the soup thrown in her face was still screaming. A fight had developed between two drunks and the youngish man. The struggling men surged up to Bailey and hindered him from following Miss Blandish. He
punched his way clear, sending the men staggering, then walked quickly to the exit.

  He passed MacGowan leaning against the wall in the lobby, waiting for Miss Blandish. He ran down the drive to the waiting Lincoln. Old Sam was at the wheel and Riley sat by his side.

  "They'll be out in a minute," Bailey said, getting in behind Riley. "She'll be driving. Her boy friend is stewed to the gills."

  "Get going," Riley said to Old Sam. "We'll stop at that farm we passed coming. We'll overtake her after she has passed us and crowd her off the road."

  Old Sam put it into gear and the Lincoln slid away. Bailey lit a cigarette and took his gun from his shoulder-holster. He laid the gun on the seat beside him.

  "She got the diamonds?" Riley asked.

  "Yeah."

  Riley was taller and thinner than Bailey. He was five or six years younger. But for the cast in his right eye, he wouldn't have been bad looking, but the cast gave him a shifty, sly look.

  Old Sam drove fast for half a mile, then coming to the farm, he slowed down, ran the car onto the grass and pulled up.

  Riley said, "Get out and watch for her."

  Bailey took his gun, tossed his cigarette away and got out of the car. He stood by the side of the road. In the distance, he could see the lights of the roadhouse and he could hear the faint sound of the band playing. He waited for several minutes, then he saw the headlights of an approaching car.

  He ran back to the Lincoln.

  "Here they come."

  As he got into the car, Old Sam started the engine. A two-seater Jaguar swept past. Miss Blandish was driving. MacGowan seemed to have passed out.

  "Get going," Riley said. "That's a fast job. Don't let them get away."

  The Lincoln stormed after the Jaguar.

  It was a dark, moonless night. Old Sam turned on hi? headlights. The beams lit up the Jaguar. They could see MacGowan's head rolling with the motion of the car.

  "He wont start trouble," Bailey said. "He's had a real skinful."

  Riley grunted.

  The next bend in the road brought them to wooded country. At this hour the road was completely deserted.