1945 - Blonde's Requiem Page 11

  I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “It means a hundred bucks a week for you, Reg, and that includes danger-money.”

  “Aw, you’re kidding,” he said. “I’d do it for half of that.”

  “It’s just enough,” I said, feeling my bruised head. “If I can get this story on the streets we’ll be getting somewhere.” I stubbed out my cigarette and lit another.

  “I’ve found a dame to replace the old girl. I think she’ll be useful all right.”

  Reg’s face fell. “Gee!” he exclaimed. “I was hoping I’d be able to pick my own secretary. What’s she like?”

  “All right,” I said, “as long as you aren’t too fussy. Maybe she has bow legs and flat feet, but if she keeps them under a desk, why should you worry?”

  He looked pretty miserable. “Well, I guess I’ll have to take it,” he said gloomily. “A hundred bucks a week ain’t to be sniffed at.”

  “What do you know about Audrey Sheridan’?” I asked.

  “More than most.” He brightened up. “What a pip of a dame! Seen her?”

  I nodded. “Is it right the agency’s a flop?”

  “That’s not her fault,” he said. “It’s just Cranville didn’t have any crime around until this business blew up. I don’t know how the old man kept things going.”

  “Where does she get her money? She looks a million dollars to me and her joint’s better than a lobby in the Ritz-Plaza.”

  “Her uncle out West passed in his pail and left her a slice of jack,” Reg explained. “She furnished the place and bought herself some clothes, hoping it’d be good for business. But business just isn’t here.”

  I grunted. “She must be crazy,” I said. “It’s throwing money away. But she’s a nice looker, isn’t she?”

  He eyed me kind of old-fashioned: “You’re a fast worker, ain’t you?” he said. “I’d take that lipstick off your mouth if I were you.”

  I did so with a quick embarrassed wipe with my handkerchief. “I’m getting careless,” I muttered, not looking at him.

  “I wouldn’t mind a taste of that,” he said, winking at me. “Yum-yum. Was it any good?”

  A tap on the door interrupted an awkward moment.

  Marian French put her head round the door. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she exclaimed. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

  Reg Phipps stared at her with popping eyes. He sucked in his breath and gave a low whistle.

  “Hello, Marian,” I said. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. There were things I had to do. Did you have a good time?”

  She came further into the room. “You must be crazy to go around with a head like that,” she scolded.

  “I’d be still more crazy to go around without it,” I returned with a grin. “I want you to meet Reg Phipps, editor of the Granville Gazette. Reg, this is Marian French, your new secretary.”

  Reg got to his feet and turned as red as a beet. “You wouldn’t be kidding?” he said pleadingly.

  I winked at Marian. “I told you he’d be all over you,” I said.

  “Gee, Miss French,” Reg said, ignoring me. “This is terrific!

  This is the biggest moment in my life! We’ll get along fine.”

  Marian said she hoped they would and looked a little embarrassed. “Don’t confuse the girl,” I said. “You don’t need to look as if you want to eat her.”

  Reg scowled at me. “Lay off, can’t you?” he said. “Stop ribbing me.” He turned back to Marian. “You’ll be along tomorrow?”

  She nodded. “I’m not so good at typing,” she confessed, “but I’ll get used to it if you’ll have patience.”

  He drew in a deep breath. “You take your time,” he assured her. “I’m in no hurry. Anything you want to know, just ask me.”

  “And be careful what you ask him,” I said. “Where’s Esslinger?”

  “He dropped me and went on home,” she returned, moving to the door. “I won’t interrupt you now, but don’t you think you ought to be in bed?”

  “I’m going,” I lied. “Glad you had a good time. See you tomorrow.”

  Reg opened the door for her. “Good night, Miss French,” he said, making eyes at her. “You don’t know how I’m going to enjoy working with you.”

  Marian threw an amused glance at me, thanked Reg and left us.

  “Like her?” I asked casually.

  Reg closed his eyes. “That’s the dame who haunts my dreams,” he said. “Where did you find her?”

  I told him.

  He suddenly looked suspicious. “What’s this stuff about Esslinger? Was she out with him?”

  “She was.”

  “Gee! It gives me a pain the way Esslinger finds ‘em,” he growled. “That guy has every dame in Cranville running around with him.”

  “Well, what of it?” I asked, smiling at his annoyance. “Esslinger’s a good-looking kid, bright, and he’s a free spender . . . why shouldn’t they run around with him?”

  “I don’t like the guy,” Reg said. “He’s pinched too many dames from me. He’s only got to look at a dame and she flops for him.”

  “I used to be like that when I was his age,” I grinned, going over to the bureau for the Scotch bottle. “All the other kids hated my guts too, but that didn’t bring me out in a rash.”

  Reg sniffed and looked sour. “It doesn’t bring him out in a rash either,” he said.

  I poured two fingers of Scotch into a glass. “You’re too young to drink, aren’t you?”

  “Not when it’s free,” Reg returned with unnecessary eagerness.

  “Maybe you’d better watch me,” I said, sitting down again and swirling the amber coloured liquor round in the bottom of the glass. “You want a steady hand tonight. A lot depends on this picture.” I took a long drink, sighed and closed my eyes.

  Reg got to his feet with a snort of disgust. “When do we go?” he demanded.

  I squinted at him. “Maybe we’d better slide off now. We’ll have to be careful Marian doesn’t spot us. Looks like she wants to keep me in cottonwool.” I finished the drink, lit another cigarette and stood up. “Okay?”

  “Sure.” Reg opened the door and looked into the passage. “No one around,” he said, and together we went down the passage into the lobby.

  Nora looked up from her magazine. “Don’t you ever sleep?” she said to me as I went past.

  “I have my moments,” I said, waving to her. “Didn’t I tell you I’m tough?”

  “That doesn’t prove anything,” she said, with a sneer. “I know plenty guys who’re tough, but where did it get them?”

  “You tell me about it some other time,” I said, not stopping. I followed Reg out into the dark, sweltering night.

  We got into a battered Ford coupe and Reg drove away from the hotel. “Put that dame alongside Marian French,” he said, “and what have you?”

  “Get your mind off women for a moment,” I urged. “We’ve got a job to do. How far is the morgue?”

  “Four blocks and first on the right,” he said, shouting to get above the roar of the car engine.

  I looked at my watch in the light of a street lamp as we passed. It was eleven-thirty.

  “Who’s in charge?”

  “Johnson does the night shift. No one else’s likely to be there. Maybe we could bust in the back way unless you want to tell Johnson what you’re going to do. But photographing corpses ain’t permitted, so maybe we’d better go in the back way.”

  “What sort of a guy is Johnson?”

  “Little geezer. We could take him without getting in a lather,” Reg said, slowing down as the traffic light changed to red. He stopped the car and we both lit cigarettes. “Breaking into a morgue isn’t my idea of fun,” he went on as he flipped the match out of the window.

  I wasn’t looking forward to the job either, but I didn’t say so. My shirt clung to my back and chest and my head throbbed.

  As the light changed Reg st
arted the car rolling again. “Anyway,” he said, “it’ll be cold in the morgue. We might even freeze to death.”

  “I hope to God we can get in without making a noise,” I said. “I don’t want any trouble with this Johnson guy. Even if he is a little guy it’s too, hot for fighting.”

  “He won’t fight,” Reg said with a laugh. “He’d fall over if you spit in his eye.”

  We turned right at the next corner and Reg parked the car under a street lamp.

  “It’s only a hundred yards or so down the street,” he said, taking out his camera outfit and tucking it under his arm. “Better walk, huh?”

  I stood on the sidewalk, feeling the heat of the brick pavement through my shoes. “Jeese!” I said. “It’s hot!”

  We went down the street together, not saying anything and not hurrying. Reg paused after we had walked a while and nodded to a narrow alley, wide enough to take a car. “This is it,” he said, lowering his voice.

  I glanced up and down the deserted street and then together we ducked down the alley. It was dark. There was a curious smell about the air: sweet, musty, sickish; a smell of slow decay.

  “You could use this air as a bed,” I whispered to Reg. “I’ll come here for my next vacation.”

  He giggled a little hysterically. “If you mean your last vacation,” he said, “you’ll come here whether you like it or not.”

  We walked softly, keeping to the middle of the alley. The blackness around us was like an enveloping blanket and we couldn’t see anything, not even the sky.

  “Creepy, isn’t it?” I said, feeling spooked. “It only wants someone to spring out on me and I’ll cry like a child.”

  “Yeah? I’ll run,” Reg said with conviction. “Can’t you stop talking? You’re giving me the heebies.”

  Then without warning a sudden high-pitched scream came to us out of the darkness. It swelled, cut through the thick stifling air like the sweep of a sickle, and died away in a horrible, slobbering gurgle.

  We stood still and clutched each other.

  “What in hell’s that?” I said, feeling the hair stiffen on the nape of my neck.

  I heard Reg breathing like a badly winded horse. My own heart was going thump, thump, thump.

  “There’s a psychopathic hospital over that way,” he said in a breathless, uneven voice. “Maybe it’s one of the nuts letting off a little steam.”

  I took off my hat and wiped my face and the back of my neck with a damp handkerchief. “I hope to God she doesn’t let off another like that,” I said fervently. “That nearly ruined me.”

  We stood listening and then, hearing nothing except the faint roar of distant traffic, we walked on. The alley curved to our right and turning the bend we saw ahead a red light burning faintly over a double door.

  “That’s where we go in,” Reg whispered, pointing. “Inside is the receiving room.”

  “Maybe I’d better go first and take a look around,” I said. “Then I’ll come back for you.”

  “Leave me alone?” Reg said. “Not damn likely! My legs wouldn’t let me stay here a second after you’ve gone.”

  I considered this. “Okay,” I said, understanding how he was feeling, “but for the love of Mike don’t make a noise.”

  We went forward together until we reached the double door. There was a cement runway, instead of step, leading up to the door for the wheeled hospital tables to run up.

  “Take it easy,” I said, and turned the doorknob. The door was locked.

  I took out my flashlight and examined the lock. “It’s easy,” I said. “Hold the light while I fix it.”

  I took out my penknife, inserted one of the hickies and levered. The lock snicked back and I pushed the door open.

  “I’ll get you to open my kid sister’s money-box,” Reg said. “You’re good.”

  I waved him to silence and stood in the half-open doorway, listening. There was no sound of activity, so I put on the flashlight and let the beam run around.

  The room was chill and very clean. Hospital tables stood in a line against the wall and two white cupboards completed the furnishing.

  We entered the room, closed the double door softly and went on to another door opposite us. Again we listened and heard nothing. The silence was oppressive, but the room was refreshingly cool after the stifling alley.

  I opened the door and again looked into a darkened room, which smelt strongly of antiseptics. I put on my flashlight.

  Reg said, “This is the post-mortem room,” and peered curiously over my shoulder.

  The room was bare. An operating table under a battery of lights stood in the centre of the room and two cases filled with stainless steel instruments were near the table.

  “Where do we go now?” I asked, switching on the lights.

  Reg blinked around. “There’s a passage somewhere that leads to the morgue,” he said. “It’s some time since I’ve been here.” He crossed the room to another door and peeped round it. Then he jerked his head. “Here we are,” he said.

  I followed him into a passage lit by dim blue lights. It was much colder in the passage and my teeth began to chatter with nerves.

  At the end of the passage was a flight of stairs leading down to the basement and leading up to the next floor.

  Keeping his voice to a murmur, Reg said, “Johnson’s got an office up there,” and jerked his thumb to the stairs.

  “We go down?”

  He nodded. “Spooky, ain’t it?”

  We descended the stairs. The air became moist as we neared the bottom and there was a musty smell of decomposition.

  “Like the breath of a crocodile,” Reg whispered.

  I pressed against a heavy steel door which swung open. A sharp, sweet antiseptic smell of formaldehyde stung the back of my throat and icy air turned my shirt into a clammy cold plaster. I pushed a row of electric-light buttons on the cement wall and the steel door shut with a muffled thud.

  “We’re in,” I said, staring round at the two long rows of black metal cabinets where the bodies were stored.

  Reg stood looking around too. His face was the colour of a fish’s underbelly and his knees were visibly trembling.

  “The sooner we get out of this, the better I’ll like it,” he said, setting his camera down on a nearby bench. “Suppose you dig around for Stonewall Dixon?”

  I looked at the row of cabinets. “I can’t think of anything nicer than wading through a pile of stiffs on a night like this,” I said, with a grimace.

  “Call him,” Reg said sarcastically, sitting on the bench and pressing his trembling knees together. “Maybe he’ll push open his box and wave to you.”

  “You’re getting hysterical,” I said, feeling in my hip pocket for my flask.

  His eyes brightened. “I am hysterical,” he said, reaching out an eager hand as I took out a half-pint flask of whisky.

  “You wait a second,” I said, unscrewing the cap. I was surprised to see that my own hand was unsteady. “Maybe I need this more than you.” As I put the flask to my lips the gurgling scream came again. It sounded even more spooky in this room than it did in the alley. I spluttered, losing some of the whisky.

  “Don’t give it all to your shirt,” Reg said, his face now blue-white and his eyes popping.

  I steadied myself, belted the whisky again and then gave it to him. The way he anchored his mouth to the flask was something to see.

  While he was working on the whisky I examined the cabinets. Each had a small label attached to it bearing a name. After a while I located Dixon’s cabinet.

  “Here he is,” I said, turning back to Reg.

  “Well, well,” he said, waving the now empty flask. “How is the old stiff? Let’s give him a drink.”

  I snatched the flask from him. “If I could get tight as fast as you I’d save myself some money.”

  Reg rose unsteadily to his feet. “Don’t you worry about me,” he said with a giggle.

/>   I pulled open the cabinet and looked down at Dixon. He still looked pretty horrible. “Take a look at him,” I said. “He’ll sober you up.”

  Reg looked and it did. “The poor old geezer,” he said, closing his eyes. “The poor, lonely old geezer.”

  “Never mind the obituary notice. Get started.”

  Reg reached for his camera, pulled it from its case and screwed in a flash bulb. Then he suddenly caught his breath and his eyes popped. He was looking at something behind me and I turned, my flesh creeping.

  The steel door was slowly opening.

  We both jumped different ways. Reg towards Dixon and I towards the door.

  I had started a shade too late. Jeff Gordan snaked into the room, a gun in his hand and a frightened, vicious look on his face. My jump was still taking me towards him and I couldn’t stop myself, so I kicked out blindly. It was a lucky kick. It caught his right wrist and the gun fell from his hand. I cannoned into him and we sprawled on ground.

  “Get that picture!” I yelled to Reg. “I’ll hold this swine.”

  In actual fact, Jeff was holding me. His great arms encircled my ribs and he was putting on a hell of a squeeze.

  “Get onto him!” Reg shouted excitedly. “Beat his brains out!”

  I was hanging on all right, but it wasn’t doing me any good. I had only one free arm. My right was pinned to my side by Jeff s bear-like hug. I slammed at his apish face with my left and then he rolled on top of me, nearly crushing me flat. I grabbed hold of his ear and began screwing it round while he tried to butt my chin with the top of his head.

  I knew from a sudden blinding flash that Reg had taken the picture. A moment later he came rushing across to where we were wrestling and jammed the camera-case over Jeff s head.

  As Jeff was roaring and striking blindly at me I managed to wriggle clear. But he caught my leg and pinned me as I was getting to my feet. I went over and landed near the gun.

  “Get the hell outa here,” I panted to Reg. “I can fix him, but get that camera away.”

  Reg bolted out of the door. He knew how important that picture was and he was smart enough not to worry about me.

  I belted Jeff over the head with the gun. I remembered how he had handled Audrey Sheridan and how he had roughed me around, so I put a lot of steam into the wallop. He went limp.