No Orchids for Miss Blandish Page 3

  "What is it?" he asked. "You boys in trouble? It's Bailey, isn't it?"

  Bailey tried to crowd into the shack, but Johnny stood firm.

  "We want to stay here for a few days, Johnny," Bailey said. "Let us in!"

  "Who's the girl?" Johnny asked not moving.

  Riley pushed Miss Blandish out of the car and, followed by Old Sam, came over.

  "Come on, Johnny, don't act coy," Riley said. "Let us in. There's plenty of dough in this for you. Come on; don't keep us out here."

  Johnny stepped back and Riley shoved Miss Blandish into the shack that consisted of one large living room and two rooms upstairs leading out onto a wooden balcony that overhung the living room.

  The living room was indescribably dirty. There was a table and four boxes to serve as chairs, an old cooking stove, a hurricane lantern hanging on the wall, a radio on a shelf and not much else.

  Old Sam was the last to enter. He closed the door and leaned against it.

  Miss Blandish ran over to Johnny. She caught hold of his arm.

  "Please help me!" she said breathlessly. The smell of drink and stale sweat that came from him made her feel ill. "These men have kidnapped me. My father..."

  Riley dragged her away.

  "Shut up!" he snarled at her. "One more word from you and you'll get hurt."

  Johnny was looking uneasily at Riley.

  "I'm not getting mixed up in a snatch," he said feebly.

  "Please telephone my father..." Miss Blandish began when Riley stepped up to her and smacked her face. She reeled back with a startled cry.

  "I told you, didn't I?" he shouted. "Shut up!"

  She put her hand to her face, her eyes flashing.

  "You beast!" she exclaimed. "How dare you touch me!"

  "I'll do more than touch you if you don't pipe down!" Riley snarled. "Sit down and shut up or I'll slap you again!" Old Sam came over. He looked worried. He picked up one of the boxes and put it close to Miss Blandish.

  "Take it easy, miss," he said. "You don't want to upset the fella."

  Miss Blandish sank onto the box. She hid her face in her hands.

  "Who is she?" Johnny asked.

  "The Blandish girl," Riley said. "She's worth a million bucks, Johnny. We'll split even among the lot of us. We'll only be here three or four days."

  Johnny squinted at him.

  "Blandish--he's pretty rich, isn't he?"

  "He's worth millions. How about it, Johnny?"

  "Well..." Johnny scratched his dirty scalp. "I guess, but not for longer than four days."

  "Where can I put her?" Riley asked. "Have you got a room for her?"

  Johnny pointed to one of the doors leading off the balcony.

  "Up there."

  Riley turned to Miss Blandish.

  "Get up there!"

  "Do what he tells you, miss," Old Sam said. "You don't want any trouble."

  The girl got to her feet. She went up the stairs. Riley followed her. On the overhanging balcony, she paused to look down at the three men who stared up at her.

  Casually, Johnny walked over to the gun rack by the front door. There were two shotguns in the rack.

  Riley kicked open the door of the room Johnny had indicated.

  "Get in!"

  She entered the small dark room. Riley followed her. He lit an oil lamp hanging from the ceiling and glanced around.

  There was a bed with a dirty mattress, but no bedding. A jug of water with a thin film of dust floating on the water stood on the floor. A tin basin rested on a small packing case. Thick sacking was nailed across the window. There was a musty smell of damp in the room.

  "This'll make a change for you," Riley sneered, "It'll take some of the starch out of you. Stay here and keep quiet or I'll come up and fix you."

  Miss Blandish was watching a large squat spider crawling across the wall. Her eyes were wide with horror.

  "Scare you?" Riley said. He reached out and picked the spider off the wall. The short hairy legs of the insect waved wildly. "Do you want me to drop it down your pretty dress?"

  Miss Blandish backed away, shuddering.

  "You behave yourself and you'll be all right," Riley said, grinning at her. "Start trouble and you'll be sorry." While he was speaking he was pinching the spider between his finger and thumb. "If you don't behave, I'll treat you the same way. Now you keep quiet."

  He went out, shutting the door behind him.

  Bailey and Old Sam were sitting on boxes, smoking. Riley came down the stairs.

  "How about some food, Johnny?" he asked, then he stiffened.

  Johnny was holding a shotgun in his hands, covering the three men. Riley's hand moved to his gun, but the look in Johnny's dim eyes stopped him.

  "Don't start anything, Riley," Johnny said. "This gun'll blow your chest to pieces."

  "What's the idea?" Riley asked through stiff lips.

  "I don't like any of this," Johnny said. "Sit down. I want to talk to you."

  Riley sat down near Bailey.

  "It was on the radio half an hour before you arrived. Who killed the guy?"

  "He did," Riley said, jerking his thumb at Bailey. "The stupid bastard lost his head."

  "Like hell I did!" Bailey snarled. "I had to kill him. This rat let me handle him alone..."

  "Oh, shut up!" Riley said violently. "What's it matter? The guy's dead and we have a murder rap around our necks but we've got the girl. If we can get the money from her old man, we have nothing to worry about."

  Johnny shook his head. After hesitating, he lowered the gun.

  "I've known you boys since you were kids," he said. "I never thought you'd turn killers. I don't like it. Murder and kidnapping. You'll have the Feds after you. You're going to get hot. You'll be public enemies. You are way out of your class."

  "Your share of the loot will be two hundred and fifty grand," Riley said quietly. "That's big money, Johnny."

  "Think of the booze you'll be able to buy with all that dough," Bailey said brutally. "You'll be able to swim in whiskey."

  Johnny blinked.

  "There isn't that much money in the world."

  "Two hundred and fifty grand, Johnny: all for you."

  Slowly, Johnny put the gun back in the rack. The three men relaxed. They watched him collect some tin mugs and a big earthenware jar.

  "You boys want a drink?"

  "What is it?" Riley asked suspiciously. "Your own rot-gut?"

  "It's good stuff--the best."

  Johnny poured the applejack into the mugs and handed them around.

  They drank cautiously. Bailey gagged, but Riley and Old Sam managed to-get the burning stuff down their throats.

  "How about some grub, Johnny?" Old Sam asked as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "I'm starving."

  "Help yourself," Johnny said. "There's the pot on the stove."

  As Old Sam went over to the stove, Bailey said to Riley, "You were wrong to snatch the girl. We should have killed her. Eddie will tell Ma Grisson and she'll send Slim after us."

  "Shut up!" Riley yelled furiously.

  Johnny stiffened.

  "What's that? Slim? He isn't in this, is he?" he said.

  "He's talking through the back of his head," Riley said.

  "Yeah?" Bailey said. He looked at Johnny. "We ran into Eddie Schultz on the road. He saw the girl. He'll tell Ma Grisson."

  "If Slim's coming in on this, I'm keeping out," Johnny said, edging towards the gun rack.

  Riley pulled his .38.

  "Keep away from that gun! I'm not scared of Slim Grisson. He won't bother us."

  "Slim's bad," Johnny said uneasily. "I know all you boys. I know when there's any good in you. There isn't any good in Slim Grisson. He's mean and bad right through."

  Riley spat at the stove.

  "He's got a hole in his head," he said. "He's no better than an idiot."

  "Maybe, but he's a killer. He kills with a knife. I don t like guys who use a knife."

  "Give it a rest," Riley
said. "Let's eat."

  Old Sam was serving stew onto tin plates.

  "This stuff smells like goddamn cat," he grumbled. He spooned some of the mess onto a plate. "I'll take it up to the girl. She ought to eat."

  "It won't suit her fancy taste," Riley said, grinning.

  "It's better than nothing," Old Sam said.

  He carried the plate up the stairs and he entered the dimly lit little room.

  Miss Blandish was sitting on the edge of the bed. She had been crying. She looked up as Old Sam came in.

  "Here, get this inside you," he said awkwardly. "You'll feel better for some grub."

  The gamy smell of the stew turned Miss Blandish sick.

  "No... thank you. I--I couldn't..."

  "It stinks a bit," Old Sam said apologetically, "but you should eat." He put the plate down. He looked at the dirty mattress and shook his head. "Not what you're used to, I bet. I'll see if I can find you a rug or something."

  "Thank you; you're kind." She hesitated, then lowering her voice, she went on, "Won't you help me? If you will telephone my father and tell him where I am, you will be well rewarded. Please help me."

  "I can't, miss," Old Sam said, backing to the door. "I'm too old for trouble. Those two down there are mean boys. There's nothing I can do for you." He went out, shutting the door after him.

  Riley and Bailey were eating and Old Sam joined them. When they had finished, Riley got up.

  "That's about the worst meal I've ever eaten," he said. He looked at his watch. The time was five minutes after nine. "I'd better call Anna. She'll be wondering what's happened to me."

  "You're kidding yourself," Bailey said. "You and your Anna. Do you imagine she cares where you are?" He got up and went over to the window.

  Riley gave the operator Anna's number. After a delay, she came on the line.

  "Hi, baby," he said. "This is Frankie."

  "Frankie!" Anna's voice was strident. The three men could hear her. "Where have you been, you bastard? What do you think you're doing--walking out on me? How do you imagine I liked sleeping on my own last night? Where are you? What have you been doing? If you've been sleeping with some other woman, I'll kill you!"

  Riley grinned. It was good to hear Anna's voice again.

  "Take it easy, sweetheart," he said. "I've pulled a job-- the biggest ever, and it's going to land us in the money. From now on, you're going to wear mink, baby. I'll give you so much dough you'll make that Hutton dame look like a pauper. Now, listen, I'm at Johnny's place--the other side of Lone Tree junction..."

  "Riley!" Bailey's voice was high pitched with fear. "They're coming! Two cars--it's the Grisson gang"

  Riley slammed the receiver back on its hook and rushed to the window.

  Two cars had pulled up near the Lincoln. From it spilled a number of men. They started towards the shack. Riley recognized the tall, heavily built Eddie Schultz.

  He spun around.

  "Go up and stay with her," he said to Johnny. "See she doesn't make a sound. We've got to bluff these birds. Snap it up!"

  He shoved Johnny up the stairs, and together they entered Miss Blandish's room. She was lying on the bed and she started up as they came in.

  "There's a guy out there who's poison to you," Riley said, his face wet with the sweat of fear. "If you know what's good for you, stay quiet. I'm going to try to bluff him, but if he once gets the idea you're up here, you might just as well say your prayers--there's nothing else you can do."

  It wasn't the words that sent a cold chill to her heart, it was the white circle of fear around his mouth, and the lurking terror in his eyes.

  5

  Riley stood on the balcony and looked down at the group of men who in turn stared up at him. Eddie was there, both hands sunk in his pockets, his black hat pulled down low. Flynn was standing on the extreme left of the group, his hands also hidden, his eyes cold and watchful. Woppy and Doc Williams stood by the door; both of them were smoking.

  But it was Slim Grisson who held Riley's attention. Slim sat on the edge of the table. He was staring blankly at the tips of his dirty shoes. He was tall, reedy and pasty-faced. His loose, half-open mouth, his vacant, glassy eyes made him look idiotic, but a ruthless, inhuman spirit hid behind the idiot's mask.

  Slim Grisson's background was typical of a pathological killer. He had always been lazy at school, refusing to take the least interest in book work. He began early to want money. He was sadistic and several times he had been caught torturing animals. By the time he was eighteen, he had begun to develop homicidal tendencies. By then, his mental equipment had degenerated. There were times when he would be normal to the point of being quick-witted, but most times he behaved like an idiot.

  His mother, Ma Grisson, refused to believe there was anything wrong with him. She got him a job in a poolroom, cleaning glasses. Here he mixed with a bootleg mob. He watched them handle guns and wads of dollar bills. He got hold of a gun. His first killing followed automatically. He went on the run and for two years his mother lost sight of him. Then he returned. He boasted of the men he had murdered during the time he had lived alone. Ma Grisson was determined he should become a gang leader. She took his education in hand herself. Before he did a job, she coached him, going over every detail with him again and again. It was like teaching a monkey to do tricks. Once he got what she wanted into his head, he didn't forget. Ma got together several desperate men. There was Flynn just out after serving a four year stretch for robbing a bank. There was Eddie Schultz, one time bodyguard of one of the bosses of Murder Incorporated. There was Woppy, a clever safecracker, and Doc Williams, an old man who had been struck off the register and who was glad to be employed.

  Over these men, she placed her son. They accepted him as their leader although it was Ma who was the power behind his throne. Without her he would have been helpless.

  Riley was terrified of this reedy creature. He hung his hands on his coat lapels as a token of surrender. He stood motionless, looking down at the men below.

  "Hi, Frankie," Eddie said. "I bet you're surprised to see me again."

  Riley came slowly down the stairs. His eyes never left the group waiting for him.

  "Hello," he said, his voice husky. "Yeah, I didn't expect to see you so soon."

  He stood near Bailey who didn't look at him.

  "Where's the gorgeous chick you had with you?" Eddie asked.

  Riley made a tremendous effort to pull himself together. If they were going to get out of this jam with their skins, he had to bluff these men and bluff them convincingly.

  "You didn't come all this way to see her again, did you?" he said, trying to sound at ease. "You weren't thinking of making a date with her, were you? That'd be too bad. We got tired of her company and ditched her."

  Eddie tossed his cigarette on the floor and put his foot on it.

  "Yeah? You don't say. I wanted another look at her. Who was she, Frankie?"

  "Oh, just a broad," Riley said. "No one you'd know."

  He was aware that all the Grisson gang, except Slim were staring at him with cold, bleak eyes. He had a sinking feeling they knew he was lying. The only one who paid him no attention was Slim.

  Eddie said, "You didn't happen to pick her up at the Golden Slipper roadhouse, did you?"

  Riley's belly suddenly felt cold and empty.

  "That little chiseler? She wouldn't go to a joint like that. We picked her up at Izzy's bar. She was stewed so we took her for a ride and a little fun." Riley forced a smile that looked like a grimace. "But she wouldn't play so we let her walk home."

  Eddie laughed. He was enjoying himself.

  "Yeah? You should write for the movies, Frankie: you sure got an imagination."

  Very slowly, Slim raised his head. He looked directly at Riley who flinched.

  "Where's Johnny?" Slim asked.

  "Upstairs," Riley said, feeling sweat running down his back.

  Slowly Slim turned his head to look at Eddie. All his movements were deliberate.<
br />
  "Get him," he said.

  The door above opened and Johnny came onto the balcony. He leaned on the rail. The men below stared up at him.

  Johnny didn't make enemies, nor did he take sides. He was strictly neutral.

  Riley implored his silence with a long, meaning stare, but Johnny wasn't looking at him. He was looking at Slim.

  Slim rubbed the side of his thin nose.

  "Hello, Johnny," he said.

  "Hello, Slim," Johnny said, keeping his hands on the rail, well in sight.

  "Haven't seen you for a long time, have I?" Slim said with a smirking grin. His hands were on the move all the time. They moved up and down his thighs. They fingered his string tie. They straightened his shabby coat. They were restless, bony, frightening hands. "I've got a new knife, Johnny."

  Johnny shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  "Good for you," he said and glanced uneasily at Eddie.

  Slim made a sudden move. It was too fast for Johnny to follow. A knife suddenly appeared in Slim's hand. It was a thin bladed knife about six inches long with a black handle.

  "Look at it, Johnny," Slim said, turning the knife in his hand.

  "You're a lucky guy to have a knife like that," Johnny said, his face stiff.

  Slim nodded.

  "Yeah, I know. Look how it shines," The light from the sun, coming through the dirty window, reflected from the knife onto the ceiling. It made a dancing white pattern overhead. "And it's sharp, Johnny."

  Doc Williams who had been standing a little behind Eddie, nervously chewing a cigar, moved forward.

  "Take it easy, Slim," he said in a soothing voice. He recognized the danger signals.

  "Shut up!" Slim snarled at him, his slack face suddenly vicious. His eyes Crawled up to where Johnny stood, motionless. "Come down here, Johnny."

  "What do you want?" Johnny asked hoarsely without moving.

  Slim started to dig his knife into the table.

  "Come down here!" he said, slightly raising his voice.

  Doc signaled to Eddie who said, "Leave him alone, Slim. Johnny is a pal of yours. He's a good guy."

  Slim looked over at Riley.

  "But he isn't such a good guy, is he?"

  Riley sagged at the knees. The sweat glistened on his face.