Lady—Here's Your Wreath Read online

  “I guess I’d better look this Spencer guy over,” I said at last. “Maybe I’ll, get something out of him.”

  Mardi fiddled with her coffee-spoon. “I wish you wouldn’t,” she said, without looking at me. “Don’t you think that it would be better to leave this business alone?”

  I raised my eyebrows. I must say I was getting a hell of a lot of encouragement on this job. “I’ve gotta get into this,” I said. “Can’t you understand with a thing like this there’s a big angle as a story hanging to it? If I bust this thing, it’ll start a riot. I shall be the guy responsible. It’ll mean something then.”

  “I don’t want to sound a crab,” she said, putting her hand suddenly on my sleeve, “but isn’t it a bit big? I mean… I don’t want you to think….” She stopped in confusion.

  “Meanin’ I’m a small-town hick an’ might get a swell belly-ache if I bit this off an’ couldn’t chew it?” I grinned at her to show her I wasn’t mad.

  She looked at me then, and her eyes were troubled. “No, I didn’t mean that quite,” she said. “But if what you have told me is true… isn’t it rather one-sided? Don’t you think you ought to have someone to back you, if you’re determined to go ahead?”

  I tapped the ash off my cigarette. This was the kind of girl I’d thought about for a long time. A girl who talked things over and put out ideas. “Suppose you were handlin’ this, what would you do?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “I wouldn’t make a move until I found out who the woman was who telephoned you. Why she was giving you all that money. What were her interests in starting the investigation.”

  I nodded. “Yeah,” I said, “that’s a swell idea, but not easy. Just a voice on the telephone… wants some finding.”

  She glanced at her watch and gave a little exclamation. “I must go,” she said, stubbing out the cigarette and gathering her gloves and bag. “Thank you for the lunch.”

  I pushed back the chair and followed her. “You haven’t paid the check,” she said softly.

  I grinned. “Not in this burg,” I said, waving to the Greek. He beat me to the door and held it open.

  “I hope,” he said, bowing in half, “you will bring the beautiful lady again.”

  Mardi flushed, but I could see she was mighty pleased. I nodded. “You’ll be seein’ her again,” I promised.

  I called a taxi. She turned to me. “I hope you won’t come back to the office,” she said quickly. “I hope you won’t do anything silly until you’ve thought about things. Find out who that woman is first.”

  With a quick smile she climbed into the taxi, and I stood there and let her go.

  From across the street, Earl Katz suddenly stepped from a doorway. He looked across at me, tossed a cigarette butt in my direction, and then walked slowly in the same direction as Mardi’s taxi had gone.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I DIDN’T GET OFF to the Hotcha Club until late. After Mardi had left me, and Katz had made his unexpected appearance, I had a wander round and had a little brain exercise. It didn’t get me anywhere, but I did think maybe I’d wait a little while before exposing my hand to Spencer. Having a living to earn, I attended a ball game, went home and wrote it up, mailed it to a sports paper that took my stuff, and went out to dinner.

  By the time I got through it was getting on for ten o’clock. It was a hot night, with stars and a big moon. I thought I’d go along and see if I could have a look at Vessi’s moll.

  The Hotcha Club was one of those swell dives that look good but are pretty rank when you examine them close. I got a table in a corner, ordered a big rye high-ball, and passed the time with a newspaper.

  The place was pretty crowded, and the dames were not all they should be. I had a little trouble with two of them, but when they saw I wasn’t playing they gave me the air. I sat around for a half an hour, but as I didn’t see anyone who really got me interested, I began to wonder what the hell I was doing there.

  Finally, I gave the waiter the high sign that brought him over. He was a tall, miserable-looking guy with big, watery eyes and a blue chin.

  I took a fin from my vest-pocket and began to play with it. His eyes fixed on it with interest.

  “Listen, Buddy,” I said, “I’m looking for a dame who comes in here pretty often. Maybe you can tell me where I can find her.”

  With his eyes still fixed on the note, he said, “Sure… who is she?”

  “She’s called Blondie,” I said, “an’ she works a beat somewhere around.”

  An oily smile settled on his face. I could see this was a pushover for him. “Sure,” he said, “I know her all right. She’s been in. I guess she’s workin’ right now.”

  I pushed the fin over to him and he gathered it up mighty quick. “Where do I find her?” I asked.

  “Corner of 10th.”

  I got to my feet. “Thanks, pal,” I said.

  He shrugged. “She’s a great dame,” he said, collecting my glass.

  I paused. “So I’ve heard,” I said. “This is my first trip. Shall I find her easily?”

  “Sure,” he said, “you’ll find her. A tall dame in black.” He grinned a little. “Blondie’s tough when she likes to be.”

  I went out into the street. A tall dame in black. A feeling of excitement surged through me. I wouldn’t let my mind think for the moment. I’d wait and see this dame for myself.

  The corner of 10th was deserted when I arrived. The whole street was in semi-gloom. The street lights were widely spaced and none of the shops carried lights. I thought it was a pretty poor place to find trade, but maybe she knew her job better than I did.

  I stood on the corner and lit a cigarette. I stood there for five minutes. I knew it was five minutes because I was so fidgety that I kept my eyes constantly on my watch.

  Then, just when I was losing patience, she came out of the gloom. I heard the slow click of wooden heels some time before I saw her and I stiffened, throwing my cigarette into the gutter. Dimly I could see her, moving deliberately towards me, a tall, shadowy figure in black.

  I half-turned towards her, so that she could have no mistake as to my intentions. I watched the white blur that was her face eagerly for the first glimpse of her features.

  She saw me waiting there, and her step slowed. One hand went to her hip, and she put on a slight sway as she dawdled towards me.

  When she was close, I smelt her. The same heady scent that I had smelt in my bedroom. I felt grimly elated; so this was the dame who’d lifted five grand off me.

  “Hello,” she said, stopping at my elbow. She was nearly as tall as I was, and her big black hat screened her face. I could just make out her rather pointed chin and the sparkle in her eyes.

  I said, “Hello, good-lookin’, how’s tricks?”

  She gave that throaty, purring laugh that Mae West had made popular. “Are you coming home with me, darlin’?” she said, putting one gloved hand on my sleeve.

  I grinned to myself. You bet I was going home with this floozie, and she was going to get a hell of a surprise when we got there.

  “Sure,” I said, “I’ve been lookin’ for a baby like you all the evenin’.”

  “Have you, darlin’?” She laughed again. I wished she’d lay off the ‘darlin’’ for a bit. I told myself she’d be calling me something different mighty soon. “Well, you’ve found a real bad girl….”

  I said, “Let’s go….”

  “It’s just here,” she said, waving her hand towards the end of the street.

  We walked down the street, and she was the first dame I’d walked out with who kept in step. I said, for something to say, “That perfume you wear sure knocks me.”

  “You like it, darlin’?”

  There she went again. “Yeah,” I said. “It sortta hangs around, doesn’t it? I bet you leave quite a trail wherever you go.”

  She missed a step and her right foot went with my left. I changed, to get it right. “What a funny boy you are, darlin’,” she said, looking at me quickly
from under her hat.

  “Yeah,” I said, “crazy as a bug.”

  She stopped outside a door next to a small all-night eating-house. Dimly I could see a little brass plate screwed on to the door. I struck a match and read, ‘Andree Kersh’.

  “My, my,” I said, “so you put your name on the door.”

  “Of course, darlin’.” She fumbled with her bag and found a key. “When you come again, I want you to find me easily.”

  I thought this dame was mighty good at kidding herself. The next time I called on her, she’d greet me with a flat-iron.

  I followed her up a short flight of stairs, past the lobby of the eating-house, up some more stairs, past two doors, also with brass plates, and up some more stairs still.

  She came to a small landing and again opened a door. “Here we are, darlin’,” she said.

  I stepped into the room. One of those small joints. You open the front door and step into a double bed. The room was all bed.

  I wedged myself round her and got to the far end of the room. The bed divided us. I had to admit she’d taken a lot of trouble in fixing the room. It had a lot of neat little gadgets, and some of the pictures she’d got hanging on the wall even made me take a look.

  I said, “You’ve got a swell apartment here, ain’t you?”

  She pulled off her hat and fluffed up her blonde hair. We took a look at each other. I’ll give her this. She hadn’t the usual hard, gimme face of the streetwalker. She would have been quite a looker if her chin wasn’t so pointed. That rather hardened her face, but for the rough work she was all right. If I hadn’t been sitting with Mardi for an hour, I guess this floozie would have interested me more than somewhat.

  I tossed my hat on a peg and grinned at her. She had given me one long, searching glance, summed me up, and her smile back was full of things to come.

  “You like it, huh?” she said.

  That’s another thing I love. When a dame says ‘huh’.

  At the head of the bed, and on each side, were two doors. She said, “I won’t be a minute,” and before I could stop her she went through one of the doors.

  I sat on the bed and lit a cigarette. Somewhere in this joint was my five grand, unless she’d pushed it into a safe deposit. If she’d done that I was sunk, but, knowing how these floozies like to keep their dough right by their hand, I reckoned that I wasn’t going to be disappointed.

  She came in again wearing a come-hither smile.

  I wish I’d started my tricks before she got going, but it was too late now.

  She came over and sat on the bed. “May I have my present, darlin’?” she said.

  This is where it was going to be tricky. I shook my head. “You got it all wrong, baby,” I said. “I’m charging you for this outing.”

  I said she hadn’t the usual hard, gimme face of the streetwalker. Well, I was wrong. I was crazy to have thought otherwise. Away went the bright smile and the flashing eye, just like they were blotted out with a sponge. Her face suddenly became set. “What you mean?” she said, her voice suddenly taking on a harsh note. This dame was looking tough.

  I flicked the ash off my cigarette. “Just that,” I said, slowly putting myself in a position so that I could get up quick if she started anything. Something told me that she was likely to start something. “Maybe we better get introduced, baby,” I went on. “I’m Nick Mason.”

  Just for a second she gave herself away, but then she came back again. “You aren’t tight, darlin’?” she asked. She had pulled a pillow from the bed and was holding it against her.

  I said, “Suppose we come down to earth. We might start by leaving out the darlings… they give me a pain.”

  She got to her feet and walked over to the door where a wrap was hanging. She put the wrap on quickly. As she fastened the sash I could see her fingers were trembling.

  “You crazy or something?” she said. “You get out of here.”

  “Don’t get tough,” I said, still sitting on the bed. “This morning you came to my apartment and took five grand off me. You hand that back an’ we’ll call it quits.”

  She put on a good act. Her eyes opened wide and she actually managed a laugh. “You’re crazy!” she said. “I’ve never seen you and I don’t know where you live.”

  I got slowly to my feet. “Listen, baby,” I said gently, “you ain’t goin’ to get anywhere with bluff. I’ve got you where I want you, an’ I’m having that dough if I have to take this joint to pieces to get it. You ain’t goin’ to get tough, because I could twist your neck for you with one hand. Now come on an’ be pice.”

  She stood hesitating, then she shrugged. “If that’s the way you feel about it,” she said, “maybe I’d better let you have it.”

  I almost laughed. I let her get to the small chest of drawers and pull open one of the drawers, before I shot over the bed and smothered her. My arms went round her, pinning her arms to her side, and I jerked her away from the chest. I was glad I’d taken the precaution. I had just time to see a gun lying in the top drawer before she came at me.

  I’d been in some nasty corners during my career as a journalist, and I’d been in plenty of rough houses as well, but this was the first time I’d mixed it with a woman, and I should just like to place it on record that I sincerely hope it will be the last.

  I can look after myself when it comes to an all-in scrap with a man. I know most of the dodges they get up to and I know most of the answers, but when a blonde fury comes at you I was up-creek without a paddle.

  I see now that I could have saved myself a hell of a lot of trouble if I’d socked her on the button and finished it there and then, but I was crazy enough to treat her light.

  She came at me with her arms whirring around like the blade of a propeller and her eyes blazing. I tried to grab her arms, but got nowhere. The weight of her body struck me like a small shell, and I went over with her on top of me. The bed was in the way and I got myself wedged between the wall and the bed. A sweet position to be in with a hell-cat on top of you.

  She came down on me, her hands clawing at my throat. She must have weighed around a hundred and forty pounds, and that’s no joke to have dropped on you from above.

  I managed to grab her wrists, and, by exerting a lot of beef, held her. Get the picture if you can. There I was, lying flat on my back, wedged between the wall and the bed, with Blondie on top of me, her wrists held, looking as if she’d start murder any minute.

  I said with a gasp, “Relax, sister, this ain’t the way for a lady to behave.”

  For an answer the hell-cat butted me in the face with her head. Maybe she did have blonde curls, but her head was as hard as concrete. She must have knocked herself a bit silly, but it was nothing to what she did to my mug. I felt the blood start from my nose and I thought my front teeth were coming through my top lip.

  I got as mad as a coon, and, shifting my grip on one of her wrists, I socked her as hard as I could on the jaw. If you’ve ever tried to hit anyone, lying on your back, and wedged tight, you will know how difficult it is, but I managed to get a little steam through, sufficiently hard to send her backwards.

  That just gave me time to struggle into a sitting position and sock her again as she came at me. This time I gave her a good one, but I hit her on the shoulder, so although it got rid of her it didn’t stop her.

  I was on my feet by the time she had got over that thump, and we stood there glaring at each other.

  “Cut it out,” I said, “or you’re going to get hurt. I told you…

  You just couldn’t put any sense into her head; she snatched up a hand mirror from the chest of drawers and came at me again. I cursed that bed… there just wasn’t room to get set. I swept up my arm and knocked the mirror out of her hand, and then we went over together on the bed. In a way, it was better, because I could use my extra weight. I caught one arm, but before I could get the other she gave me a punch in the face, kicked my shin with her pointed shoe, and butted my nose again.

&nbs
p; Up to now she was getting it all her own way, and the punch she had swung over had a lot of steam behind it. It was so unexpected that I loosened my grip on her arm, and she swung clear and tried to roll to the other side of the bed. I snatched at her wrap and pulled it right off her back. As the wrap came off she lost her balance and fell on the bed again.

  This time I wasn’t making any mistake. I got her arm in a lock and slammed her over on her face. I sat down hard on the small of her back and put a little pressure on her arm. She gave a sudden yelp and I eased up a little.

  “Behave yourself,” I panted, watching the blood from my nose drip down on her bare shoulders. “You start anythin’ now an’ I’ll tear your arm off an’ beat you to death with it.”

  She called me some fancy names. I doubt if a stevedore could have matched her in names. I put on some more pressure to stop her, and it certainly did. Then, holding the lock with one hand, I groped around until I had worked the sash off her wrap and then tried to bind her hands together.

  She knew that once I’d got her hands tied she was sunk, and she just went crazy for a few seconds. I had all my work cut out to hold her. It was quite useless to try and rope her when she was struggling like that, so I waited until she stopped. As soon as I got going again, she started to fight. I was getting mighty tired of this, so I got off her back and relaxed my grip.

  She twisted over and began to sit up. I was just waiting for her to do that. Just as her head came up, I swung back my left and slammed in a punch on her jaw. I didn’t bother to pull any weight, I just handed it out—and it certainly was a peach.

  I saw her eyes suddenly go blank and she went limp. I stood over her, panting. She’d given me the toughest scrap I’d had for years. Grabbing the sash, I turned her over and bound her hands behind her. Then I stripped off what remained of her stockings and bound her ankles with them. Pulling back the sheet, I rolled her under the covers, first making sure that the knots would hold her.

  Then I went into the bathroom and took a look at my face. I had to give a grin. I certainly looked as if I’d walked into a something this time. My nose was still bleeding a little, and I was getting what looked like q swell black eye. I ran the water and began to bathe my face. When I was through, I went back to the bedroom. She was still out.