Miss Shumway Waves a Wand Read online

  I wish you could have seen his face. One minute he was all brag, meanness and confidence and then, in a moment, he was a deflated bag of wind. He covered his eyes with his hand end then shook his head. He seemed to hitch himself together with an effort.

  “Didn’t you hear me the first time?” she said to him. “Beat it. You’re using too much air.” Then the thin elderly Mexican came out quickly and said something to the fat party. He looked sick as he pointed down the road.

  The fat party followed his trembling finger and then glared over at us. “We meet again,” he said. “Especially will I meet the senorita. She has too big a mouth. I put a hornet in it and sew her lips together,” and he went quickly into the shop, leaving the thin elderly Mexican watching a cloud of dust that was coming up the road at a pretty fast lick towards us.

  I eased my collar. “Did you get that line about the hornet?” I said. “And you had to crack wise with a guy like that.”

  She picked up her hat. “Skip It,” she said. “He was as yellow as a canary.”

  “I know. And I loved the way he sang,” I returned. “Come on, we’ll beat it too. I have a feeling that there’s a cloud of trouble heading our way.”

  We hardly got to the car before a bunch of Federal soldiers came galloping up.

  A little guy with a complexion like stale cream cheese pulled his horse over to us and slid to the ground. He was an officer by the look of his dirty uniform and he seemed excited.

  I said, “Hello,” and automatically felt for my papers. But, he wasn’t interested in me. He asked if we had seen a big fat guy anywhere around.

  Myra opened her mouth, but I stumbled against her. My elbow hit her in the wind and that held her.

  “No one around here,” I said. “Maybe some one else has seen him. Have you asked?”

  The officer spat in the dust. “They said he was here. Not five minutes ago,” he said, fiddling with his revolver butt.

  “Well, a lot can happen in five minutes,” I said. “Maybe he was in a hurry. Who was he anyway?”

  But the officer had lost interest in me and went over to the thin, elderly Mexican. I shoved Myra into the car and got in myself. I wanted to put a lot of space between me and likely trouble.

  Myra had got her breath back. “Why didn’t you tell him?” she demanded. “You’re riot scared of him, are you?”

  “It’s not a matter of being scared,” I said starting the engine and throwing in the clutch.

  “I’ve been around in this country long enough never to interfere with anyone. It’s paid me pretty well up to now, and I’m seeing that it continues to do so.”

  I sent the car snarling towards Orizaba.

  Myra began to laugh. “Did you see that fat boy’s face when I did the snake trick?”

  “I did,” I said grimly. “And I heard what he said about the hornet.”

  “So what? You don’t think that means anything, do you?”

  “I know it does,” I replied. “A guy like that would do just that little thing and think nothing of it. The next time we meet, I’m going to shoot him first and apologize after.”

  The idea seemed to shock her and we went back to the hotel without saying another word. Bogle was sitting on the verandah drinking beer and he waved to us as we came up the steps. “Where’ve you been?” he asked, putting his mug on the table and getting up. “Doc’s worried sick. He thought you’d walked out on him.”

  Myra said, “Hello, Samuel. You ought to keep in the shade. The light’s a little too hard on you.”

  Bogle watched her disappear into the hotel He scowled at me. “One of these days she’ll shoot her mouth off once too often,” he said darkly. “Don’t that prove you can’t be too careful in picking a blonde? I knew a dame once with hair just like hers. Got the nicest mouth I’ve ever listened to. You oughta hear the drippy names she used to call me. You’d’ve been surprised.”

  It surprised me that Bogle had a sentimental streak in his make-up, but I didn’t tell him so.

  “Your love life bores me,” I said, grinning at him. “Never mind about the drippy names. They won’t get you any place. Where’s Doc?”

  Bogle sniffed. “Oh, he’s feeding his face. I didn’t feel hungry, but maybe I’d better do something about it now.”

  “Come and feed with me,” I said. “No sense in eating alone”

  Bogle brooded darkly. “I’d rather eat alone than with that blonde wise guy,” he said at last.

  “I’ll wait. When I sit down to a meal I like to enjoy myself.”

  “If that’s how you feel,” I returned and moved towards the lounge.

  Just then a kid came quietly up the verandah steps. He was a little Indian boy, very dirty, wearing a dirty white shirt and a pair of ragged trousers. He carried a small wooden box In one of his grubby bands and he looked at Bogle with a calculating eye.

  Bogle smirked at him. “Hullo, son,” he said. “Coming to have a talk with old Uncle Sam?” The kid stared at him thoughtfully with his head on one side and shuffled his bare feet on the verandah floor.

  Bogle looked over at me. “I like kids,” he said simply, exploring his teeth with his finger nail. “This little punk’s all right, ain’t he?”

  The kid shuffled a few paces nearer. “Shine, Johnny?” he said, hopefully.

  “You don’t have to be scared of me,” Bogle said, leering at him. “Come and tell Uncle Sam all about it.”

  The kid didn’t seem full of confidence, but he put his box down and said again, “Shine, Johnny?”

  Bogle stared at him. “Wadjer mean… shine?”

  “He wants to shine your shoes, you dope,” I said, grinning. “He’s got beyond Uncle Samuel’s bedside chats for kiddies.”

  Bogle looked disappointed. “Gee! I thought the kid was lonely.”

  “Shine, Johnny?” the kid repeated monotonously.

  “He’s got a one-track mind, ain’t he?” Bogle said, then seeing the kid was a bit restless, he waved his hand grandly. “Sure, help yourself, son,” and he stretched forward one of his great feet.

  The kid flopped on the floor and began turning up Bogle’s trouser ends.

  “Well, I’m hungry,” I said. “I’ll tell ’em to leave you something.”

  “What’ll I give the little punk?” Bogle asked, watching the kid polishing away at his shoe.

  “What you like,” I returned. “These kids ain’t particular.”

  Another kid in a dirty red shirt came sidling up the steps. He took one look at Bogle and ran over and shoved White Shirt out of the way.

  Bogle blinked. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, as Red Shirt began to lay out his shining materials.

  “You’ve got competition,” I said, feeling that I might enjoy this. I leaned against the wall and prepared to watch. From past experience I knew what leeches these kids were, once you encouraged them.

  Bogle looked quite gratified. “I told you kids liked me,” he said, smirking. “They’ll even fight over me.”

  He’d got something because White Shirt recovering from his surprise grabbed Red Shirt by the throat and put on squeeze.

  Bogle was quite shocked. He dragged them apart and held them, one in each great fist.

  “Hey!” he said. “This ain’t the way to behave. Now, listen, you two…”

  Red Shirt kicked out at White Shirt and succeeded in landing a bone shattering smack on Bogle’s leg. Bogle let the kids go like they were red hot and clasped his leg with a grunt of anguish.

  The two kids began to mix it all over the verandah.

  “Holy Moses!” Bogle gasped. “Can’t you stop ’em?”

  “Don’t bring me into It,” I said, watching the kids with interest. “I’ll just be the historian.” Bogle got to his feet and managed to separate the kids. “Shut up, you two!” he said fiercely.

  “No fighting! Now, listen, you can do a shoe apiece. How’s that?”

  Neither of them understood what he was saying, but they quieted down an
d looked at him with bright, intent eyes.

  Bogle seemed pleased with his tactics. “See that?” he said, sitting down again. “I can handle kids. All you’ve got to do is reason with ’em.”

  He was hardly in his seat when the two kids streaked at him and grabbed his right leg. They began thumping each other and dragging his leg backwards and forwards. Bogle hung on to the table, his eyes popping in alarm.

  They struggled first one way and then another, worrying at his leg like a couple of bull terriers.

  “Reason with ’em, Sam,” I said, weak with laughter.

  He beat them off finally with his hat and they stood back, breathing heavily. If he’d’ve been a nice juicy pork chop with a little frill at the end of it, they couldn’t have eyed him with more interest.

  As they edged towards him again, he raised his hat threateningly. “Keep off, you punks,” he growled, then catching my eye, what the hell do you find funny in this? Tell ’em to behave themselves.”

  I came over and explained to the kids that they could each clean one of Bogle’s shoes and there was no need to fight about it.

  They considered this for a moment, then they wanted to know if the payment would also be divided.

  I referred this to Bogle.

  “Aw, the hell with it” he said, losing patience. “Tell ’em to dust. I thought they were nice kids. Money’s all these brats think of. I don’t want to be bothered with ’em.”

  “Hey! Where’s all this stuff about liking kids?” I said severely. “You’ll disappoint ’em, you know.”

  Bogle fanned himself with his hat. “Iszatso?” he said violently. “What about me? They nearly broke my gawdamn leg.”

  “Have it your own way,” I said and explained to the kids that Bogle had changed his mind. When it had sunk in, they started howling at the tops of their voices.

  They even put my teeth on edge.

  “Now, do you see what you’ve done?” I said.

  “Get ’em out of here,” Bogle said, confused. “They’ll raise the whole neighbourhood.” Myra and Doc Ansell came running out.

  “What’s going on?” Ansell asked, looking over the top of his sun glasses in surprise.

  “Notin’,” Bogle said between his teeth. “Just a couple of kids bawling. That ain’t anything, is it?”

  Myra looked at him with withering scorn. “So you even bully children, you big cheese,” she said indignantly. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

  Bogle closed his eyes. “You again?” he said, tapping ominously on the table. “Every time I open my mouth, I get a broadcast from you. Listen, these kids want to shine my shoes. Well, I don’t want my shoes shined see? Does that call for anything from you?”

  The kids stopped howling and looked at Myra hopefully. They sensed that she was on their side.

  “And why don’t you want them shined?” Myra demanded. “Just look at them! They’re like exhumed coffins.”

  Bogle loosened his collar. “I don’t care what they look like. I don’t want them shined,” he said, furiously. “If I want them shined, I’ll shine ’em myself.”

  “How ridiculous!” Myra said. “I think you’re just being mean. You don’t want to pay these kids to shine your shoes. You want them to do it for nothing.”

  Bogle picked up his pewter mug and flattened it between his hands. “I’ve changed my mind about having my shoes shined,” he said with a hiss.

  “Changed your mind?” Myra repeated. “Who did you find crazy enough to swap with you?”

  Bogle flexed his fingers. He seemed to have developed acute asthma.

  “There’s no need to lose our tempers,” Ansell joined in, soothingly. “If Bogle doesn’t want his shoes shined, then there’s nothing more to be said. We came out because we thought someone was being hurt. Come along, Myra, well go back to our meal.”

  “You might do those kids a lot of harm if you frustrate them,” Myra said warmly. “Haven’t you ever heard of repression?”

  Bogle blinked at her.

  “I wouldn’t have it on toy conscience,” Myra went on. “All for the sake of a peso. Don’t tell me you can’t afford it or have you a hole in your sock?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Bogle said, becoming dazed. “Why don’t I let ’em shine them? What do I care? Let ’em do anything.”

  “There now,” Myra said. “After all this fuss.” She smiled at the two kids and pointed to Bogle’s shoes.

  They were on him like terriers on a rat. I’ve never seen anything like it. Bogle, the two kids and the chair went over with a bang that made Bogle’s teeth rattle. The two kids fought Bogle, fought each other and went back and fought Bogle again. They pulled off one of his shoes and threw it into the Square. Then they twisted his toes.

  Bogle just lay on his back making a humming noise like he had swallowed a bee.

  The kids fastened onto his other shoe. They smeared blacking on themselves, on the floor and on Bogle. White Shirt got so excited that he jumped up and down on Bogle’s chest.

  Myra and I just clung together and wept.

  Ansell took off his glasses. “I do hope they’ll be careful,” he said mildly. “They’ll hurt him in a moment.”

  As soon as White Shirt had got his breath back, he seized Bogle’s other leg. When he found the shoe was missing, he threw it down and rushed at Red Shirt.

  Red Shirt didn’t like the look in his eye, and tucking Bogle’s foot under his arm, he tore off in a circle, spinning Bogle round like a top.

  Then quite suddenly they both seemed to lose interest in their work and they quit. Maybe, they thought they were giving too much value for money. They stopped rushing round in circles, looked at each other, nodded, regarded Bogle without interest and then put their shining materials away. They stood over Bogle, smiling at him, with two grubby hands held out for payment.

  “You’d better pay ’em,” I said weakly. “Or they might start all over again.”

  Hastily he dug out a few coins which he threw at the kids. While they were chasing the money, he got painfully to his feet and inspected a long tear in his trousers.

  “Don’t worry about that, Samuel,” Myra said. “It was time you got yourself a new suit anyway.”

  Bogle gave her a blank look. Then he limped painfully across the verandah, into the Square and collected his other shoe. He put it on and regarded his feet with a sour eye. Before, his shoes certainly had looked dusty. Now they looked ready for the ash can.

  “I hope you’re all satisfied,” he said, in a low, strangled voice.

  “Just look at those kids,” Myra said, wiping her eyes. “They’re as happy as larks.”

  “Yeah,” Bogle said, creeping back slowly on to the verandah. “As happy as larks.”

  Myra heaved a contented sigh. “Well, I enjoyed that,” she said. “I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. You ought to be pleased you made those kids happy, Samuel. You’re quite a nice piece of cheese after all.”

  She waved to the two kids who were standing watching with bright eyes and then she turned to go back into the lounge.

  Bogle took out a silver peso and held it up so the kids could see it, then with a tired but triumphant gleam in his eyes he pointed to Myra’s shoes.

  They were off the mark like a streak of lightning. Myra hadn’t even time to run for it. She gave a wail of terror and then her legs flew up and she came down on the floor with a jar that sounded like music in Bogle’s ears.

  She disappeared under the two kids.

  Bogle sat down and relaxed. There was a sharp, ripping sound of tearing linen. It seemed to do Bogle a power of good. For the first time, since I met him, he looked happy.

  “Make a good job of it,” he said airily, and then catching my eye, he added, “Didn’t I tell you they were all right little punks?”

  Chapter SIX

  THE next two days kept me pretty busy. We had decided to go to Pepoztlan on the following Thursday which was just three days ahead of us. There was a lot to arrange. We had t
o get Myra a dress that would make her look like a Sun Virgin. That had to come from Mexico City and after some trouble Juden got it for us. I reckon his nurse friend had a hand in getting it, because I’m sure Juden would never have found such a humdinger by himself. Even Myra was pleased.

  The dress was a cross between a nightgown and an Aimee McPherson surplice. It was simple, but it fitted her and she looked swell in it. There’s nothing like white silk to set off blonde hair and Myra looked like she had never said a bad word or done a bad deed when she got it on.

  “That kid looks like a saint,” Doc said to me when she had gone to take it off. The old guy was nearly crying. “She looks like a saint.”

  “If you mean a Saint Bernard, I’m with you,” Bogle grunted. “That camouflage don’t pull wool over my eyes.”

  I didn’t worry what Bogle thought. He didn’t count. Ansell was right. Myra looked the part and if she didn’t startle this Indian fella then I’d give up.

  Apart from fixing her up, rehearsing her in the part and choosing a few good showy tricks out of her repertoire, I had to fix the kidnapping angle.

  This wasn’t so easy. I wasn’t going to let either Ansell or Bogle in on this. I had to find an excuse so that I could get into touch with this Mexican I knew and wise him up what was wanted.

  Once I got hold of him, it was easy. He jumped at the idea. I’d known him for some time. His name was Bastino and he was lust a small-time bandit who got nowhere. I’d done him a good turn once and I knew I could trust him. All he had to do was to kidnap Myra from the inn where I had arranged for us to stay at Pepoztlan after she had returned from her trip to Quinti. I fixed everything and promised to let him know just when to pull it off. I gave him a hundred bucks as a down payment and promised him another three hundred if he pulled it off.

  The set-up looked sweet to me. But, on the morning that we were to move to Pepoztlan, something happened t6t altered the whole plan.