1953 - The Sucker Punch Page 6

  And when the count was over and they had dragged Slade to his corner, Vestal collapsed against me. I had to hold on to her or she would have dropped to the floor.

  "Get me out of here, Chad," she gasped. "I feel I'm going to faint."

  Through the press around the ring, Leggit suddenly appeared.

  "Do you want any help, Mr. Winters?" he said.

  "I want to get her out of here fast."

  "Follow me."

  He went ahead, forcing his way as only a cop can force his way. I half-carried, half-walked Vestal along behind him.

  He took us to the staff quarters and dressing rooms, away from the mass of people now surging to the exits.

  "You wait here," he said. "I'll get your car."

  I stood in the dimly lit passage, feeling the hot, stifling air from the arena on my face as I held on to Vestal.

  "How are you feeling?" I asked.

  "I'm all right. It was the heat and excitement. I've never been so excited. I've never felt that way before."

  She raised her face and stared up at me. There was a look in her eyes that jolted me right back on my heels.

  I've been around long enough with women to know what that look meant. Right at that moment she wanted me as violently and as badly as any woman has ever wanted any man.

  It was there in her eyes, and in the way her face had softened, and in the way the blood hammered in her throat. I could have taken her the way I could have taken any street corner pushover right there in that dimly lit passage if I had wanted to, but believe me that was the last thing on earth I wanted to do.

  But the sight of that naked desire shocked me. She was such a wizened, ugly little thing that I hadn't ever thought of her in that way. I couldn't believe she could possibly have those kind of feelings; not her, not this skinny, brittle, bundle of bones. Not only did it seem impossible, it didn't even seem decent.

  "Your cop pal has gone for the car," I said, stepping away from her; still holding her arm, but getting distance between us. I looked over my shoulder down the passage as if I were looking for Leggit. I didn't want her to see the disgust on my face.

  She pulled away from me.

  "I'm all right now." Her voice was hoarse and unsteady. "The heat's awful here."

  "Let's go and find him then."

  I made a move to take her arm, but she avoided me.

  "You have forgotten my winnings. Aren't you going to get them for me?"

  "Lefty won't run away. I'll put you in the car first."

  "Please get them now!"

  There was a strident note in her voice. I looked sharply at her. She turned her head quickly, but not quickly enough. I don't think I have ever seen anyone look so unhappy. Her face was gaunt with despair and misery.

  "Oh, please go!" she cried, and her voice sounded as if she were about to burst into tears.

  I left her, wondering what the hell it was all about.

  It wasn't until I was returning back up the aisle after collecting her winnings that a possible explanation of her misery suddenly struck me.

  It struck me so violently, it brought me to a dead stop.

  Had she expected me to make love to her in that sordid passage? Had that look of abject misery meant that she knew how unlovely she was and that she had sensed my disgust?

  You're nuts, I told myself. You're crazy to think like that. Just because most women fall for you, that's no reason to think she has fallen for you.

  Not her, with her seventy million bucks and her power. She wouldn't be such a mug as to fall in love with a bank clerk—or would she?

  I went up the aisle at a run, but when I got to the passage there was no sign of her.

  I went down to the exit, pushed open the door and stepped out into the still, hot night.

  Leggit was walking towards me. I waited for him.

  "Miss Shelley's gone home," he said, staring at me inquisitively from under the brim of his slouch hat. "She seemed upset."

  "I guess the excitement and the heat..." I said and let the rest of the sentence trail away.

  Could she have fallen in love with me? I was asking myself. Or had it been a sudden animal desire that had taken hold of her; a physical urge raised in her by the sight of two men slugging each other?

  "Some fight," Leggit said, standing close to me, still staring.

  "Some flop. I wouldn't have believed Slade would have fallen for that sucker punch," I said. "A guy with his experience."

  Leggit took out a pack of cigarettes, offered me one and then lit mine and his.

  "It's when a guy gets full of confidence he's wide open for a punch like that," he said. "I've seen it happen again and again in my racket. Some guy commits murder. He takes a lot of trouble and thought to cover up; fakes himself an alibi or maybe makes it look like it's been done by someone else. Then he imagines he's safe. But he isn't, Mr. Winters. A guy who thinks he's safe is wide open for a sucker punch. Just when he least expects it—wham! and he's down on his back, only he has something a damn sight worse coming to him than a busted jaw."

  "I guess that's right," I said, not paying much attention. "Well, I'll be moving along, Lieutenant. Good night."

  It wasn't until this morning that I remembered that conversation.

  I realize now that Leggit had been talking sense.

  A killer who thinks he is safe is wide open for a sucker punch. I should know. Just when I thought I had this whole thing neatly packaged with no loose ends—wham! Just the way he said it would happen.

  When I got back to my apartment after the fight I found Glorie (never mind her other name), my blonde date who I had stood up and forgotten about when Vestal had invited herself to the fights, waiting for me.

  She sat in an armchair, in scarlet underwear pants, a brassiere, and fishnet stockings, held up by frilly sky blue garters.

  If you like them stacked like Jane Russell, as I do, then you would like Glorie. Her blonde silky hair was cut in a pageboy bob; her pert little face was no prettier than the average showgirl’s, and equally as vacant and attractive.

  "I've been waiting hours, darling," she said plaintively. "I'm afraid I've drunk nearly all your whisky."

  "Well, give me what's left," I said, "and get into bed and keep quiet. I have some business to do first."

  I went over to the telephone and called Vestal's number.

  While I waited for the connection, Glorie strutted over to my wardrobe and selected from the half-a-dozen nylon nightdresses I always kept handy, a red one she had added to the collection herself.

  "Not that for Pete's sake," I said. "It makes you look like a fireman."

  She looked over her shoulder and leered.

  "That's why I'm going to wear it. I'm going to act like a fireman tonight."

  A voice came over the wire: "Miss Shelley's residence."

  "This is Mr. Winters calling. Put me through to Miss Shelley."

  "Hold on a moment, sir."

  While I waited I watched Glorie cross the room to the bathroom and shut herself in.

  The line crackled and Miss Dolan's voice said, "Yes, Mr. Winters?"

  "I wanted Miss Shelley."

  "I'm sorry, but Miss Shelley has retired."

  "I couldn't talk to her for a moment?"

  "I'm afraid not."

  "That's a pity. Well, never mind. Would you tell her I called? I wanted to know if she had got over the heat and excitement of the fight."

  "I will tell her."

  "Thanks," I paused, then went on, "Oh, Miss Dolan, I still haven't thanked you for..."

  The line went dead.

  That was the second time she had hung up on me. I dropped the receiver back on its cradle, drank a little more whisky, while I frowned at the carpet. Miss Dolan was beginning to interest me.

  Glorie came out of the bathroom in the gaudy red nightdress "Was that Vestal Shelley you were calling just now?" she asked, stretching out on the bed.

  "It was," I said as I dialled Blakestone's home number.
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  "Was she the one you took to the fights instead of me?"

  "She was."

  Blakestone's voice growled, "Hallo?"

  "Chad here." I said. "Listen, Ryan, we can go ahead. I'm arranging for a quarter of a million of bonds to be cashed tomorrow, and I'm opening a special account in Miss Shelley's name at the Western California Bank. Your job is to turn this money over and make her a monthly profit. We have a twenty thousand margin of loss. Go beyond that and you lose the account."

  "I certainly won't go beyond a five thousand loss," Blakestone said. "I'll treat this account as if it were mine. Looks like you and I are going to make a little money."

  "That's the idea. One more thing, Ryan. I want a weekly statement from you showing exactly what you are doing and intend to do. I'll leave the moves to you, but I want that statement every Monday morning. Is that clear?"

  "Sure, you'll have it."

  "Right. Start tomorrow. When you want any money, let me know."

  "Leave it to me, Chad."

  As I hung up, Glorie said, "Chad, darling..."

  I sighed.

  “I had forgotten about you. What is it?"

  "Were you putting on an act just now or was that the McCoy?"

  I looked over at her and grinned.

  She was half sitting up, her pert little face alert, her baby blue eyes popping.

  "You shouldn't have listened."

  "You mean you have a quarter of a million?"

  Glorie might be a nuisance sometimes, but the big thing about her is she can keep her mouth shut. I suddenly had a need to talk to someone about Vestal.

  "Since the last time you were here,” I said, "I have become Miss Shelley's financial adviser. With any luck I might make myself a little dough."

  "I've always heard she was a bit of a terror," Glorie said, lying back on the bed again.

  "So she is," I said lightly, "but apparently my manly charms have made quite a hit with her. She very nearly seduced me tonight."

  Glorie lifted her head to stare at me.

  "You wouldn't joke about a thing like that?"

  "Certainly not. It was as much as I could do to hold her off. If she hadn't been such a hideous little monkey I would be in her silken couch by now, but fortunately, I'm not as hard pressed as all that."

  "Why, you big, silly jerk!" Glorie exclaimed, sitting bolt upright. "I thought at least you had some brains in that handsome head of yours."

  I was so surprised I nearly dropped the glass of whisky.

  "What do you mean?"

  "If a man worth millions tried to seduce me I wouldn't stop him," Glorie said. "Not if he had a wooden leg and buck teeth. I know she's skinny, but she isn't all that bad. Exactly how much is she worth?"

  "I don't know. At least seventy millions, possibly more."

  "Pheeee! Seventy millions! Did you say you talked her into letting you have a quarter of a million?"

  "Yes; what's wrong with that? Now, move over I'm coming to bed."

  "Not yet. Don't let's get off this subject, Chad. It fascinates me." Glorie said, climbing off the bed. She began to wander aimlessly around the room. "What exactly happened tonight? Tell me about it."

  I told her about the fight, about Vestal's reactions, what had happened in the dimly lit passage and how she had run out on me.

  Glorie perched herself on the table and folded her arms around her knees. She listened intently and without interruption.

  "You called her just now?"

  "I couldn't get past her secretary."

  "You couldn't have tried very hard."

  "I didn't. I left a message. That was enough, wasn't it?"

  "A message? For Pete's sake! When will you learn a girl doesn't want a message? She wants something more tangible than a message. Never mind. You must send her some flowers. A box of white violets to open before she gets up will do."

  "You think that's a good idea? Well, I don't. She might imagine I'm physically attracted to her, and that's the last thing on earth I'll ever be."

  “What's the matter with you, Chad?" she asked, staring at me. "You slipping or something?"

  "What's going on in that dopey brain of yours?"

  "Not so dopey, darling." She reached for a cigarette and lit it. "I could use some of her money. I would love to have a luxury apartment on Park Avenue where you could come for a little relaxation when you've got her millions."

  "Have you gone nuts?" I asked, staring at her.

  "Don't you realize, Chad, that when you get to her age, when you're ugly and lonely and unloved as she is, and when a big, handsome, dashing guy like you comes along, she falls and falls and falls? Play your cards right, darling, follow my advice, and you will be married to her within a month."

  "Married to her!" I yelled. "She's the last woman on earth I would ever marry. Marry her? Not on your life! Imagine being tied to that dried up, bad tempered little monkey for the rest of my life! You're crazy!"

  Glorie stared steadily at me.

  "Imagine being married to seventy million dollars for the rest of your life," she said softly. "Imagine that."

  I started to say something, then stopped.

  "Ah! The nickel is beginning to drop," Glorie said, watching me. "Suppose you are tied to her? It doesn't mean you can't get your fun elsewhere, does it? There'll always be me in a luxury apartment waiting to amuse you. Look at it this way; how long do you imagine you will control that quarter of a million? If you don't make love to her, she'll turn sour and frustrated. Then she'll give you hell. She'll snatch the money away from you at the first excuse. But marry her, Chad, and you'll be right in the gravy. Be nice to her; pet her, and there won't be anything you can't get out of her. I know you. You're irresistible once you get going."

  "Shut up," I said. "I want to think about this."

  Glorie obediently sat still, not speaking, but watching me.

  I sat staring up at the ceiling for maybe ten minutes. Then I suddenly got up.

  Glorie said, "Made up your mind, Chad?"

  "I guess so," I said and grinned. "There's not much difference between one woman and another in the dark, but seventy million bucks is seventy million bucks whichever way you look at it."

  chapter six

  I'm not going to waste time giving too many details of how I set about marrying Vestal. It is now common knowledge that I did marry her as Glorie had predicted, within a month of her giving me the idea.

  Vestal played right into my hands. It was as Glorie had said. She was lonely and unloved. I happened to be the first good-looking, husky young man she had ever had personal contact with. The fact I wasn't scared of her also weighed tremendously in my favour.

  I managed to dig up enough business queries to give me the excuse of seeing her at least once a day.

  For the first four or five days it was strictly business, with a little relaxing when business was over—a drink or a short wander in the garden with her before I said I had work to do and left her.

  Then very gently and almost imperceptibly, I began to increase the pressure.

  I took her to Joe's restaurant out on Cape Point; a little dive that specialized in seafood. She had never been to a place like that before, and I could see she got a big bang out of it.

  I drove her home in the moonlight with the car radio playing something soulful from Schubert. But I was very careful to treat her as if she were my sister.

  No sister ever looked at a brother the way she looked at me when I said good night, and I knew I could have rushed my fences if I had wanted to, but I held back.

  Ten days crawled past: ten of the dullest days of my life. We went out together every night. She was calling me Chad now, and I was calling her Vestal.

  During those ten days I didn't see a sign of temper from her. She was really rather pathetic; trying so damned hard to rise above her physical disadvantages.

  But why go on? All this isn't interesting, and it isn't important. I'm only telling you a little of it so you shouldn't imagine
that all I had to do was to wave a wand and she married me.

  Glorie and I discussed it after twenty long days had dragged by.

  "I'm turning on the heat tomorrow night," I said. "We're going to the Barbecue restaurant, and on the way home, heaven help me, I intend to kiss her."

  Glorie giggled.

  "I wish I could see you do it."

  The next night Vestal was like a seventeen-year old bobbysoxer with me. Glorie had said when she fell, she would fall and fall and fall, and that's what she did.

  I pulled up at the cliff head about three hundred yards from the tall iron gates guarding the estate. We had had a good dinner, md I had been drinking double whiskies all the evening. The moon was shining on the sea. There wasn't a sound to disturb us.

  Vestal was gay and excited and adoring. She didn't even want me to go home.

  I slid my arm around her and when she looked up, I kissed her. It was an effort and a bit of a failure, but at least it was a kiss. She held my hand in her cold little claws while she looked at me as if I were a Greek god.

  "Can't we stay here and watch the moon all night?" she asked.

  "I have work to do tomorrow. It's all right for you. You can be in bed all the morning. I have to earn a living."

  "You don't have to," she said eagerly. "I have enough money for us both, Chad. You must leave that dreary old bank. I want to see more of you."

  Well, here it was; just the way Glorie had said it would happen.

  "You don't know what you're saying," I told her. "Now stop talking before you say something you'll be sorry for later. I shouldn't have kissed you."

  "I wanted you to." Her brittle arms slid around my neck. "Be kind to me, Chad. I'm so lonely."

  I held her against me.

  "I'm crazy about you. If I had position and money, maybe it would be different, but I haven't." I pushed her away. "We'll cut this out. I'm taking you home."

  "I must talk to you, Chad," she said feverishly.

  "Okay, but we won't get anywhere. We shouldn't have started this."

  “You must tell me the truth. Do I mean anything to you?"

  "I don't know what you have done to me," I said, not looking at her. "I can't think of anything or anyone but you. You're in my blood. I'm crazy about you."