He Won't Need It Now Page 8

  The taxi swung to the kerb, and he got out. There was something familiar in the taxi-driver’s face. Duffy looked at him hard. The taxi-driver grinned at him.

  “You must love that dame,” he observed. “The last time I brought you to this joint you had to be carried, and now, God love me, she’s scratched you to hell again.”

  Duffy gave him some money. “One of these days,” he said evenly, “someone’s going to take a dislike to you.”

  The taxi-driver grinned some more. “T should worry,” he said.

  Duffy left him and walked up the steps to the apartment.

  CHAPTER VII

  WHEN MCGUIRE GOT in from work, he found Duffy and Alice in the kitchen. Duffy was standing over the stove, a heavy frown on his face, watching a large steak grilling.

  McGuire took one look at him and said, “For God’s sake, he’s been at it again.”

  Alice looked up with a mischievous smile. She was peeling potatoes at the sink. “He won’t say a word.”

  Duffy scowled. “For the love of Mike, pipe down,” he said. “What if my girl friend did get tough?”

  McGuire shook his head sadly. He leant himself up against the wall. “I never met such a guy,” he said. “Can’t you take care of yourself once in a while?”

  Duffy said, “Know the Plaza Wonderland Club?”

  Sam shot a look at Alice. “I’ve heard of it.”

  Alice said, “I knew you would. You know all the low clubs.”

  Sam protested. “You got me wrong there,” he said violently; “I’ve never been there. I just heard of it from the boys.”

  “I know.”

  Sam groaned, “She’s always imagining things,” he complained to Duffy. “As if I’d be seen dead in one of those burgs.”

  “You’re going to this one tonight,” Duffy said, turning the steak carefully.

  Sam cocked his head. “Is that so?” he said. Again he looked at Alice.

  She shrugged. “I suppose I’ll have to say yes,” she said.

  Duffy went over and gave her a pat. “Be nice,” he said. “This is strictly business. You got to stay home.”

  “You men,” she said, but she wasn’t mad. Duffy knew she’d take it all right. She was like that. “Don’t get him into trouble,” she said, looking at Sam.

  “Me?” Sam laughed. “I like that. Get him into trouble? It’s me that’s going to run into that, I bet.”

  Duffy shook his head. “You’re just window-dressing,” he said. “You’ll see.”

  After the meal, McGuire pushed his chair back and looked inquiringly at Duffy. “You want to get going?” he said.

  Duffy nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Might as well.”

  Sam lit a cigarette and went over to get his hat. He slapped it on the back of his head and turned to Alice. “We ain’t going to be late,” he glanced at Duffy, who shook his head. “Keep the bed warm for me, honey.”

  She raised her face to his for a kiss, and Duffy looked on with approval. “You must’ve been screwy to marry a tramp like that,” he said to Alice.

  Sam grinned. “There was a shortage of men at the time.”

  Alice threatened him with a roll of bread, and he ducked out to get the car.

  She said in a small voice, “You’ll be careful?”

  Duffy turned his head, and said with elaborate astonishment, “Why, sure, we’re going to have a good time.”

  She got from her chair and walked over to him. “Save it, Bill. You’re poking your nose into this murder business.”

  Duffy shrugged. “This won’t amount to much,” he explained. “I’ve got a line on Cattley’s girl friend. She might turn in some information. This business puzzles me. There is a lot I don’t get. Maybe I’ve been a bit hasty, hiding up that rat. I don’t know. This Annabel broad ain’t nice. She’s dangerous.”

  “I wish you hadn’t anything to do with it. Sam’s worried too.”

  Duffy put on his hat. “I gotta see it through now. Don’t you worry about Sam, I won’t get him into anything.”

  “I’m worrying about you.”

  “Forget it,” he pleaded; “it’s going to come out okay.”

  She went with him to the door. “I don’t want to be a fuss.”

  He patted her shoulder. “You’re swell,” he said. “It’ll be all right.”

  He found Sam sitting at the wheel of a small tourer that had seen better days. Duffy climbed in beside him. “Where’s this joint, anyway?” he asked.

  Sam let in the clutch with a bang, the car jerked forward, and then stalled. Duffy didn’t say anything, he was used to it. Sam pulled the starter, reversed the engine, and let the clutch in again. The car pulled away from the kerb, making a noise like a beehive.

  “The Plaza?” Sam said; “it’s near Manhattan Bridge.”

  “Know the place?” Duffy asked.

  “Sure,” Sam said. “This is a hot joint. I used to go there a bit in the old days.” Sam always called the time he was single ‘the old days’. “It’s tough, and packed with hot pants. You wait.”

  Duffy leant back. “Sounds all right,” he said.

  Sam drove two blocks in silence, then he said, “You telling me the news?”

  Duffy gave him a cigarette. “I looked up Cattley’s dump today. Annabel turned up. She was looking for something. She found it, and so did I.” He touched the scratches with his fingers and grinned. “I bet that honey’s as mad as a hornet right now.”

  Sam swerved to avoid a big Cadillac, grabbed his handbrake and shouted, “You street pushover,” to the fat driver.

  Duffy took no notice; he had driven with Sam before. “What did you find?” Sam asked.

  “It’s a little note-book, full of ritzy names, and it don’t mean a thing to me.”

  “So?”

  “Yeah.” Duffy frowned at his reflection in the driving-screen. “It’s important. I know because I had to get tough with Annabel to get her to part. That dame scares me. She ain’t normal.”

  “I thought you liked ’em that way.” Sam looked at him in surprise.

  “Watch the road, dimwit,” Duffy said shortly. “You ought to see that dame. When she gets mad, she foams at the mouth.”

  “Yeah?”

  “She tried to knock me off,” Duffy said. “She’s screwy. There can’t be any other answer.”

  Sam went past the City Hall slowly, then he swung into Park Row and pushed the pedal down again. “She needn’t be nuts to want to knock you off,” he said. “Suppose we stop for a drink?”

  Duffy glanced at the time. It was barely nine o’clock.

  “You’ll get a drink when we get there,” he said.

  The Plaza Wonderland Club was situated on the second floor, over a hardware store. The entrance was down an alley, lit with neon lighting. They parked the car and walked up the alley and went in. At the top of the stairs tickets were being sold for the taxi-dancers. Duffy bought half a dozen, then they pushed aside the bead curtains and went into the hall.

  There was nothing original about the place. It was dirty and shabby. The dance floor was small, and you had to step down to get on to it. Round the floor, tables were crammed together, and at the far end the girls sat behind a pen. Sam looked across the room at them and thought they were a pretty swell bunch.

  There were very few people at the tables. Just a handful. They all looked up as Duffy squeezed himself past the tables and got on to the floor. They watched him cross the floor, with Sam behind him, and select a table against the wall, opposite the entrance. He sat down and Sam took the other chair.

  The band of three were playing swing music without much enthusiasm. They plugged away, staring with vacant eyes into space.

  “You call this a hot joint?” Duffy said.

  “Maybe the depression’s hit ’em,” Sam said.

  Duffy made frantic signs to a waiter, who came over to them with a flat-footed shuffle.

  “Let’s have a bottle of rum,” Sam said.

  “Yeah.” Duffy
thought that a good idea. “Make it a bottle of rum.”

  The waiter went off. Duffy said, “Take a look at this,” he slid the little note-book across the table.

  Sam picked it up and studied it carefully. After a little while he handed it back. “No,” he said, “that don’t mean anything to me. There’s plenty of money in that list. I’d say at a guess that little lot’s worth a million each. They all belong to the hot set, but that’s all I get from it.”

  Duffy put the note-book back in his pocket. “Maybe I’ll get a line on it later,” he said.

  The waiter brought the rum and set it down on the table with a crisp bang. Sam said, “This joint’s changed.”

  The waiter glanced at him. “Buddy,” he said, “it’s early yet.”

  Sam turned to Duffy. “See?” he said; “it’s early.”

  “Okay, it’s early. Let’s grab a couple of girls, and show them how it’s done.”

  There was no one dancing on the floor. Sam poured himself out a shot of rum and drank it hurriedly. “Heck!” he said, “I believe I’m nervous.”

  Duffy looked at him. “You’re kidding yourself, you want to get stewed.”

  Sam got up from his chair and wandered across the room to the pen. He stood looking at each girl carefully, until they began to giggle at him. He found a blonde that pleased him and he began to rush her round the empty floor. Duffy picked his girl from where he was sitting, then he went over and dated her up. She was a chestnut red, with a pert little nose and a big, humorous smile. She had a plump, hard little belly that he could feel against his vest. He thought she was cute.

  Duffy could dance when he liked, and the rum had made him fairly happy. He swung her round in big smooth circles, and she just seemed to float with him. They didn’t say a word through the dance, but when the band cut out, he said, “You’re good.”

  She gave him her flashing smile. “You ain’t so bad either.” She’d got an accent like a heap of tins being tossed downstairs.

  He said, “Come on over and get tight.”

  Sam was already there with his blonde. Duffy fancied she smelt, and he sat away from her. Sam liked her a lot. He was showing signs of considerable interest.

  Duffy said, “You girls like rum?”

  They both began to protest. They wanted champagne.

  Sam shook his head. “Listen,” he said. “We’re God’s gift to womanhood; if rum won’t keep you, you can both take a walk.”

  Duffy said it was okay with him too.

  So they had rum.

  The place was crowding up. People kept squeezing between tables. One big chestnut, with large curves, tried to pass Sam, but she couldn’t quite make it. Sam looked up, gaped and said, “Hi, Bill! It’s the covered wagon.”

  Duffy started to sweat. He guessed Sam was getting drunk.

  The chestnut screwed her head round and took a look at Sam, then she laughed. “You’re cute,” she said.

  Sam got up and made an elaborate bow. “Sister,” he said, “you’ve got it all.”

  The chestnut squeezed by, now that Sam stood up. Her escort, a little runt, glared at Sam, who raised two fingers of his right hand.

  Duffy said, “Can’t you behave yourself?”

  Sam looked grieved. “She liked it,” he said.

  His blonde was looking across the room, tapping her foot. She was annoyed.

  Duffy said to the girl with the big mouth, “Let’s dance.”

  When they got on the floor he said, “Olga ain’t here tonight?”

  She looked up at him, a little frown creasing her brow. “Olga?” she said.

  “Sure, Olga Shann. I’d like to meet her again.”

  “She’s not here tonight.”

  Duffy said, “Hell, I wanted to talk to that dame.”

  They danced in silence for several minutes, then he said, “Would you like to earn twenty bucks?”

  “It’s going to cost you a lot more than that.”

  Duffy said, “We’re on a different set of rails. I’m offering you twenty bucks for Olga’s address.”

  She looked disappointed. “Gee!” she said with a pout, “I thought we were getting on fine.”

  “I’m out on business. I just gotta talk with her.”

  She went the length of the room before she said, “I’ll get it for you.”

  At the end of the dance she left him. Duffy glanced over at Sam, who was making up to his blonde, so he turned into the toilet. He ran the water and washed his hands. The toilet was empty. It was a small room with cracked tiles half-way up the walls. He dried his hands and dropped the towel into the basket. The door pushed open and a tall man came in. The first thing Duffy noticed about him was his hair. It was jet black, with a broad white streak, running from his forehead to his right ear. It gave his hard face a look of distinction. He wore a close-clipped moustache, and his skin was grey.

  Duffy just glanced at him, then made to walk out of the room.

  The man said, “Wait a minute.”

  Duffy paused. “You speaking to me?” he said, surprised.

  The man held out his hand Duffy looked and saw he .. was holding a .25 automatic.

  “You just bought it or something?” Duffy said, suddenly very cautious.

  “You got the note-book on you, hand it over.” The man had a curious voice. It was deep-pitched with a little buzz in it.

  Duffy said, “I did have, but it’s in the mail now.”

  Just then the door opened and Sam came in. The man put his gun away. He didn’t seem to hurry, but the gun just disappeared.

  Sam said, “There you are.”

  The man looked at Duffy. His pale eyes were very threatening. Then he walked out of the toilet.

  Duffy said, “Who’s that guy?”

  Sam shrugged. “Search me,” he said, “my girl might know.”

  Duffy stepped to the door quickly and Sam, a puzzled look on his face, followed him. “Did you see that guy come out just now?” Duffy asked the blonde.

  She said, “Sure I did. That’s Murray Gleason. Ain’t he cute?”

  Duffy blotted his lace with his handkerchief. “I couldn’t say,” he said, “we were a bit shy with each other.”

  Sam put his arms round the blonde. “Ain’t this a grand place?” he said. He was pretty drunk.

  Duffy said, “I want to get out of here.”

  A white-headed little guy came through the hall, heading for the toilet. Sam took the blonde over to him. “Take care of this baby,” he said. “Show her round. She’s learning in a big way.”

  The blonde wrapped the little guy in her arms and began to cry. The rum had her all ends up. Duffy walked out with Sam. The little guy’s face was a picture.

  Outside, Duffy said, “You’re just hell to go places with.”

  Sam waved his hands. “I guess I’m a little tight,” he said.

  They walked into the dance-hall again. Sam said suddenly, “Did that blonde smell a little, or is my nose wrong?”

  Duffy said his nose was fine.

  The girl with the big mouth was standing by the entrance looking for them. Duffy went over. “Did you get it?” he asked.

  She nodded and gave him a slip of paper, on it was an address. Duffy gave her twenty bucks. She rolled the notes and tucked them in the top of her stocking. Sam leant forward with interest. “I’m having a swell time,” he said.

  Duffy said to the girl, “I’ll be back one of these nights. We’ll have a fine time.”

  She looked at him wistfully. “I’ve heard that before.”

  Sam said, “You’re young yet. You’ll hear it dozens of times.”

  They went downstairs into the street. Duffy stopped at the end of the alley.

  “Go home, Sam,” he said. “Be careful how you drive.”

  Sam blinked at him. “The fun over so soon?” he asked.

  Duffy nodded. “I said you were just window-dressing,” he said briefly. “I gave you a break. Now go home and look after that wife of yours.”


  Sam scratched his head. “She’s probably feeling a little lonesome right now.”

  “Get going.”

  “Ain’t you coming?”

  “I’m calling on this Shann broad.”

  Sam leered. “Three being a mob?”

  Duffy nodded. “You got it, soldier,” he said. He watched Sam go over to the parking-place, and then went to the subway on Frankfort Street. Olga Shann had rooms in Brooklyn. He’d never heard of the address, so when he’d got over Brooklyn Bridge he left the subway and flagged a taxi.

  He got to the address just after eleven o’clock. He hesitated to ask the taxi to wait. Then making up his mind, he paid him off.

  The house was a two-storey villa, with identical models either side, stretching right down the street.

  He unlatched the gate and walked up the short gravel path. There was a light showing from one of the second-floor windows. He pressed the buzzer with his thumb, and leant against the wall. He hadn’t the vaguest idea what he was going to say.

  About three minutes ticked off, then a light sprang up in the hall. He could hear the chain being slipped and then the front door opened. A woman stood there, holding the door only partly open. He couldn’t make out her features, she was standing squarely with her back to the light.

  “Miss Shann?” he said, taking off his hat.

  “Suppose it is,” she said. Her voice had a Garbo tone.

  He thought it was a hell of a welcome, but he let it slide. “It’s late for a call,” he said, trying to put his personality across, “but you’ll excuse me, I hope?”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m Duffy of the Tribune.” He took out his Press pass and flashed it, then he put it back again. “I wanted a word with you about Cattley.”

  He saw her stiffen, then she said, “Let me see that Press card.”