I was starting to feel a little hungry myself, and I was beginning to get a bit tired. I arched my back, pulling the kinks out of it, and light from the rear-view mirror splashed into my eyes again. I felt annoyance at first, then I wondered. I'm somewhat more sensitive than most guys about cars following me. They might just happen to be there, but there's always a chance it's more than coincidence. When I'm on a job I don't like headlights sticking too persistently on my rear bumper.
When I'm on a job. That was a little funny, come to think of it. As a private detective, an investigator for hire, I take cases from clients who usually pop into my office because they're in some kind of trouble. Not this time; I was my own client.
I suppose it had actually started with Iris, although I couldn't really call her my "client." But her cute little trick of squealing to Sader that she'd been to see me and that I knew everything that she did had put me in a hell of a lot worse spot than if she'd walked into my office and said, "Mr. Scott, here's a zillion-dollar retainer. Please help me with my problem." Like most of my clients do. Only they don't say a zillion dollars. It was a new way for me to get a case; I think I liked the old way better.
I was a block from the market and the car was still less than half a block behind. No reason that meant anything; there was plenty of traffic at this hour. I drove the last block, swung left, and parked near the market in a dimly lighted spot. Then I twisted around to look over my shoulder out the Caddy's window. The other car went buzzing right on down Kingsley, a shiny green De Soto coupé. I shook my head. Guess I'm getting to be a worrier.
I loaded up inside the market with everything Mia had listed and threw in a couple of sirloin steaks the gals were going to have a tough time fixing on that wood stove. I'd have liked making it three if I'd had time; they looked like what the radio boys would probably describe as "a taste thrill," but the price took all the thrill out of it. Fifteen minutes after I went in, I came out with a small box containing the groceries and a gurgle. In case happy days were ahead, I'd picked up a fifth of Old Grand-Dad to make the happy days happier.
I thought about dumping the box in the back of the Cadillac, then shoved the stuff in the front seat. No sense getting that far away from Old Gramps. He'd be pleasant company on the drive ahead. I could reach over and pat him once in a while.
I started the car, swung my head around to make sure no cars were coming, and stopped swinging my head before it got halfway around. Right across the bloody street was the bloody De Soto coupé that had been behind me. Either that one or its twin.
I blinked at it, trying to figure if I were getting jumpy nerves or if some character actually was on my tail. I took a look around and spotted a little guy on the sidewalk in front of the store. He was right out in plain sight, staring at me, and if he was a tail he was being careless about it. I wasn't going to stick around and find out.
I started to pull out of my parking slot when the little guy took a step toward me and said, "Hey."
I stepped on the gas. He took a couple of quick steps toward the car and yelled, "Hey! Hey, you!" and then I was gone.
The back of my neck crawled and I wondered if there were any good reason for it. The state I was in, pretty soon I'd figure every guy I saw with a beard was a Russian saboteur. But nerves or not, I had a funny feeling.
I spent fifteen or twenty minutes making damn sure nobody was following me, and it was getting close to ten-thirty when I got to the little cabin. I gave a couple of short toots on the horn and yelled, "Hello," picked up the box of food and bourbon, and climbed out of the car.
Iris opened the cabin door. Light streamed out around her and hugged her waist and hips and kindled sparks in her hair. I was home.
She said, "I was starting to get a little worried about you, Shell."
"Hungry, huh?"
She smiled at me. "That's not what I was worried about. But I am hungry."
She swung the door open and I went inside, kicked the door shut, and set the box of groceries on the floor. There was still plenty I had to do this night, but it seemed a shame to go back to town. I couldn't think of a better place to start a vacation than right here. Or a better way.
Iris had looked good when she opened the door, and she sounded better than she had at any time up to now. She was relaxed and rested, and it showed in her voice. Actually, this was the first good chance, except for the short time in the café on the way up here, that I'd had to see her relaxed and at ease, and I'd been missing something. I knew her hair was red and long, but I'd missed the glinting coppery highlights that quivered through it when she moved, and the grace of her body in motion. Her blue eyes were bright, and dark lashes waved as she blinked up at me.
I went over and sat on the edge of the bed as Iris spied the bottle of Old Grand-Dad, turned away from me, and bent over to grab it. She still wore the wool half sweater and the boyish slacks I remembered, and, as I also remembered, only the slacks were boyish.
She turned around gripping the bottle by the neck and said, "You wonderful man. Want one?"
The way my mind works, I almost gave the wrong answer to that, but I recovered and said, "Good idea. Haven't had a drink all day." I looked around the bare little room. "Got three glasses? We—" Well, Jesus Christ! The room was barer than it should have been.
"Where the hell's Mia?" I asked.
"She'll be back in a little."
"I said where is she?"
"Don't get excited. She just went to the store."
"Went to the store! What the hell for?"
Iris came over and sat down on the bed beside me. She patted my knee but it didn't calm me down. That would never calm me down.
She said pleasantly, "Mia forgot to tell you to get some garlic. Can't make Italian dressing and garlic bread without garlic, she said. There's a little boy that lives up near here with his folks, and she asked him where the store was. It's only about half a mile, Shell."
These were two delightful women. There was nothing wrong with their bodies; it was just their brains. I said in a soft, strangled voice, "You think I brought you gals up here to flit around the countryside?"
"Oh, Shell! Flit! She'll be back in fifteen or twenty minutes."
"How do you even know the store's open?"
"The man lives there," she said. "Now calm down and I'll mix a drink."
"O. K.," I groaned. "Mix the damned thing. I need a drink. It's a wonder I don't drink right out of the bottle."
"That's better. I'll—Well, golly."
She was looking down at her sweater and slacks as if she'd just discovered she was wearing them. It was a nice place to look, but this was a funny time for it.
She said, "I'm not dressed for a party."
"Not gonna be a party. I've got time for one drink and one only. I'll have to take off soon as Mia gets back here."
"Well, we'll have a little party. Shell, you haven't seen me in a dress. You don't know how I'd look."
"You'd look good."
She glanced sideways at me, smiling, then she pursed her lips, got up, and turned to the head of the bed. The dresses Mia had grabbed from the apartment were draped over the pillows. Iris picked one of them up and held it in front of her. "You like this?"
"Fine."
She examined it critically, dropped it back on the bed, and picked up the other one. "This one better?"
"Fine." It was thinner.
She smiled at me. Slowly. "Shell, I think I'll put this one on. Get out of these slacks."
I swallowed. My tongue felt like it was wrapped in molasses, but very softly I said, "Fine."
Iris was standing, facing me, about two feet away. She was close enough to bite. The sweater was buttoned up the back, and she stretched her arms behind her and fiddled with a button. It was murder what happened to that wool. It was murder what happened to me.
She said, "Now, don't peek."
Don't peek! Hot damn. Hell, yes, I was going to peek. But I didn't want to lie to her. I just grinned.
/> She grinned, too, and turned her back on me.
There were four big white buttons running up the back of the sweater, and I peeked while she unbuttoned the bottom one and moved on to the second. I was wondering why she'd waited till now to change, and also wondering if Mia had really gone after garlic.
Iris reached the last button and shrugged the sweater off her smooth shoulders. There wasn't anything underneath the sweater, and I was thinking she sure had a nice back. With a back like that, the front would have to be stupendous. If—I didn't finish the beautiful thought.
My heart was clattering around inside my chest as if there were rocks in it, but I thought I'd heard something else. I cocked my head, listening, then I remembered Mia should be showing up pretty quick.
Then I was almost sure I'd heard something outside, out in front of the cabin.
"Hey," I said. "Iris. You hear anything?"
"What?"
"I thought I heard something outside."
"What?" she whirled around.
She shouldn't have done it. I'd been right about her front, but it was the wrong time for me to notice. I was paralyzed just long enough for the front door to crash open and the hard, grating voice to hit my ear.
"Hands in your lap, Scott," it said. "Don't move a muscle."
That's the way it goes. I wasn't even going to get that drink.
Chapter Twelve
"DON'T MOVE a muscle," he'd said. He didn't know what he was asking. I turned my head and looked at him. He was a little guy, and a heck of a lot less exciting than Iris, even if there was a big gun in his hand. The gun was pointed at me, but he was looking at Iris. Who wouldn't?
He snarled, "Just keep still, now."
But Iris, no matter what the guy had said, was having none of it. I almost keeled over, and I let out a squawk when she moved, but the guy didn't shoot. She spun around with her back to the guy and started squeezing into the sweater again. It was a tight squeeze. I know; the little guy had me cold, so there was no use watching him.
He said, "On your feet, Scott," and I placed him. I'd seen him come out of the Pit with the boys who'd talked to Breed while I watched them through the binoculars, and I'd seen his picture later at Police Headquarters. One of Breed's men—the one named Joe-Joe Klein. Another little man with a big gun. Funny how they grow.
I said, "What the hell is this, chum?"
"Where's Sader?"
"Where's who?"
"Sader, stupid."
"You nuts? How the hell would I know where he is?"
He took a step closer to me and yelled, "Knock it off, stupid. Answer pretty."
"The answer's still the same: I don't know where Sader is. There's no reason I should know."
He smirked. He didn't believe me. The smirk didn't help his looks any. He wasn't ugly, but he had coarse brown hair that hadn't been cut for a month, and his nose had been broken and then set with even less skill than mine had been. He could point to the right just by wiggling his nostrils.
I said, "You can take it or leave it, but I've got no idea where Marty is. Why should I?"
"Knock it off. I know you're in with him."
I sighed. I should never have let Flick see me; I should simply have walloped him one. I said, "I suppose Breed knows that, too?"
"Natch."
"Well, I got news for you, Joe-Joe. You're all nuts. I'm not working for anybody but me, and I'm sure not working for Sader. Now, go away like a nice moron. Hey—how the hell did you find this place?"
He grinned, real happy, and his nose aimed south. "You brung me, stupid. In the back of your car." He frowned. "Smart, huh? But where's Sader?"
The back of my car! Damn it to hell. I'd spent fifteen minutes shaking a tail, if any, and the guy'd been in the turtle. That explained the green De Soto coupé and the yelling guy at the market. The hell with you, Scott.
But this guy had a one-track mind. "Look," I said, "if you had a half-brained idea I was going to see Sader, you're all wet. He sure isn't here, and I don't have any idea where he is."
He grinned nastily, looking at Iris. "Yeah. I can see he isn't here." He frowned some more, then said, "Come on, both of you."
"Come on where?"
"Never mind where. You won't talk to me, maybe you'll talk to the boss. He's gonna be happy to see you."
"Sure," I said. "You'll get a promotion."
I started toward the door holding my breath and thinking maybe Joe-Joe would forget to take my .38. But he was dry behind the ears.
He said, "Wait a minute. You, girlie. Get his gun. Easy does it, girlie."
Iris was all dressed now and facing the guy. She glowered at him, but she reached over and pulled the gun out of the holster under my coat. Her eyes widened a little as she grabbed it and I thought she might try getting smart. Which could get us both killed.
I said, "Easy, Iris. Don't try anything fancy."
She ran the tip of her tongue over red lips and paused, the gun loose in her hand.
"Drop it," Joe-Joe said.
She dropped it, then when he told her to kick it over she nudged it toward him with her foot. He kneeled, keeping his gun on me, scooped up the .38 and dropped it into his pocket. He jerked his head.
"O.K., you two. Go out ahead of me. Out slow. You first, girlie."
This was it. This was the time for me to pull something devilishly clever and then rend Joe-Joe limb from limb.
Iris would squeal at me and fall into my arms and we'd see what we could do about getting her into that dress. There was only one trouble. I couldn't think of a thing. Joe-Joe waved his gun and we moved. Iris went out ahead of me and I followed her and Joe-Joe fell in behind as we went out the door. He prodded me roughly with the gun a couple of times, but he just prodded my back, didn't leave the gun where I could feel it. I didn't try anything; my back punctures easy.
As we got into my Cadillac I wondered where Mia was. Mia and her stinking garlic. This might not be a bad time for her to show up, but there was the chance that, if she did, Joe-Joe could get nervous. There wasn't a sign of her, though, and we settled in the car.
Joe-Joe made me drive, with Iris close to me in the middle while he sat pressed against the right side of the car. I did every single thing he told me to, and I did it without hesitating. He had his gun pointed squarely at Iris' right breast, and I sure wasn't going to take a chance of that getting shot off.
It was a small office building on Riverside Drive, right on the main drag. We went up the sidewalk to the door of the building and Iris pressed the buzzer when told to. The gilt lettering on the door proclaimed the place to be the "Salem Finance Co., Inc.," but I couldn't help being dubious about the type of financial transactions that went on inside.
Footsteps pounded toward the door. It opened and the big-chested guy I remembered from the pictures as Harry Fisher looked out. It should have been Hairy instead of Harry; he needed a shave, and black bristles sprouted from under the drooping neck of the T shirt he wore under a plaid sport coat. And he was bigger than I'd thought; about my height, but heavier.
"Where the hell you been, Joe-Joe? What—" He broke off when he spotted us.
Joe-Joe shoved us in past him, then Harry went on ahead of us and opened another door in back.
Two things were sure: we were at Breed's headquarters and, even if they hadn't expected us, we had one hell of a welcoming committee.
As Iris and I went into the brightly lighted room, I spotted Breed first. There were others, but he was easy to spot quick because he was far and away the biggest man in the room. He sat behind a dark brown desk, spread out in a big swivel chair, and shoved back from the desk so there'd be room for his belly. He looked like a pregnant woman, and the florid pouches at each side of his face shook as he swung his head toward us.
He shifted one of his dollar cigars in his thick-lipped mouth. "What goes on here?" he asked in a deep, velvety voice. He looked past us to Joe-Joe Klein. "O. K., Joe." It was an order.
Joe-Joe explaine
d hurriedly, "Boss, I followed this guy, see? I thought he'd latch up with Sader and I could bring 'em in?"
Breed was glaring at him, and by the time Joe-Joe finished his sentence it had turned into a question. He went on, "Scott goes up into the hills and sees this doll here. So—so I bring 'em here. All right? All right?"
Breed didn't answer for a moment; then he nodded. "Yeah, Joe. That's fine."
Joe-Joe grinned. "I pulled a coup," he said. "It was smart how I got 'em, boss. I—"
"Never mind that," said Breed, and Joe-Joe's face fell. I'd have enjoyed making it fall clear to the floor, then bouncing it up and down.
Breed turned his attention to me and I looked around the room at the other men. Besides little crooked-nosed Joe-Joe, who'd brought us here, the burly Harry, who'd let us in, and Breed himself, there were three others. I spotted Flick's tiny black eyes on me right away and he looked as if he were remembering, with no pleasure, that moment when I'd clobbered him. Joe-Joe had given Breed my .38 and was back poking me occasionally with his pistol, and Flick had an automatic out, too, and was pointing it at me as if he'd love to squeeze the trigger. I hoped he didn't; it was a .45 automatic. Everybody seemed to have .45's.
Looking short alongside the six-foot Flick was mild-appearing Shenandoah Hamlet, and standing on his right was tall, thin, and ugly Lonely Wagner, and a hell of a lot of things had happened to his face. He was a mess. Lonely wouldn't ever have to worry about getting hit in the face during a fight unless he tangled with a guy so strong he could knock Lonely's head clear off. And when you come right down to it, that would have been an improvement.
Lonely and Shenandoah had been sitting in wooden chairs when we came in, but now they were standing. Polite. I didn't have to go over the crowd again. This bunch looked like more than I could handle. It looked like more than the Marines could handle.
Breed's velvety voice rumbled at me. "You give us some trouble, boy. Maybe I oughta let the boys shoot your guts a little."
"What the hell for?" I asked him. "I haven't given you any trouble. Breed, I don't get this at all."
Everybody Had A Gun Page 10