by Anthology
“Sir!” thundered the colonel. “You are speaking to my daughter!”
“Well, naturally,” Ben said. “I don’t see anyone else in the room by the name of Miss Masterson. Now, let’s cut but the phony stuff. We’re all friends here. Colonel, unless we’re way off the track, and it happens we know we ain’t, you’re wanted in France, by complaint of the French Line, for swindling a number of passengers on a trip last summer. Is that right?”
“They were legitimate games of chance,” the colonel said, and coughed loudly. His face was even redder than usual. “A gentlemen’s game, that’s what it was.”
“Oh, shut up. Dad,” Alicia said wearily. “What’s on your mind, Ben? What do you want from us? But first, how about a drink?”
“Well, this’s better,” Ben said, grinning. “Well, the thing is this: Reggie knows something about the middleweight fight between Ace Nelson and Wild Billy Bell that’s coming off next week.”
“That jerk doesn’t know the time,” Alicia muttered.
“Well, we have reason to think he does. And we’re trying to get that information out of him.” ~
“Where do we come in?”
“You don’t, that’s just it. You stay out, understand?”
“No, I don’t,” Alicia drew herself up angrily.
“All right. I’ll draw pictures. We lined Reggie up with a dame this afternoon, a dame who’s good at getting information out of people—if they’ve got eyes and are under eighty, that is. They’re in Reggie’s apartment right now. What they’re doing I’ll leave to your imagination. And the thing is, we don’t want the little love birds disturbed. Get it?”
“You’re muscling me out!” Alicia cried.
Ben held up both hands. “Now, take it easy, princess. You can have him after the fight. But right now we don’t want any scenes that will take Reggie’s mind off—well, let’s say our business.”
“But I love him,” Alicia sobbed. “Well, we thought of that, too, and we felt like a bunch of heels,” Ben said. “Here we are lousing up one of the nicest love affairs since Dillinger met the Lady in Red. We asked ourselves: can we do this to that sweet little girl?” Ben shook his head again. “And the answer was yes,” he said sadly. “So that’s the way it’s got to be.”
“All right, you creep,” Alicia said. “What do we get out of it?”
“We’ll give you the winner when we get it,” Ben said. “Fair enough?”
“Where will we get any dough to back him?”
“Hock something,” Ben said.
“Now just a minute,” the colonel said. “Perhaps you might allow Alicia to see Reggie just once this week, and on that occasion she might borrow a little money from him against— ha, ha—the future pleasures of their union.”
“That’s out. He’s flat,” Ben said. “Pardon me,” the colonel said. “I didn’t hear that last word. It sounded just like you said flat.”
“Well, that’s what I said. He’s flat, stony. We checked on him today. He owes everybody. His tailor, his club, his friends—he’s going to be tossed out of his apartment any day, as a matter of fact.”
“This is very distressing news,” the colonel said, making a brave effort to keep his voice steady. “Alicia, did you hear what Ben said?”
Alicia had fainted.
Five days later, the day of the big fight, Sari walked into Nolan’s office. She looked dejected. Nolan sat behind his desk, a cigar in his big red face, and a carnation in the buttonhole of his blue suit. Ben lounged in a chair, his legs crossed.
“Hail to Mati Hari,” he said sourly.
Sari sat down and shook her blonde head. “I struck out, Boss. He still isn’t giving out?
Nolan took the cigar out of his mouth. “For God’s sake, whatcha been doing all week?”
Sari smiled softly, more to herself than to Nolan or Ben, What had she been doing? This last week had been a little like taking a flying trip into the land of Oz. They had gone to circuses, to a marble tournament, and out to the shabby home of a man who collected old dog collars. Reggie had a surprising number of friends. Pan handlers, waiters, cab drivers, acrobats—the unlikeliest people. The only thing they had in common was a rather unexplainable affection for Reggie.
“He’s really a sweet guy,” she said. “Oh, this is great,” Nolan said, standing and striking his forehead with the heel of his hand. He nodded to Ben. “Great, isn’t it? She’s discovered that he’s a sweet guy. And in just a week. Maybe in a year or so she’ll have some more interesting dope. Sari, the guy has got to give!” He emphasized with a slam of his hand on the desk top.
“Well, he says he doesn’t know,” she said. “Maybe he doesn’t.”
“There’s always that cheerful thought,” Ben said.
“No, don’t say that, don’t say that,” Nolan’s voice was shaky. “He’s got to know. He knew about the comics, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Ben said.
“Are you seeing him this afternoon?” Nolan said to Sari.
“Yes,” she said listlessly.
“Okay, take Ben with you. Get him drunk, put a pistol to his head, but get that information.”
Sari and Ben met Reggie in the lounge of the Drexel Club.
“What ho!” Reggie cried, seeing Ben. “The old prize-fight man. Sari, I want you to meet—”
“I know him; he came with me,” Sari said.
“Great, grand,” Reggie applauded. It didn’t occur to him to ask how they happened to know each other. He had reached that state where everything that Sari said or did had the unqualified authority and sanctity of a Papal Bull.
They had a drink, and then another, very rapidly. Ben kept smiling and talking and ordering drinks. Reggie, after fifteen minutes, was pleasantly chilled. They began talking about the fight.
Ben asked him how it was going to come out.
“Don’t know, old man,” Reggie said regretfully.
A few minutes later Sari asked him.
“Don’t know, old girl,” Reggie said unhappily.
The poor things wanted to know so badly, he thought. And here he was, bosom friend, staunch and true, letting them down. It was unpardonable. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he kept repeating.
“Well, then, have another drink,”
Ben offered.
A few minutes later Reggie excused himself, smiling broadly. He tottered back to the men’s bar and found Doaby Forsyth happily regarding a pitcher of Martinis. “Doaby, old man, I come to you in great need,” Reggie said.
“Anything, anything at all,” Doaby said.
Reggie put a finger to his lips, tiptoed over and picked up an evening paper. He spread it out on the bar and turned to the sports section. There were pictures of Wild Billy Bell and Ace Nelson in fighting poses, a rundown of their past histories, their measurements, and quotes from both of them about the outcome of the fight.
“Now, Doaby old friend,” Reggie said, “I must know how this fight will come out. My girl wants to know.”
“Well, let’s have a drink.”
They had a drink. Then another. “Now, let’s see,” Doaby said, staring at Ace Nelson’s photograph. “Could be, you know,” he said.
“Perhaps a drink might sharpen the old wit, eh?” Reggie said.
“Oh, first rate idea.”
“Now,” Reggie said.
“Girl wants to know, eh?”
“Righto.”
“Good. Let’s see, now.”
“Drink?”
“Hmmmm,” Doaby said. He closed his eyes, put a finger down. “There it is,” he said. His finger rested on the earnest face of Ace Nelson. “Sure?” Reggie said.
“Without a doubt.”
“Thanks a million, old fellow,” Reggie cried.
Doaby waved a hand. “Not at all. Glad to help out. Fellow’s girl want to know about a fight, fellow’s pals leap into the breach. Right?”
“Right.”
Reggie hurried back to the lounge, rejoined Sari
and Ben. “About the fight,” he said.
They both leaned forward.
“Yes?” Ben said.
“It’s Nelson,” Reggie announced triumphantly.
“Damn it, are you sure?” Ben snapped.
‘“In the bag.”
“That’s all I want to know,” Ben said, and left them hastily.
“You happy?” Reggie said to Sari.
“I guess so,” she said. “You look a little tight.”
“Ah, clever girl. I am.”
“Well, let me take you home then.”
“Righto,” Reggie said, standing unsteadily. He looked at Sari, pursing his lips. “You aren’t happy,” he said.
“Oh, sure I’m happy,” Sari said. “Only I feel like hell, Reggie. Let’s go.”
Roberts, it seemed, was out, so Reggie brought in some ice and made Sari a nice cooling drink. He sat beside her on the couch and picked up one of her small hands. She looked away from him and he saw a tiny glistening in her eye. Reggie frowned; tears confused him. He never understood people who cried. There was so much fun in the world, so much pleasure—why should anyone cry?
“Mustn’t cry,” he said, shaking a finger at Sari reprovingly.
“All right, Reggie,” she said, with a little sniff.
“Much better.”
“Reggie, what would you think of a girl who—well, who got to know a man, and got him to like her, just to get a certain bit of information from him?”
Reggie stated at her blankly. “What girl?” he said.
“Well, any girl.”
“Hmmmm,” Reggie said. He pursed his lips, and gave the question a good mulling over. “I don’t know,” he said at last.
“Would you despise her?”
“Who?”
“This girl—the one who met you just to get some information from you.”
“Oh, that one.” Reggie peered at Sari, wondering if she were drunk. She was certainly babbling on like a little brook of bonded Bourbon. “Well, it would depend,” he said, being cleverly noncommittal.
“Would you think she was a designing little bitch?”
“This same girl?”
“Yes, yes, of course.”
Reggie sighed. “I’m frightfully sorry, darling, but I don’t know what you’re talking about This girl you keep referring to—well, who in the devil is she?”
“Me,” Sari said glumly.
“You? Well, of course I don’t despise you. I like you, Sari. We’re friends. Aren’t we?” Hopefully.
“After what I’ve done, you don’t mind?”
“Of course not. And what have you done?”
Sari turned to him, put a hand on his arm. “Listen, you sweet, lovable cluck, and listen good. I work for a guy named Malachy Nolan. He arranged for me to meet you—Ben works for him too—because he learned that you had some advance dope on the Nelson-Bell fight. He wanted that dope. Now he’s got it. And that ends my little act I’ve done my job, and if you think I’m a creep, well, so do I. Goodbye, Reggie.”
“It’s all very confusing,” Reggie said. “But don’t go. We must have dinner.” He frowned suddenly. “Who said I had this advance dope on the fight?”
“Search me,” Sari said miserably. “It doesn’t really matter. We wormed it out of you, and I feel like a first-class heel. Believe it or not, this isn’t to my taste.”
Reggie slapped his thigh. “Well, you’re worrying your silly little head for nothing. You didn’t get any dope from me. You got it from Doaby Forsyth, a friend of mine. See, everything’s all right now.” He squeezed her hand. “Now we can have dinner.”
“Wait a minute. Who’s Doaby Forsyth?”
“He’s a friend, good friend of mine. Back at the club this afternoon, when both you and Ben were low, I sneaked into the bar and put the thing up to Doaby. ‘Who’s going to win the fight?’ I asked him. And quick as a flash, he said—Reggie thought a moment, then shrugged. “Well, he gave me a name, but I forget it now.”
“Nelson,” Sari said in a feeble voice.
“Right. Nelson it was.”
Sari breathed deeply. Then she said, “How did this friend of yours, Doaby, know who would win the fight?”
“Well, you know, I didn’t think of that,” Reggie said, and chewed his lip a moment. Then he laughed. “Old Doaby’s mighty sharp about some things, though. Maybe he knew.”
“Reggie, you ass,” Sari said in a horrified voice.
“Well, you were both so down in the mouth, I just wanted to . . .” He paused, staring at Sari’s stricken face. “I messed things up, eh?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, putting her fingers to her temples. “I can’t seem to think. Nolan will bet his money on Nelson, and then, if he doesn’t win—no, I don’t want to think, Reggie. Give me my drink. There are times when it is definitely better not to think, and this is one of those times.”
Reggie was reaching for her glass when the drapes between the living room and dining room parted, and Alicia Masterson, looking extremely chic and poised, strolled into the room. She was wearing a gray suit with a mink stole, and she looked down at Reggie and Sari as if they were urchins who had just accosted her for a penny.
“Such a pleasure to see you again,” she, said, loftily. Roberts let me in, but had to rush off on some errand or other, so I just waited.” She glanced at Sari appraisingly. “I wanted to see who had moved in on you, Reggie. I can’t say that I’m impressed with your . . . ah . . . taste.”
Silence hung in the air, like something about to fall with a crash. Sari said in an icy voice, “Reggie, just who in hell is this sway-backed clothes horse?”
“That’s the sort of language I expected from you, my dear,” Alicia said, patting her beautifully waved hair.
“Reggie, who is she?”
Reggie had stood up. Now he scratched his head. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t the faintest idea,” he said, in honest bewilderment.
“Reggie!” Alicia shouted. “You know damn well who I am. You’re lying if you say you don’t.”
“Oh, I have it,” Reggie said. “You’re my cousin Annabella, from Nova Scotia. Dear Annabella, this is my good friend, Sari—”
“Damn your Annabella,” Alicia yelled. Her composure was completely shattered by Reggie’s blank, unknowing stare. Let a man desert her, two-time her, pawn her jewelry. That she could take. But not this. “Reggie, I’m your fiancée,” she said desperately.
Sari laughed lightly. “Well, now the mystery is solved. Reggie, this nice young lady is your fiancée. She just said so. Silly of you to forget it, now wasn’t it?”
“You shut up,” Alicia said. “Enjoy your little moment, my dear. It isn’t going to last long. Not much longer than it will take me to get a certain Malachy Nolan on the phone. Goodbye.” With an angry flash of her skirts, she marched across the room and out the door. It closed after her with an ominous bang.
Reggie tugged at his lip. “You know, it’s coming back now,” he said thoughtfully. “I was engaged to that girl. I can’t think why, though.” He shook his head dolefully. “Awfully shrill voice, didn’t you think? Well,” he went on brightly, with the air of a man who’d just cleared up one problem and is ready to tackle the next, “what about dinner?”
“That condemned man, et cetera,” Sari said, staring at the tips of her shoes. She sighed. “The goose is cooked, broiled, roasted, and burned to a cinder,” she said. “That wench will call Nolan—” She shook her head, got to her feet. “No, I can’t think of it, Reggie. Did you mention dinner?”
“Well, I’ve been suggesting that for hours,” Reggie said happily.
It was after dinner that Sari’s forebodings were fulfilled. While she and Reggie waited at a curb, in the efficiently-policed Chicago Loop district, a long black car pulled up before them and stopped. The rear doors opened. Two large men closed in behind them, and Reggie and Sari were propelled into the waiting car. The motor roared and the car rushed away, gathering speed like the winds of an il
l fate.
“I say,” Reggie sputtered. “I didn’t want a cab. We were planning to walk.”
“This isn’t a cab,” a voice said in Reggie’s ear.
Reggie turned and looked into the small, unpleasant eyes of a big man with a raw, red face and heavy black hair.
“I’m Nolan,” the man said.
“Well, it’s nice meeting you,” Reggie said “May I present my very good friend, Sari—”
“We’ve met,” Nolan said. “But I haven’t had the fun of meeting you yet. You’re the boy prophet, ain’t you?”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Things will clear up soon,” Nolan said. “Meanwhile, just close your eyes and take a nap.”
“Well, that’s nice of you, but I’m not sleepy.”
“What a shame,” Nolan said. “Hear that, Pete.” He glanced at one of the big men on the jump seats. “He ain’t sleepy, he says.”
“Damn, that’s rough,” Pete said.
“Don’t!” Sari cried.
“Put him to sleep,” Nolan said.
“Okay, boss.” Pete took a sap from him pocket and swung it down on Reggie’s head.
Reggie went to sleep.
He awoke to a display of pin-wheeling fireworks within his head, and the feeling that the top of his skull had been strafed by a B-29 armed with atomic machine guns. He opened his eyes slowly, hoping that it was all a dream and that Roberts’ imperturbable face would be looking down at him. But it wasn’t a dream. Nolan was looking down at him, his big beefy face flushed with anger.
Reggie was lying on rough planking, in what seemed to be a decrepit warehouse. Beneath him he could hear the faint, but somehow ominous, sound of water lapping about wooden pilings. When he attempted to sit up he realized that he was bound hand and foot.
“Now, funny man, you talk,” Nolan said.
Ben stood beside him, and the two huge men were at his back. Sari sat on a bale of waste staring helplessly at her tightly clenched hands. She had been crying, Reggie saw.
“Talk? About what?” Reggie said, in what he hoped was a reasonable tone of voice.
“About tonight’s fight, let’s say,” Nolan said. “You told us Nelson was going to win. Acting on that, like an idiot I’ll grant you, I bet everything I own, and some things I don’t, on him to win. Now I understand,” Nolan paused for breath, and his face got even redder, “now I understand you don’t have any real information about it. You got Nelson from some drunken halfwit at that loony bin you hang out in. Now, let’s have the truth. Who’s going to win? Or don’t you really know?”