Solomon's Vineyard

by Jonathan Latimer

  “Anybody hear the shot?” I asked.

  “The rifle must have had a silencer,” the chief said, beginning to look bored.

  I said: “That's damn queer.”

  “I figure,” be said, “that Mr. Johnson was playing around with a woman. Maybe a married woman.” He took the cigar out of his mouth and tapped ashes into the spittoon. “What else would keep a man up so late?”

  I laughed heartily. He went on:

  “And I figure the husband, or the brother, followed him home and plugged him from the outside with a rifle while he was undressing.”

  I said: “Husbands don't usually have rifles with silencers lying around.”

  “That's so,” the chief said. His eyes met mine for a second, then went back to the window. “Where're you staying?”

  “At the Arkady.”

  “If we want you, we'll let you know.”

  The pasty-faced cop was waiting outside. He pointed out the way to the hotel. “It's only five blocks,” he said.

  I thanked him and started, out. The sun was low, but it was still hot. There was no breeze at all. I thought what lousy cops they were, not even knowing enough to frisk me. I hated cops anyway, especially dumb ones. I wondered what they'd have done if I had told them Oke Johnson was my partner.

  CHAPTER TWO

  WHEN I got into my room I wanted a drink bad. Oke Johnson had been a shock, even though we'd never got on together. You don't have a partner killed every day. I telephoned for the Negro. He came to the door and I told him to get me a quart of bourbon and some magazines. Film Fun and some of those others with photographs of half-naked babes, and Black Mask. I gave him a fin.

  The room was like a tent in the sun. I could feel the heat coming right through the window-shades. I got out of my clothes and put my revolver in a bureau drawer. On my way to the shower I caught sight of myself in the mirror on the back of the bathroom door and stopped to look at my belly. The knife wound was healing fine. There would be a scar, but what the hell! What's a scar on the belly? I saw I was getting bigger. Every time I looked at myself naked I saw that. It wasn't all fat; the flesh seemed hard enough, but it still kept coming. I thought I'd probably hit the scales at two hundred and forty. That was twenty pounds too much. I thought, well, maybe the heat will take it off. Or those baths downstairs. I went to the shower and turned on the cold water. I got in. It felt fine.

  The Negro knocked while I was in the shower. I put a towel around my middle and let him in. He had a bottle of Old Crow and four magazines. I gave him the sixty cents change.

  “Charles, it would be nice now if you got me that blonde from the Vineyard.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You don't want her, Mister Craven.”

  “How do you know what I want?”

  “They say that blonde's poison.”

  “Listen, Charles, if blondes were poison, I'd have died thirty years ago.”

  He bugged out his eyes at me and left. I mixed a drink and went back in the shower. I drank under the water. Then I came out and fixed another drink and lay on the bed and thought about Oke Johnson until I got tired. In a way I was real sorry he was dead, especially as it put me on the spot. But I couldn't go after his murderer. There was that job to do first.

  I drank and smoked and looked at the dolls in the movie magazines. Then I looked at the brassiere ads. Then I tried to read a story in Black Mask. It was about a G-man I'd read about before. He was different from the G-men I'd known. Those had always reminded me of Boy Scouts. This G-man was wonderful. He had a girl who was always being abducted by the smugglers spies kidnappers or racketeers he was after. Then she'd send him a note and he'd come and shoot it out with them. Sometimes he d have to kill the whole gang to get her loose. It was a fine system. It's a wonder J. Edgar Hoover hadn't picked it up.

  I put the story down and thought some more about Oke. I hadn't had any reports from him; only the letter saying he had something. He was one of those guys who liked to be mysterious. He'd wanted to spring it on me all at once, the dumb Swede! I knew he hadn't put any of it down in writing. I was completely in the dark, as the saying goes. And it looked as though I was up against something tough. I had to move carefully. I thought I'd better look around the town before I let anybody know who I was. I might pick up something. And people wouldn't be shooting at me with rifles.

  It kept getting darker outside, but it didn't get any cooler. I was all right naked, but where my skin touched the sheet there was sweat. Even the part of my neck on the pillow sweated. About eight-thirty I got in the shower again.

  When I came out it was still hot. It was going to be hot all night. I-put on a shirt and the pants to my seersucker suit and my shoulder holster. Then I put on the coat. The gun made a bulge under the coat, and I shoved it around until it was almost in my armpit. I went downstairs. The lobby was still filled with palm trees and old furniture, and it still smelted of dust and velvet.

  I followed the noise of a radio playing dance music and found a bar. It had been fitted up with red-leather and chromium tables and chairs and it looked strange in the old hotel. A couple of salesmen were drinking at a table and a girl was at the bar. It was the redhead I'd seen in the lobby. I sat down at the other end of the bar. The girl looked at me and then back at her glass. I didn't impress her much.

  I ordered a whisky sour. The salesmen were trying to promote the girl. They were making remarks about her, but she didn't give them a tumble. One of them was fresher than the other. He kept saying: “Isn't she lovely?” She was a very good number, except for too much paint on her face. Her green dress looked expensive, though, and the colour went well with her red hair. And she had beautiful legs, or did I say that? She was drinking a Tom Collins.

  I had a second whisky sour. The fresh salesman went over to the girl.

  “Buy you a drink, beautiful?” he asked.

  “Scram!” the girl said.

  The salesman was tall and thin. He had on a linen suit. He looked cocky. “Beautiful doesn't want a drink,” he called to his friend.

  “Okay,” the friend said. He was a little nervous.

  The salesman leaned over the girl. “Come on, beautiful,” he said. “It'll make you laugh and play.”

  The girl paid no attention to him.

  “Give the lady a drink,” the salesman said to the bartender.

  The bartender looked at the girl. She shrugged her shoulders. The bartender made her a Tom Collins. The salesman sat with her while she drank it. He talked to her, but I couldn't hear what he said. She didn't play up. Her face looked sullen.

  I crooked a finger at the bartender. “A double one,” I told him. I figured I wouldn't mind the heat so much if I got lit. The salesman and the girl began to talk louder. He was trying to get her to go to his table.

  “I stay here,” she said.

  “Aw, come on,” he said. “We won't hurt you, beautiful.”

  “No.”

  The bartender was angry, but he didn't do anything. The salesman took hold of the girl's arm. “Come on, beautiful,” he said.

  She jerked her arm away. He began to paw her shoulder. I went over to them. “Leave her alone,” I said.

  The salesman looked at me over his shoulder. “I'm not hurting her.”

  “Back to your table,” I said.

  “Say, mister!” He slid off his stool and faced me. “What business is it of yours what I do?”

  “Come on, Charley,” the friend called. “What business is it of yours?” the salesman asked again. I took hold of his coat lapels and pulled him to me and shook him. I didn't hit him. I didn't want to hurt him. I lifted him off the floor and tossed him back to his table. He made quite a noise when he hit. He struck his head against one of the chromium chairs. His friend sat at the table, staring down at him as though he didn't believe what he saw.

  I grinned at the girl and went to my stool. I kept my back towards the two salesmen, but I could see them in the mirror. I hoped they would start something. I've always ha
ted salesmen and cops. The friend helped the salesman to his feet. He was dazed; the fall had knocked his wind out.

  “Come on, Charley,” the friend said.

  The salesman tried to get his breath. He began to brush off his pants.

  “We'll get a cop,” the friend said.

  He helped the salesman to the door. “We'll get a cop,” he said again. He did not speak directly to me. He didn't want a fight. He went away with his arm around the salesman.

  “You'd better watch out,” the bartender said to me.

  “Why?”

  “They may get the law.”

  “No, they won't,” I said.

  “The guy'll be awful sore when he comes to.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But he won't call any law. He won't take a chance on a mashing rap.”

  “That's so.” The bartender took my glass and began to make another sour. “But the next time don't be so rough.” He smiled at me. “You scared “em so they forgot to pay for their drinks.”

  I liked the bartender's face. He was young and decent-looking.

  “I'll pay for them,” I said.

  The girl came over to me. It was the first time I'd seen her standing up. It was something to see. She had a million-dollar figure, as they say. She was tall, and it was nice to see good breasts on a tall babe.

  “Hello ...” I said.

  Her eyes were blue-green. “Thanks,” she said. “That's all right.”

  “I could have handled him,” she said. “Sure,” I said. “But I thought it would be a good way to pick you up.”

  She laughed at that. “I'm a popular dame tonight.” The bartender put my drink on the bar.

  “Have one?” I asked her.

  “Why not?” she said.

  While we waited for the drink she stared at me. Her eyes weren't bold any more, but thoughtful. She was younger than I'd figured. When she saw I was watching her, she looked away.

  “Why'd you want to pick me up?” she asked. “I'm lonely,” I said; “and you got a swell shape.” She took the Tom Collins from the bartender. “Well, my God!” she said. “At least the man's honest.” She held up the drink. “Here's how.”

  She liked her liquor all right. We had three drinks. I saw it was nine o'clock. I said it was time for dinner. I asked her if she knew of a cool place to eat.

  “Tony's,” she said. “But you don't want to take me there.”

  “Why don't I?”

  “You just don't.”

  “Yes, I do,” I said.

  The bartender looked as though he didn't care about what was going on. I saw him shake his head at the girl. She didn't pay any attention to him. “Got a car?” she asked me. “I'll get one.”

  “And you don't give a damn what happens?”

  “Not with you, beautiful.”

  “Don't start that beautiful stuff.”

  “I wouldn't go,” the bartender said. “What can Hose?” I asked. “Plenty,” the bartender said. “Shut up,” the girl said.

  I grinned at the bartender. “Well, it's your funeral,” he said.

  “Sure,” the girl said.

  The check was $7.10. I paid it and we took a cab to a Drive-It garage on Main Street. On the way she told me her name was Ginger.

  “Not Ginger Rogers?” I said.

  “Ginger Boiton,” she said.

  I said my name was Karl. I said she smelled nice. I asked her where she got the perfume and the expensive clothes.

  “I get around,” she said.

  I told her I was a hardware salesman.

  “You act tough for a salesman,” she said.

  “That's because I was in the army.”

  I got a Chevy sedan at the Drive-It garage. I had a card identifying myself as Peter Jensen, u Division Street, Fond du Lac, Wisconsin; but the night manager made me lay down a hundred dollar deposit anyway. When Ginger saw my wallet she looked surprised. I expected her to. I went to a lot of trouble to let her catch sight of the wad of hundred-dollar bills in it.

  I let her drive out to Tony's. I wanted to look at the town. It wasn't much to see. The street lights were dim and all I-got was an impression of many brick and frame houses kept back by lawns from the street. We passed a hospital and the city pumping plant. Then we were in the country. It was cooler. I looked at Ginger. She was intent on her driving and her face was not so sullen.

  “What's a girl do in a town like this?” I asked her.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “You'd get sore if I told you.”

  “Yeah?” she said. “Well, I'm a singer.”

  “What kind?”

  “With an orchestra.”

  “Where?”

  “At Tony's. He's going to open up next week.”

  “How much will he pay you?” I asked.

  “Wouldn't you like to know,” she said.

  She had a husky voice and I thought she'd probably sing well.

  We went off the cement road on to a gravel road. We passed n small lake and turned into a big parking lot. There were half a dozen cars there. I saw a big farmhouse with a neon sign on it: Tony's. We went up wooden stairs to the entrance and came into an old-fashioned bar with a big mirror, two bartenders in shirtsleeves, and pyramids of glasses. One of the bartenders said “Hello, Ginger,” and then looked at me. He seemed surprised to see me.

  “Where's Pug?” he asked Ginger.

  “How do I know?” Ginger said.

  The bartender glanced at me. I looked dumb.

  We had a drink at the bar. I said I wanted to order dinner and the bartender got a waiter. We ordered steaks and green salad. I ordered a bottle of champagne. That made both Ginger and the bartender look at me. After a while we went out to a veranda overlooking the lake. There was a breeze off the water. The waiter showed us our table.

  “This is swell,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Ginger said. “But where's our champagne?”

  The waiter brought it in an ice bucket. I had him bring a bottle of cognac, too. I poured some of the cognac in the champagne glasses and the waiter put champagne on top. There is nothing that gives you a rear like champagne laced with good cognac. Try it some time. We drank slowly.

  “Who's Pug?” I asked Ginger. I wanted to hear what she would say.

  “A friend.”

  “Anybody to worry me?”

  “No'.”

  “I'm glad,” I said. “I'm steaming up for you.”

  “He's a louse,” Ginger said.

  There were people at three tables. One party was large; three men and five women. At the other tables were couples. The big party was noisy and two of the women were climbing all over a red-faced fat man. I thought he looked familiar, but I couldn't see him very well. The cuddling was strictly fun on the surface but the women were really trying for the fat man. He was giving the party.

  “Do you think you could go for me, beautiful?” I asked Ginger.

  “Not tonight,” she said.

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Let's dance.”

  I stuck a nickel in the jive box and we danced Some or the other people danced, too. I noticed one of the women had cot the fat man on the floor. Suddenly I recognized him. It was the chief of police. Piper. He was pretty drunk. Ginger danced away from me.

  “Don't be so distant,” I said.

  “That gun of yours tickles me where I don't like to be tickled,” she said.

  I pushed the holster further under my arm. She danced closer, putting her head on my shoulder. Her body was firm.

  “That's better,” I said.

  “Don't talk,” she said. “Dance.”

  We danced until the record stopped, and then we went back to the table. I noticed one of the bartenders and the waiter watching us. When they saw me look at them, the bartender ducked into the other room and the waiter came over and poured us more brandy and champagne. Then he got our dinner.. The steaks were good; burned a little on top, but red inside. I was having a good time. There were onl
y three things I really liked in the world; food, fighting and... women. Oh yes, and maybe liquor. And I was having at least two of them.