She nodded hesitantly.
“Okay. I’m trusting you. I shouldn’t, but—” I tossed her the Luger. “We may have a visitor before daylight.”
“I—I don’t understand,” she said, staring at the gun.
“Neither do I, exactly. You disappeared mysteriously last March. You’ve apparently been living in the midst of a nude religious cult that quarters somewhere in the San Bernardino mountains. Rip Spensor has been linked with the group.”
I took my revolver from its garter holster and laid it on the bar next to the telephone.
“I still don’t understand,” she said, frightened.
“You will if we get a visitor. I’ve got a hunch you escaped from Meadow Falls. They must have known you were going to come to me. That’s why they sent Adam Jason.”
She leaned against the fireplace and groaned. “Who are these people?”
“A frustrated group of fanatics,” I said. “Living in a lost primeval world. Have you ever heard of the Penetantes?”
“No.”
“Up until nineteen-thirty-six, they lived in the mountains of New Mexico. Their religious ceremonies involved stripping the young women naked and whipping them with lashes as they carried huge crosses on their backs.”
She winced. “How awful.”
“Thor Tunny has a new twist to the old theme. He conscripts beautiful young girls and uses them for what he will, religious purposes or not.”
“But that’s slavery.”
“You’re darned right,” I said. “Proving it is another matter. Tunny claims he’s running a legitimate nudist camp, based on a new Evangelistic doctrine. You’re the first break we’ve had.”
“We?”
“I’m a private detective,” I said, letting my eyes shift toward the back door. “I work with the police and Sheriff’s offices when I can. This adds up to one of those times.”
Suddenly the lights went out. I reared up in the darkness, grasping my gun.
“What is it?” she demanded.
“Steady,” I cautioned. “Somebody must have closed off the circuit breakers down in the garage. Keep that gun handy. The doors are locked, but they may try anything.”
I picked up the phone and dialed the operator. “Give me the Sheriff’s office,” I said. In an instant I was connected to Homicide and Mark Storm.
“Marcus,” I said quickly, “I’m at Alamitos Bay with Angela Scali. Somebody just cut off our electricity. They’re after the Angel. Can you come out?”
“Don’t kid me, Honey.”
“I’m serious, Mark.”
Footsteps fell harshly on the back staircase. Angela gasped.
Mark said angrily, “First it was tarantulas, then a naked man near the Anaheim bridge. What do you take me for?”
“I’ll take you for a big boob if you don’t get out here,” I said, listening intently to the sounds at the rear of my apartment. The footsteps drew nearer, slamming heavily on the wet boards.
The deputy laughed. “And did Angela Scali present you with an Academy Award for this performance?”
“I’m not kidding, Lieutenant. She’s here. Do you want to talk to her?”
“Sure,” he said sarcastically. “Tell her it’s Clark Gable. She’ll know who I am.”
The back door rattled violently.
“Mark,” I said tersely. “There’s going to be some shooting here in about five seconds. There’s somebody at the kitchen door.”
“It’s the milkman, silly. Let him in. Show him your four-poster. He’ll be interested.”
The door smashed open from a vicious kick. I dropped the receiver and aimed my revolver toward the dark space that creaked open. Fog still drifted outside and I could smell its chill odor.
Then a high-pitched voice cried, “Angel!”
“Don’t move,” I whispered, not looking around at the Italian-born actress. “Don’t move!”
I felt Angela’s hand on mine. But that’s not all I felt. Suddenly something crashed against the side of my head and I dropped. Off in a great distance, I heard stomping and smacking, but the noise was soon lost in the cool comfort of the hole I found myself falling into.
FIVE
“Honey!”
“Come on in. The water’s fine.”
“Honey!”
The other voice sounded a million miles away. Perched on a rock out in the middle of nowhere. Yelling at me like an infernal idiot.
“Put on your suit,” I insisted, “and come on in!”
“My suit’s on,” the voice said. “You come out.”
“I’m tired,” I said. “Let me rest for a while, then I’ll come out.”
“You’ve been resting,” the voice returned. “Four hours. Do you hear me?”
“I’m not deaf,” I said, opening my eyes. Beyond was a fibrous pattern of arms, legs, and faces. I shook my head. “Is that you, Mark?”
“Yes!”
“What kept you?”
He groaned deeply. “A light on Seventh street. Are you awake?”
I laughed. “Set me up with five more of the same. Then leave the bottle.”
“They left the bottle,” Mark said distantly, “in your skull. Wake up, Honey!”
Mark slid into focus. His battered felt hat, his grim unshaven face, his slightly bent nose, his angry mouth.
I tried to sit up, but my head felt as if it were nailed to the floor.
“Who hit me?”
“From the looks of the lump I’d say three men and a horse. What happened?”
Sunlight streamed through a window above Mark’s hunched shoulders. Another deputy stood next to the broad-shouldered lieutenant. Behind them was my back door, still ajar, wood splintered around the lock.
“Angela Scali pulled a sweet double-cross,” I said, holding my head. “When my back was turned she clubbed me with a piece of German artillery.”
“Then you weren’t kidding about the Italian Angel being here?”
“Of course not.” He lifted me to my feet. “That’s what I get for being charitable. I hand out free blankets, free clothes and wind up with a two-story hangover. Remind me never to join the Salvation Army.”
Fred Sims was perched on a bar stool in the kitchen, munching on a stale piece of bread. His eyes were haggard and deeply lined, and the scent of cheap whiskey floated up when he spoke.
“I warned you, Honey,” the newsman said. “These people play for keeps. You’re lucky.”
“Yeah, lucky I don’t have two heads.”
Mark cocked his hat back and chewed on a fingernail sullenly. “Fred tells me you’re working for Tunny.”
I laughed. “If I am, he’s got me digging my own grave.”
“What are you going to do about it?” the deputy demanded.
I crossed into the kitchen, staggering a little and poured myself a cup of lukewarm coffee. “I’m going to pay Mr. Tunny a visit and return his compliment.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Lieutenant, if you were me you’d be knocking at his door right now with a steam roller in one hand and a basket of tarantulas in the other.”
“You’re wrong, Honey. Tunny’s clean. I checked him out last night through the San Berdoo office. He was playing Scrabble about the time you and Spensor bit the asphalt.”
“Who says?”
“He’s got a dozen different witnesses.”
“Sure,” I said. “One who’s an expert at operating a steam roller and another who runs a tarantula farm. Wake up, Lieutenant, he’s got these people drugged.”
“What do you mean?”
“Either that or he has them hypnotized,” I sipped at my coffee. “You should have seen Angela Scali. She was way out in left field before I brought her here. It could have been an act, but I don’t think so. She suddenly started making sense.”
“Then why’d she slug you?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Someone called her name. It was weird, like an echo drifting down from a mountain
. It must have affected her somehow.”
“Honey, that doesn’t make sense,” the big deputy barked.
“It does if she was responding to a post-hypnotic suggestion,” I said. “Her name pitched in a certain way might have been all that was needed to put her under again.”
“Maybe, but I don’t buy witchcraft.”
I shrugged. “Then you explain Angela Scali’s disappearance. But don’t waste Fred’s time—or mine—with your explanation because we’re on our way to Meadow Falls.”
Fred stiffened. “Not me.”
“You kidding?” I said. “It’ll be the story of a lifetime.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Fred answered, rapping his cane on the bar. “I’m planning to live to be a hundred. There are more stories to write than Tunny’s. Like your obituary.”
I patted him on the head. “Brave warrior. Heap big courage. Just don’t trip on your own scalp.”
“Fred makes sense, Honey,” Mark argued. “You’d better stay away from Meadow Falls and Thor Tunny.”
“You said he was harmless, Lieutenant. He’s probably a nice old guy with false teeth and a cellar full of bodies.”
“I told you Tunny’s clean.”
“What is this, Lieutenant, Dodge Honey Day? With a steam roller murder on your hands, I’m sure you’re not just going to sit around your office and cut out paper dolls.”
His forehead ridged angrily. “I’d like to cut you out, Honey. And plaster you on my wall.”
I grinned. “Come now, Lieutenant, you must have a better place in mind to put me.”
Fred chuckled. “Marcus, she’s got you again.”
The crippled reporter tucked the remainder of the bread in his mouth and took my hand. “Let’s go.”
“But you said—”
“I said the same thing at Bastogne,” he blared. “The only trouble was I didn’t have a compass. Instead of winding up at the rear lines, I walked into a German machine-gun nest. It was damned embarrassing.”
I patted his cheek tenderly. “Okay, Private Sims, let’s be embarrassed together. We’ve done it before.”
“You can say that again, Miss West. I’ll never forget Las Vegas.”
“And neither will I.” I gestured as if I was tipping my hat at Mark Storm. “See you, Lieutenant. Come visit us sometime for a game of Scrabble.”
“You idiots,” the deputy said, throwing up his arms. “You’ll wind up with two canes and a tin cup. Don’t fool with Tunny.”
“You told us he was clean,” I said. “We’ll send you a report. Bye.”
Fred and I waltzed out arm in arm. The sun was hot for an October morning. At Meadow Falls it would be much warmer. That we knew.
The drive in my convertible took a little over two hours. Rain was falling in Lake Arrowhead when we passed, and the mountains were bright green and shiny. By the time we reached Meadow Falls, the clouds had vanished and the sun glared brilliantly on the tents and buildings belonging to Tunny’s nude health cult.
We were met at the gate by a big man with a hairy chest and a visored cap. He had more muscle than a gorilla and about as much brain.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
“We’re putting ourselves through college,” I said. “Wouldn’t you like to buy a subscription?”
“No!” he bellowed, scratching his thick, completely-shaven head. “This is the Holy Sanctuary of the Sun Souls. Go away or take off your clothes!”
I nudged the ponderous gatekeeper and winked. “How about a partial membership? We’ll take off some of our clothes.”
The gatekeeper lifted his visor and examined me carefully. “You’d have to speak with Mr. Tunny first. We don’t allow peddlers on the grounds.”
“Even if they are selling sun oil?” I removed a bottle of suntan lotion from my glove compartment. “Friend, I ask you, aren’t you burning in places you wish you weren’t?”
His fleshy face reddened. “Well, I—”
“See what I mean,” I said. “Your flock is just itching to be annointed by our holy oil. Now be a good boy and let us through.”
“No!” he roared. “This is the morning of the Special Council. All that are holy have convened in the temple to hear Mr. Tunny speak of peace.”
I glanced at Fred. “Tunny has a one-track soul. Mr. Sims, don’t you think we should at least endow this holy member with our ointment before leaving these hallowed grounds?”
Fred removed the bottle from my hands. “By all means, Miss West. Allow me.”
The newspaperman stepped from the car, pushing himself forward with the aid of his cane. He had a determined look on his face, but he seemed to be enjoying this. The hairy-chested gatekeeper moved around in front of Fred, flexing his powerful arms.
“So it’s you again, huh?” the gatekeeper said. “Didn’t I warn you earlier to stay away?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The reporter removed the cap from the bottle and shook it vigorously. “Smell this,” he said. “Have you ever inhaled nectar of the gods?”
“There is only one god,” the gatekeeper said. “And he is the god of all flesh.”
“That’s what I mean,” Fred replied, moving nearer to the other man.
Suddenly the contents gushed in the gatekeeper’s face. He staggered back, trying to wipe his eyes. Fred’s cane whirled, cracking against his knuckles, then against his bronzed skull. The naked man crumpled soundlessly in the dirt, unconscious.
Before I could start the engine, Fred was in the car beside me.
“Okay, Miss West,” he said, eyes glowing weirdly. “He’s been annointed. Let’s go.”
“Sims, you haven’t lost your touch,” I said.
He glanced down at his crippled leg and at his cane. “What I’ve lost in flesh, I’ve gained in hickory. Who can say my loss is not our gain.”
“I’m with you,” I said, shifting into low. The convertible shot forward toward the holy grounds of the Sun Souls. “By the way, what did he mean about warning you earlier?”
Fred stared at the windshield grimly. “Darned if I know.”
We parked in front of the temple and climbed out into blazing mid-day sunshine. Tunny’s huge building was amazingly modern. It was constructed of glass and brick and on the front was a colorful mosaic of a naked woman lying on a bed of roses. From where we stood we could hear the sound of a man’s voice blaring angrily inside the temple. He was condemning something or someone in a vicious, snarling way that was half whimper, half shout. We walked up the steps, Fred’s cane thudding on the brick, and into a multi-colored hall where a group of nude men and women knelt, their backs turned toward us.
High on a rostrum, beyond a pane of glass, stood an immense man with flame-red hair and glowering eyes. Even from this distance it was obvious he was at least seven feet tall.
“Holy smokes,” Fred whispered. “A redheaded King Kong.”
Behind Tunny was the statue of a naked man and woman entwined around a tree of snakes, arms lifted frantically.
The huge man struck the speaker’s stand with his fist. “Fools! Is there not one of you who can explain the disappearance of our princess? Is there not one of you who saw her leave the camp?” His face and powerful body were darkly tanned. “If she is not returned the heavens will rage down upon us. The seas will rise and flood the land. The mountains will quake and the trees will burn.”
“He must be talking about Angela Scali,” I whispered.
“But I thought you said they took her from your apartment.”
“I don’t know who took her,” I said. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”
Fortunately, none of Tunny’s disciples looked around. They kept their heads bowed, nude backs bent, bottoms resting on their heels. At least a hundred of them knelt humbly before the candle-lit dais.
“Someone must have helped her escape,” Tunny continued, throwing a piercing gaze on the gathering. “If this be true, this person shall live in fear and trembling, and
from this day forward shall walk upon the face of this earth with a terrible weight on his back.”
Suddenly he saw us through the glass screen and his eyes widened.
“The jig’s up,” I said. “Now don’t panic. Just keep smiling as if you’d wandered into the wrong rest room during a coffee break.”
“Who are these intruders?” Tunny demanded.
The congregation turned, squinting at Fred and me, a panorama of bare chests, dazed faces and open mouths.
I moved into the aisle, grasping Fred’s hand and said, “Excuse the interruption, but we were wondering if you could tell us the way to the County Fair. You see, we made a wrong turn about a thousand miles back—”
“Heathens!” Tunny roared. “How dare you wear garments into our sacred temple!”
Adam Jason popped from behind an ornate screen and waved his arms. “Wait a minute, Mr. Tunny. That’s Honey West, the female investigator.”
Tunny’s scowl vanished. He moved to the edge of the rostrum. “The congregation is dismissed,” he said. “Return to your separate quarters and remain there until further notice.”
The Sun Souls began to file out quietly, threading around Fred and me like they were in some sort of trance. They resembled naked zombies, eyes staring in their sunburnt heads, legs moving mechanically, lips taut in their faces. Most of them were young, about my age, and handsome.
When they were gone, Tunny came down from the speaker’s platform slowly, his huge body towering in the aisle.
“Well, Miss West, it appears you have accepted our offer,” he said. “Welcome to Meadow Falls.”
“I’ve accepted nothing, Mr. Tunny. I’m here because of an incident which occurred in my apartment early this morning. Where’s Angela Scali?”
Tunny’s red-rimmed eyes quickly shifted to Adam and back to me. Close up, he was an extraordinary looking man. His flaming hair was obviously dyed. So were his eyebrows. He had a cruel, hard mouth and a red-veined nose that was flattened at the end as if it had been brutally beaten at one time. He seemed like some awesome, gigantic devil, half-smiling, half-glowering, fists balled on his naked hips, legs apart.
“I don’t understand, Miss West,” he said, glancing at Fred. “Angela who?”
Honey West: A Kiss for a Killer Page 4