About twenty minutes had passed since I'd called Gloria and it was now eight-thirty, so I walked to the front of the hotel and waited. In five minutes two guys who looked as if they might be Rodríguez and Hernández came in, and right after they passed me a big yellow Cadillac pulled up in front of the entrance and a gal who could only be María Carmen popped out as an attendant climbed behind the wheel.
She was medium-sized, all over. That about summed it up, but the impression was anything but medium. I'd been told that Mexican women mature quite young, and I'd say María matured about six. She was one cute little doll.
When she started to trot by I said, "Hello, María," just for the hell of it. I like to live dangerously. She skidded to a stop, apparently thinking I was somebody she knew, and she said, "Buena' noche'."
This looked as if it might be difficult. I speak halting Spanish that has very nearly halted, and if little María was going to "Buena' noche'"me, it was already time to tell her adiós, which is one of the few Spanish words I can say glibly.
But I answered, taking a chance, "I just said hello for the hell of it. I recognized you from your picture."
She laughed and said in better English than mine, "Oh. That happens all the time. Who're you?"
"Shell Scott."
She said, "Hi, Shell. Well, I gotta run." And she did just that. Just before she went out of sight around a corner, she stopped and yelled over her shoulder and halfway across the lobby, "Hey, Shell. Catch the show if you can." Then she was gone.
In another two minutes I spotted Gloria walking around the side of the hotel. She came up the steps, looking lovely, and almost sedate after María Carmen, but very alluring in a beautiful blue dress that looked almost as if it had been made for skin diving.
She gave me a big smile and winked one green eye at me. "Hello, Shell. I managed to sneak out. I see you're alive."
"Alive, but still coming out of shock. That dress is enough to put me right back into it."
She laughed. "Like it?" Then she dropped her voice and said, "Until you phoned, I didn't know whether to look for you here or down in the ocean."
"Very nearly the ocean. It was touch and go there for a while. If anybody had touched me, I'd have gone." I gave her my arm and we started walking through the lobby. "And many thanks, Gloria," I said, "for jumping to my defense the way you did. I'm in your debt."
She squeezed my arm and smiled. "I'll make you pay." She chuckled as we walked out through the side entrance of the hotel and down the cement steps to El Peñasco, and she kept squeezing my arm. I didn't stop her. She had several squeezes coming to her. We were early, and managed to get a table for two right in front of the dance floor. I ordered our drinks and looked around.
The place was simple enough in design, but being here was a little like floating on a magic carpet. Behind us was the cliff, which curled around part of the left side of the club, but all the rest, including the front and right sides, was just open air. There weren't any walls or windows or ceiling, only space and a railing about four feet high all the way around the outer edge of the club. It was almost as if a big floor had been made and then jammed forcibly into the side of the cliff and covered with chairs and tables. The light came from the rough cliff behind us. Straight ahead of our table was the dance floor; beyond it was only sky above and ocean below. Covering about half of the left side of the dance floor was a slightly raised space for the orchestra, which hadn't yet started playing for the evening.
When the drinks came I said to Gloria, "I don't imagine this table has a mike underneath it, and I don't see anybody flapping his ears, so what's the score? First, who's been elected to dispose of my body?"
"Nobody that I know of." She grinned at me. "George would like to, but Torelli wants to know if you're up to something. That's what I'm doing, you know, pumping you. George would have a fit if he knew the truth. He's been following me around like a dog since I started being nice to him."
I could understand that. I pondered my next question. There was a lot of information I thought I might be able to get from Gloria, but I didn't want to give away too much information myself. There was a small chance that she was actually stringing me, and was busily engaged in pumping me while she pretended merely to be helping me out. So, as far as she was concerned, I was still just a guy on vacation.
I said, "I fell into a meeting this afternoon, by mistake, and there was a lot of talk about some guy named Gunner. You know anything about him?"
She swallowed part of her drink. "A little. He was supposed to see Torelli about something. I don't know what, but I gather it was pretty important."
"Who is the guy? He around here now?"
She shook her head. "Confidence man. George knows him. But it seems he hasn't shown up. Hadn't last I heard, anyway. There's quite an uproar because he hasn't arrived yet. What's so important about Gunner?"
"That's what I'd like to know. Somebody thought I was the guy today. It's got me a little worried. You don't know what he was supposed to see Torelli about?"
"Not exactly, Shell. This Gunner was bringing something to Torelli. I don't know what, though."
"If Gunner hasn't shown up, Torelli must not have got whatever Gunner had, right?"
"Oh, I'm sure of that. George told me Torelli was pretty mad about not getting the stuff. He's trying to find Gunner now." She paused. "Frankly, I think Gunner was bringing in dope for Torelli. You know. Narcotics."
I was thinking that dope was the better word in this case. But if that was the straight story, Torelli still hadn't got his hands on the papers, and still hadn't found Gunner.
I said, "Gloria, will you do me a favor with no questions asked?"
"Well, I suppose."
I didn't know quite how to put it. But if there was a chance she was on the level, she might really help me. I laid it on the line. "Honey, whatever it is that Gunner was bringing Torelli is obviously damned important. I'd like to know if it shows up. You're in a position where you could catch the rumble, maybe, and if you do, let me know fast. And if you even tell anyone I asked you to do it, I'm dead. Maybe you, too, but me for sure. And if you do find out and tell me, and Torelli learns you did, you're also dead."
I left it there.
She left it there for a while, too. Almost a minute. Then she said, "Shell, you're really interested, aren't you? You really want to know. You're not on vacation, are you?"
Her face was a little twisted, and her green eyes had a sort of hurt look in them. If she was laying my neck on the chopping block, she was sure doing a good job of it. If she was on the level, though, she was very likely thinking some unpleasant things about me. I couldn't afford to give away anything I didn't have to, though.
I said, "Gloria, honey. No questions, remember?"
"I'm just supposed to maybe get myself killed—and no questions?"
I didn't say anything. Finally she asked me, "This is why you said you'd help me, isn't it?" Her voice was soft, with a little quiver in it. She didn't wait for me to answer, but went on, "I'll tell you, though, if I hear anything, Shell. That what you want?"
"That's what I want." I felt pretty lousy. I finished my drink and said, "Well, let's enjoy ourselves."
"Sure," she said. "Let's die laughing." She emptied her glass and shoved it to the middle of the small table. "Buy me a drink. I'm going to enjoy myself if . . . if it kills me."
I looked away from her, not saying anything, and spotted a waiter, then gave him our order. I also spotted some familiar faces in the crowd. We'd been in the club about ten minutes, and the place hadn't been very full when we arrived. Now, though, the club was almost filled to capacity. I'd automatically glanced around when we got here, and I'd seen only three hoods I recognized. But now it seemed that half the faces belonged to crooks known to me from L.A. or the Villa al Mar.
Gloria was gulping her drink frantically. I reached across the table and put my hand over hers. "Relax, honey. Let's try to have a pleasant half hour or so."
&nb
sp; She took another glug of her drink.
"Hell," I said, "didn't I climb a cliff for you?"
She smiled a little, but answered, "Not really for me, Shell."
"Maybe not a hundred per cent, Gloria, but partly. And, honey, I'd do it again—a hundred percent for you."
She smiled a little more broadly. "Well, I'll take your word for it. I do believe you would." She grinned. "I guess you just like to do things the hard way."
I grinned back at her, then looked around and stopped grinning. Two nice elderly couples I'd noticed three tables from ours were gone, and in their place were two other couples that could not by any stretch of the imagination be classified as nice elderly couples. The girls were pretty enough, in a hard, glossy way—the kind of gals you see in New York or Hollywood, Mexico City or Paris or Acapulco, traveling with their "uncles." One of the uncles in this case was Dave Moroni, Moron for short, who had been a minor cog in Murder, Inc., when Bugsy Siegel had still been one of their top torpedoes. The other guy was a top-notch cannon who could kiss the dog and lift your wristwatch between ticks.
I wondered why the other two couples had left, and then while I watched I caught a cute little bit of byplay. Right next to the table Gloria and I occupied at ringside were two women and one rather insignificant-looking man in rough English tweeds. Two of the burly characters I'd seen at the Las Américas pool occupied the table nearest them, and all they were doing was staring.
They stared at the dolls and the insignificant guy, and every second he seemed to become less significant. Not even the tweeds helped. One of the hoods lit a cigarette, then flipped the wax match onto Tweedy's table. Tweedy twitched. After another minute of this, the two girls and the now very frightened guy got up and left. The two hoods moved over to the table. One of them grinned at me.
It appeared that we were hemmed in. It looked as if all the hoods in the world had gathered here, now that the day's business was over. And they apparently liked to mix business with pleasure, because they seemed already half plastered.
It seemed like an odd little coincidence that all these hooligans would be here at the same time I was, and I don't like odd little coincidences. I played with that and then looked across the table at Gloria.
"Say, honey, have you noticed the customers?"
She nodded. "It's funny. I don't like it."
"That makes two of us."
She said, "I wonder if George—" then bit her lip and stopped.
"What about George?"
"Nothing, I guess. But, of course, he knew we were coming here. He was right by the phone when you called me. But I don't suppose . . ."
"You think George might have passed the word around to drop in at El Peñasco? Big attraction: the shooting of Shell Scott"
"Oh, that's—that's not sensible," she said.
"Who said George was sensible?"
I glanced around again, and what I saw made me think that possibly George wasn't behind this at all. Coming in the door like a small diesel locomotive was my roommate, the Joker.
He stopped inside the entrance and looked around. I wasn't sure whom he was looking for, but he didn't leave me in doubt very long. He spotted Gloria and me, tossed his shoulders around a little, and then started walking heavily toward our table.
I said to Gloria, "Hang on, kid. We're going to have company," and shoved my chair back a little way from the table. I was wearing the .38 under my coat, but I didn't even like to think about waving it around in here.
Gloria licked her lips and said, "Oh. Oh, him."
The Joker stopped alongside us and glared at me for a few seconds. Then he said, "You was supposed to of stayed at the hotel, crumb."
"Yeah," I said. "Under the bed, I suppose. And lay off the crumb routine."
I stood up. I looked into the Joker's eyes and saw the tiny, pinpoint pupils. I sat down.
Junk. I knew the guy was a junky, but this was a hell of a time for him to have a load on. From the looks of his pupils he was full of the stuff; morphine, maybe. In his state he might do anything, absolutely anything. You can't predict a junky's actions. You're damn right I sat down.
He was acting funny, which was natural, but I couldn't figure him. He wasn't even looking at me now. He was looking around at the mess of hoods, and they were a mess. The Joker grinned widely all around, getting some grins and nods in return. He was having fun; a lot of his friends, who knew he was a comical fellow, were watching him. I wanted out of here, far away from here, but I had a firm conviction that I was stuck here whether I liked it or not.
The Joker looked down at me again. "You don't like me calling you crumb?"
"I don't like it."
"Well, all right," he said. "Why don't you say so? I won't call you crumb. I'm everybody's friend."
I didn't like this. I said, being very careful of my choice of words, "You know, I wish you'd blow. You're raising hell with my vacation."
It struck him funny. He laughed windily and slapped his stomach. Suddenly he stopped laughing, just turned it off, then wheeled and walked away. He walked clear across the room, and that should have made me feel better. It didn't because he stopped at a little table and sat down across from George Madison.
"Baby," I said to Gloria, "I don't like this a bit. And I'm getting jittery. The Joker's over there with your husband. It might seem peculiar to many that I'm sitting here with you."
She looked almost green. "Let's get out of here."
"Sure. We'll float out." I swallowed some air. "But we might as well try."
I started to get up and a strange thing happened. When I shoved back my chair it went back six inches, then lurched and came forward six inches and banged into my legs. I plopped down again. I looked over my shoulder.
Behind me, sitting at a table for four, which held six, was a guy about my size, which is pretty big. His foot was on the back of my chair, where he'd left it after shoving the chair under me again. I didn't know who he was, or what his occupation was, but the last part I could guess. He had the face of an ex-pug who was ex- because he was not a very good pug. Flattened nose, lump ear, scar tissue over both eyes. He shook his head back and forth. He didn't say anything aloud. He didn't have to say anything aloud. The five other guys at the table were of varying degrees of size and ugliness, and they all shook their heads too. They were telling me I was naughty.
I turned around. "Forget it, Gloria. I have just decided I like it here."
She'd seen the little cuteness, and she polished off her drink, then grabbed the full one the waiter had brought and started working on it. I worked faster. I finished mine and ordered more before she was through. Almost everything is easier when you're half-plastered.
Usually, after so many highballs, a slow, warm flush creeps up from my stomach and I start feeling happy. The flush was at my hairline, but I still wasn't happy. I had another drink, which helped a little. I didn't know what was up, but obviously something was cooking, and a man with only half a brain could figure that the Joker and Sudden Death Madison were the cooks, one or both of them.
"Too many cooks," I said.
She said, "Yes, sir. Too many crooks."
"Not crooks."
"Oh, yes they are. All of'’m."
I wasn't going to argue. "Not exactly what I meant," I said. "Joker and George. Don't like both of them sitting at the same table together. Not both those hoods."
She looked at me for several seconds. "I guess," she said slowly, "they figure two hoods are better than one." Then she laughed wildly.
I refused even to comment on that. It occurred to me that I was supposed to be looking for some papers. Along with about a thousand other guys. I would be very happy to go look for papers if I could get out of here, now that I'd got what I could from Gloria. She was a sweet kid.
"Gloria," I said, "you are a doll. I like you."
"You are a doll, too. I like you, too."
I was going on from there, though there wasn't much farther I could go in El Peñasc
o, when everything went black. I thought for a moment that I might have been sapped, but it was apparent I hadn't. Maybe I had gone blind. Could be that the waiter was a syndicate man. He might have put Mexican tap water in my highballs, and that stuff can kill you. But then there was a fanfare from the orchestra and a spotlight from the cliff behind us poured a wide swath of light down onto the dance floor. Showtime. An MC hauled a microphone onto the floor and started talking in Spanish.
"Hey," I said to Gloria. "Floor show. This ought to be good."
And then the MC switched to English and announced María Carmen, acrobatic dancer.
9
OUR TABLE was a few feet in from the edge of the dance floor, in front of it, so that we had excellent seats for the show. Remembering María, I was glad we did, and I turned my chair a little more toward the floor for unobstructed vision. The MC whisked the mike away, the spotlight broadened to cover the entire surface of the dance floor, and from the rear of the club came María Carmen onto the stage.
I had thought of her as medium-sized, but now I realized that that particular thought had come to me because she'd had all her clothes on. She still had some clothes on, but they were hardly worth mentioning. She wore only a kind of brassiere over her breasts, which I must now confess were not medium, and a skin-tight pair of shorts that must have been made of thin but very strong material, because they didn't split when María went into her act. Well, you can't have everything.
She was barefoot, and she walked slowly to the center of the stage and bowed to loud applause, in which I joined, and then she did a little wiggling, in which I also joined. A man in the orchestra started a roll on his snare drum, softly at first, gradually getting louder, and María stood in the center of the stage, facing the audience with her legs spread apart and her feet flat on the floor. Then she slowly began to do an ordinary back bend. It started out ordinarily, but instead of simply reaching with her hands to touch the floor, she just kept on bending until her head came up between her legs, and from that odd position she gave the crowd a big smile.
Darling, It's Death Page 7