Murder Doll

by Milton Ozaki

  “An old fellow in St. John. Zeke something. He didn't mention his last name.”

  “I remember him. He works around the diner. Incidentally, mister, we don't use last names here. It's better that way because a lot of people don't want everybody knowing who they are. I'm Shirley.”

  “My name's Carl.”

  “Glad to meet you, Carl.” She gave me a gnarled old hand for a moment, then became business-like again. “You can give me your money now, and I'll assign a locker to you. Let's see, you'd better take number 78. That's on the right hand side, about in the middle.”

  I handed her twenty dollars. She put the money in a tin box, took down a ledger labeled Register, and wrote: “Carl .... $10.00.” In another book she wrote: “Carl .... five days paid.” She dated the entry, found a rubber ring on which a key was suspended, and handed it to me.

  “Here you are, Carl. I know you're anxious to get your skin out in the open so it can breathe. Change clothes in there and be sure the lock Catches when you finish. We ain't responsible if there's anything missing.” While she was talking, she reached behind her and untied the red handkerchief. Then she began unbuttoning the jeans. I fled into the locker room.

  It was a large room, lined with the kind of steel lockers used by schools and gymnasiums. I found number 78 and unlocked it. There was a shelf, three hooks, and about twelve cubic feet of acrid, musty odor inside the metal cubicle. I sat down on a wooden plank which ran down the center of the room and gave myself a lecture. At least, this was something different, I told myself. I used to go to burlycues and pay dough to see girls without clothes. I'd gone swimming in high school in the nude. I'd stood nude with hundreds of other soldiers while doctors went down the line inspecting us. This couldn't be any worse than that. Hell, it was all in your mind. Evil to him who thinks evil. All I had to do was not stare and act like I was a lover of the great outdoors ...

  I undressed, banged the locker shut, and twisted the key. The door seemed secure, so I stretched the rubber ring over my left foot and pulled it up onto my ankle with the key dangling. The floor was cold and I saw that goose bumps were appearing on my arms and legs. I shivered and wondered if I weren't on the verge of making a fool of myself. Before I could reach a conclusion, the door opened and the old girl peered in. It dawned on me that the locker room was probably used by all the members, both men and women.

  “You ready yet?” she asked briskly. “If you are, I'll show you where the dormitory is.”

  I felt like crawling under the plank and hiding, but I restrained myself and said: “Sure, Shirley. I'm anxious to see it.”

  She didn't give me a second glance, so I got up and followed her out of the building. It was a little warmer in the sun, but the air was still cool and damp and, shivering a little, I walked delicately behind her down a narrow path, trying to avoid stepping on sticks or stones.

  “Everybody'll probably be down at the lake,” she commented once, waiting for me to catch up. “Better not get too much sun your first day. Stay in the water a lot, or you'll get burned.”

  “That's a good idea,” I said, dancing away from a branch which threatened to take all the skin off my chest. “I'll try to keep in the shade.”

  She went swinging ahead of me on her skinny legs until we came to a clearing, in the center of which was a large, jerry-built, barn-like building, painted a dirty red. As we approached, five kids came streaming out of the door, all screaming and laughing at the leader, a girl of about ten, who was leaping and bucking like a bronco. They disappeared into a clump of bushes.

  “Aren't they beautiful?” Shirley asked. “That's the way God intended them to play.”

  “Just like in the Garden of Eden,” I said, hoping it didn't sound too corny.

  “Exactly,” she replied, smiling. “Come in. I want you to meet some of our other members. You've had breakfast, haven't you?”

  “I ate in St. John.”

  “That's good. We don't have any regular mealtimes here. When you get hungry, just come in and help yourself. This is the recreation hall.”

  With a sweep of her arm, she indicated a large room which was cluttered with heavy wooden tables and folding-type chairs. At one table five big guys were playing stud poker; at another, a man and a woman were eating sweet rolls and guzzling coffee from white mugs.

  “Folks, this is Carl,” Shirley said in a loud voice. Seven heads turned disinterestedly and nodded. I nodded back. “The beds are upstairs,” she said, leading me to a rickety stairway. “When the weather's nice, most of the members sleep outside, of course; this is just in case it's cold or rainy.”

  The dormitory proper contained at least forty army-size cots, each rumpled and showing evidence of considerable use. On one of them a hairy ape was sound asleep with his mouth open. Above some of the cots, signs were tacked. Walking closer, I saw that one of them read: “Reserved for Dot and Joe.” The one next to it read: “Paula and Vera.” In general, the main ornamentation of the walls was a profusion of snapshots, showing various couples wearing nice coats of tan and proud smiles.

  “You don't need to pay any attention to the signs,” Shirley explained. “It's all right to take any bed you want. We're like one great big family.”

  “Looks like it,” I agreed.

  “Well, I've got to get to work,” she said, starting back down the stairs. “You can look around if you want to, but I'd go down to the lake if I were you and get some actinic rays. They're especially good at this time of day. If you need anything, just holler out.”

  “Thanks. I'll do that.”

  I spent a few minutes studying the snapshots on the walls, then went downstairs and out into the sunshine. Humans, it appeared, were adaptable creatures. In the few minutes during which I'd been prancing around, I had begun to relax and feel considerably less conscious of my lack of covering. Hearing a shout of laughter drifting toward me from a clump of trees to the right, I walked down a path toward it. The path ended suddenly, and I found myself on the edge of a small, spring-fed lake. A couple dozen assorted kids and adults were sunning themselves on its banks or floating around in the water. Most of the kids were clustered on a red-and-blue raft which was anchored about fifty feet from shore.

  I approached the water cautiously. It was as warm as soup. I dove, came up, and side-stroked my way along a line about twenty feet from shore, trying to get a good look at everybody without attracting attention to myself. The females were either too fat or too thin, too old or too young; most of the men had thick folds of flesh around their middle or thin folds of flesh around their bones.

  I had decided that Solar was the wrong park and that I'd better move on and try my luck at Zoro, farther down-state, when I spotted Tony Wells. He was sitting off to one side by himself and I damned near didn't recognize him, he looked so different without clothes.

  I surface dived and came up near him.

  “For chrissake,” he said, fixing his eyes on my dripping face. “They must be getting ready to throw this dump to the dogs.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “Hello, Tony,” I said, pulling myself out of the water. “Imagine meeting you here.” The last time I'd seen him, he'd been strutting around in a two-hundred-buck tuxedo ushering suckers into the plush Club Del Rio on Rush Street.

  He grunted, then suggested that I do an impossible thing.

  “What the hell,” I protested. “I'm a member. What's wrong with my wanting to feel the sun on my skin and get back to nature?”

  “How'd you get in?” he asked.

  “Drove in. Why?”

  “Five will get you eight that you don't drive out.”

  “Why not? I paid a fee and I'm a member. I can beat it any time I want.”

  “That's what you think. See that wall?” He nodded toward the high stone wall, part of which was visible between the two trees. “See them spikes? What you think they're there for, to keep people out?”

  I studied them and saw what he meant. The top of the wall was lined with
long, curving tines, the points of which were bent inward. They should have been bent the other way, if they were intended to keep people out.

  “Well, so what?” I asked. “I go out like I came in— through the gate.”

  “How stupid can you get?” he asked, slapping viciously at a mosquito. “Where are you going without clothes?”

  “I got clothes,” I told him. “They're in a locker.” I pointed at the key which dangled from my ankle.

  “It don't mean a thing,” he told me, practically spitting the words out. “We all got keys, but nobody gets to use them unless the old lady says it's okay—and she ain't going to say it's okay when she finds out she's boarding a private dick.”

  “Who's going to tell her?”

  He shrugged. “Not me. I got enough troubles.”

  “What brought you out here, Tony?”

  He spat a four-letter word.

  “No, seriously, Tony. What's the pitch?”

  He eyed me incredulously. “You mean you don't know? I thought you were a wise guy.”

  “I know there's a lot of heat in the city and that Dippy Bain's trying to muscle in on Pisano, but that's all I know. I came here because Morrie Tannenbaum got a tip that some of the boys were hiding out in an Indiana nudist camp.”

  “You working with Morrie?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  While he took that under consideration, I shifted around so the other side of me would be in the sun. As I did so, a slim, tanned sprite came running out of the trees. She had long reddish hair which frothed about her shoulders like a gypsy shawl. Without breaking her stride, she reached the side of the lake and dove into the waters.

  “Jeez,” I said, “look at that.”

  “You wanted to know how I got here,” Tony said disgustedly, “now you know. She's one of them.”

  “One of what?”

  “One of the hookers they've got. Most of them get here in the evening, when the suckers start pouring in. How do you suppose they keep a dump like this running?”

  “You mean that babe is for hire?”

  “For a sawbuck you can have her or any one of them, except the blonde. She's the best looking, and she's exclusive. I haven't figured out who she belongs to, but I know she isn't bothering with punks.” He snorted, then added, “Be smart and leave them strictly alone. Once one of them hooks you, you're a goner.”

  “Hell, I've been hooked before,” I told him, grinning. “That redhead's cute.”

  “They're all cute, until you see yourself in pictures.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look, Carl. You're really working with Morrie?”

  “Honest to God. Why should I lie about it?”

  “Okay. I'll tell you the story.” He rolled his lips, grunted, and a far away look came into his eyes. “It's like this: A babe starts coming into the Del Rio and has herself a drink at the bar once in a while. She's a real looker —blonde hair, well built, swell legs, acts as though she has dough—and she starts giving me the eye. Hell, I'm human. I've got a wife and kids, but this blonde looks like the chance of a lifetime. First thing you know, I catch myself hanging around her and asking for a date. At first, she's cold as ice. Hard to get, see? Then she starts melting, little by little, and I figure I'm getting myself in solid. Last week—Sunday night, it was—she comes in late and hangs around until it's time for me to call it a day. Naturally, I proposition her again, figuring I've got nothing to lose, and all of a sudden she says okay, but we oughtn't to be seen any place in town together and how about driving out into the country where she knows a nice, quiet place. It sounded like a smart idea, her being so classy and all, and me with a wife to think about, so I said swell—and I phoned my old lady and told her I had to go out of town for a few days. I thought me and this blonde were going to shack up for the week-end, see?”

  “Give me the blonde's name, Tony.”

  “Carstairs. Alice Carstairs. I don't know if it's her real name or not, but that's the one she gave me. Let's see, where the hell was I?”

  “You'd called your wife and—”

  “Yeah. I got myself all set for a big time. You know how a guy does. I put a couple fifths of good liquor in the car, and we started out. I got to give her credit for putting on a good act. All the way here, she snuggled against me in the car so I could hardly keep my foot on the pedal. I kept wanting to pull off the road and stop at a motel, but she wouldn't let me. She had a hankering for this particular place, so I humored her. Well, it was later than hell when we got here, but I was kind of stinking from the liquor and she'd gotten me aroused to the point where I was ready for anything. I took off my damn clothes and gave them to the old lady and started looking for the blonde. She wasn't anywhere around.” Tony sighed deeply and spat into the water. “Well, I kept walking around, looking for her, and I came across a couple of other dames. I was pretty high by then and they looked just like what the doctor ordered. One of them was a cute little thing with equipment that nearly knocked my eyes out, and, when she suggested that we find a nice place and have a party, I didn't give her an argument. She took me to a room in the joint they call a dormitory.”

  “What happened to the blonde?”

  “Hell, after I ran into this kid, I didn't give the blonde another thought. I was too drunk to give a damn about what kind of hair she had, and she was a real hot number. I thought I was quite a guy and having a hell of a time for myself. Well, when I woke up the next day, the kid was gone and I had a hangover about seven feet long. The old babe—the one they call Shirley—came around and wanted to know if I'd like some lunch. I said hell, no, just give me my clothes and let me out. She laughed, sort of, and told me I ought to rest for a few days. I tried to get tough but it didn't do me any good. She's got a crew of big guys around and one of them made things pretty plain: Either I be good or they'd knock the hell out of me. I kept asking what the deal was, but nobody'd give me any answers. Then, on Tuesday night, just when I'm nervous enough to cut my own throat, the blonde shows up again. She came in, right after dinner, as though she owned the damned place. Maybe she does, now that I think about it. Anyway, she takes me upstairs and starts giving me the low-down on the Del Rio. She had all the dope down pat, even to how much I pay for seltzer, and she made it plain that Pisano was on his way out and that a new outfit was moving in. She wanted me to sign an agreement giving her a cut of everything. Naturally, I laughed at her. Imagine yourself in the same spot. You'd have done the same damned thing, and you know it.”

  “Probably,” I agreed. “What was the gimmick?”

  “After I'd had my laugh, this Carstairs babe turns off the light and switches on a movie projector.” Tony stopped abruptly and eyed me belligerently. “One word about this to anybody else, Carl, and you haven't got any teeth any more. Understand?”

  “I won't blab, Tony.”

  “Well, she turns on this projector, like I said, and, Jeez, there I am. I don't know if you ever saw any movies like that, but they're enough to make you sick. It's bad when it's somebody else, but it's a thousand times worse when you're the star of the picture. I damned near blew my top.”

  “For chrissake!” I said softly. “What a lousy set-up!”

  “You don't know the half of it. What it boils down to is this: Either I do like she says, or they're going to show the film to my wife and give it to one of these agencies that distributes that kind of stuff all over the country. You know what that would do to me. I'd have to get out of the United States, or be ha-ha-ed for the rest of my life.”

  “Would she give you the film if you signed the agreement?”

  “That's the deal, but either way it's a tough jam. If I sign, I'll have Pisano on my neck and I'm liable to wake up dead; if I don't sign—tell, what would you do?”

  “How long have you got to decide?”

  “She didn't say. I can sit here on my behind and swat mosquitoes from now to Doomsday, for all she seems to care. One of her guys is probably taking my place in t
he Del Rio right now.”

  “Have you seen Orville Pederson around here?”

  “That jerk. He disappeared yesterday morning.”

  “He was here, though?”

  “Yeah. Bugsy's here, too.”

  “Bugsy O'Hare?”

  “Sure. She's probably trying to hook the Playtime away from him, just like she's trying to get the Del Rio away from me.” He laughed grimly. “See that guy on the flat rock out there, splashing his feet in the water?”

  “The skinny one?”

  “Uh-huh. That's Bugsy. Looks like hell without those padded suits he usually wears, doesn't he?”

  “For chrissake. I wouldn't have recognized him. Who else is here?”

  “A couple small time joes from the southside. I understand a couple other guys were here last week. I guess it didn't take them long to make up their minds.”

  “So the Carstairs babe is the big noise in the new mob,” I said thoughtfully, “and the boys—”

  “Naw,” he interrupted, “she's just a good-looker that they're using for a roper. She's getting orders from upstairs some place.”

  “The word, Tony, is that Dippy Bain is the big boy and that he's putting a girl in to look after things for him. Why not the Carstairs girl? Maybe she was playing around with him in Philadelphia.”

  “She's just a hooker,” Tony insisted flatly. “She hasn't got enough brains to file her own toenails. I been dealing with babes for a long time, and I know. If a dame is running things, it isn't her.”

  “Who, then?”

  “How the hell would I know?” he asked disgustedly. “I haven't even got enough brains to figure a way out of here.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I swam around for a while, waiting for an opportune time to talk to Bugsy O'Hare, but, purposely or not, every time I started toward him, he flopped away in the water and started trading words with some old guy near him. Just when I thought I had a good chance, a horn sounded from the direction of the dormitory and everybody, as though jerked by a string, climbed out of the water and hot-footed it away.