For Murder — or Worse

Chapter Two Bloody Business

My future course of action was clear to me. I would have to humor these most peculiar people until such time as I could place myself in the hands of the law. In the meantime I was miserable about what Martha, the girl I shall marry someday, would be thinking. There is no nonsense in our relationship. We maintain a joint savings account and each month we deposit a stated amount from our mutual earnings. When the figure reaches the goal we have set, we shall marry. In the interim years Martha says that it is her duty to keep herself from being so attractive that I shall get overly impatient. Thus she dresses very plainly, uses no makeup and permits me to kiss her only on the cheek — though her cheek, I must admit, is quite interestingly warm and soft, that is for such a tall, thin girl.

She would undoubtedly be taking the — day off from her work, prostrate with grief. It was my duty to escape from these odd people as soon as possible.

“Now then, Anderson,” Mr. Artigan said, addressing me, “let’s fill you in on the gaudy details. This is a semi-political pitch. We have had a sap on the string for some time, grooming him for the job of Mayor of Pacific City. The campaigns have already started and one month from today comes elections. This pigeon of ours is named Walter F. Dermody. He looks honest and reliable, which is what we want, but as soon as he’s in, he’ll start putting our people in the appointive slots, and before you know it, we’ll be raiding the joints, dumping the old-time collection of crumbums and taking over the city, which, I might add, is a three million a year jackpot at the very least. It is much cleaner way of taking over a town than by going around shooting the people who already own the profitable concessions.”

I had to think very fast to decipher the meaning behind his crudities of expression. “I see,” I said.

“You don’t see yet. We thought this Wally Dermody was clean as a whistle — until a few weeks ago. We found that he had been what the books call a bit indiscreet. There were some letters. To his girl. We are very disappointed in Wally Dermody because it looked as though he would make us a fine mayor. The girl’s name is Prissy Thorpe, and she is highly annoyed because it seems Wally cut her as soon as we tapped him for the Mayor’s office. The letters she has are pretty emotional, from what Wally tells me. In few words, they are documents which do us no good printed in the paper. In fact, they amount to a kiss of death for our candidate.”

“I see,” I said.

“Not yet you don’t see, Anderson. This Prissy is a smart dish. She’s stashed the letters in the Harbor National Bank in a safety deposit box. She’s sitting in an apartment on West Osceola with her hands crossed, waiting to see who comes through with the high bid for those letters, my organization or Russ Pardo’s boys.”

The last name — Russ Pardo — rang a bell. On one trip while in the company of our Mr. Darben I had heard Mr. Pardo mentioned as being a hoodlum type and so-called boss of Pacific City. Obviously Mr. Artigan intended to contest his position through a clever political manipulation.

“Have you made a bid?” I asked weakly.

“No point in that. Pardo is in. He’s got his hands on more cash than we can round up. But I have been able to stall her from making a deal with Pardo. If we can get the letters, we’ll burn them, and our boy is in and, little by little, Pardo and his crowd will be eased out. If he gets them, you can bet they’ll be spread all over Pacific City and Wally Dermody will be one dead political duck. It’s too late to try to build up another candidate. We’ve got to sink or swim with Dermody, damn his peanut-sized brain.”

“I see,” I said.

“I wish, Anderson, you’d stop saying that. Now, here’s the program. We’ve been back-checking on Prissy Thorpe. Thorpe isn’t her right name. It was originally Kelly. We tried to get an angle on her folks and a big plum drops right in our lap. She’s got a kid sister still going by the name of Kelly right here in town. She’s a carhop at a place called the Turk Drive-in. four miles out Route 80. The first little job for you, Anderson, is to snatch the kid sister and bring her here. Because it’s a federal rap, we had to get out-of-town talent.”

I found myself almost incapable of words. “I’m to abduct a young woman?”

“None of that stuff,” Fish said sharply. “You just grab her and bring her here.”

Artigan gave Fish a look of deep contempt. “Never mind him. I might as well give you the whole plan. We’ve got to figure on what to do if this Prissy Thorpe-Kelly doesn’t care what happens to her kid sister. This you’ll love. If Prissy won’t listen, then you’re going to shoot a hole in Wally’s head. We’ve got to a guy on Homicide. All we have to do is tip him and he’ll spout to the press that it is obviously the work of Russ Pardo. With Wally dead, those letters won’t do Pardo any good. You can’t smear a dead guy. We’ll be all ready to run in another pigeon — named Francis A. Towner, who will immediately start screaming that Wally was a martyr to good government and the way the people can show their feeling about such gunman tactics is to elect him by a landslide vote. But we’d rather have it work out the first way, because I’m not too sure of this Francis A. Towner. He’s a lawyer and he’s a little smarter than Wally. He may be tough to handle once he gets in office and we’ve got nothing special on him to use against him. The stinker may get in and try to make a deal with Pardo.”

“When shall I... ah... snatch the damsel?” I asked, attempting to speak in the vernacular.

“That better be tonight,” Artigan said, “Fish’ll get a road map and spot the place on it for you. Georgie’ll drive.”

“I prefer to work alone,” I said.

He stabbed me in the chest with his finger, leaning across the table. “You’ll work like I say. You’re getting enough for it, remember.”

I smiled at him. “Well, I suppose I’m at liberty for the rest of the day, Mr. Artigan?”

“That’s right. You can use the pool and play records. Any bets you want to get down, see George. The liquor isn’t locked up, but don’t get stinko. Stay away from the gate and away from the phone.”

“A movie relaxes me,” I said.

“Oh, Nicky told you, did he? Brenda can run the projector. I got a nice file of stuff. I’ll tell her you want some movies.”

Brenda came out and sat meekly at a table some distance away. Soong brought her some coffee. Artigan stood up. “I got to go in to the office. Fish, George, Artie and Brenda’ll be around all day.”

Two men I hadn’t seen before appeared in the doorway. They looked at me coldly. Artigan left with them and I heard the car start up on the other side of the house.

It did not take me long to find that I was a virtual prisoner in the house. Once I almost made it to the phone before George appeared like magic, leaning against a door frame, cleaning his fingernails. I found the record library but it did not contain any DeBussy, a type of music I find exceptionally restful.

Fish brought a map, properly marked, and spread it on a table for me. He pointed with a pencil. “Here we are. And there is where she works. She’s on tonight. I checked. You’re the boss, Jumpy.”

To allay his suspicions I marked out a route, directly to the Turk Drive-in, then extending beyond it and zig-zagging back through narrow streets.

Fish nodded. “That’s good. It’ll look like we took her the other way. Now how about plates on the car? It’s rigged so they can be switched from the inside. There’s a lever on the dash.”

“Have we Florida plates in stock?”

“Sure thing. Yeah, that should be okay. Then we switch back to the regular ones. Now for the girl, you think chloroform or ropes and a gag or what?”

I swallowed a faint feeling of nausea. “We won’t need any of that, Fish. I’ll handle that matter personally.”

He bobbed his head. “You know, Jumpy, it sure is a treat to me to see how cool you boys operate.”

“If the planning is adequate,” I told him, thinking of the sales manual I had written back in what had begun to feel some other existence, “nothing can go awry.”

“Can go what?”

“Awry. Askew.”

“Sure, sure.” He bobbed his head.

I am ashamed to admit that such adulation made me feel larger than life size. It is pleasant, I found, to be considered to be a desperado, a devil of a fellow.

I yawned. “I believe I’ll take a nap to digest my lunch, Mr. Fish.”

He showed me to a bedroom and closed the door gently. I went at once to the windows. I could see over the high wall and out into the street. Some children played there. A car went by slowly. So near and yet so far. I sat disconsolately on the bed. I lay down and tried to devise a plan. I shut my eyes to facilitate the thought processes. When I opened them again it was dark outside and somebody was knocking on the door.

Soong beamed at me and said, “Chow, boss.”

After dashing cold water on my face I went down. The evening meal was spread buffet style on the big table in the dining room. Some sort of a party seemed to be in progress. There were several girls and many trays of cocktails. A lot of them turned and looked at me as I came down the stairway. Brenda wore a pale blue frock and she seemed to be quite over her sullen attitude of the morning. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes danced. The other girls seemed to be of rather the same type. All too vivid, with their red, red lips and their shining eyes and their bold dresses.

Mr. Artigan came immediately to me. “Little party,” he said in a low voice. “It’ll make a good cover in case of trouble. Know what I mean?”

“I trust there won’t be any trouble,” I said.

He took a cocktail glass full of a pale amber fluid from Soong’s tray and thrust it into my hand. Sleeping during the daytime always makes me exceptionally thirsty. Even the sight of a small pearl onion in the bottom of the glass did not deter me. A good salesman thinks of his customers and never eats onions in any form.

I drained the glass in three swallows. Just as I replaced it on Soong’s tray the ingredient it had contained caught me by the throat. I gave a strangled gasp, I am sure, and something seemed to be bounding up and down in my stomach, emiting flame and sparks. It was instinctive to attempt to cool off the fire. Before I realized what I was going, I had grasped a second glass and done likewise with it. Too late, I realized my mistake.

Artigan whistled softly and said, “That’s a hell of a way to drink Martinis.”

“The only way,” I said firmly. “More people should realize that.”

It is apparently true that alcohol has a remarkable effect on the inhibitions. The room and the party swirled into a sort of warm, smoky haze, and I was but intermittently conscious of my actions. At one point I went to my suitcase and brought out one of our standard items of the Idle Hour line, a lapel flower with blub attached. I have never cared particularly for the item, but it seemed an excellent idea to fill the bulb with Martini and wander through the group, aiming it at every handy face. I picked one stranger who took exception to my little game. I squirted him and he growled, “Cut that!” I smiled and gave it to him again. He balled his fists and took a step toward me, his nose practically against mine, and said, “You do that once more, tall and revoltin’, and I’m gonna—” I couldn’t hit him in the face with the stream, so I had to give it to him in the neck.

He actually seemed about to hit me when Mr. Artigan came quickly up and whispered something into the man’s ear. His whole attitude changed. He gave me a wide, glassy smile. “That’s a pretty good gag, is what I was trying to say,” he said in a slightly shaky voice.

I squirted him with what was left in the bulb and he laughed uproariously.

I was finishing a large plate of cold ham and potato salad when Artigan tapped me on the shoulder and said, “The car’s ready. Time to go.”

The warm haze slid away from me as though it had never existed. I dropped down into that pit of bottomless despair which I have since learned is a Martini depression.

It was Arty who caught me at the door and handed me my box. “You don’t want to forget this, do you?” he asked, grinning.

“Of course not. Thank you very much.”

The motor was running. George was at the wheel. Fish was in back. Fish seemed highly nervous. I got in with Fish. The gates opened and the car slid forward.

“How fast, Jumpy?” George asked politely.

“As fast as you can make it,” I said quickly, hoping that a prowl car would solve my dilemma.

“Sure thing,” George said gayly, turning out onto the main road. For the next six minutes I had my eyes open only at intervals. Each time I opened them I would see the massive car leaping for a tiny gap in the thundering traffic and I would be forced to shut them again.

He turned into a gaily lighted drive-in. The amplified music of a juke box yammered across the wide parking area.

“Already?” I said timorously.

“Four city miles in six minutes,” George said proudly. “Wait’ll I get you on the open road some time. This’ll do a hundred twenty-seven.”

“Better unwrap that box,” Fish suggested.

It could do no harm, and it might possibly do some good. I unwrapped the box. In the light inside the car the big gun looked deadly enough. I slid it under my belt and pulled my coat across it.

“That’s a tough size cannon to use,” Fish said with respect.

“It’s all in becoming accustomed to it.”

“Sure, sure.”

A girl approached our car. I wondered how the poor thing must feel being forced to parade in front of all the munching hundreds of people in nothing but those little shorts with the military stripe down the sides and the skimpy halter.

“What’ll it be, boys?” she inquired in a brassy voice.

“Say, do you come with the box lunch?” George asked.

“Sonny, you can’t afford our box lunch, so you’ll never find out, will you?”

Fish jabbed me hard with his elbow. I leaned forward, wet my lips, and said, “Would it be too much to ask to have Miss Kelly wait on this car?”

The girl seemed annoyed. The dollar I held out to her wiped away her expression. “Kelly coming up,” she said and strutted off. Martha would have disapproved.

“What’ll we do when she shows?” Fish asked, “Just yank her in and roar out of here?”

“First,” I said, “I believe I’d like to have her bring me a chocolate milk shake. I left the house before I had a chance to get dessert.”

“You slay me,” Fish said.

The Kelly girl approached the car. Her uniform was as skimpy as the one on the previous girl, but she wore it with what seemed a trace of self-consciousness. Her hair glinted dark red in the floodlights and her face had a most cute, snub-nosed impudent look. A magazine illustrator would have painted her as a kid sister type.

“They tell me I have friends here,” she said in a warm and throaty voice, peering in at us. “Do I know you?”

“You were recommended to us as providing excellent service, Miss Kelly,” I said, “For me, a chocolate milk shake.”

“Anna beer,” said Fish.

“Anna beer,” said George.

She went away. “Nice item,” George said. I said nothing. Out of the corner of my eyes I had detected a prowl car parked not far away. I hoped that neither George nor Fish would see it.

We were silent for a moment. I made my plan. I said, “When we’ve finished, we’ll give her a ten dollar bill. She’ll take away the tray and bring back our change. I’ll be waiting outside the car for her. I shall push her in, climb in myself, and away we will go.”

“Sounds okay to me,” George said.

For the next ten minutes, until I could safely get out of the car, I was almost frantic for fear the officers of the law would finish their repast and drive away. As she left with the tray and the ten dollar bill, I opened the door and got out. As casually as I dared I walked away from the blue sedan, directly toward the police car.

A beefy officer licked grease from his fingers and stared at me as I bent to talk in the window.

“Officer, I wish to report that those men in that car are planning to help me kidnap our waitress, the little girl with the red hair.”

He winked at me. “Mac, you got damn fine taste. I’ll say that.”

“You don’t understand, Officer! I’m turning myself in!”

“That’s damn white of you, Mac.” He reached out and pinched my cheek with his big fingers. “Gee, you’re a cutie,” he said. “Maybe she’ll go for you.”

“Hey, Red,” he shouted. I turned and saw the girl stop and then come over toward us.

“Hello, Dave,” she said.

“Red, this taxpayer here wants a recommend from the law. How do you like that? Mac, you ever been in jail?”

“Of course not!” I said hotly, “I’m trying to tell you—”

“I’ll handle this. You shut up. Red, look him over. He looks harmless to me. And he has got a new angle. You go off pretty soon, don’t you?”

“I should be off right now,” Red said, moving around me so that she could look into my face in the light. “You are kinda cute, but I don’t know you.”

“Mac meet Red. Red meet Mac,” Dave said. “Now you’re all palsy. Red, Mac wants a date. You busy tonight?”

She had a dimple when she smiled. “I guess when the law recommends a guy.”

The girl had taken the tray off the other side of the prowl car. The prowl car backed out. Dave leaned out the window and said, “Don’t ever say we cops ain’t on cupid’s ball team, Mac. Have a good time, Red.”

She handed me my change from the ten. She looked a little shy. “I won’t be long, Mac.” She turned and hurried off.

There was nothing to do but head back to the car. George and Fish looked at me. Their faces were white. “Just what the hell do you think—” Fish started.

“Kindly cease being so loquacious,” I said firmly. “Why do things the hard way? I asked the officer to introduce me to the girl. He was glad to do it. I asked her for a date. She’s in changing to her street clothes.”

“You asked the cop to introduce you?” Fish asked weakly.

“Of course!”

“Brother!” George said softly.

“Mr. Fish, you will kindly sit up in front with George. I desire to be left alone here in back with the young lady.”

“Anything you say, Jumpy,” he murmured obediently. He got up in front.

My mind was racing, but I could find no solution, no adequate way to warn her. The police had left too quickly. My cheek still hurt where the oaf had pinched me.

In far too little time she came hurrying out to the car. She was very cute in a green dress with a wide white belt, a brown coat over her arm. I got out to hold the door for her, more than half tempted to grab her wrist and run for it. But there was too great a distance to run. A shot at me might find her by accident. I could not ask her to take such a serious risk.

I handed her in and climbed in after her. “That wasn’t much of an introduction, Mac,” she said, with laughter in her voice. “Gee, I’m crazy to date a stranger like this. I guess there has to be a first time.”

“My name isn’t Mac,” I said. “It’s... Omar.”

Fish turned around. “No wonder they call you Jumpy. Omar! What a handle! Don’t I get a knockdown too?”

“My name really is Pat,” she said. “Pat Kelly. Isn’t that an awful name?”

“I rather like it. Pat, meet Fish and George.”

“Hiya,” said Fish.

“Hiya,” said George.

“Where are we going, men?” Pat asked. There was a nervous note in her voice. I could see that she was not exactly impressed favorably by my companions. I did not find it within my power to blame her.

“To a very nice buffet supper,” I said, as comfortingly as I could.

She seemed quite composed as we drove to Mr. Artigan’s house. The gates shut behind the car. I took her up the steps and into the hallway. The party had disappeared as though it had never existed. Artigan stood, rubbing his hands and beaming at her. “Nice work, Jumpy,” he said.

“He did it smooth,” Fish said. “He just dated her. Boy, a smooth worker.”

Pat stared at Artigan, at Brenda’s ravaged face, at the two cold-eyed men who had accompanied Artigan to work that morning. She looked at Fish, then at George. Last of all she looked at me, fright in her eyes. She was white to the lips and she backed toward the door. Fish slid around her and closed the door.

“Relax, honey,” Artigan said softly.

“Who... who are you people?”

“Friends, I hope. We want to be your friends. I had you brought here for a reason. I sent those three men out to get you and bring you here, Miss Kelly.”

Pat turned her blue eyes on me again and gave me a look of such ineffiable contempt that I could almost feel my soul shrivel. “I’ve never been wronger about anyone,” she said.

“We’re quite prepared to be unpleasant if we must,” Mr. Artigan said.

The color came back into Pat’s face. “Stop talking like a cut-rate script, whoever you are. What do you want of me?”

Artigan flushed. “Don’t give me too much mouth. I’ll tell you why we want you. You have a sister named Prissy Thorpe. Prissy has something we want. This seems like a good way to get it from her.”

Pat looked puzzled for a moment. And then she laughed. “That’s good! That’s really good! Pris is going to be all overcome by sisterly love, eh? This is going to be worth it for the laughs, if nothing else.”

Artigan turned to Brenda. “Give her Dolly’s old room. Lock her in. Help her, Anderson.”

I tried to grasp Pat’s arm as we went up the stairs. She pulled away from me. “Dandy date this is,” she said.