42 Days For Murder

Chapter Ten

My girl turned out to be a Spanish-looking brunette. Very snaky and very pretty. But she talked as though her mouth were full of mush, which spoiled the effect, and I wished to God I’d tried the fourth number on the list before I’d tried hers. Mrs. Hazel George-Wolff-Heber was about as I had her picked. Just a big good-natured wench that couldn’t keep her hands off any man, regardless of size, age, or color. She kept telling Lester that she adored men who wore glasses, because they looked so distinguished. She told me she adored music and musicians. She made pig eyes at the good-looking cab driver who drove us out to the Three C Club and she did everything but climb over the bar after the bar man who served us the first drink when we got there.

Just a good kid... but a bit worn. I couldn’t tell whether the gargling effect my tart put on or Hazel’s giggles were the worse; both got on my nerves before we’d got once around the track.

We moved in the back room and took a look at the man that followed me on the job, and Hazel leaned over and patted me on the cheek and said: “He doesn’t play half as well as you do, honey. Tee-hee-hee!”

Lester said the same, very loyally. My bitch, who gargled, yessed on it. For that matter, I didn’t think he did myself, so we were all even. Then Rucci came over to the booth, smiling and shaking his head, and said:

“Why, Connell! I was told you were leaving. I hired this other man in your place, as I told Kewpie.”

“Who told you?” I asked.

He made a pretense of trying to remember and finally said he didn’t remember; that he’d been around all that day and had met so many people. He’d hired the new man to be sure he’d have music and so on. He was very nice... too nice... and brought a round of drinks before he hurried away.

The phone booths were by the hall leading to the men’s room and as soon as he dashed into one I made the sneak. He hadn’t the door quite closed when I went by and I could hear him say to somebody: “I tell you he’s here now. Right now. In a party. There’s the Heber, that kid,...”

I couldn’t stand there and listen so I went on. I went back to the booth and by and by the two girls went to powder their noses. I said to Lester:

“You wanted to be a cop, didn’t you?”

He said: “Sure!” and took off his glasses and started to polish them. I said: “You’d better leave them on, kid, and get the hell out of here with these two women, or you’re going to find out that a cop leads a hard life.”

He brightened and said: “Is it trouble, Shean? Is it trouble?”

“With a capital T, I think. I’m on a spot.”

He said firmly: “We’ll send the girls home and I’ll stay with you, of course. You should know that.”

I said: “I know it. I told you because I knew I couldn’t get rid of you just telling you to go and giving you no reason. At least you know what to expect.”

“What will happen?”

I said: “Dope! Here it comes now.”

Three men were heading for the booth, coming across the dance floor and walking as though they were more used to sawdust under their feet. All three looked like saloon bouncers. That type. The one in the lead was a big burly red-faced bird that would have weighed at least two-fifty stripped to the buff. We had two ashtrays, heavy glass affairs, on the table and I palmed the one nearest me and stood up and got clear of the booth. The big guy said:

“You’re Connell!” out of the side of his mouth and he didn’t make it any question.

I said: “Sure!” and hit him in the face with the tray.

That worked just fine and dandy. He went back and down, skidding across the floor and upsetting the one right back of him. The one left side-stepped them and came toward me fast, swinging something in his hand, and I got a couple of feet farther away from the booth so that I’d have room to work in. He cut at me with what he held and I saw it was a sap, even as he swung it. I got in closer than he thought I could in the time I had and I hit him just a little lower than the belly and as hard as I could land.

That worked, also. He doubled up, dropping the sap, and I brought my knee up in his face. He went down and out.

And then I turned and saw something funny. Lester, without his glasses, can’t see five feet from his face. And then he was crying and that didn’t help his sight a bit. He’d managed to get clear of the booth and grapple with the second man, and grapple is just the word I mean. He had both arms around him and it looked as though he was trying to climb up him like a kid climbs a tree.

I’d dropped my tray when I’d hit the first one. I circled Lester and his partner, waited until I got a clear shot at the partner’s jaw, and smacked.

He just shook his head and I wondered if I’d lost my punch. I circled around the two of them again, waiting for another chance, and then I heard a scream, right in my ear, and the Heber woman brought down a hefty handbag across the guy’s head.

It hurt Lester more than it did the guy because he shook Lester off with a sort of wiggle. But it bothered him enough to make him stand still and I got him by the wrist and then turned and threw him over my shoulder. It wasn’t hard. I yanked and stooped at the same time and he went over in the old flying mare. He landed in a heap and I got there and kicked him in the face before he could scramble up.

The first guy was out cold, with blood streaming from his face. The ashtray, with all my weight behind it, had caught him across the bridge of the nose. He was a mess.

The second was rolling around on the floor and holding his arms wrapped around the lower part of himself.

The third didn’t look well either. He was lying flat on his back by the piano and the piano player was staring down at him as though he didn’t believe what he was looking at.

I went back to the booth and said to the two women and Lester: “Let’s get out of here! Quick! Or we’ll be mobbed.”

The Heber woman was crying out: “He was killing Lester! He was killing Lester!”

My Spanish-looking gal said: “My God, man! Will this happen wherever we go?” and I almost liked her then. Lester was fumbling around with his glasses, too excited to put them on and blind as a bat without them. I put them on for him and we started for the door. Rucci got in the way, just as we got to the door between the back room and dance floor and the bar, and I straight-armed him out of the way. He went whirling back and we got in the bar proper.

The first thing I saw was Crandall, standing at the bar and gawking at us. I said to Lester: “There’ll be a cab outside. Grab it quick!”

And then I want to Crandall. I said: “It didn’t work, mister, but don’t give up.”

He grinned at me and said: “I won’t.”

I started to pass at him and somebody grabbed my arm when it went back. I could see I was outclassed, that I couldn’t whip the entire bar bunch, so I said:

“I’ll be seeing you.”

He nodded, keeping his grin, and I dashed outside.

Lester and the women were just climbing in a cab. There was always one sticking around outside, waiting for a sucker. I climbed in after them and told the hacker: “Wheel her, boy! They don’t like us here.” He grinned and said: “Yus, Chief!” and I saw it was the same good-looking kid that had driven us out there.

So did Hazel Heber. She leaned forward and cooed: “My, did you wait for us?”

He said: “Hell, no!” That stopped her. We kept on taking in the spots until about twelve and by that time I thought Hazel was drunk enough to tell the truth, if she knew it. I was half tight. My Spanish effect was lit like a chandelier. Lester was cold sober and watching his Hazel with fear on his face. We were in a booth in the Palace Bar, and I leaned across to Hazel and said: “Lester tells me you know the Wendel woman.” She giggled and said: “Li’l Hazel knows everybody. Knows ’em all, she does. Don’t she?”

“Sure, Hazel, sure you do. What’s she like?”

“She’s swell kid. At’s all Hazel knows; swell kids. You’re swell kid; I’m swell kid.” She screwed up her face and focused on my Spanish. “She ain’t swell kid. She’s bum.”

Spanish said: “Why you big horse!” in an outraged voice and lifted her hand to cuff her. I caught her arm and said under my breath: “Easy, honey lamb! She’s just stiff.”

Spanish said, in the same tone, which was high and carrying: “So’m I drunk. So’re you drunk. Everybody’s drunk. But I’m no bum.”

Hazel wagged a finger at her and insisted: “You are too a bum. I guess I know a bum when I see a bum.”

I wanted to laugh but this was business and no place for pleasure. I hustled Spanish off what she was sitting on and out of the booth and started her back to the Ladies Room. I said: “Look, kitten, go back and wash your face with cold water. Run cold water on your wrists. If you don’t you’ll never last out the night and we’re just starting to have fun.” This has been a good argument for as long as I can remember. She fell for it. She looked up at me and said, in that gargling voice: “You come with me, Lover.”

“I can’t go in the Ladies Room.”

She admitted this seemed sensible and weaved toward the back of the place. I sat down opposite Hazel and said:

“You were telling me about Mrs. Wendel.”

She frowned and said: “She’s better than me, hunh? Is zat it?”

I said: “Hazel, you’re the sun and the moon and the stars for me. You know that. Don’t be silly. I was just wondering why this Wendel woman was getting a divorce.”

“Her old man was mean, that’s why. Jus’ like all the men he was. Mean. Mean, tha’s what he was.”

“What did he do: beat her up?”

“Sure! Alla time. She tol’ me. He used to swear at her and call her dirty whore and things like ’at. No woman stand that. No womanly woman stand that.”

I though possibly she was getting her case and Ruth Wendel’s a bit mixed in her mind. I asked: “What grounds are you suing on?”

She said proudly: “I got reasons, too, I have. Cruel and inhuman treatment. D’ya know what ’at man did to me?”

I said I didn’t.

“Used to read paper at breakfast. Make me get up for it then read paper. Talked about bills all time. Front of people he talked. No woman stand that. No womanly woman stand that. Right?”

I said: “Right. And the Wendel gal is suing because her papa beat her up and called her dirty names?”

“Sure. She tol’ me.”

She pounded on the table and called for another drink; she was drinking double-Scotch highballs, and Lester said in a worried voice: “Hazel, don’t you think you’ve had enough for a while? Wouldn’t it be better if you laid off?”

“Li’l Hazel never has enough. Not ever.”

I said to Lester: “Well, every man has his cross to bear,” and then my Spanish honey came staggering back and gasped: “Jesus, Honey, I’m sick,” to me.

She sounded sick, but a hell of a lot soberer.

I said: “Let’s get to hell out of here and let young love have a chance.”

She gave me one of those kind of looks and said: “We can have a drink at my place. I want to lie down.”

Lester made a frantic attempt at getting his blonde menace on his feet, so they could go with us, but it was hopeless. The big tramp sat solidly on what she had plenty of and wouldn’t turn a wheel. The last I saw of them she was up-ping another Scotch and Lester was staring after me with a pained and worried expression.

My girl sobered up in the cab going home, enough to be more than a little sore when I wouldn’t go in her apartment with her. I said: “Now look, hon! I’ve got a busy day tomorrow. I’ll give you a ring during the afternoon.”

She said: “Don’t bother.”

“Make it easy on yourself,” I said, and turned and started down the hall, but she paddled after me and purred: “Don’t you be mad at me, Sweet. You call me tomorrow afternoon.”

“Sure, Pet.”

“I’ll wait by the phone for you to call.”

I left, hoping she wouldn’t go hungry sitting by the phone and waiting for me to call. She was pretty but I didn’t like her voice. I don’t expect ’em perfect, at my age, but I don’t want them saying sweet nothings in my ear and sounding as though they had adenoids while they do it. It’s not that I’m so fussy but you can hear a voice, even in the dark.