1945 - Blonde's Requiem (16 page)

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Authors: James Hadley Chase

BOOK: 1945 - Blonde's Requiem
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I stood up too.

Is that so?

I said angrily.

Let me tell you something. You

re a stubborn little fool and you want some sense spanked into you. I

ve a mind to do it myself.


You and who else?

she said scornfully.


Just me,

I said grimly, picking up my hat.

I

ve tamed better girls than you in the time it takes to wind my watch.

She jerked open the door.

Tell that fairy-tale to someone who

ll believe it— if you can find anyone that simple,

she said with fine scorn.


I

m warning you,

I said, wagging my finger in her face.

This job is too tough for you. You

ll only get your pretty little neck broken. Keep out of it and take up knitting.. I

ll even buy you the wool.


Oh!

she exclaimed furiously.

I hate you! Don

t you ever dare come here again!

I stepped up to her, pulled her to me and kissed her. We stood for a moment like that, my arm round her shoulders and my lips on hers. Then I stepped back and stared at her.


Now why in hell did I do that?

I said blankly.

She put her hand to her lips and stared back at me. The anger had gone out of her eyes.

Perhaps you wanted to,

she said in a meek, low voice, and closed the door gently in my face.

* * *

As I entered the lobby of the Eastern Hotel I spotted Reg Phipps talking to the dark, sulky-looking receptionist.

She was holding a movie magazine on her lap and chewing gum, an indifferent expression on her face. Reg leaned on the desk and seemed to be putting his personality over on a

short wave.

He looked over his shoulder as he heard me come in and his eyes brightened.


I

ll be seeing you,

he said to the girl.

Try not to pine for me.

She gave him a scathing look and returned to her magazine.


Hello,

I said to him, and reached for my key.

What

s cooking, beautiful?

I went on to the girl.

Still keeping in good shape, I see.

She eyed my bruises.

I look after what I

ve got,

she said coldly.

You

re not all that good you can afford to wear your face out as fast as you seem to be doing.


I got this in a fight,

I said, tapping my bruise and wishing I hadn

t.

That

s the kind of guy I am. Any time you say so you can have my chest for a rug. I

m tough—full of fight, liquor and——


Hot air,

she cut in.

I know. Toughs are ten a dime in this town.

I patted her shoulder, smiled at her and promised to send her a stuffed snake if I found one.


If it

s got to be a snake, come yourself,

she said acidly, and picked up her magazine again.

Reg and I went upstairs together.


Didn

t I say twelve?

I said, glancing at my wristwatch. It was a few minutes past ten-thirty.


It wasn

t worth it to go back home,

he explained.

So I looked in to talk to Nora. I

ll go back if you ain

t ready.


That Nora?

I said.

The dark, sulky one with the built-up area?

His leer was too youthful to be impressive.

That

s her,

he said.

Her father runs this hotel. I

ve been trying to make that dame for the last six years.

Seeing my startled glance, he added:

We were at school together.

I unlocked my door and we went in.

You be careful,

I warned him.

Something tells me that baby

s dynamite.


She is,

he said gravely.

Why do you think I

m working on her?

I waved him to a chair.

Sit down and stop boasting,

I said, giving him a cigarette.

Got your camera?


It

s in the car,

he said, eyeing me with suppressed excitement.

What

s cooking?


We

ve got a nice little job to do tonight,

I said, sitting on the bed.

Dixon

s at the city morgue. We

re going to get a picture of his body. Then we

ll come out slap across the Gazette with picture and story of Dixon

s murder, and how Macey tried to cover it up.

Reg

s eyes popped.

For the love of Mike!

he said.

You don

t think we

ll get away with that, do you?


Why not?

He sat back, gaping at me.

It

ll blow the lid right off this town,

he began.


That

s what I want,

I broke in.

It

s the only way to get something done. Listen, Reg, I

ll never find these girls until people cooperate. They won

t cooperate so long as they

re thinking only of the election. I want you to write a story along these lines.

I told him about the Street-Camera angle, and what had been happening since last I saw him.

Now you know the facts. The way to put it over is to ask questions. Do the people of Cranville know all four missing girls were photographed by the Street-Camera and that Dixon had copies of the photographs? The photos were stolen and Dixon was murdered. Who stole them and killed Dixon? Who owns the Street-Camera? Why did Chief of Police Macey say Dixon died of heart failure? Look at the picture printed below. Does that look like heart failure? Do you get it? That

s the way to put it over. Let Cranville make up its own mind.


It

s terrific,

he said, driving a small fist into the palm of his hand.

But, brother, what a stink there

ll be! If this ain

t asking for Starkey to put a slug into us, I don

t know what is.

I looked at him thoughtfully.

Plenty of time to back out, Reg,

I reminded him.


Don

t be funny,

he returned, his eyes sparkling.

This is just my meat. Was Wolf on the level when he said I could stick?

I nodded.

Yeah,

I said.

It means a hundred bucks a week for you, Reg, and that includes danger-money.


Aw, you

re kidding,

he said.

I

d do it for half of that.


It

s just enough,

I said, feeling my bruised head.

If I can get this story on the streets we

ll be getting somewhere.

I stubbed out my cigarette and lit another.


I

ve found a dame to replace the old girl. I think she

ll be useful all right.

Reg

s face fell.

Gee!

he exclaimed.

I was hoping I

d be able to pick my own secretary. What

s she like?


All right,

I said,

as long as you aren

t too fussy. Maybe she has bow legs and flat feet, but if she keeps them under a desk, why should you worry?

He looked pretty miserable.

Well, I guess I

ll have to take it,

he said gloomily.

A hundred bucks a week ain

t to be sniffed at.


What do you know about Audrey Sheridan

?

I asked.


More than most.

He brightened up.

What a pip of a dame! Seen her?

I nodded.

Is it right the agency

s a flop?


That

s not her fault,

he said.

It

s just Cranville didn

t have any crime around until this business blew up. I don

t know how the old man kept things going.


Where does she get her money? She looks a million dollars to me and her joint

s better than a lobby in the Ritz-Plaza.


Her uncle out West passed in his pail and left her a slice of jack,

Reg explained.

She furnished the place and bought herself some clothes, hoping it

d be good for business. But business just isn

t here.

I grunted.

She must be crazy,

I said.

It

s throwing money away. But she

s a nice looker, isn

t she?

He eyed me kind of old-fashioned:

You

re a fast worker, ain

t you?

he said.

I

d take that lipstick off your mouth if I were you.

I did so with a quick embarrassed wipe with my handkerchief.

I

m getting careless,

I muttered, not looking at him.


I wouldn

t mind a taste of that,

he said, winking at me.

Yum-yum. Was it any good?

A tap on the door interrupted an awkward moment.

Marian French put her head round the door.

What on earth do you think you

re doing?

she exclaimed.

Why aren

t you in bed?

Reg Phipps stared at her with popping eyes. He sucked in his breath and gave a low whistle.


Hello, Marian,

I said.

Don

t worry about me. I

m fine. There were things I had to do. Did you have a good time?

She came further into the room.

You must be crazy to go around with a head like that,

she scolded.


I

d be still more crazy to go around without it,

I returned with a grin.

I want you to meet Reg Phipps, editor of the Granville Gazette. Reg, this is Marian French, your new secretary.

Reg got to his feet and turned as red as a beet.

You wouldn

t be kidding?

he said pleadingly.

I winked at Marian.

I told you he

d be all over you,

I said.


Gee, Miss French,

Reg said, ignoring me.

This is terrific!

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