I'll Get You For This (23 page)

  I crossed the sitting-room, wandered into the bedroom.

  Gomez and Lois Spence were in bed. He lay on his back; she on her side. Neither of them snored. Neither of them looked particularly attractive.

  I sat on the edge of the bed, pinched Lois's toes. She muttered in her sleep, turned, flung out a white arm, hit Gomez on his beaky nose. He cursed, threw her arm off, sat up. His eyes took me in, and he snapped awake. He didn't move. The .38 must have looked pretty menacing from where he lay.

  "Hello, sportsman," I said, smiling at him. "How did you like your swim?"

  He drew in a deep breath, relaxed back on his pillow. His eyes had that ferocious glare reserved for caged tigers, otherwise he kept surprisingly calm.

  "You'll do this once too often, Cain," he said, not moving his lips. "What's the idea?"

  "No idea," I said. "I blew in because I was curious to know how you liked your little dip last night."

  He studied me for a long moment. "I didn't like it," he said, at last.

  "Something told me you wouldn't," I said, grinning. "I must be getting clairvoyant. Well, brother, what are you going to do about it?" Without taking my eyes off him, I pulled out the copy of the Morni
ng Star a
nd handed it to him. "Take a gander at that. Our Ed. has cut himself a nice slice of publicity at your expense, hasn't he?"

  One look at the headlines brought Gomez up on his elbow. He was wearing mauve and white pyjamas. They didn't suit his sallow complexion. What with one thing and another, he looked like hell. I bet he felt that way too.

  His sudden move uncovered Lois. She didn't seem to have anything on. She grabbed the sheet back, muttered under her breath, turned over.

  Not wishing her to miss the fun, I pinched her toes again.

  "Cut that out!" she snapped angrily, opened her eyes. She looked at me, stiffened, clutched Gomez. He threw her off, and went on reading the newspaper.

  "Hi, Tutz," I said, smiling at her. "Don't froth up your cold cream. Me and Juan are in conference."

  She sat up, remembered there were gentlemen present, dived under the bedclothes again.

  "What the hell goes on?" she demanded in a voice thick with rage and fright.

  "Shut up," Gomez snarled, and went on reading.

  "Chivalry in the twentieth century," I said sadly. "Never mind. Relax, beautiful, and wait until the great man has read his paper."

  Lois lay back regarding Gomez with glittering, furious eyes.

  He got through reading the newspaper, slung it down.

  "The rat I" he said, clenching his fists, then remembering I was still with him, went on, "What do you want?"

  "Ed. and I don't get along either," I said. "I thought you might feel like doing something about it."

  He stared at me for a moment, then lay back. "Such as what?"

  "Are you crazy?" Lois demanded furiously. "Why do you let this heel sit on our bed like this? Hit him! Do something!"

  Gomez, snarling, slapped her face, got out of bed. "Come into the other room where we can talk," he said. "Women drive me nuts."

  I looked at the telephone by the bed, shook my head. "This blue-eyed twist might get ideas," I said. "I'll keep you both where I can watch you."

  Gomez jerked the extension plug from the wall, picked up the telephone and walked across the room.

  "I want to talk," he said. "She wants to fight. We'll get nowhere if she's in on the conversation."

  "I'll make you pay for this!" Lois stormed. "You can't talk to me like this, you—you gigolo!"

  He stepped to the bed.

  "Shut up!" he snarled.

  "Well, come on," I said impatiently. "If you want to talk, let's talk."

  He glared at Lois for a moment, then joined me at the door. Lois started warming up the room with some fancy cursing, but we shut the door and left her to it.

  Gomez sat down in an easy chair in the outer room. He ran his fingers through his long oily hair, eyed me the way a snake eyes its first meal after hibernation, said, "Just where do you figure in all this?"

  "Killeano's coming after you, buddy," I said, lighting a cigarette. "He knows the only way he can get re-elected is to show the electors that he can handle boys like you. Flaggerty getting knocked off was a break for him. It's given him a chance to show his power. He's sold you out. He'll sell all the other bright boys out too. But you can stop him, if you want to."

  "I can stop him all right," Gomez said, clenching his fists. "And I don't want any help or suggestions from you."

  "You boys always work the same way," I said, shrugging. "You figure you'll lay for Ed., and fill him full of hot metal. But you won't get near him. He knows you'll come gunning for him, and he'll take precautions. I bet you don't set eyes on him until after the election; then it'll be too late."

  Gomez chewed his under-lip, frowning.

"Well, what's your idea, then?"

  "An easy way to fix Killeano would be to call at 46 Waterside between eleven-thirty and twelve tonight," I said. "Maybe you didn't know Ed. relaxed in that joint. He has a private room

  in the basement, and his mob goes with him. I don't suppose they'll worry you much, will they?"

  He brooded, then stood up. "If that's all you can suggest," he said, "you can beat it. And the next time you snoop into this apartment without being invited, you'll be carried out feet first."

  "I'm scared," I said, went to the door, opened it, paused. "If you did find Killeano in that cathouse, it'd look good in the press, wouldn't it? Jed Davis would print all the dirt you gave him so long as you gave him proof. I can't see Ed. being re-elected if that kind of news broke on the morning of the election, can you?"

  "Get out," he said.

  I went.

  On the outskirts of Paradise Palms a few tumbled-down huts, side by side, sprawled into the darkness. Further along, standing alone, was the only building of importance.

  Over its arched doorway, a sign flickered against the night sky. Forty-six.

  I had parked the Mercury convertible in a vacant lot some way back, and I approached the building cautiously, keeping in the shadows. Through the open doorway I could hear dance music. The shuttered windows revealed chinks of light.

  A man moved out of the shadows, came towards me. I stopped, waited, my liand on my gun butt.

  It was Hoskiss.

  "Hi, G-man," I said. "Seen this morning's Morni
ng Star?"

  "Oh, it's you," he said, peering at me. "Yeah, I saw it all light. I bet Killeano's doing a little thinking."

"I bet you are too," I said. "All ready for some relaxation?"

  "I'm ready to go in," he said, eyeing the building dubiously. "But I'd like to know what's cooking."

  "You will," I said, "only don't rush me. How many boys did you bring?"

  "Six. That enough?"

  "I hope so. Tell 'em to keep out of sight. We may not need them, but if we do, they'll have plenty on their hand. While they're waiting they can make themselves useful. I want the telephone in this joint cut off. Can they fix the outside lines?"

  "I guess so," he said. "What's the idea?"

  "I don't want anyone to tip the cops if trouble starts. We'll have enough on our hands without a load of corrupt Law busting in on us."

  "I hope you know what you're doing," Hoskiss said. He sounded worried.

  "After the way I handed you those Cubans I think you might exercise a little faith," I said.

  "You'd make a swell salesman," Hoskiss said, resigned. "I'll tell them."

  I waited. After a while he came back.

  "They'll fix it," he said. "Do we go in?"

  "We go in," I said. "You got a gun?"

  "Yeah," he returned. "I hope you have a permit."

  I grinned, walked to the open door, went in.

  Inside, under dim lights, was a bar and a dance floor. In a corner, on a yellow and red carpet, an orchestra of four played: a pianist with kinky hair, a sallow-faced fiddler, a nigger drummer and a blond saxophonist. Behind the bar stood a Cuban.

  Several couples moved listlessly around the dance floor. The men looked the type you'd expect to find in a joint like this; the girls danced in their underwear. Each had on a brassiere, silk panties, silk stockings and high-heeled slippers. There was a line of flesh on each girl from breast to hip and from one-third down their thighs to their knees. Some of the girls were quite pretty.

  The air in the room was torrid, heavy, humid; a combination of human sweat, dime-a-squirt perfume, gin breath. Paper streamers hung from the ceiling like Spanish moss.

  We handed our hats to a Chinese boy, and paused to get our bearings.

  I glanced at my wrist-watch. It was ten minutes past eleven.

  "For the next twenty minutes, you can relax. At eleven-thirty we start work."

  "Look at those dames," Hoskiss said, gaping. "So this is what the vice-squad calls work. Say, I might even enjoy myself." He eyed a tall blonde in sheer black silk underwear, who was leaning against the bar, a bored expression on her face. "I don't suppose I can come to much harm in twenty minutes. Let's buy a drink."

  "That's the worst of bringing a repressed type like you to a joint like this," I said, grinning. "You're likely to make a meal of it."

  "I'm not blasé,
" he said
, heading for the bar.

  The blonde watched us come. Her wide, painted mouth smiled. She had good teeth, but when I was close to her, I noticed she had pimples on her back.

  "Hello, honey," she said to Hoskiss as he sailed up.

  "Hello yourself, juicy fruit," he said, draping himself over the bar. "How about rinsing our tonsils together?" He winked at me. "Blondes go for me. It's my powerful personality."

  "You want to be careful with this guy," I said to the blonde. "He eats grape-nuts for breakfast every day. You'd be surprised what it does to him."

  The blonde was a little pop-eyed. I guess she thought we were drunk.

  The Cuban wiped the counter mechanically, asked us what we would have.

  "Let's start a famine in whisky," Hoskiss said. "Three triple whiskies, and keep your thumb out of mine."

  The blonde continued to eye us. She couldn't make up her mind which of us to concentrate on.

  "Well, sugar plum," Hoskiss said, "that's a nice face and body you're wearing, but I'd hate to share you with anyone. Isn't there some frill who'd take care of my boy friend so we can be alone together?"

  "Isn't he big enough to find his own frill?" she asked in a drawling voice. "The joint's lousy with girls."

  "There you are," Hoskiss said to me. "Don't horn in on my discovery. Take a look around. Peach blossom says the girls' joints are lousy."

  I gaped at him. He was certainly relaxing.

  The Cuban shoved the whiskies at us, asked twice their worth.

  Hoskiss waved to me.

  "This is your party," he said. He nodded to the Cuban. "My friend will pay. That's the only reason why I go around with him."

  I slid five bucks to the Cuban. The blonde leaned against me. I smiled. The five spot had decided for her who she was going to be nice to. Hoskiss regarded her sadly.

  "You leaning against the wrong man, or did you know?" he said.

  "Go bowl a hoop," she said.

  He looked quite cut-up.

  "And I thought you cared for me for myself," he said, shaking his head at her.

  She looked at me. "Tell him to go bowl a hoop," she said. "We don't want him in our party, do we?"

  "The lady wants you to bowl a hoop," I said to Hoskiss. "Can you oblige her?"

  He finished his whisky, sighed.

  "Not immediately," he said, "but don't let that interfere with your fun. She isn't the only blonde who's dipped her head in peroxide. I see a red-head steering my way."

  A red-haired girl came up. She was a trifle plump and her face was heavily powdered and rouged. She had on yellow silk panties.

  "Want any help?" she asked the blonde. "Take this cram off our hands," the blonde said, waving languidly at Hoskiss. "He eats grape-nuts and hasn't any dough."

  The red-head sniffed. "Haven't you really any dough, darling?" she asked Hoskiss.

  "You bet," he said. "But I only spend it on red-heads. You've arrived at the crucial moment. Have a drink?" The blonde said to me, "Want to dance?" "Go on and dance," Hoskiss said. "I have my new-found friend to keep me warm."

  I sank my whisky, took the blonde on to the floor. My right hand rested on a bulge of warm flesh above her hip. She turned out to be a good dancer, once I got it into her head that I wanted to dance and not wrestle.

  After we'd completed a couple of circuits of the floor, I said, "Who runs this joint?"

  Under their heavy coating of blue-black mascara her eyes were surprised.

  "What's it to you?"

  "Look, girlie," I said patiently. "Never mind the cross-talk. I asked who ran this joint. Do you have to make a mystery of it?"

  "I guess not," she said. Her eyes went glassy, blank. I decided she didn't find me particularly interesting. "Madam runs it. Is that what you want to know?"

  "Madam who?"

  She sighed. "Durelli. Satisfied?"

  "I don't need to take anything from you," I said gently. "If you can't work up a little enthusiasm, I'll ditch you."

  Her eyes flashed, but she managed to control her temper. "Don't get sore, honey," she said. "I want you to have a good tune."

  "That makes two of us," I said, manoeuvring her so we passed close to Hoskiss. He eyed us over, said in a loud voice to the redhead: "Extraordinary types you get in here. That fellow would look more at home in a cage." He seemed to be enjoying himself; the red-head too.