James Chase - No Orchids for Miss Blandish

“That Scotch seems to have been a little too much for you, baby,” he said. “Come and lie down.”

“You’ve got something there,” Maisey said. “I feel terrible.”

Rocco pulled her out of the chair. She staggered against him and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught hold of her.

“Whoops! Someone is rocking my dream boat,” she said and clung hard to him.

Rocco looked at the clock on the mantel. The time was a little after three. He guided Maisey to the divan and lowered her gently onto its wide softness.

“The same old, old story,” she said, her eyes closed. “The guy says strictly business and it’s always strictly something else.”

Rocco lowered the blinds.

He believed in the right atmosphere.

Maisey sighed happily when he took her in his arms.

Fenner arrived at the foot of the dirt road leading to Johnny’s shack soon after four o’clock in the afternoon. He had driven hard and fast, and he was sharply conscious of the possibility that some of the Grisson gang could be coming after him.

Before leaving town, he had paused long enough to telephone Paula, telling her where he was going.

“I think I’m on to something,” he said. “Call Brennan and tell him what’s cooking. Tell him to come to Johnny’s place fast.”

“Why don’t you wait for him?” Paula asked anxiously. “Why go out there alone?”

“Quit worrying,” Fenner said. “Tell Brennan,” and he hung up.

But now, as he drove his car off the road and behind a thicket, he began to think Paula’s suggestion had been a sensible one. This place was miles from anywhere: it was lonelier than a pauper’s grave.

He got out of the car, satisfied himself it couldn’t be seen from the road, then he started up the dirt road towards Johnny’s shack.

Halfway up the road, he paused to pull his gun and slide off the safety catch. He was pretty sure none of the Grisson gang had got ahead of him, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

The evening sun was hot, and Fenner, who hated walking, cursed under his breath as he left the dirt road and started along the twisting path that led directly to the shack.

Two hundred yards ahead of him, he could see the dense wood through which he was walking open out onto a clearing. He slowed, picking his way silently, his eyes and ears alert.

A blue-winged jay suddenly flew out of a tree close by with a flapping of wings that startled Fenner. He looked up, his heart skipping a beat and then he grinned.

I’m as jittery as an old maid with a man under her bed, he told himself, and moved on cautiously to the edge of the clearing. He paused behind a tree and looked at the shabby wooden shack that stood in the center of the clearing.

It looked as if Johnny was at home. The door stood open and wood smoke curled lazily from the single chimney.

Keeping his gun hand down by his side and out of sight, Fenner walked silently over the rough grass until he reached the front door. He paused just outside the shack to listen.

He could hear Johnny humming to himself. He moved forward and paused in the open doorway.

Johnny, his back turned, was bending over the stove. He was cooking bacon in a frying pan. The smell of the bacon made Fenner’s nose twitch.

Fenner looked quickly around the large dirty room. The gun rack, holding two shotguns was by the door, well away from Johnny.

He stepped into the room, covering the old man with his gun.

“Hello, Johnny,” he said softly.

Johnny stiffened, then shuddered. He straightened and turned very slowly. His red, raddled face went slack with fright at the sight of Fenner. His dim, watery eyes opened wide at the sight of the gun in Fenner’s hand.

“Take it easy,” Fenner said. “Remember me, Johnny?”

The old man seemed to be having trouble with his breathing.

“What are you pointing that gun at me for?” he croaked.

Fenner lowered the gun.

“Remember me?” he repeated.

Johnny blinked at him, frowning.

“You’re the guy from the newspaper, aren’t you?”

“That’s right,” Fenner said. “Sit down, Johnny, I want to talk to you.”

Johnny lowered himself onto an upturned box. He seemed glad to get the weight off his legs. He shoved the frying pan off the direct heat of the stove and then with a shaking hand, he rubbed his bristly chin while he squinted up at Fenner.

“Now listen, Johnny,” Fenner said, “you could be in bad trouble. You could go to jail for a long stretch. You wouldn’t like that, would you? No booze; no nothing. You come clean with me and I’ll cover you. All I want from you is some information.”

“I don’t know nothing about nothing,” Johnny said. “I don’t want you around here. I just want to be left alone.”

“Riley and his mob were here about three months ago, weren’t they?” Fenner asked.

Johnny stiffened. He looked wildly around the room as if seeking a way of escape.

“I don’t know nothing about Riley.”

“Listen, you old fool,” Fenner said sharply, “lying won’t get you anywhere. They had the Blandish girl with them. Riley called his girlfriend from here. She’s talking. So far, she has only talked to me, but if she starts talking to the cops, you’ll be in trouble. They’ll work you over, Johnny, until you do open your mouth. Now come on. Riley was here, wasn’t he?”

Johnny hesitated, then with a cunning expression in his eyes, he nodded.

“Yeah, that’s right. He and Bailey and Old Sam and a girl. They didn’t stay long; not more than ten minutes. I wouldn’t have them here. They were too hot. I wasn’t taking a chance of getting in bad with the cops so I told them to keep moving. Riley called his girl, then they got back into their car and beat it. I don’t know where they went.”

But the way he told it, the way he looked convinced Fenner he was lying.

“Okay, Johnny,” he said mildly. “That puts you right in the clear. Just too bad you don’t know where they went Blandish is offering a reward for information. Wouldn’t you like to lay your hands on fifteen thousand bucks?”

Johnny blinked. It was now over three months since he had buried Riley, Bailey and Old Sam, and what a job that had been! Schultz had promised him a cut of the ransom money, but he hadn’t had it. He knew the ransom had been paid. He had taken the trouble to go into town and buy a newspaper. He had been double-crossed and he felt mean and bitter about it.

“Fifteen thousand bucks?” he repeated. “How do I know I would get it?”

“I’d see you got it, Johnny,” Fenner said.

Better not, Johnny told himself. It was too dangerous to monkey with the Grisson gang.

He shook his head reluctantly.

“I don’t know nothing,” he said.

“You’re lying,” Fenner said and moved over to the old man. “Do you want me to work you over, Johnny? Like this?” He hit Johnny a backhand slap across his face: not a hard blow, but hard enough to make the old man rock and nearly fall off the box. “Come on! Spill it!” Fenner went on, raising his voice. “Where’s Riley? You can either pick up fifteen thousand bucks or take a beating! What’s it to be?”

Johnny cringed away.

“I don’t know nothing,” he said desperately. “If you want to know anything ask the Grisson gang. They were right here. They fixed Riley...” He stopped, his raddled face turning grey.

“The Grisson gang?” Fenner stiffened to attention. “How did they fix Riley?”

But Johnny was staring past Fenner through the open door. His expression of terror chilled Fenner’s blood.

Fenner looked over his shoulder. He saw a shadow fall across the open doorway: the shadow of a man with a Thompson gun in his hands.