James Chase - No Orchids for Miss Blandish

“Yeah.”

“How do we get to her?”

Eddie hesitated, then he blurted out, “She’s dead, Captain. There was nothing I could do about it. It was Ma. She made Doc knock her off.”

Both Fenner and Brennan got to their feet.

“Are you lying?” Brennan asked in a cold, harsh voice.

“I tell you it was nothing to do with me,” Eddie said frantically. “Ma always wanted to get rid of the girl, but Slim fell for her. Then we heard this guy was going to talk to Johnny and Ma sent Slim and the boys to fix Johnny. While Slim was out of the way, Ma decided to knock the girl off. I tried to stop her, but you can’t do a goddamn thing with Ma once she’s made up her mind. She told Doc to give the girl a shot.”

Brennan and Fenner exchanged glances. Fenner made a gesture of helplessness. All along, he had expected to hear Miss Blandish was dead: this came as no surprise to him.

“Is there another way into the club except past that steel door?” Brennan asked.

“Through the warehouse next door,” Eddie said. “There’s a door in the wall on the left as you go in.”

Brennan yelled for Doogan.

“Take this rat down to the cells,” he said as Doogan came in, “and lay off him, do you hear?”

Doogan grabbed hold of Eddie and hustled him out.

Fenner said, “Maybe it’s the best thing. Even her old man hoped she would be dead. I’d better tell him.”

“Yeah. Well, I’ll fix that old bitch of a woman. Do you want to come along?”

“I’ll be along. I’ll call Blandish first.”

As Fenner reached for the telephone, Brennan ran out, yelling instructions to the riot squad sergeant.

Miss Blandish leaned against the wall, biting her knuckles because she couldn’t scream and because she wanted to. She stared in horror at Rocco as he lay on the ornate rug. From the many wounds inflicted on him, blood made snake-like bands across the floor.

Slim stood over him, breathing heavily, his bloodstained knife dangling between his slack fingers. He bent over Rocco and wiped his knife clean on the dead man’s coat.

“He won’t bother you again,” he said and grinned at Miss Blandish. “So long as I’m around, no one will ever bother you.”

He went over to the window and looked down in the street. The traffic was heavy and people were crowding the sidewalks, going home. He realized he couldn’t show himself with the girl on the streets. She could easily be recognized. He wondered how Ma would cope with this situation. He glanced over at Rocco, then an idea occurred to him. He was immediately pleased with himself. He’d show Ma she wasn’t the only one with brains.

He crossed to the closet, opened it and pulled out one of Rocco’s suits. He found a shirt and tie. He threw the clothes on the divan.

“Put those on,” he said to Miss Blandish. “I’ve got to get you home somehow. Go on, get into that rig.”

Miss Blandish shook her head and backed away. Impatiently, Slim pulled her to the divan.

“Do what I say!” he said, pinching her arm. “Put ’em on!”

Fearfully and reluctantly, she peeled the cheap cotton dress over her head and let it drop to the floor. Then she hurriedly reached for the shirt, aware that Slim was watching her.

They looked at each other. She read the message in his eyes, and clutching the shirt to her, she backed away.

“No... please...”

Slim shuffled over to her and snatched the shirt from her. His mouth was pursed, his breathing suddenly violent, his eyes blank.

Shuddering and unresisting, she let him lead her to the divan.

The clock on the mantel ticked busily. The minute hand crawled on across the ornate clock face. A large bluebottle fly buzzed excitedly over the bloodstain on Rocco’s coat. The traffic in the street below halted, moved on with a grinding of gears, then halted again.

Miss Blandish gave a sudden sharp cry.

As the minutes passed, the shadows in the room lengthened. Someone in the apartment below turned on a television set. An impersonal voice began to give loud instructions on how to bake a cake. The insistent, domineering voice woke Slim who slowly opened his eyes. He turned his head to look at Miss Blandish, lying flat on her back by his side. She was staring sightlessly up at the ceiling.

“That punk makes it sound like a cake is the most important thing in the world,” Slim said. He raised his head to look at the clock. The time was twenty minutes past eight. This surprised him. He hadn’t realized he had slept for so long. He got off the bed. The sounds of the traffic had died down. The rush hour home had passed.

“We’ve got to go,” he said. “Ma’ll be wondering where we are. Come on, baby, get into that rig.”

The girl got off the bed, moving like a sleepwalker. She put on Rocco’s shirt and suit. She had trouble fixing the tie. Slim, sitting on the bed, watched her with childish amusement.

“Sort of different, isn’t it?” he said. “I used to have trouble with a tie. You get used to it. You look pretty good as a boy.” He glanced at Rocco’s dead body. “He was a jockey. I got no time for guys who fool around with horses.” He kicked Rocco gently. “He got what was coming to him.”

Miss Blandish was dressed now. Rocco’s suit fitted her quite well. Slim looked at her, nodding his approval.

“You make a fine boy,” he said. He stood up and went to the closet and found one of Rocco’s hats. “Put this on; hide your pretty hair. You could be my kid brother.”

She let him put the hat on her head, standing like a lifeless doll, but cringing a little every time his damp, hot fingers touched her skin.

“Come on,” Slim said, “let’s go.”

He led her into the bathroom, paused to look out of the window down into the yard below, satisfied himself there was no one about, then helped the girl through the window onto the escape.

They went down the escape, Slim holding her arm and pushing her down quickly. On the last stage, a man looked out of the window as they passed. He was fat, balding and elderly.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

Slim looked at him, his yellow eyes gleaming. The man stepped back hurriedly. Slim’s pale thin face, his loose mouth and gleaming eyes, his long, unkempt hair hanging from under his hat scared the man silly.

Slim had parked the Buick at the end of the alley. He hustled Miss Blandish to the car and pushed her in. He went around to the driver’s seat and got in. He paused to open the glove compartment and to take out the.45 that was always kept there. He put the gun under his right thigh, then he started the car and drove into the main street.

As he headed for the club, the wail of a police siren made him stiffen. He looked into the driving mirror. He saw the traffic behind him pulling over to the right, clearing a broad lane in the middle of the road. He too pulled to the right as he saw three police cars come storming up behind him. They flashed past him. Wondering uneasily where they were going, he followed on behind. After a few minutes, he suddenly realized they were slowing down to stop outside the entrance to the courtyard of the Paradise Club.

In sudden panic, he swung the Buick into a side street, cutting across an overtaking car that braked with a violent scream of tires. He pulled up and looked back in time to see a dozen policemen spill out of the cars and run across the courtyard to the club.

He felt sweat on his face. What was he to do? Where was he to go? He looked at Miss Blandish who was staring blankly through the windshield. He felt lost and scared without Ma and the steel door and shutters of the club. His sluggish mind tried to cope with the situation.