James Chase: No Orchids for Miss Blandish

“Who is she?” Johnny asked.

“The Blandish girl,” Riley said. “She’s worth a million bucks, Johnny. We’ll split even among the lot of us. We’ll only be here three or four days.”

Johnny squinted at him.

“Blandish — he’s pretty rich, isn’t he?”

“He’s worth millions. How about it, Johnny?”

“Well...” Johnny scratched his dirty scalp. “I guess, but not for longer than four days.”

“Where can I put her?” Riley asked. “Have you got a room for her?”

Johnny pointed to one of the doors leading off the balcony.

“Up there.”

Riley turned to Miss Blandish.

“Get up there!”

“Do what he tells you, miss,” Old Sam said. “You don’t want any trouble.”

The girl got to her feet. She went up the stairs. Riley followed her. On the overhanging balcony, she paused to look down at the three men who stared up at her.

Casually, Johnny walked over to the gun rack by the front door. There were two shotguns in the rack.

Riley kicked open the door of the room Johnny had indicated.

“Get in!”

She entered the small dark room. Riley followed her. He lit an oil lamp hanging from the ceiling and glanced around.

There was a bed with a dirty mattress, but no bedding. A jug of water with a thin film of dust floating on the water stood on the floor. A tin basin rested on a small packing case. Thick sacking was nailed across the window. There was a musty smell of damp in the room.

“This’ll make a change for you,” Riley sneered, “It’ll take some of the starch out of you. Stay here and keep quiet or I’ll come up and fix you.”

Miss Blandish was watching a large squat spider crawling across the wall. Her eyes were wide with horror.

“Scare you?” Riley said. He reached out and picked the spider off the wall. The short hairy legs of the insect waved wildly. “Do you want me to drop it down your pretty dress?”

Miss Blandish backed away, shuddering.

“You behave yourself and you’ll be all right,” Riley said, grinning at her. “Start trouble and you’ll be sorry.” While he was speaking he was pinching the spider between his finger and thumb. “If you don’t behave, I’ll treat you the same way. Now you keep quiet.”

He went out, shutting the door behind him.

Bailey and Old Sam were sitting on boxes, smoking. Riley came down the stairs.

“How about some food, Johnny?” he asked, then he stiffened.

Johnny was holding a shotgun in his hands, covering the three men. Riley’s hand moved to his gun, but the look in Johnny’s dim eyes stopped him.

“Don’t start anything, Riley,” Johnny said. “This gun’ll blow your chest to pieces.”

“What’s the idea?” Riley asked through stiff lips.

“I don’t like any of this,” Johnny said. “Sit down. I want to talk to you.”

Riley sat down near Bailey.

“It was on the radio half an hour before you arrived. Who killed the guy?”

“He did,” Riley said, jerking his thumb at Bailey. “The stupid bastard lost his head.”

“Like hell I did!” Bailey snarled. “I had to kill him. This rat let me handle him alone...”

“Oh, shut up!” Riley said violently. “What’s it matter? The guy’s dead and we have a murder rap around our necks but we’ve got the girl. If we can get the money from her old man, we have nothing to worry about.”

Johnny shook his head. After hesitating, he lowered the gun.

“I’ve known you boys since you were kids,” he said. “I never thought you’d turn killers. I don’t like it. Murder and kidnapping. You’ll have the Feds after you. You’re going to get hot. You’ll be public enemies. You are way out of your class.”

“Your share of the loot will be two hundred and fifty grand,” Riley said quietly. “That’s big money, Johnny.”

“Think of the booze you’ll be able to buy with all that dough,” Bailey said brutally. “You’ll be able to swim in whiskey.”

Johnny blinked.

“There isn’t that much money in the world.”

“Two hundred and fifty grand, Johnny: all for you.”

Slowly, Johnny put the gun back in the rack. The three men relaxed. They watched him collect some tin mugs and a big earthenware jar.

“You boys want a drink?”

“What is it?” Riley asked suspiciously. “Your own rot-gut?”

“It’s good stuff — the best.”

Johnny poured the applejack into the mugs and handed them around.

They drank cautiously. Bailey gagged, but Riley and Old Sam managed to-get the burning stuff down their throats.

“How about some grub, Johnny?” Old Sam asked as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I’m starving.”

“Help yourself,” Johnny said. “There’s the pot on the stove.”

As Old Sam went over to the stove, Bailey said to Riley, “You were wrong to snatch the girl. We should have killed her. Eddie will tell Ma Grisson and she’ll send Slim after us.”

“Shut up!” Riley yelled furiously.

Johnny stiffened.

“What’s that? Slim? He isn’t in this, is he?” he said.

“He’s talking through the back of his head,” Riley said.

“Yeah?” Bailey said. He looked at Johnny. “We ran into Eddie Schultz on the road. He saw the girl. He’ll tell Ma Grisson.”

“If Slim’s coming in on this, I’m keeping out,” Johnny said, edging towards the gun rack.

Riley pulled his .38.

“Keep away from that gun! I’m not scared of Slim Grisson. He won’t bother us.”

“Slim’s bad,” Johnny said uneasily. “I know all you boys. I know when there’s any good in you. There isn’t any good in Slim Grisson. He’s mean and bad right through.”

Riley spat at the stove.

“He’s got a hole in his head,” he said. “He’s no better than an idiot.”

“Maybe, but he’s a killer. He kills with a knife. I don t like guys who use a knife.”

“Give it a rest,” Riley said. “Let’s eat.”

Old Sam was serving stew onto tin plates.

“This stuff smells like goddamn cat,” he grumbled. He spooned some of the mess onto a plate. “I’ll take it up to the girl. She ought to eat.”

“It won’t suit her fancy taste,” Riley said, grinning.

“It’s better than nothing,” Old Sam said.

He carried the plate up the stairs and he entered the dimly lit little room.

Miss Blandish was sitting on the edge of the bed. She had been crying. She looked up as Old Sam came in.

“Here, get this inside you,” he said awkwardly. “You’ll feel better for some grub.”

The gamy smell of the stew turned Miss Blandish sick.

“No... thank you. I–I couldn’t...”

“It stinks a bit,” Old Sam said apologetically, “but you should eat.” He put the plate down. He looked at the dirty mattress and shook his head. “Not what you’re used to, I bet. I’ll see if I can find you a rug or something.”

“Thank you; you’re kind.” She hesitated, then lowering her voice, she went on, “Won’t you help me? If you will telephone my father and tell him where I am, you will be well rewarded. Please help me.”

“I can’t, miss,” Old Sam said, backing to the door. “I’m too old for trouble. Those two down there are mean boys. There’s nothing I can do for you.” He went out, shutting the door after him.

Riley and Bailey were eating and Old Sam joined them. When they had finished, Riley got up.

“That’s about the worst meal I’ve ever eaten,” he said. He looked at his watch. The time was five minutes after nine. “I’d better call Anna. She’ll be wondering what’s happened to me.”

“You’re kidding yourself,” Bailey said. “You and your Anna. Do you imagine she cares where you are?” He got up and went over to the window.