James Chase - He Won't Need It Now

Duffy took no notice; he had driven with Sam before. “What did you find?” Sam asked.

“It’s a little note-book, full of ritzy names, and it don’t mean a thing to me.”

“So?”

“Yeah.” Duffy frowned at his reflection in the driving-screen. “It’s important. I know because I had to get tough with Annabel to get her to part. That dame scares me. She ain’t normal.”

“I thought you liked ’em that way.” Sam looked at him in surprise.

“Watch the road, dimwit,” Duffy said shortly. “You ought to see that dame. When she gets mad, she foams at the mouth.”

“Yeah?”

“She tried to knock me off,” Duffy said. “She’s screwy. There can’t be any other answer.”

Sam went past the City Hall slowly, then he swung into Park Row and pushed the pedal down again. “She needn’t be nuts to want to knock you off,” he said. “Suppose we stop for a drink?”

Duffy glanced at the time. It was barely nine o’clock.

“You’ll get a drink when we get there,” he said.

The Plaza Wonderland Club was situated on the second floor, over a hardware store. The entrance was down an alley, lit with neon lighting. They parked the car and walked up the alley and went in. At the top of the stairs tickets were being sold for the taxi-dancers. Duffy bought half a dozen, then they pushed aside the bead curtains and went into the hall.

There was nothing original about the place. It was dirty and shabby. The dance floor was small, and you had to step down to get on to it. Round the floor, tables were crammed together, and at the far end the girls sat behind a pen. Sam looked across the room at them and thought they were a pretty swell bunch.

There were very few people at the tables. Just a handful. They all looked up as Duffy squeezed himself past the tables and got on to the floor. They watched him cross the floor, with Sam behind him, and select a table against the wall, opposite the entrance. He sat down and Sam took the other chair.

The band of three were playing swing music without much enthusiasm. They plugged away, staring with vacant eyes into space.

“You call this a hot joint?” Duffy said.

“Maybe the depression’s hit ’em,” Sam said.

Duffy made frantic signs to a waiter, who came over to them with a flat-footed shuffle.

“Let’s have a bottle of rum,” Sam said.

“Yeah.” Duffy thought that a good idea. “Make it a bottle of rum.”

The waiter went off. Duffy said, “Take a look at this,” he slid the little note-book across the table.

Sam picked it up and studied it carefully. After a little while he handed it back. “No,” he said, “that don’t mean anything to me. There’s plenty of money in that list. I’d say at a guess that little lot’s worth a million each. They all belong to the hot set, but that’s all I get from it.”

Duffy put the note-book back in his pocket. “Maybe I’ll get a line on it later,” he said.

The waiter brought the rum and set it down on the table with a crisp bang. Sam said, “This joint’s changed.”

The waiter glanced at him. “Buddy,” he said, “it’s early yet.”

Sam turned to Duffy. “See?” he said; “it’s early.”

“Okay, it’s early. Let’s grab a couple of girls, and show them how it’s done.”

There was no one dancing on the floor. Sam poured himself out a shot of rum and drank it hurriedly. “Heck!” he said, “I believe I’m nervous.”

Duffy looked at him. “You’re kidding yourself, you want to get stewed.”

Sam got up from his chair and wandered across the room to the pen. He stood looking at each girl carefully, until they began to giggle at him. He found a blonde that pleased him and he began to rush her round the empty floor. Duffy picked his girl from where he was sitting, then he went over and dated her up. She was a chestnut red, with a pert little nose and a big, humorous smile. She had a plump, hard little belly that he could feel against his vest. He thought she was cute.

Duffy could dance when he liked, and the rum had made him fairly happy. He swung her round in big smooth circles, and she just seemed to float with him. They didn’t say a word through the dance, but when the band cut out, he said, “You’re good.”

She gave him her flashing smile. “You ain’t so bad either.” She’d got an accent like a heap of tins being tossed downstairs.

He said, “Come on over and get tight.”

Sam was already there with his blonde. Duffy fancied she smelt, and he sat away from her. Sam liked her a lot. He was showing signs of considerable interest.

Duffy said, “You girls like rum?”

They both began to protest. They wanted champagne.

Sam shook his head. “Listen,” he said. “We’re God’s gift to womanhood; if rum won’t keep you, you can both take a walk.”

Duffy said it was okay with him too.

So they had rum.

The place was crowding up. People kept squeezing between tables. One big chestnut, with large curves, tried to pass Sam, but she couldn’t quite make it. Sam looked up, gaped and said, “Hi, Bill! It’s the covered wagon.”

Duffy started to sweat. He guessed Sam was getting drunk.

The chestnut screwed her head round and took a look at Sam, then she laughed. “You’re cute,” she said.

Sam got up and made an elaborate bow. “Sister,” he said, “you’ve got it all.”

The chestnut squeezed by, now that Sam stood up. Her escort, a little runt, glared at Sam, who raised two fingers of his right hand.

Duffy said, “Can’t you behave yourself?”

Sam looked grieved. “She liked it,” he said.

His blonde was looking across the room, tapping her foot. She was annoyed.

Duffy said to the girl with the big mouth, “Let’s dance.”

When they got on the floor he said, “Olga ain’t here tonight?”

She looked up at him, a little frown creasing her brow. “Olga?” she said.

“Sure, Olga Shann. I’d like to meet her again.”

“She’s not here tonight.”

Duffy said, “Hell, I wanted to talk to that dame.”

They danced in silence for several minutes, then he said, “Would you like to earn twenty bucks?”

“It’s going to cost you a lot more than that.”

Duffy said, “We’re on a different set of rails. I’m offering you twenty bucks for Olga’s address.”

She looked disappointed. “Gee!” she said with a pout, “I thought we were getting on fine.”

“I’m out on business. I just gotta talk with her.”

She went the length of the room before she said, “I’ll get it for you.”

At the end of the dance she left him. Duffy glanced over at Sam, who was making up to his blonde, so he turned into the toilet. He ran the water and washed his hands. The toilet was empty. It was a small room with cracked tiles half-way up the walls. He dried his hands and dropped the towel into the basket. The door pushed open and a tall man came in. The first thing Duffy noticed about him was his hair. It was jet black, with a broad white streak, running from his forehead to his right ear. It gave his hard face a look of distinction. He wore a close-clipped moustache, and his skin was grey.

Duffy just glanced at him, then made to walk out of the room.

The man said, “Wait a minute.”

Duffy paused. “You speaking to me?” he said, surprised.

The man held out his hand Duffy looked and saw he .. was holding a .25 automatic.

“You just bought it or something?” Duffy said, suddenly very cautious.

“You got the note-book on you, hand it over.” The man had a curious voice. It was deep-pitched with a little buzz in it.

Duffy said, “I did have, but it’s in the mail now.”

Just then the door opened and Sam came in. The man put his gun away. He didn’t seem to hurry, but the gun just disappeared.