James Chase - He Won't Need It Now

Sam said, “There you are.”

The man looked at Duffy. His pale eyes were very threatening. Then he walked out of the toilet.

Duffy said, “Who’s that guy?”

Sam shrugged. “Search me,” he said, “my girl might know.”

Duffy stepped to the door quickly and Sam, a puzzled look on his face, followed him. “Did you see that guy come out just now?” Duffy asked the blonde.

She said, “Sure I did. That’s Murray Gleason. Ain’t he cute?”

Duffy blotted his lace with his handkerchief. “I couldn’t say,” he said, “we were a bit shy with each other.”

Sam put his arms round the blonde. “Ain’t this a grand place?” he said. He was pretty drunk.

Duffy said, “I want to get out of here.”

A white-headed little guy came through the hall, heading for the toilet. Sam took the blonde over to him. “Take care of this baby,” he said. “Show her round. She’s learning in a big way.”

The blonde wrapped the little guy in her arms and began to cry. The rum had her all ends up. Duffy walked out with Sam. The little guy’s face was a picture.

Outside, Duffy said, “You’re just hell to go places with.”

Sam waved his hands. “I guess I’m a little tight,” he said.

They walked into the dance-hall again. Sam said suddenly, “Did that blonde smell a little, or is my nose wrong?”

Duffy said his nose was fine.

The girl with the big mouth was standing by the entrance looking for them. Duffy went over. “Did you get it?” he asked.

She nodded and gave him a slip of paper, on it was an address. Duffy gave her twenty bucks. She rolled the notes and tucked them in the top of her stocking. Sam leant forward with interest. “I’m having a swell time,” he said.

Duffy said to the girl, “I’ll be back one of these nights. We’ll have a fine time.”

She looked at him wistfully. “I’ve heard that before.”

Sam said, “You’re young yet. You’ll hear it dozens of times.”

They went downstairs into the street. Duffy stopped at the end of the alley.

“Go home, Sam,” he said. “Be careful how you drive.”

Sam blinked at him. “The fun over so soon?” he asked.

Duffy nodded. “I said you were just window-dressing,” he said briefly. “I gave you a break. Now go home and look after that wife of yours.”

Sam scratched his head. “She’s probably feeling a little lonesome right now.”

“Get going.”

“Ain’t you coming?”

“I’m calling on this Shann broad.”

Sam leered. “Three being a mob?”

Duffy nodded. “You got it, soldier,” he said. He watched Sam go over to the parking-place, and then went to the subway on Frankfort Street. Olga Shann had rooms in Brooklyn. He’d never heard of the address, so when he’d got over Brooklyn Bridge he left the subway and flagged a taxi.

He got to the address just after eleven o’clock. He hesitated to ask the taxi to wait. Then making up his mind, he paid him off.

The house was a two-storey villa, with identical models either side, stretching right down the street.

He unlatched the gate and walked up the short gravel path. There was a light showing from one of the second-floor windows. He pressed the buzzer with his thumb, and leant against the wall. He hadn’t the vaguest idea what he was going to say.

About three minutes ticked off, then a light sprang up in the hall. He could hear the chain being slipped and then the front door opened. A woman stood there, holding the door only partly open. He couldn’t make out her features, she was standing squarely with her back to the light.

“Miss Shann?” he said, taking off his hat.

“Suppose it is,” she said. Her voice had a Garbo tone.

He thought it was a hell of a welcome, but he let it slide. “It’s late for a call,” he said, trying to put his personality across, “but you’ll excuse me, I hope?”

“What is it?”

“I’m Duffy of the Tribune.” He took out his Press pass and flashed it, then he put it back again. “I wanted a word with you about Cattley.”

He saw her stiffen, then she said, “Let me see that Press card.”

He dug it out again and handed it over. She pushed the door to and examined the card in the light. Then she opened the door wide, and said, “You’d better come in.”

He followed her into a small sitting-room. It was modern, but the stuff was cheap. He looked at her with interest. The first thing he noticed about her was her eyebrows. They gave her face an expression of permanent surprise. She was lovely in a hard way. Big eyes with long lashes, a scarlet, full mouth; the top lip was almost bee-stung. Her thick chestnut hair was silky and cared for. Duffy liked her quite a lot.

She was wearing a nigger-brown silk dress, tight across her firm breasts and her flat hips.

“Why Cattley?” she said.

He put his hat down on the table. “This is most unprofessional, but I’m dying for a drink.”

She shook her head. “Nothing doing.” She was very emphatic. “Say your piece and get going.”

“My, my,” he said, “you babes get tougher every day.”

She moved impatiently.

“Okay,” Duffy said hastily. “I’m looking for Cattley.”

“Why should I know where he is?”

“Why, you’re his girl friend, ain’t you?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t seen him for months.”

“He thought enough of you to have your name and address in his pocket-book.”

She shrugged. “Lots of men have girls’ names in their pocket-books. It doesn’t amount to anything.”

Duffy thought she was quite right. “Well, well,” he said, “I guess I’ve come out of my way.”

She went to the door and opened it. “I won’t keep you,” she said.

Outside, Duffy heard a car drive up. “You got visitors.”

He saw a startled look come into her eyes, but she said, “Then you’d better go.”

The buzzer rang loudly. She started a little.

Duffy said, “Can I go out the back way? I’m feeling I might run into trouble.”

She stood hesitating, then she said, “Wait here.” Her voice implored him. The buzzer went again, long and insistently.

Duffy said, “You want me to stay?”

“Yes—I don’t know who it is.”

She went out of the room, leaving the door open. Duffy glanced round, saw another door and went over and opened it. He found himself in a small kitchen. He pushed the door to, and stood looking into the sitting-room, through the small opening.

He heard her at the front door; then he heard her say, “Why, hello, Max.”

“You alone?” the hoarse Voice that spoke made Duffy stiffen. It was familiar. First, he thought it was Joe, but then he knew it wasn’t quite like Joe’s voice. He’d heard it before.

She said, “Yes… what is it?”

Duffy heard footsteps in the hall and he heard the front door close. “What do you want?” her voice was nervy and breathless.

A broad-shouldered man, wearing a black slouched hat, walked into the sitting-room. Duffy had him at once. It was the man who had stolen the camera.

Duffy clenched his fists. Just the bird he was looking for.

Olga came in and stood by the table. Her face was white and a muscle in her throat fluttered.

“But, Max…”

The man glanced round the room suspiciously, then looked at her. His hard eyes raked her from head to foot. “I ain’t seen you for a long time,” he said. “You’re looking swell.” There was no animation in his voice. He sounded as if he were reciting.

She tried to smile, but her lips were frozen. She managed to say, “That’s nice of you.”

He sat himself on the edge of the table and looked at his hands. “You know Cattley’s been knocked off?” he said.