James Chase: He Won't Need It Now

The flash of temper was gone almost before it started. She sat down limply on the large settee and tossed the gun on the table. Duffy winced a little. Women were hell when it came to handling guns. He took a quick glance and saw that the safety catch was still down.

“Now come on, come on, let’s get down to it,” he said, sitting on the edge of the table. “What’s your name?”

“Annabel English,” she said, twisting her hands in her lap.

“What are you? Just a little dame with plenty of dough, running round lookin’ for a good time?”

She nodded. Duffy lit a cigarette. “Yeah! I bet you are, and I bet you have a pretty nice time of it What’s this Cattley to you?”

Her face flushed and she hesitated. “I—I asked him to get material on the… the underworld.” She stopped. The colour in her face was deep.

Duffy groaned. “For the love of Mike, don’t tell me you’re writing a book or something,” he pleaded; “a Society-dame-looks-on-the-underworld stuff?”

“I thought it would be amusing,” she said. “It’s about the White Slave traffic….”

He threw up his hands. “So you thought you would write a book on the White Slave traffic, did you?” he said, dragging smoke into his lungs and letting it drift from his nostrils. “And you’ve to pick on the worst hoodlum in town to help you. Well, I reckon you’d better change your ideas and write a book on blackmail. You’re going to get a grandstand seat in this racket, and if you ain’t careful you’re going to pay plenty.”

She looked up swiftly, her face resentful. “What am I to do?”

Duffy slid off the table. “You ain’t doing a thing at the moment. I’m getting that camera back. That’s the first thing.”

He walked over to the telephone. “Take a look in the book and see if you can find Daniel Morgan in it,” he said, spinning the dial. She got to her feet and began to rustle through the directory While he was waiting for the line to connect he let his eye run over her as she leant forward over the table. “Annabel English,” he thought. “A swell name and a nice little job.”

A sharp metallic voice snapped in his ear, “Tribune here, what department do you know?”

“H’yah, Mabel,” he said. “Dinny in?”

“Hold on an’ I’ll put you through.”

McGuire came on the line. “Hello, pal,” he said. Duffy thought he sounded a little drunk.

“Listen, soldier,” Duffy said, keeping an edge on his voice. “This is important. Will you meet me at the Princess Hotel right away?”

McGuire groaned. “Aw, what you think I am? I’m goin’ home. Listen, bozo, what’ll Alice say? I ain’t been home all this week.”

Duffy was certain McGuire was drunk. “I’ll fix Alice,” he said. “Get going and make it fast.” He hung up as McGuire began to protest again.

Annabel English said, “There are ten Daniel Morgans in the book.”

“That’s okay,” Duffy returned. “I’ll find him.” He walked over to her. “Now you forget about this… leave it to me. I’ll give you a ring tomorrow and let you know how it went.” He paused, looking into her blue smoky eyes. “You all alone here?”

She nodded. “I sent my maid out for the evening, didn’t want her to see Cattley….”

“You ain’t scared?”

“Why should I be?” She looked startled.

Duffy shrugged his shoulders. “Why, I just thought…” He suddenly grinned at her. “If I get that camera, shall I come back an’ see you tonight!”

Her eyes laughed at him, but her face was quite serious as she shook her head. “I shan’t be alone….”

“Who’s your boy friend…?”

She walked slowly to the door. He could see her smooth muscles moving under the green wrap. He knew that she hadn’t anything on under that. She looked over her shoulder. “I think you had better go now,” she said, “I’ve heard that you newspapermen get funny ideas when you’re alone with girls.”

Duffy looked round for his hat and found it near the settee. “Well, what of it?” he said, walking to the door. They stood quite close, facing each other. “What the hell’s a girl got to beef about if he does? Ain’t that a compliment to the girl, anyway? By heck! I can guess how they’d feel if we didn’t get that way sometimes!”

She opened the door and he walked past her. Standing in the doorway, he faced her again. “Well, good night, Toots,” he said with his wide grin, “sleep easy I’m goin’ to do things for you.”

Pushing the door slowly to, she kept his eyes watching her. Then when the door was nearly shut she leaned forward. “Did you say your name was Duffy?”

“Yeah!”

Anything else?”

“Bill Duffy, if you like.”

“It’s a nice name.” She leant against the doorway, the door pulled against her fat hip.

Duffy stood there, putting his personality over on a short wave. “It’s an old family name,” he said modestly and grinned.

She raised her eyebrows. “So?”

Duffy moved a little her way until he leant against the wall, touching her shoulder. “We Duffys go for red-heads,” he said.

She raised her chin. Her lips invited his. “Yes?” she said.

He touched her lips with his. A long green arm slid round his neck and pulled his head down. She did not close her eyes and when he looked into them he tried to jerk his head away, but she held him hard. Stormy, hungry wild eyes she had. He stood there, his mouth crushed on hers, startled by her fierceness. She suddenly drove her teeth into his top lip. The pain stung him, and he pushed her away violently, starting back with an angry oath. She stood looking at him, her red-gold hair wild, and her eyes big and dark, stormy with passion. She took a step back and slammed the door in his face.

Duffy stood there, dabbing his lip with his handkerchief.

“That dame’s gonna let herself go one day,” he said to himself, “and when she does, she’s going to make a meal of someone.”

He walked slowly to the elevator and pressed the button. His lip was beginning to swell already. He stood before the grille, waiting for the elevator to come up. “My God,” he thought, “what a hell of a night!”

As the elevator came up slowly he saw, lying on the roof, the mangled body of a man. He watched the roof glide past him, carrying its grisly burden, then the empty cage came to rest at his floor.

He stood very still, feeling the sweat start out all over him. He said, “Well, well,” for something better to say, then he walked bark to the flat and hammered on the door.

SHE DIDN’T COME to the door at first. It was only by keeping his thumb on the buzzer, while the minutes ticked by, that Duffy got her to come at all. When she did come, she had the door on the chain. Duffy thought it was a hell of a time to start playing around with door-chains, but he let it drift with the current.

She started to close the door when she saw who it was, but Duffy got the toe of his shoe in first.

“Listen, bright girl,” he said, “open up, and be your age. You’ve got a corpse on your hands right outside.”

“I honestly believe you’re as mad as a coon,” she said breathlessly, “or very, very drunk.”

Duffy leant his weight against the door, his face pressed against the small opening. “Cattley’s on the roof of the elevator. First glance, I’d say it was in the basement when he hit it.”

He saw her eyes widen, and then she giggled. He’d have forgiven her if she had screamed, or even passed out, but the giggle made him mad. He took a step back.

“That suits me, if that’s the way you want it.”

She pushed the door to, slipped the chain, then opened the door and stepped into the corridor.