Джеймс Чейз - The Flesh of the Orchid

Neither Linda nor Eddie had told the D.A. about Mary Prentiss. They felt that if they mentioned that mysterious young woman the police might easily and unjustly suspect that they had worked in collaboration with her. When questioned by the D.A., Linda had explained that Frank had told her to go to the movies, and she had gone (‘Very unwillingly,’ she assured the D.A. with tears in her eyes) and had left him alone.

On her way down town she had met Eddie, and what could be more natural than for them to join company? No, she had no idea why Frank had come into town, nor could she explain how he had got there. She came through the searching examination very well, and when inconvenient questions were asked concerning her relations with Frank and Eddie, she staged such a noisy attack of hysterics that the D.A. was glad to get her out of his office.

Frank’s death presented a nice little problem, and the D.A. was still busy scratching his head over it.

Eddie decided it would be wiser for Linda and himself to separate until the police no longer took any interest in them. It was obvious to both of them that they could not continue to live in Santo Rio, and Linda was busy packing her clothes and selecting the best of the furniture so that when the police did give them a clean bill they could leave town immediately.

Eddie was shocked and dismayed when he learned that Frank had left no money for Linda. Up to the time of Frank’s death Eddie had been in the pleasant position of enjoying Linda’s charms without having to pay for them. Now, he had not only to support himself, but Linda as well, and Linda’s extravagant tastes were already startling him.

While he idled over a double whisky-and-soda he considered various ideas of how to increase his earning powers, but eventually came to the conclusion that unless he managed to hit on a scheme whereby he came into a large sum of money, things were going to be difficult. In spite of considerable concentration, no such scheme materialized. With a sudden grunt of disgust he pushed his empty glass towards the bartender and lit a cigarette.

As the bartender was refilling the glass he said under his breath, ‘Take a gander at that blossom who’s just drifted in.’

Eddie swung round on his stool and looked into the main entrance lobby. He caught sight of a girl as she crossed to the reception desk and he whistled softly.

She was tall and slender and lovely to look at, with the most amazing red hair that Eddie had ever seen. Dressed from head to foot in black, with a long black cloak hanging from her shoulders and which was fastened at her throat by a gold chain, she made an arresting and somewhat startling picture. She wore no hat, and the only splash of colour came from a scarlet orchid which she wore pinned high up on the cloak.

‘Hold everything, Bud,’ Eddie said to the bartender. ‘This wants looking into,’ and he slid off the stool, walked quietly to the bar entrance where he could see across the lobby to the reception desk.

Gus, the reception clerk, a lean, hard-featured man with quick, restless eyes, winked at Eddie as the girl bent to sign the register. Eddie winked back.

The bellhop, who had appeared by magic, took the girl’s suitcase and conducted her with obvious enthusiasm to the ancient elevator. Eddie noticed the girl carried two leather briefcases, and he wondered idly what they contained.

He had a good look at the girl as she walked to the elevator. She was pale and moved listlessly, and Eddie had a sudden feeling that he had seen her somewhere before. This puzzled him, for he was sure that he would never have forgotten that head of hair if he had seen her before; but, for all that, the feeling persisted.

When she had disappeared into the elevator Eddie went over to the reception desk.

‘Who’s the gorgeous redhead, Gus?’ he asked.

Gus shot his grimy shirtcuffs, ran his hand over his thinning hair.

‘She signs herself “Carol Blandish”,’ he returned, eying the register. ‘Hot dish, ain’t she? It wouldn’t give me a clot on the brain to give her a tumble.’ He shook his head, sighed. ‘That neon sign’s the brightest idea we’ve ever had. I bet we wouldn’t have caught her if it hadn’t been for the old sign; and I bet she stays only for one night.’

‘Carol Blandish,’ Eddie repeated, frowning. ‘Now, where have I heard that name before?’

‘Search me. Have you heard it before?’

Eddie stared at Gus, his blue eyes suddenly very bright and big.

‘For God’s sake!’ he exclaimed. ‘That’s the dame who’s been in the newspapers — the heiress. Why, she’s worth millions! You’ve read about her, haven’t you?’

‘Not me,’ Gus said, shaking his head. ‘I only read the sports column. What do you mean — heiress?’

‘That’s right. She’s worth millions; and she’s supposed to be crazy.’

‘That don’t mean anything,’ Gus said scornfully. ‘The way folks act around here I guess half the town’s crazy, and they ain’t got millions, either.’ He brooded for a moment, added, ‘She’s got a swell shape hung over her bones, hasn’t she?’

‘What the hell is she doing here?’ Eddie asked, running his fingers through his hair. ‘What a bird to pluck! That’s what I call business and pleasure.’ He suddenly snapped his fingers. ‘What’s the number of her room, Gus? I’m going to work on her. It’s a chance in a lifetime.’

‘No. 247,’ Gus said, added helpfully, ‘I got the pass-key if you want it.’

Eddie shook his head.

‘None of that stuff,’ he said. ‘This has got to be handled right. It’s got to be as smooth as silk. For the first time in my life I’ve a real beauty to work on, and am I going to enjoy myself!’

‘It should come a lot sweeter after working on those old mares of yours,’ Gus said, and sighed. ‘I envy you, pal.’

‘Yeah,’ Eddie said, straightening his tie. ‘I’m damned it I don’t envy myself.’

The bellhop dumped the suitcase by the bed, pulled the yellow blinds down, shutting out the rain-splashed and dirty windows, threw open the bathroom door with an apologetic smirk, punched the bed as if to prove it still had spring’s, and stood away, his right hand expectant, his eyes bright with hope.

Carol was scarcely aware of him. Her head ached and her body cried out for rest. She moved listlessly to the solitary, shabby armchair and sank into it, dropping the brief-cases at her feet.

The bellhop, a worldly young man of seventeen summers eyed her doubtfully. He thought she looked good enough to eat, but he was reserving his final judgment until he had seen the size of his tip.

‘Was there anything else you wanted?’ he asked a little sharply, as she seemed to have forgotten him. ‘You can have dinner up here if you like, and a fire. They’ll charge you plenty for the fire, but if you fancy it I’ll get it fixed.’

She started and peered up at him as if she were short-sighted. To her he seemed far away, a blurred image in black and white, and yet his voice grated loudly in her ears.

‘Yes, a fire,’ she said, drawing her cloak round her. ‘And dinner, please.’

Still he waited, a pained expression on his face.

‘I’ll send the waiter,’ he said, ‘or will the set dinner do? It ain’t bad. I eat it myself.’

‘Yes — anything. Please leave me alone now,’ she said, pressed her temples between her fingers.

‘Don’t you feel well?’ the bellhop asked, curious. There was something odd about her, and he felt suddenly uneasy to be alone with her. ‘Is there something I can get you?’

Quickly and impatiently she opened her handbag and threw a dollar note at him.

‘No!’ she said. ‘Leave me alone!’

He picked up the note, eyed her, a startled expression on his face, and went away. He was glad to shut the door on her.