Doc Savage: The Secret of Satan's Spine (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage Book 15) (3 page)

This latest eruption was probably another false alarm. But Doc Savage decided to wait in his laboratory rather than go to lunch in case another call from Ham Brooks came.

HANGING up the drugstore telephone, Ham Brooks exited the establishment and sought out the Italian restaurant where Monk had taken the attractive blonde calling herself Davey Lee.

It was not hard to find. Ham had only to seek out the most disreputable looking spaghetti joint in the immediate vicinity. This place was called, predictably, Tony’s.

The dapper lawyer stationed himself across the street and attempted to locate Monk and the blonde girl with his sharp eyes.

He soon found them, much to his exasperated indignation. For the girl appeared to be laughing uproariously and having a grand old time. Monk’s grin was so wide it looked as if a blunt-toothed shark was swimming about the checkered cloth table.

By observing, Ham was able to pick out their waiter, a reedy fellow with a pencil-thin mustache and a dark head of hair that looked as if it had been soaked in hair oil.

After observing for several minutes, the lawyer crossed the street at the corner and found his way to the back of the establishment through a convenient but rather slovenly alley.

There was a back door next to a large industrial rubbish container. Ham entered, slipping into the kitchen.

Finding a loose busboy, Ham flashed a folded five dollar bill and hissed, “This is yours, young fellow. All you have to do is ask the waiter with the pencil-thin mustache to step back here for a chat.”

The busboy was having trouble seeing anything other than the fiver, but he tore his eyes away, and hurried to the front of the restaurant, departing like a sparkler.

Ham did not have to wait long. The waiter came back, eyes narrow in a curious way, and asked smoothly, “You wish to speak with me?”

“I do. I happen to be aware that a good friend of mine is dining in this place. Name is Monk, and he looks like a slovenly ape. He’s recently fallen into the clutches of a flossy blonde gold digger, and I promised his wife I would keep an eye on him.”

The waiter nodded solemnly. “I know the one of which you speak.”

“Monk is hard to miss. What I would like you to do,” said Ham, producing a ten dollar bill and holding it under the waiter’s nose, “is eavesdrop on the conversation and report everything back to me.”

The waiter was very impressed by the sawbuck. “Will you wait here?” he asked politely.

“I must, for I dare not lose sight of poor Monk.”

“As you wish,” said the waiter. “If you’d like, I will have any meal prepared for you that we serve in this establishment. No charge, of course.”

Mindful of his appetite, Ham said, “Yes, thank you. A plate of ravioli would suffice.”

The busboy escorted the dapper lawyer to a nook reserved for the staff to take their meals, and quietly took his order. He went away with a dollar bill and a big grin.

Ham Brooks waited, and the ravioli was soon served. The dapper lawyer had not expected much, but the smell of the stuff was very pleasant. Soon, he became engrossed in his meal.

Two hours later, the waiter came back for the fifth time to say, “Your friends are still here. They are enjoying themselves immensely.”

Ham scowled and said, “Monk’s wife will not be happy about this. What is the trend of the conversation?”

“The young woman has been telling your friend all about her plantation in Louisiana and has invited him to come back with her on a vacation.”

“I suspected as much! She is nothing less than a gold digger. If she only knew the state of Monk’s finances, she would whistle a different tune.”

“Mr. Monk appears to be very interested in going to Louisiana.”

“Monk always talks like that. But I happen to know that he has no time for any such frivolous trip at present.”

“On the contrary,” corrected the waiter. “They have just now agreed to take the morning train to Shreveport, from there to drive to the young lady’s plantation.”

“You don’t say!” Ham blurted out. His eyes grew narrow. “Perhaps that hairy mistake is just leading her on. Monk is not going to turn down an opportunity to make some money for a vacation he doesn’t need.”

“From what I overheard, Mr. Monk sounded very sincere,” supplied the waiter.

The
maître d’
came from the front of the restaurant and signaled to the waiter that he was needed. The waiter made excuses, was gone ten minutes, after which he returned to report, “Mr. Monk and the attractive young lady have departed, sir.”

Removing his napkin from his throat, Ham snagged his elegant cane, and bolted out the back without another word.

Circling the block, he emerged onto a crosstown street in time to see the hairy chemist pouring the smiling blonde into the back of a taxicab. Monk clapped the door shut, handed the driver a bill, and waved the cab away.

His grin was so wide, the ends could have met at a point over the back of his neck. He rubbed his hairy hands together gleefully.

Sauntering up, Ham Brooks accosted the homely chemist and remarked, “So there you are! I have been searching for you.”

Monk’s grin half collapsed. He turned, eyeing the dapper lawyer suspiciously.

“You been followin’ me, you sneaky shyster?” he growled.

“Hardly,” sniffed Ham. “I have eaten and merely wished to ascertain that you had done so as well.”

“Dandy of you,” said Monk blandly, noticing a suspicious dab on spaghetti sauce on Ham’s chin his napkin failed to sop up.

They stood staring at one another for a few seconds, after which Ham remarked casually, “So how did it go with your latest obsession?”

“She thinks I’m the niftiest thing to be found in New York City,” boasted Monk.

“She has not yet been to the dog pound, I presume?”

Normally such a cutting remark brought a surly response from the hairy chemist, but Monk was so intoxicated by his blonde lunch companion that he failed to offer any riposte.

Instead, he said, “Davey and I are takin’ the train back west to her stamping grounds, and she’s going to show me her father’s plantation. It’s a sugar mill now.”

“What about your sea trip to Europe?”

“Aw, I can do that another time. There’s no rush. There are plenty of boats crossin’ the Atlantic in the convoys.”

“And a goodly supply of German raiders prepared to sink them during the crossing,” chided Ham.

“All the more reason to put off that trip for a better time,” said Monk.

By now, they were walking along in the direction of Doc Savage’s headquarters.

“Has it occurred to you that that glossy wench may be up to no good?” inquired Ham.

Monk grinned and said, “When I bowl ’em over, they go down like tenpins.”

“It might behoove you to do a little background checking on your new friend, in case this is a clever trap.”

Monk scowled like a gorilla who discovered a coconut he had taken the trouble to crack open was dry as a bone.

“What kind of trap would be waitin’ for me out in Louisiana? And why would anyone set one? We ain’t involved in anything right now. Neither is Doc Savage. There’s no trouble in the air, so there can’t be any trap.”

Ham reminded, “There have been times in the past when traps have been laid for us before we discovered the trouble back of them.”

“Maybe. But Davey’s a nice kid, and pure as the driven snow.”

Ham admitted, “So she struck me, but perhaps she has drifted.”

Monk said nothing to that. Abruptly, he suggested, “You go on ahead. I’m headin’ back to my penthouse digs. I suddenly got a lot of packin’ to do.”

With that, the homely chemist went bounding off on his bandy legs, leaving Ham Brooks making disapproving shapes with his wide, mobile orator’s mouth.

“Drat!” snapped Ham. “That dish-faced ape is going to end up in a pine box or worse if he keeps on chasing skirts he does not know.”

Clutching his sword cane more tightly, Ham hailed a taxicab and directed the driver to take him to Doc Savage headquarters.

“Snappy!” he urged.

THE BRONZE MAN was waiting in his laboratory when the dapper lawyer arrived ten minutes later.

Barging into the laboratory set-up, Ham said excitedly, “I have discovered that that fool ape has agreed to train south to Louisiana and visit the blonde woman’s plantation out there.”

“What is wrong with that?” asked Doc.

“In two days Monk was supposed to ship out to Europe to do some chemical work for the British.”

Doc nodded. “I remember that now. And Monk is more broke than usual this month.”

“It is not like him to turn down an honest dollar, never mind a windfall,” insisted Ham.

“Neither is it like Monk to forego the company of an attractive blonde when the wind blows one in his direction,” reminded Doc.

Ham studied the gold head of his cane, and said slowly, “It was an ill wind that blew one in his direction this time.”

Interest flickered in the bronze man’s peculiar eyes. “Do you know this young woman’s name?”

Ham nodded curtly. “She called herself Davey Lee.”

“Describe her, please,” requested Doc.

Ham did, painting a fairly colorful picture of the young woman, and at the end remarked, “Although she claimed to be from Shreveport, her accent smacked of Virginia.”

“Young women raised in Virginia might easily fall heir to a Louisiana plantation, you know.”

“She did not strike me as the plantation owner’s daughter type. More the vapid Southern Belle variety.”

“She could easily be both,” said Doc Savage absently.

The bronze man had been racking chemicals in a special cabinet while the discussion took place. He became engrossed in this activity.

Impatiently, Ham asked, “What should we do about this predicament?”

“To all outward appearances,” said Doc Savage, “Monk’s latest passion appears to be exactly what it presents itself—a star-struck young woman in the big city who happened to meet someone she perceives as a famous celebrity.”

“The whole affair smacks of trouble,” insisted Ham.

“If you feel that way,” suggested Doc, returning to his work, “feel free to keep an eye on Monk until your specific suspicions are confirmed, or allayed.”

“Why, I intend to do just that!” snapped the dapper lawyer. “For someone has to block that infernal ape from barging into trouble, if not matrimony.”

“Please keep me informed,” requested Doc Savage as Ham Brooks closed the laboratory door behind him, making determined footsteps through the spacious library and on out of sight and hearing.

Chapter III

SMOKE FOR HAIR

MONK MAYFAIR GREETED the dawn with a grin.

He flung aside the silk sheets of his four-poster bed in his Wall Street penthouse, a rookery in which he had lived for more than a decade, but on whose rent he was disastrously in arrears.

The homely chemist gave no thought to his money worries, however, as he hastily showered, wolfed down a hearty breakfast, and dressed for his trip to the sunny South.

Finishing his eggs, Monk rang his secretary, who had the reputation of being the prettiest in captivity.

“I’m going out of town for a few days,” he told her. “Be sure to check up on Habeas twice a day and make sure he’s fed.”

The secretary’s voice came over the wire questioningly. “You’re not taking him on this trip?”

“Not this time,” said Monk. “I’m going on vacation, and that includes a vacation from Habeas.”

“Yes, Mr. Mayfair,” the secretary said. “I will see that all his needs are attended to.”

“Thanks,” said Monk, hanging up.

The hairy chemist ambled into an adjoining room, which was over-decorated, but lacked much in the way of furniture. The floor was of Italian marble, and in the center of this marble expanse was a large mud wallow in which lolled the most unseemly-looking pig imaginable.

Habeas Corpus had been named to rankle Ham Brooks, whose distaste for pork in any form was one of his notable pet peeves. Habeas was a runt specimen of the porcine family, and looked as if he borrowed his legs from a skinny dog, his long snout from an anteater, and his ears from a baby pachyderm. He should have grown up to become a full-size hog by this point in life, but the freak shoat never progressed beyond juvenile size.

That suited Monk just fine, which made Habeas handy to tote around on his various adventures. This time, however, the apish chemist decided to leave the porker behind. Sometimes, Monk employed the pig to overcome any female dislike for his homely face, but since Davey Lee seemed especially attracted to Monk exactly as he was, Habeas was unnecessary.

Also, Monk had his doubts that he could smuggle Habeas on board the train, which would be packed with servicemen traversing the country. Train tickets for civilians were in short supply, but Monk had pull. He had already solved that problem. Adding Habeas to the equation would have complicated matters and possibly jeopardized the trip.

So Monk sauntered over and patted the shoat on his bristly skull and said, “Be a good pig while I’m gone, hear?”

The runt poker grunted, and his beetling eyes grew slightly sad. Habeas was extremely intelligent, and could not help but notice his master packing the night before.

Habeas knew he wasn’t going along, otherwise he would have been given a bath. He grunted disconsolately, and his dark eyes grew sad as he lowered himself back into his mud, settling in for a long sulk.

“I won’t be but a few days,” reassured Monk.

Something suspiciously like a dog-like whine escaped the pig’s elongated snout. But he closed his eyes and pretended to go to sleep.

“Don’t be that way,” muttered Monk. “I’ll bring you back some fresh apples.”

Habeas elicited a disgruntled noise, but otherwise did not stir.

Gathering up his luggage in both hands, Monk shoved his way out the door, down the elevator and hailed a taxicab at the street corner.

“Pennsylvania Station,” he told the driver as the cabbie filled his trunk with Monk’s luggage.

Struggling with the baggage, the driver quipped, “Where are you goin’, buddy? The moon?”

“Don’t be wise,” shot back Monk. “I’m just takin’ a little train trip, is all.”