Everybody Had A Gun (12 page)

I said to Kitty, "It's not a good idea. Why don't you forget about going out there? You—you won't get any kick out of it."

She faced me. squarely. "I'm going. I want to see her. I'm going if I have to walk. Will you take me?"

"You have a car?"

"No. Marty was going to get me one when we—" She stopped, looked away, and blinked rapidly. Then she said angrily, "Well, are we just going to stand here?"

I knew I wouldn't have let her go alone even if she'd had a car. It was a lousy idea, but she'd made up her mind and I figured I'd go along. I didn't like thinking of Kitty alone with Mrs. Sader, either. Marty's wife had been too near the edge, as I remembered. Any moment now she might decide to fly and take off for the moon. Besides, Kitty looked as if she could use some company.

Chapter Ten

IT WAS colder now as we drove up toward Hollywood Boulevard, the Cad's headlights slicing a path before us. There wasn't much either of us had to say, and we spoke in monosyllables. I kept hoping Kitty would change her mind, but when I finally asked her if she still wanted to go, she said quietly, "Yes," and I let it ride.

As I turned into Nichols Canyon Road I shook my head, wondering why I was taking a nice little gal out to see the potted horror who was the wife of a guy who wanted me cold and dead. And on a miserable night like this.

It was a nice night for corpses, if any night ever is, for it was the kind that sends imaginary shadows sweeping across your mind and flickering in front of your eyes. The stars burned cold and hard in the sky and there wasn't any moon. The wind still prowled around outside the car, swelling and sighing, then dropping to a lonesome whisper.

And on a night like this we were going out Nichols Canyon Road to see a witch. On purpose.

I could see light before we got there. A porch light was burning at the big white house and I drove right up in the driveway and parked. As I stopped the car I saw the front door open and Mrs. Sader's horse face hanging out in the air. It could use some air.

I went around and helped Kitty out of the car and we walked up to the wide porch in front of the house and up the steps. Mrs. Sader stepped out of the door and impaled me with a look.

The look wobbled a little, but she finally got me with it. There was no glass in her hand this time, but you could bet it hadn't been gone long, because she was long gone.

She glared at me and said with more care and less success than she'd had about eight hours earlier, in the afternoon, "What're you doing here?"

"I came with Miss Green, Mrs. Sader. I drove her out here."

"Well, go 'way."

I shrugged, but Kitty laid a small hand on my arm. "No, Shell. Please stay. I hope it's all right, Mrs.—Mrs. Sader. I'd like him to stay."

Mrs. Sader turned and looked at Kitty for the first time, and then I realized she'd never seen her before this moment. Her bleary eyes fell on Kitty's youthful features and fresh complexion, and unconsciously she ran a hand over her own tired-looking face. She let her eyes run over Kitty's trim little figure and neat suit, and for a moment I almost liked her. At least, I felt sorry for her, and that's pretty close to the same thing.

She said softly to Kitty Green, "You're pretty."

I got the impression that this was all she'd really wanted: to see the woman her husband had been with, was seeing some of these days and some of these nights. So far she'd simply been catalogued in my mind as "Old Goon-Girl," but now I wondered how a woman felt when she knew her husband was tired of her, or was finding his pleasure with a younger, lovelier woman. And I wondered most of all how a woman like Mrs. Sader would feel.

But then she sucked her breath in between her teeth with a sharp hissing sound and flipped back into character. She said violently, "You're the new one. You're the new one. You're the new slut he's got."

Kitty gasped and Mrs. Sader stuck her head forward and glared at her.

I said, "Look, lady, lay off the—"

Mrs. Sader busted in; she'd seen the pain on Kitty's face and she liked seeing it. She whinnied, "Slut, slut, slut, slut! You aren't even married. I'm married to him. You're cheap, you're. . ."

Her voice trailed off and she pulled her head around and looked at me. I guess she looked at me. It was more as if she looked straight through my eyes at something unpleasant on the back of my head.

Kitty spoke quietly. "Why did you ask me to come?"

Mrs. Sader kept her eyes pointed at me. "You go away," she said. "I didn't ask you."

Kitty spoke more loudly this time. "I want Mr. Scott to stay. I asked him to stay."

Mrs. Sader whirled on her, spewing whisky fumes in a nauseous half circle. Not that whisky fumes are nauseous; it was what came along with it. She cried, "This is my house. My house! He has no business here. You don't have any. You don't belong here."

"But, Mrs. Sader," Kitty began in a tight voice. Maybe her temper was beginning to perk again, and I didn't want that to get started. Not with me in between these two.

"Maybe we'd better forget this," I said. "I'll take you home, Kitty."

But Mrs. Sader wasn't through. Perhaps she'd planned to be fairly reserved and pleasant—as pleasant as she could be—but it wasn't working out that way. It was getting out of hand and making me uncomfortable. It must have been doing worse than that to Kitty.

Mrs. Sader leaned close to Kitty and grabbed her by the arm. Looking into her face she said, "You think you're clever, don't you? Think you've been smart. You haven't been. You've just been shameful. He's my husband. He'll get through with you. You're not the first one he's had—and there'll be more, a hundred more."

I'd been looking at Mrs. Sader. Her eyes were staring and her mouth was working, lips wet with saliva. But now I glanced at Kitty and saw her wince at Mrs. Sader's last words.

Mrs. Sader saw it too. She almost grinned and shrieked, "I've counted them one after another for ten years. He'll soon be through with you. But he keeps me. He keeps me! Me! I'm the only one he loves."

She stopped talking, with her head thrust forward on her skinny neck, looking at Kitty and gasping, almost sobbing. Her chest rose and fell spasmodically as animal sounds pressed out of her throat and mouth.

Kitty stared at her, shrinking from her, then shook her arm free and turned. Her face was twisted and pinched as she spun around and walked rapidly to the car. I followed behind her as she opened the door on my side and slid under the wheel and up against the farther door. I got in, started the engine, and backed out of the driveway.

Kitty didn't say a word. As we drove back toward her house I glanced at her from time to time. She never once looked at me; her face was turned away from me, pointed out the open window of the car, and once in a while her shoulders would shake a little, then relax.

It was a lot longer drive back than it had been coming out, and it was still the same kind of night. Neither of us said a word. I parked in front of her house and climbed out of the Cad. By the time I reached the door on her side of the car she was out of the car and running up the walk, heels clicking on the cement.

I followed her up to the porch and opened my mouth to speak, but she ran inside and slammed the door in my face.

I turned around and went back to the car and sat there for a while, smoking a cigarette. Then I drove away thinking, Marty, I'd like to cut out your stinking heart!

Chapter Eleven

I ROLLED the wind wings out and drove a fast mile, hating Marty Sader every foot of the way, then cooled off a little. It was already after nine o'clock and I decided it was past time I got some food up to Iris and Mia, my two babes in the woods.

I turned off Fairfax Avenue onto Santa Monica Boulevard, the lights of a car behind me bouncing off the rearview mirror and into my eyes momentarily. I felt in my pocket, made sure I had the list Mia had given me, and headed for Kelcey's Market on Kingsley near Santa Monica. I bet Mia could whip up a nice batch of spaghetti; it was too bad I wouldn't have time to stay and help the girls put it away.

I was starting to feel a little hungry myself, and I was beginning to get a bit tired. I arched my back, pulling the kinks out of it, and light from the rear-view mirror splashed into my eyes again. I felt annoyance at first, then I wondered. I'm somewhat more sensitive than most guys about cars following me. They might just happen to be there, but there's always a chance it's more than coincidence. When I'm on a job I don't like headlights sticking too persistently on my rear bumper.

When I'm on a job. That was a little funny, come to think of it. As a private detective, an investigator for hire, I take cases from clients who usually pop into my office because they're in some kind of trouble. Not this time; I was my own client.

I suppose it had actually started with Iris, although I couldn't really call her my "client." But her cute little trick of squealing to Sader that she'd been to see me and that I knew everything that she did had put me in a hell of a lot worse spot than if she'd walked into my office and said, "Mr. Scott, here's a zillion-dollar retainer. Please help me with my problem." Like most of my clients do. Only they don't say a zillion dollars. It was a new way for me to get a case; I think I liked the old way better.

I was a block from the market and the car was still less than half a block behind. No reason that meant anything; there was plenty of traffic at this hour. I drove the last block, swung left, and parked near the market in a dimly lighted spot. Then I twisted around to look over my shoulder out the Caddy's window. The other car went buzzing right on down Kingsley, a shiny green De Soto coupé. I shook my head. Guess I'm getting to be a worrier.

I loaded up inside the market with everything Mia had listed and threw in a couple of sirloin steaks the gals were going to have a tough time fixing on that wood stove. I'd have liked making it three if I'd had time; they looked like what the radio boys would probably describe as "a taste thrill," but the price took all the thrill out of it. Fifteen minutes after I went in, I came out with a small box containing the groceries and a gurgle. In case happy days were ahead, I'd picked up a fifth of Old Grand-Dad to make the happy days happier.

I thought about dumping the box in the back of the Cadillac, then shoved the stuff in the front seat. No sense getting that far away from Old Gramps. He'd be pleasant company on the drive ahead. I could reach over and pat him once in a while.

I started the car, swung my head around to make sure no cars were coming, and stopped swinging my head before it got halfway around. Right across the bloody street was the bloody De Soto coupé that had been behind me. Either that one or its twin.

I blinked at it, trying to figure if I were getting jumpy nerves or if some character actually was on my tail. I took a look around and spotted a little guy on the sidewalk in front of the store. He was right out in plain sight, staring at me, and if he was a tail he was being careless about it. I wasn't going to stick around and find out.

I started to pull out of my parking slot when the little guy took a step toward me and said, "Hey."

I stepped on the gas. He took a couple of quick steps toward the car and yelled, "Hey! Hey, you!" and then I was gone.

The back of my neck crawled and I wondered if there were any good reason for it. The state I was in, pretty soon I'd figure every guy I saw with a beard was a Russian saboteur. But nerves or not, I had a funny feeling.

I spent fifteen or twenty minutes making damn sure nobody was following me, and it was getting close to ten-thirty when I got to the little cabin. I gave a couple of short toots on the horn and yelled, "Hello," picked up the box of food and bourbon, and climbed out of the car.

Iris opened the cabin door. Light streamed out around her and hugged her waist and hips and kindled sparks in her hair. I was home.

She said, "I was starting to get a little worried about you, Shell."

"Hungry, huh?"

She smiled at me. "That's not what I was worried about. But I am hungry."

She swung the door open and I went inside, kicked the door shut, and set the box of groceries on the floor. There was still plenty I had to do this night, but it seemed a shame to go back to town. I couldn't think of a better place to start a vacation than right here. Or a better way.

Iris had looked good when she opened the door, and she sounded better than she had at any time up to now. She was relaxed and rested, and it showed in her voice. Actually, this was the first good chance, except for the short time in the café on the way up here, that I'd had to see her relaxed and at ease, and I'd been missing something. I knew her hair was red and long, but I'd missed the glinting coppery highlights that quivered through it when she moved, and the grace of her body in motion. Her blue eyes were bright, and dark lashes waved as she blinked up at me.

I went over and sat on the edge of the bed as Iris spied the bottle of Old Grand-Dad, turned away from me, and bent over to grab it. She still wore the wool half sweater and the boyish slacks I remembered, and, as I also remembered, only the slacks were boyish.

She turned around gripping the bottle by the neck and said, "You wonderful man. Want one?"

The way my mind works, I almost gave the wrong answer to that, but I recovered and said, "Good idea. Haven't had a drink all day." I looked around the bare little room. "Got three glasses? We—" Well, Jesus Christ! The room was barer than it should have been.

"Where the hell's Mia?" I asked.

"She'll be back in a little."

"I said where is she?"

"Don't get excited. She just went to the store."

"Went to the store! What the hell for?"

Iris came over and sat down on the bed beside me. She patted my knee but it didn't calm me down. That would never calm me down.

She said pleasantly, "Mia forgot to tell you to get some garlic. Can't make Italian dressing and garlic bread without garlic, she said. There's a little boy that lives up near here with his folks, and she asked him where the store was. It's only about half a mile, Shell."