He Won't Need it Now (3 page)

     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.
     “Wait,” she said, putting her hand on his sleeve. Her hand looked white against his dark suit.
     “Someone'll want this elevator in a moment, and then things are going to happen.”
     “Is he really I mean, you're not just saying this to scare me?”
     He got in the elevator, slid the grille and pressed the down button. He let the elevator sink half-way, then broke the current by opening the grille. He climbed out with a struggle, leaving the cage between floors.
     “Does that look like a bedtime story?”
     She peered at Cattley, not moving her body, but just craning her neck. One of her hands went to her mouth. “Is he dead?”
     “Do you think he's catching some sleep? Look at him, baby, look at his arms and legs. Could you sleep like that?”
     She turned on him angrily. “Well, do something about it,” she said.
     He pushed his hat to the back of his head. “I'm beginning to wonder if you're as dumb as you seem to be. You couldn't be dumber than a hophead, the way that brain of yours works. Do something about it? Well, what you want me to do? Send for the cops? Call an ambulance? What?”
     She raised both hands and pushed her hair off her ears. She did it unconsciously. “But you must know what to do,” she said.
     Duffy stood looking at Cattley with a faint grimace, then he went over and took hold of him. He gripped his arm and shoulder. It gave him quite a turn when the arm bent back at the elbow. There were a very few bones in one piece with this guy. He pulled and slid Cattley off the roof and let him as gently as he could on to the floor. Cattley's legs folded up, but not at the knees, they folded up in the middle of his shins. Duffy felt himself sweating. Putting his hands under Cattley's shoulders, he dragged him into the flat and laid him out in the hall.
     “What are you bringing him in here for—?” Her voice was pitched half a note higher.
     “Don't talk now,” he said, looking with disgust at the blood on his hands. “This guy's going to make a mess in your joint, but it's better than making a mess of you.”
     He walked back to the lift and inspected the roof. The woodwork was smeared with blood.
     “Get me a wet towel,” he said.
     She went into the apartment, carefully walking round Cattley. He stood by the lift watching her. She'd got a good nerve, he told himself. She came back again with a wet hand-towel. He took it from her and carefully mopped off the bloodstains. Then he wiped his hands on the towel and folded it neatly. He walked into her apartment and put the towel on Cattley's chest. She followed him in, again skirting Cattley, drawing her green wrap close to her.
     “Will you see if he's got the money on him still?” she said.
     Duffy looked at her hard.
     “What makes you think the money ain't there?”
     “It's the way I said it. I meant will you get the money from him.”
     Duffy grimaced. “I hate handling this bird. He's brittle.”
     She came and stood close to him, looking down at Cattley. “Isn't he going to get stiff soon?” she said. “Hadn't you better straighten him out a little before he gets that way?”
     Duffy said, “For God's sake,” but he knelt down and cautiously pulled on Cattley's legs. One of his shin-bones poked up through his trousers leg. Duffy got up and looked round the hall. He went over to the coat-rack and selected a walking-stick. Then he came back to Cattley and put the ferrel of the stick on the shin-bone and pressed. The leg straightened, and he did the same with the other one.
     His face was a little yellow, and sweat glistened on his top lip. Cattley was making him feel a little sick. He hooked the handle of the stick round Cattley's arm and put his toot against Cattley's body, then he pulled gently. The arm came out from under Cattley like a limp draught-preventer.
     Cattley's head lay on his right shoulder. The skin round the neck had split a little. Duffy straightened the head too with the stick.
     “Want me to cross his hands?” he said, for something to say. All the time he was fixing Cattley, she stood at his elbow and watched. Then she said, “Get the money!”
     Duffy looked at her, his eyes narrowed. “Leave the money where it is,” he said shortly, “get me a drink.”
     She went into the sitting-room and he followed her. He suddenly found that he was still holding the walking-stick. It had blood-smears on it. He went and put it beside Cattley. Then he walked back into the sitting-room again.
     She stood by the table, fixing a Scotch. He took the glass from her before she could add a Seltzer and tossed the liquor down his throat. It was good Scotch. Silky and full of body, with no raw bite in it. He felt it in his belly, a round little knot of warmth. He took the bottle from the table and poured himself another glass.
     “Did you kill him?” he said, looking at her over the top of the glass.
     She spread her hands across her breasts, standing very quiet for a moment, then she said, “Was he killed?”
     Duffy took another pull at his glass. “Use your head,” he said shortly, “how could he have fallen down the shaft? He wasn't drunk, was he? Think a moment. He goes out of your apartment. The elevator is standing on the ground floor. He opens the grille to look at it, then he feels giddy and falls down. They wouldn't pass it in a nut factory.”
     She was going white again and she sat on the edge of the table. Her wrap fell open, showing her knees, but neither of them bothered with that.
     “This is the way it went. Cattley goes out to the elevator and is smacked on the dome, then he is tossed down the shaft. That makes sense.” Duffy put the glass down on the table and lit a cigarette. “You ain't answered my question Did you kill him?”
     “No,” she said.
     “There's only one person who's going to believe that,” Duffy said, “and that's you.”
     She raised her head. Her big eyes were frightened now. “You don't think I killed him?” she said; her words ran into each other.
     “Can't you see what a spot you're in?” he asked patiently. “Look, let me wise you up. Cattley calls on you to sell you something. You say it's material for a book; okay, it's material for a book. You show him the door and then, there he is on the elevator roof smashed to bits.”
     “That doesn't prove that I killed him,” she said breathlessly.
     Duffy shrugged. “It helps,” he said; “let me have a look at that material he sold you.”
     She slid off the table and walked into her bedroom. Duffy sat down in an arm-chair. He gave her a few minutes, then he called, “I guess the killer pinched it.”
     She came out of the bedroom, her face white. She stood in the doorway, one hand at her throat, the other gripping the door-handle.
     “I... I can't find it,” she whispered.
     Duffy pursed his lips. “I bet you can't,” he said. Then he got to his feet. He walked over to her and took both her elbows in his hands, he drew her towards him. “You're a goddam silly little loon,” he said evenly, “you think you can play this out on your own. Well, you can't. You've put on the thinnest act I've ever struck. That writing a book on the underworld went out with the Ark. Get wise to yourself, redhead.”
     She drew away from him. “What are you going to do?” she asked, her voice a little flat and toneless.
     Duffy scratched his head. “This is a hell of a night,” he said, then he stood very still, his fingers spread through his hair. “I wonder...” he broke off, looking at Annabel. “It looks to me that Morgan wants you to take the rap for Cattley's murder,” he said, speaking rapidly, “it fits, by God!” He was getting quite excited. “Listen, baby, how's this for a theory? Morgan gets me to photograph you and Cattley. Cattley gets smacked down by one of Morgan's mob just outside your door and tossed down the shaft. I get my camera pinched containing the photos. All Morgan has to do is to threaten to turn the pictures over to the cops for you to dive into your deposit account and fork out plenty.”
     Annabel was scarcely breathing. “Will you help me?”
     Duffy said, “I can't help myself, can I?”
     “You're being nice, aren't you?”
     “Nice, hell! I took the photos, didn't I? I've got to do something to square that.”
     She dropped into the arm-chair, and held her hand over her eyes. Duffy looked at her and then fetched another glass from the wagon. He poured in three fingers of Scotch and then filled his own glass. He came over to her. “Can you drink this stuff?” he said.
     She took the glass from him. “I don't want it,” she said.
     “You'd better get a little drunk,” he said, “you've got a nasty job on your hands.”
     She looked at him and he jerked his head at the door. “J guess we've got to get rid of Cattley.”
     She said, “Can't you do it?”
     He grinned mirthlessly. “You're in on this, too, sister,” he said. “I'm helping you, but I ain't taking any rap.”
     She drank the whisky neat and he gave her a cigarette.
     “In a couple of hours that bird's going to get as stiff as a board. I guess he won't be too nice to handle like that. Now, we could pack him in a bag without much fuss.”
     She shuddered.
     “It beats me where the hell we're going to plant him.” Duffy began to pace the floor. “He's got to remain planted and he ain't going to be found. As soon as they turn him up, then those photos will come into the market. It's the only way we can beat their game ”
     He looked at her. “Go and get dressed,” he said.
     She got out of the chair and moved over to the bedroom. “Give me a trunk, if you've got one,” he said.
     She paused. “There's one in here,” she said.
     He followed her into the bedroom. She pointed to a large wall cupboard and he opened the door. In the corner was a small black cabin trunk. It was covered with labels. There seemed to be every hotel under the sun advertised on its black shiny sides. He looked at it and then he said, “You've got about.” She didn't say anything. He hauled the trunk out and dragged it into the sitting-room.
     “You got a sheet of mackintosh that I could wrap him in?” he called.
     She came to the door. “Mackintosh?”
     “He's going to mess this trunk without it.”
     She went across to another door and disappeared. He could hear her rummaging about, then she came out with a large luggage wrap. “Will this do?”
     “Yeah.” He took it from her.
     “Don't say 'yeah',” she said.
     He stood holding the mackintosh. “What's it to you?”
     “It's tough.”
     He stood staring at her. “Suppose it is tough,” he said, “isn't this a hell of a time to start a crack like that?”
     “Do you think so?”
     He let the luggage wrap slide out of his hands on to the floor. He could see her eyes were completely blank. She was hissing a little through her teeth. She fumbled with the girdle round her waist until she had it undone. The green wrap fell open and he saw she was naked. She stood a little on her toes, her hands clenched at her sides.
     “Take me,” she said, her voice just above a whisper, “take me, take me, take me.”
     Duffy smacked her face. He could see the marks of his fingers on her white skin. Then he smacked her face again. She blinked twice. Her eyes became human again, and she stood looking at him, a surprised and frightened look on her face.
     “Get dressed,” Duffy said thickly. He could only think of Cattley.
     She turned away from him and walked limply into the bedroom, then she shut the door.
     Duffy blotted his face with his handkerchief. He picked up the mackintosh sheet and walked into the hall. All the time he was telling himself what a sweet spot he had got himself into. It was bad enough to have to handle Cattley in the state he was in, but a dame as screwy as Annabel flattened him. He looked at Cattley in disgust. “If you weren't going to stiffen on me, I'd be having fun right now,” he said viciously.
     He spread the sheet flat by Cattley's side, then he picked up the walking-stick and hooked hold of Cattley's armpit. He couldn't quite bring himself to touch him with his hands. With a little maneuvering he rolled him on to the sheet. Then he knelt down and made a neat parcel of the body.
     By the time he had done that he felt so low that he went back into the sitting-room and gave himself another shot of Scotch. His legs were feeling light, and he guessed he was getting pretty high. His head was clear, and he felt just reckless enough to go on with it.
     He poured out a stiff dose in Annabel's glass and went into the bedroom. When he got in the room, he nearly dropped the whisky. She was lying on her side on the bed. She was in her birthday suit, and it was a pretty good birthday suit at that.
     He put the glass on the small table by the bed, and then he backed out of the room. There was only one driving thought in his mind. He had to plant Cattley before his muscles went like a board. Once he got that way, Duffy knew he'd be sunk.
     He went into the kitchen and flicked on the light. The kitchen was large, with white tiles half-way up the walls, and yellow varnished paint on the other half. The floor was covered with large black and white checks. He thought it was a swell kitchen. He hunted about until he found a length of cord, then he went back to Cattley, lying snug in his parcel. He knelt, down and made the parcel secure with the cord. Then he walked back to the sitting-room and dragged the trunk into the hall and wedged Cattley into it.