Miss Shumway Waves a Wand (3 page)

“I think you’d better go,” she said, at last. “Or else I’ll scream.”

“I wish you would,” I returned, twisting round so that I faced her. “It’d give me a chance to smack you. I’ve always wanted to smack a beautiful blonde, but I’ve never found an excuse for it.”

She suddenly leaned forward and jabbed the self-starter savagely. “I hope you’ll end up in jail,” she said and engaged the gear.

“Don’t get agitated,” I said. “It’s bad for the complexion. Where are you going… Vera Cruz?”

“I suppose so,” she returned, pushing the car down the dark, dusty road. “That is, if it suits you, of course.”

“Anywhere suits me just so long as it’s away from this dump,” I returned. “Just relax, sister. You don’t have to be scared of me. I wouldn’t do this only I want to get out of town and it’s nice to travel free. When we get to Vera Cruz I’ll leave you and you’ll just have your dreams to remember me by.”

“I’ll say you’ll leave me,” Myra returned. “What do you expect me to do? Marry you?”

“That depends on how old fashioned you are,” I said. “Me … I don’t make social gestures. Tell me, peach blossom, what did you say your name was again?”

“If you don’t remember what I told you, I can’t be bothered to tell you again.”

“So what do I call you?” I said. “Hi you or Hey, sister?”

“I wouldn’t lose weight if you didn’t call me anything,” she replied indifferently. “Just give your larynx a vacation and I’ll pretend you’re not here.”

I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It showed 11.15.

“Before I accept those terms,” I said coldly, “tell me one thing. You’re not going to tackle the whole trip to Vera Cruz to-night, are you?”

“Chalco’s a few miles on,” she returned, “I’ll stop there, hand you over to the police and then find myself a hotel.”

“On the other hand, if we take turns driving,” I said carefully, “we could reach Orizaba first thing in the morning. I know a swell hotel in Orizaba where you’ll have every luxury in the world—if the world goes no further than Mexico.”

She thought about this. “Well,” she said at last, “I wouldn’t like to sleep in this car and let you drive. You might get ideas.”

“Well, of course, if you’re scared of me,” I said, shrugging.

“Who said I was scared of you?” That seemed to annoy her, “I haven’t met anything on two legs that could scare
me
.”

“That sounds like famous last words. But, if that’s how you feel, Apple pie, give me the wheel and take a nap,” I said grinning at her.

She hesitated for a second, then stopped the car. She looked at me hard and then a smile came into her eyes. This dame was certainly something to see. Apart from the fact that she represented 25,000 dollars to me, she looked good. When I say good I mean there wasn’t another woman in the country who could get within a mile of her. I like blondes. They may be a little dizzy, but they rest my eyes. That’s my only form of recreation.

“Listen, brother,” she said. “If there’s anything coming from you that’s not strictly off the top deck, I’ll cut your lights out.”

“Would you let me see them before I die?” I asked anxiously. “I’ve always wanted to make Ripley.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she returned and got out of the car.

I slid over and took the wheel.

“There’s more room in the back for sleeping,” she said, getting in and leaving me by myself. “Besides, I’ve got a tyre lever here and I’ll bounce it on your head if you get off the main road. And I won’t send you a telegram before I do it.”

“To hear you talk,” I said, starting the car, “no one would know you had a sentimental streak. “But, seriously, Angel skin, you could trust me with your life.”

“If I did that,” she said, “I’d swap my girdle for a straight jacket.”

After a while, I guess she must have gone to sleep. I sent the Cadillac tearing into the night. It was certainly’ a fine bus and the miles kept clicking up on the dashboard. I expected her to wake up after an hour or so and take over, but she kept on sleeping. I guess the kid was tired. She didn’t wake up until I was bumping over the cobbles that led to the outskirts of Orizaba. Then I heard a little gasp and she said, “Why it’s daylight. Have I been sleeping all this time?”

“Well, someone’s been snoring in my ear,” I returned, as I swung the Cadillac into the main street. “If it wasn’t you, we’ve got a stranger on board.”

“I don’t snore,” she said coldly and I could hear her hunting in her bag for the inevitable powder and puff.

“Think nothing of it,” I said. “You don’t have to be shy with me.” I pulled up outside a small hotel in pink stone.

“I liked the sound. It made me homesick.”

“Homesick?” she asked as I twisted round to look at her.

“Sure,” I said. “At one time I used to live on a farm.” Then I got out of the car hurriedly.

“Just wait here and I’ll fix things. Do you want a room or just a bath and coffee?”

“No room,” she said firmly.

It only crossed my mind after I had dug out the hotel manager and had introduced myself, that I was crazy to leave her out there in the car. But I need not have worked myself into a lather, because she was still there when I came out.

“I’ve got it all fixed,” I said, opening the car door. “Bath first and breakfast on the verandah. Eggs, fruit and coffee. That suit?”

She got out of the car with a small grip in her hand. “It certainly does,” she said, and for the first time she gave me a friendly smile.

I felt I might be getting somewhere with this dame. “Join me for breakfast down here in about half an hour,” I said.

“Then we’ll both let our hair down and confide in each other.”

She shook her head. “I enjoy my own company,” she returned. “I’ve given you a lift as we agreed, now I think I’ll say goodbye.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, taking her firmly by the arm and leading her towards the hotel. “Who’s going to pay for my breakfast, if you run out on me?”

Sitting on the verandah overlooking the square where some small Indian soldiers in their grubby uniforms watched us with blank expressionless eyes, I felt pretty good. The bath had been just right and I was glad to get outside for some food.

On the far side of the square was the flower market. Although it was still early, Indian women were already at work, binding, sprinkling and sorting all kinds of flowers. The heavy scent came across the square and hung round us. “I’m glad we came here,” I said. “I feel this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Myra was sitting with her feet on a chair. Her eyes were closed against the hot sun. She had changed into a simple, well-cut linen frock which fitted her figure like it was painted on her.

“We part at Vera Cruz,” she said without any finality in her voice.

“Do we want to go there?” I asked. “Let’s stay here. You can tell me a story every night and when I want a change you can dance for me.”

“That sounds awfully nice of you,” she said, stretching lazily. “But, I can see no future in it for myself.”

“Don’t you ever get away from your hard veneer?”

She opened her eyes and reached for the coffee. “No. It’s much more than skin deep and it never cracks.” She refilled her cup and then stared across at the mountains that seemed to press in on the town.

“That’s an awful shame,” I said, fumbling for a cigarette. I found I’d used my last
Chesterfield
and glanced hopefully at her. “You must miss a lot of fun that way, sister.”

She gave me a cigarette from her case. “Oh no,” she said, “I’ve no time for play. I’ve got ambitions.”

“You certainly have,” I said. “But you don’t want to overdo it. What did you say your name was again?”

She laughed, “Myra Shumway,” she returned.

I didn’t need the confirmation. I knew I hadn’t made a mistake, but all the same I was glad to know. Besides, we were getting on a more friendly footing and that was important.

“That’s a beautiful name,” I said.

A small party of Mexican labourers passed, carrying guitars. They crossed the little ruined square and sat down with their backs against the wall of an opposite building. Two of them began to play very softly.

“That’s nice,” Myra said. “Do you think they’ll sing?”

“They will if you ask them to,” I returned. “If you give them some money, God knows what they’ll do.”

While I was speaking, a truck came rumbling into the square, blotting out the thin music of the guitars. As it swept past the hotel, two men slid off the tailboard. A small wizened man and a big fat man.

Myra suddenly pushed back her chair, made to rise, then settled herself again.

“Something bite you?” I asked, watching the two men approach. “We’re going to have company. Americans by the look of them.”

“You ought to go into vaudeville,” Myra returned. Her voice was so acid that I glanced at her, surprised.

“Know ‘em?” I asked, wondering why her face had hardened. This kid could look tough when she was in the mood.

“My best friends,” she returned bitterly. “You’ll love them.” The two men came up to the verandah, mounted the steps and stood over us in silent hostility.

Myra said, “Hello. I’ve been wondering what happened to you?”

“I bet you have,” the fat man said between his teeth.

“This is Mr. Ross Millan,” she went on, waving her hand in my direction. “Doc Ansell and Mr. Samuel Bogle. Mr. Bogle’s the gentleman with the dirty face.”

“Sit down and have an egg,” I said, wondering why these two guys looked like a public disaster.

“I don’t want an egg,” Bogle said, stretching his thick fingers ominously.

“Maybe Mr. Bogle would like a drink?” Myra said, smiling.

“We’re going to have more than a drink,” Bogle returned viciously. “We’re collecting for charity—our own charity.”

“He’s got a very forceful personality, hasn’t he?” I said to Myra.

“Grape nuts for breakfast,” Myra said, shrugging. “You know what it does to some people.”

“Oh sure,” I said. “Perhaps he’d like some now.”

Bogle seemed to draw moss of the air around into his lungs. I took a menacing step forward.

Myra said quickly, “Do sit down and have a drink. It gives me a pain in the neck looking up at you.”

“Yeah?” Bogle said. “You’ll be getting more than a pain—and it won’t be in the neck either—if you don’t hand over my dough.”

Myra looked over at Ansell, “Has he been left out in the sun, do you think?”

Ansell’s small mouth tightened. “That line won’t get you anywhere,” he said firmly, “we want our money!”

I didn’t know what this was all about, but I did feel that two to one seemed pretty long odds.

“Listen fellas,” I said, easing back my chair. “If you can’t be civil, I must ask you to make a noise like an airplane and fly away.”

Bogle’s fists slowly knotted. “Did you hear what that punk said?” He turned slowly on me and pushed his great red face forward. “Open that big trap of yours again and I’ll tear your arm off and beat you to death with it.”

I smiled at him, not making any move. “Couldn’t you beat me to death with something else? The manager of the hotel would probably supply you with something. I don’t think I’d like to lose my arm.”

Ansell intervened just as Bogle got set to hand me one. “Not so fast, Sam,” he said.

“Maybe, this gentleman doesn’t realize the facts.”

Bogle looked suspiciously at me and then at Ansell, “You mean he’s a sucker, too?” he asked.

“Why not? You and I were. He seems quite a respectable person,” Ansell returned.

I thanked him. “Of course, I don’t know what this’s about,” I said. “But, if I can lend you anything or help you, just say the word.” I looked at Myra who had been watching with alert eyes. “Do you know these two gentlemen?”

“We met at a café,” she said slowly. “But, it was just a hello and good-bye acquaintance. We had a drink and we parted.

“Yeah, we parted okay,” Bogle said, breathing heavily. “Our dough went with you.”

In spite of this guy’s bulk, I wasn’t standing for that. I stood up, “Are you calling her a thief?” I demanded angrily.

Bogle crowded me. It gave me .the impression that a mountain was going to fall on me.

“Yeah,” he said, showing his tobacco stained teeth. “Do you want to make anything of it?”

I decided that I’d be more use to Myra if I remained in one piece. The Bogle fella looked like he might be a little too much for me. Besides, I never like hitting anyone twice my size. I don’t see any sense in it.

“No, that’s all right, Bud,” I said, stretching my leg and stamping. “I got a cramp?”

“Cramp?” he repeated, blinking at me.

“Yeah, nasty thing, cramp.” I looked over at Myra. “Do you ever get cramp?”

“Only when I wear pink,” she said. “It’s a funny thing, but, pink cramps my style.” Bogle’s blood pressure seemed to be troubling him. He tore his hat off his head and dashed it on to the ground. Then he began punching the air with his fists.

“Gently, Bogle,” Ansell broke in. “There’s no need to lose your temper.”

“I want my dough!” Bogle howled, kicking his hat across the verandah. “I don’t want a lot of talk. I just want my money and then I’m going to tear this dame into small pieces and feed her to the vultures.”

Ansell drew up a chair. “We mustn’t jump to conclusions,” he said. “We have no proof that Miss Shurnway took our money.”

“I’ve get proof,” Bogle said savagely. “I’ll get it if I have to turn her inside out.”

Myra’s blue eyes widened for an instant. Then I knew. She had lifted the money. That slaughtered me. It not only complicated matters, but it gave these two guys an opportunity to be really awkward if they felt that way.

“Don’t get your truss in a knot,” Myra said sharply. I’ll say this for the girl, she’d got plenty of nerve. “What are you talking about?”

Bogle seemed to be praying. But the words that came through his clenched teeth didn’t quite line up with divine thought.

“We think you stole our money,” Ansell said, looking at her steadily. “We both had small sums on us, but when you left, the money had gone. I don’t like to accuse you, but you’ll have to satisfy us that you didn’t take it.”

She whirled round on Bogle, “I bet this was your idea,” she said. “I wish I had you at home. I’d use your head in my rock garden.”

Bogle’s muscles began to expand. “Iszatso!” he said. “Let me tell you something. You’ve shot your mouth off long enough. Now, it’s my turn. Gimme that dough or I’ll turn you upside down and shake it out of you. And if this punk thinks he can stop me, then let’s see him do it. They’ll have to hose him off the wall by the time I’m through with him!”

Maybe there are a few jaded people on the look-out for a new sensation, but I’m not like that. Being hosed off a wail didn’t sound like a pleasant way to spend the morning.

“Myra,” I said firmly, “Give these gentlemen their money and explain, as you explained to me, that it was just a gag. They’ll appreciate it as much as I did—I hope.”

Myra hesitated, then shrugged. She took a roll of notes from the top of her stocking and tossed it on the table. “There’s your money,” she said angrily. “I hope the rot-gut you buy with it poisons you.”

Ansell picked up the money and counted it. He gave seven dollars to Bogle and put the rest in his pocket.

Bogle drew a deep breath, “And now,” he said, hitching up his trousers, “I’m going to smack her one. Sister, am I going to bounce you off a wall!”

Ansell frowned. “Don’t be so primitive, Bogle,” he said. “You should never strike a woman.”

“Not in public, anyway,” I added.

“I’ll take her some place quiet,” Bogle pleaded.

“Certainly not,” Ansell said. Now that he had got his money, he seemed to take a much more agreeable view of life. He turned to Myra, “Now, young lady,” he said briskly, “I want to talk to you. I admire cleverness. That was a neat trick you pulled on us. A very neat trick. I deplore your ethics, of course,” he added hastily, “but there can be no mistaking talent. You have great talent.”

Myra seemed inclined to be sore. “Go boil your head, you old owl,” she said and turned her back on him.

Ansell looked upset, “Pity,” he muttered; then catching my eye, he went on, “And you, sir? Who may you be?”

“The name is Ross Millan,” I said. “I’m a representative of the New York Reporter.”

“New York Reporter?” Ansell’s eyes opened. “That’s one of America’s greatest newspapers. I’m pleased to know you, Mr. Millan.” He offered his hand, “I’m only sorry that we should meet under such distressing circumstances.”

“That’s okay with me,” I said, shaking his hand. “You don’t have to worry about that. Miss Shumway has an advanced sense of humour. I know you boys can take a joke.”

“There’s too much talk,” Bogle growled. “You ain’t letting this dame get away with this, are you?”

Myra twisted round, “Why can’t you beat it? There’re enough rubbish dumps in this town without you adding to them. Take this big pickle-puss away and haunt houses with him.”

Bogle swelled with fury, “Did you hear what she said?” he demanded turning on Ansell. “I ain’t going to stand for it! I’ll —”

“Wait a minute,” Ansell said, as Bogle made to get to his feet. “Sit down, Sam. We won’t get anywhere like this. Now look, Miss Shumway, if I wanted to, I could hand you over to the police. But that won’t get us anywhere. You and I could be useful to each other.”

“How?”

“You’ve got very clever fingers,” Ansell told her, settling himself comfortably in the basket-chair. “Perhaps you can do other tricks besides—er-—exploring people’s pockets.”

Myra frowned, “What if I can?” she said cautiously.

“Now look, my dear,” Ansell went on, “we can, if we forget our differences, be profitable to each other. On the other hand, if you don’t wish to be helpful, then I must hand you over to the police and work out my problems with Bogle.”

“That should be a problem in itself,” Myra said, looking it Bogle scornfully. “How you’ve got anywhere with that lump of cheese surprises me.”

Bogle closed his eyes. The strain of controlling himself was getting too much for him. “The things I’ll do to you when I get you alone,” he said in a strangled voice.

“Never mind that, Bogle,” Ansell said sharply. “We must stick to the point.” He turned back to Myra, “Please don’t irritate him. Are you going to be helpful or not?”

“Why, of course.” A mischievous gleam had come into her eyes. “You want to know if I can do tricks? Well, I think I could give you a little demonstration.” She looked at me, then at Bogle. “Ah! Now if Samuel will help me, I think I’ll— yes, the very thing!” She reached across the table and plucked a length of pink ribbon from one of Bogle’s ears. She pulled steadily and several yards of ribbon lay on the table before Bogle recovered from his astonishment and jerked away. The ribbon fell in a little pile to the ground and Bogle stared at it in horror.