Читать книгу Dames Don't Care - Peter Cheyney - Страница 8

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Next day I just stick around. In the afternoon I ease along to the telegraph office an’ I sent a code wire to the “G” Office in New York askin’ them to let me have a list of the servants an’ people employed by Granworth Aymes at the time of his suicide an’ their locations right now, that is if they can find ’em out.

I have got a sorta hunch about this Aymes suicide. It looks to me like there is something screwy about it, an’ if I can dig up anything that is goin’ to help me along, then I reckon I am goin’ to dig.

The main difference between the sorta things that you read about in detective fiction an’ the things that happen in real life is that the real life things is always a damn sight more strange than the ones in the book. No writin’ guy ever had the nerve to write a story that he knew was true—nobody woulda believed him; but in the books there is always a bunch of clues that the crook leaves lyin’ about just like they was banana skins for the dick to slip up on.

Me—I always follow my nose an’ just go right ahead. That’s my system. I don’t believe what anybody tells me on a case till I’ve checked on it, an’ even then, like as not, I still don’t believe ’em.

One snag is that the New York medical examiner says that Granworth Aymes committed suicide, and it ain’t any business of mine to go gumshoein’ around bustin’ that verdict wide open unless it’s got some direct bearin’ on the counterfeit business. You gotta realize that I am a Federal Agent an’ it is not my business to check up on police work or try an’ prove that they are wrong—not unless I have got to.

At the same time I decide that I will do some delvin’ because it stands to reason that the counterfeitin’ of these Federal bonds mighta been done in more than one way. First of all somebody might have pinched the original certificates an’ substituted the counterfeit ones after they had been handed over to Henrietta Aymes. This coulda been done without Granworth knowin’ anything about it, or else it coulda been arranged by him an’ done with his knowledge, although where this woulda got him I don’t know.

Then Henrietta mighta got the counterfeit stuff made after Aymes was dead, thinkin’ that she had a better chance of passin’ it than anybody else just because everybody knew that Aymes had given her the regular bonds. But even if this was so you woulda thought she wouldn’a have been such a mug as to try an’ push one over on a bank. Anybody will cash a registered Federal bond if they’ve got the money, an’ there was plenty of other places she coulda tried first.

Supposin’ that she is tryin’ a fast one. Well, where are the original certificates an’ who’s got ’em?

I can’t help thinkin’ in the back of my head that there is some connection between the counterfeitin’ business an’ this schmozzle that is goin’ on between Henrietta an’ Granworth over this woman just before he dies. It also looks very screwy that Henrietta was aimin’ to go an’ see him on the day that he bumped himself off; an’ here is another little thing that I cannot understand: The New York police told me that at the inquest on Aymes, Burdell, his secretary, an’ the other servants workin’ in the Aymes’ apartment all said that Mrs. Aymes was away in Connecticut until after the suicide, when Burdell sent her a wire an’ she came back pronto so’s to be at the funeral.

Anyway, I reckon that I will take a look at this Henrietta as soon as I can, an’ maybe she an’ me can do a little talkin’ an’ see if we can get some of this business straightened out.

Sittin’ on the veranda outside my bedroom window, drinkin’ a mint julep, I get to thinkin’ about Sagers. I am tryin’ to find some reason why some guy shoulda bumped him off. Nobody could know that there was any connection between Sagers an’ me, an’ the act we put on at the Hacienda Altmira the night he got his was watertight. Nobody woulda suspected that he was reportin’ to me while we was doin’ that big makin’ friends act.

So it looks to me like somebody out at the Hacienda thought that Sagers knew a damn sight more than he did, an’ when he blew along an’ said that he had come into this money an’ was scrammin’, they thought they’d better make a certainty of him an’ give him the heat. Even so I reckon he was shot in a funny sorta way.

The way he was lyin’ on those stairs looked to me that he was comin’ down ’em when he was shot. There was a powder burn round one of the bullet holes where he was shot in the stomach an’ that particular shot was fired at pretty close range—about four feet away I should think.

So I work it out this way: Sagers was up in one of the rooms leading off the balcony that runs round the inside wall of the Hacienda. Somebody shot him in the guts an’ Sagers, not havin’ a gun on him, evidently thought he’d better blow before they ironed him some more. So he turns around, gets along the balcony an’ starts runnin’ down the stairs.

The guy who is doin’ the shootin’ leans over the balcony an’ puts a couple shots into Sagers’ legs. Sagers falls down an’ the guy then walks over an’ standin’ at the top of the stairs puts another shot into his body. This would account for the fact that there wasn’t any powder marks around the other bullet holes.

The shootin’ guy then walks down the stairs, steps over Sagers’ body, an’ standin’ two or three stairs below him, gets hold of his silver shirt-neck cord so as to pull him over his shoulder. In doin’ this the cord breaks an’ the little tassel falls off the end on to the stairs where I found it. The killer then carries Sagers along to the store behind the bar an’ dumps him in the ice chest, all of which is very interestin’ only it don’t get me any place except that I have gotta sorta idea that one day I would like to bust this shootin’ guy a coupla hard ones an’ get him the hot squat afterwards.

After all this thinkin’ I go inside an’ lie down an’ read a detective magazine because it takes my mind off my business, an’ then, when the evenin’ starts arrivin’ I get up an’ I put on a very swell “soup-an’-fish” that I have got, dinner pants an’ a white serge tuxedo that makes me look like the King of Japan, after which I eat my dinner an’ wisecrack with the girl in the reception.

At eleven o’clock I get out the car an’ I take the desert road an’ make for the Hacienda Altmira. I decide I will just stick around an’ see if something is happenin’ that is interestin’.

It is a swell night, an’ when I get there I can hear the guitars goin’. A half a dozen horses are tied up around the back, an’ there are a coupla dozen cars parked in the garage round at the side. I leave the car an’ walk around to the front entrance.

Periera is there. He is all dressed up an’ I can hear from the noise comin’ along the passage that there are plenty people around. Periera says will I have a drink on the house an’ I say yes, an’ while I am checkin’ in my fedora they bring me a high ball. I say good health to him an’ drink it, an’ he takes a quick look at me an’ says that if I would like a little game of anythin’ there will be one goin’ some time after twelve o’clock an’ that it will be in the room on the balcony right at the top of the stairs. I say thanks a lot an’ that I am game for anything that is a gamble from crap shootin’ upwards.

He laughs an’ I walk along the passage an’ pull the curtain an’ stand lookin’ on to the main floor.

The place is crowded. All the tables are full of guys and there are some swell dames with ’em. Two, three cowboys—real or dude I don’t know—are standin’ up against the bar, an’ the piece of dance floor is pack full of people dancin’. There are colored streamers hangin’ from the balcony, an’ on the walls are long Spanish shawls an’ here an’ there a Mexican blanket—the place looks swell I’m tellin’ you. The band know their stuff an’ they are playin’ a hauntin’ tune—some Mexican tango, an’ one of the guys on the band platform, who has got the sorta voice that makes a temperamental dame wanta go into a convent, is singin’ a song about dyin’ for love that is breakin’ some of them janes’ hearts.

There are two or three tables around the bank platform an’ the women sittin’ at ’em are lookin’ up at this guy like he was an angel or something. When one of the men with ’em—they look like business men from Los Angeles—says anything the dames sorta shut him up in case they miss a bit of the song, which only goes to show you that some dames are screwy as hell. These dames marry some business guy an’ he buys ’em swell dresses an’ takes ’em places where they can sling a warm look at a cheap palooka who is singin’ in a club band. Sometimes they go the whole hog an’ run off with these crooners, after which they get wise an’ spend the rest of their lives tryin’ to find another business man that can get next to an’ marry, so that they can get some more dresses an’ sling longing looks to some different band guys.

I’m tellin’ you that the place was a sight, one of the prettiest pictures I have ever seen, an’ then just as I was goin’ to move down an’ walk over to a table I see a dame walkin’ my way. She’s comin’ from the left of the room over by the windows. This dame has got what it takes—an’ then a bundle! She is tall an’ slim, an’ she has got all the right curves. She’s as pretty as a picture an’ she has got her nose stuck up in the air like she was a queen. She is a brunette an’ the way she has her hair done is aces. It was swell.

An’ she looks tough. Her mouth is set in a hard line an’ I see that she has got a jaw. Somehow for no reason at all I know that this is Henrietta.

I look back down the passage. Periera is still standin’ there wise-crackin’ with the girl who is checkin’ in the hats. I nod my head at him an’ he comes along.

“Who’s the baby, Periera,” I say, “the one who has just sat down at that table over there, the one by herself? I didn’t know you had dames around here like that.”

He grins up at me. This guy Periera reminds me of a snake. I don’t like him a bit.

“Señor,” he says, “we got everything. Thees lady ees the Señora ’Enrietta Aymes.”

“You don’t say,” I crack.

I look surprised.

“Say listen, Periera,” I say. “She ain’t the dame that was married to that guy—what was his name—Granworth Aymes—the guy who bumped himself off in New York? I was there at the time. I read about it in the papers.”

He nods, an’ he puts on an expression like he was very sorry. Then he makes himself out to be the big guy. He says how this Henrietta came out to the Hacienda Altmira thinkin’ that it belonged to Granworth, her husband, an’ when she gets out there he has the sweet duty of tellin’ her that the place is mortgaged over to him; that Granworth didn’t pay off the mortgage, an’ that it is his place.

He spreads his hands.

“Then, señor,” he says, “there is some more troubles for thees unfortunate lady. There ees some argument about her money. She tells me she has no money. So,” he goes on, “I let her stick around. I am a good man, you understand, Señor. I feel sorry for thees poor woman. I let her stay around here an’ be hostess until she makes up her mind what she would like to do.”

“Yeah,” I tell him. “It looks like you’re a good guy, Periera. How about meetin’ the lady?”

He nods, but just then I tell him it don’t matter, because goin’ towards the table where Henrietta is sittin’ is a guy. He is a big guy an’ he looks pretty regular to me. He has got a nice sorta face. I can tell by the way that this guy is lookin’ at Henrietta as he goes towards the table an’ the way that she looks back at him, that these two are pretty friendly. I grin at Periera.

“Looks like she’s got a boy friend,” I say, “nice lookin’ guy. Who is he?”

“ ’Ees name is Maloney,” says Periera. “ ’E comes around here a lot. He plays. Maybe he plays to-night.”

I nod.

“Well, I hope I take some dough off him,” I say. “By the way my name’s Frayme—Selby Frayme. Do you play high stakes around here?”

He shrugs his shoulders.

“What you like, Señor Frayme,” he says. “For us the roof ees always the limit.”

I say O.K. Then I go an’ sit down at a table and order myself a high ball. I decide it is not very much good my tryin’ to muscle in an’ talk to Henrietta while this guy is stickin’ around.

The time goes on. Periera takes me over an’ introduces me to some party sittin’ at a big table. These guys are pretty warm-hearted guys an’ the women with them can certainly dance. If I hadn’t had my mind on the job all the time I would certainly have enjoyed that dancin’.

About two o’clock people start movin’, an’ in half an hour’s time the place is pretty empty, except for about ten or twelve people who were stickin’ around. It looks to me like these people are the ones who are goin’ to do the playin’.

My party scram out of it, an’ as I am sayin’ good night to ’em, Periera comes over. He tells me that play will be startin’ any minute now, an’ that I know where the room is, the one at the top of the stairs. I tell him yes but I think I am goin’ to have a walk around first. I go out the front way an’ I walk around the place sniffin’ the air. I am very funny about any sorta gamblin’. I like the game to get started before I bust into it.

About twenty minutes afterwards I go back. One of the waiter guys is closing down the windows on the left hand side of the club. The band have packed up and most of the lights are down. I walk across the floor, up the stairs an’ go into the room at the top. It is a fair sized room, with a big table in the middle. There are some guys playin’ baccarat at this table, an’ at another little table in a corner another three guys an’ two dames are playin’ poker.

Maloney is at the baccarat table an’ standin’ near to him watchin’ the play is Henrietta. All the guys up there are wearin’ tuxedos, an’ one or two of ’em at the baccarat table look plenty tough to me. It looks like everybody has been doin’ some drinkin’ too because there is that sort of atmosphere that comes when people get high.

After a minute Periera comes along, looks in an’ then goes off some place. I just stick around and watch.

Maloney ain’t doin’ so well. He is losin’ plenty an’ he don’t look so happy about it. Also he is lookin’ a little bit puzzled as if he cannot quite understand somethin’, an’ I am wonderin’ if somebody has been doin’ a little fast stuff with the cards.

After about ten minutes Maloney goes banco an’ flops on it. He loses a bundle. He turns round an’ he looks at Henrietta with a silly sorta grin.

“It don’t look anythin’s comin’ my way,” he says. “I never seem to get any luck at all around here.”

She smiles, an’ believe me her teeth match up with the rest of her, an’ did I tell you that she had sapphire blue eyes. Me, I have always been very partial to sapphire blue eyes!

“Why not give it a rest?” she says. “Or would you like me to play a hand for you?”

On the other side of the table is a big guy. He is a broad-shouldered fellow with a thin face an’ a lotta black hair. I have heard him called Fernandez. He is watchin’ Maloney all the time while they are talkin’. Then he chips in:

“It looks like both your lucks out,” he says. “But,” he goes on with a snicker, “maybe you always expect to win. Maybe you don’t like losin’.”

Maloney goes red.

“Whether I like winnin’ or losin’ is my business, Fernandez,” he says. “An’ I don’t need any wisecracks outa you. I don’t mind losin’,” he goes on, “but I said that I’ve got a funny habit of always losin’ when I play around here.” He grins sorta sarcastic. “But maybe it is only my imagination,” he says.

“You don’t say,” says Fernandez.

He gets up sorta very slow an’ pushes his chair back. Then he leans across the table an’ he busts Maloney a hard one right on the puss. You coulda heard the smack a mile away.

Everybody stops everything. Maloney does a swell back fall over the back of his chair. He gets up an’ he is lookin’ groggy. By this time Fernandez has walked around to the end of the table. He gets Maloney off his balance an’ chins him again. This guy Fernandez is lookin’ like a burned-up tiger. He is all steamed up an’ I get the idea that he is a dope. I stand over in the corner an’ light a cigarette. I am just beginnin’ to get interested.

Henrietta has gone back up against the wall. She is watchin’ Maloney. Her eyes are glitterin’ an’ I know she is sorta prayin’ that he can get up an’ hand Fernandez something. In the corner one of the dames playin’ poker, who is very high, starts cacklin’. She thinks it’s funny.

Maloney gets up. He is shook all right, but wades in at Fernandez. He swings a right which Fernandez blocks, an’ before Maloney can do anythin’ about it Fernandez gives him another haymaker. Maloney goes down again an’ he is not lookin’ pretty. One eye is closed up an’ his face is covered with blood.

The guys playin’ poker in the corner get up. One of ’em—a little guy—comes over.

“Why don’t you two mugs cut it out?” he says. “What do you think this is? Madison Square Garden or what? An’ what’s the matter with you, Fernandez? Why must you always start somethin’ around here?”

Fernandez turns round an’ grins at him.

“Don’t you like it,” he says.

He wipes this little guy across the face with the back of his hand.

“If you don’t like it,” he says, “get out.”

There is a sorta silence—the sorta stuff that they call atmosphere. Nobody says anythin’. Then the little guy who has just been smacked down gets up an’ walks outa the room. His party go with him. Maloney has got up. He is standin’ against the wall an’ he don’t look so good to me. I reckon that first punch of Fernandez’—that one across the table—shook him considerable.

I go over to him.

“Listen, big boy,” I say. “Why don’t you go some place an’ get that mug of yours cleaned up. It ain’t pretty. An’ while you’re about it I’d have a drink if I was you. You look as if you could do with one.”

I turn to Henrietta an’ I grin.

“Look, lady,” I say. “Take him away an’ do a big nursemaid act. After which,” I say, “we might play a little game of cards around here.”

While I am talkin’ Periera has come in the room. He is standin’ just inside the doorway an’ he is lookin’ quite pleased. It looks like this Fernandez is a friend of his, an’ the big guy around here. Henrietta don’t say anythin’ at all, but if she had gotta gun I reckon she woulda shot Fernandez. She just grabs this guy Maloney and pushes him towards the door.

Fernandez looks over at them as they are goin’ out an’ laughs—he has gotta nasty sorta cackle.

“Take that sap away an’ lose him,” he says.

Henrietta turns around. She is as white as death. She is so burned up she don’t know what to do with herself. Fernandez looks at her an’ grins. Then he walks over to her an’ before she knows what he is goin’ to do he kisses her right on the mouth.

“Run along, sister,” he says, “an’ don’t get het up because it won’t get you no place.”

He comes back to the table.

“Now maybe we can get ahead,” he says, pickin’ up the cards. The other guys, four of ’em at the big table, get set. They are goin’ to play poker.

“Are you comin’ in?” says Fernandez to me.

I nod.

“Yeah,” I tell him, “but justa minute. I gotta do something.”

I turn around and go outa the room. I can see Henrietta takin’ the Maloney bird into a room way down along the balcony. I ease along there an’ look through the door. She has put Maloney on a couch, an’ she is in the corner gettin’ a basin of water ready. Maloney don’t look so good.

I go in.

“Say, sister,” I start, “I guess your boy friend got a raw deal. Maybe he ain’t in fightin’ trim tonight. He certainly can take it.”

She goes over to Maloney an’ starts dabbin’ his face with a towel.

“I wish I was a man,” she says. “I’d kill Fernandez.” She stops work an’ turns round an’ looks at me. Her eyes are flashin’ an’ she looks good. I always did like dames with tempers. “Jim here would have smashed him to bits,” she goes on, “but he can’t use his arm properly. He broke it six weeks ago and it’s not working properly yet. It was easy for that moron to be tough.”

Maloney starts comin’ up for air. He struggles to get off the couch, but he can’t make it. He falls back.

“Let me get at that...” he mutters.

I do a bit of quick thinkin’. I think that maybe I can do myself a good turn by gettin’ next to this Henrietta in a big way. Maybe if I play my cards right she will talk, an’ it looks as if this is the opportunity.

“Don’t worry, Maloney,” I say. “You never had a chance with that arm, an’ he caught you off balance.” I look at Henrietta. “I was feelin’ pretty burned up myself when that lousy bum went over an’ kissed you like that,” I go on. “That was a pretty insultin’ thing to do in a room full of guys.”

“Oh, yes,” she says. “Well, I didn’t see you doing anything about it.”

I smile.

“Listen, lady,” I tell her. “When you got your friend here all fixed, just come along back to the card room, an’ you an’ me’ll have a little talk with this Fernandez guy.”

I scram.

I go back to the card room. They are waitin’ for me. Fernandez grunts like he is impatient to begin, an’ I sit down an’ ante up.

We start to play poker. They are playin’ ten dollar rises which is quite big enough for me, but I am not doing badly in the first coupla hands. I win. I look at Fernandez an’ grin like I was sorta pleased with myself. He gives me a big scowl.

We go on. There is a round of jackpots an’ finally Fernandez opens it. He opens it for fifty dollars an’ everybody plays. There is about two hundred an’ fifty dollars in the pot. While we are drawin’ cards I hear Henrietta come into the room. She comes an’ stands just by where I am sittin’.

Fernandez bets. He bets a hundred. The other guys throw their cards in. I stay in. I reckon he is bluffin’ an’ I am goin’ all out on my two pairs.

I see him. I was right. He has got two pairs sixes high an’ I am tens high.

I scoop in the pool.

“You oughta learn to play this game, sucker,” I tell him.

He looks up.

“An’ what did you call me?” he says.

I get up. I put my hands under the table ledge an’ I throw the table over, sideways. This leaves a space between me an’ Fernandez. I jump in. As he puts his arms up I drop my head an’ give it to him under the chin. As he goes back I follow with a left an’ right an’ I connect on each side of his jaw. I stand off an’ wait for him to come in. He does, but he is a bit shook an’ I sidestep an’ smash him one on the nose that busts the works properly. He goes down, an’ while he is goin’ I call him by an old-fashioned name. This sorta riles him. He gets up, an’ he comes for me like a bull. I sink my head an’ he gets it in the guts. He brings his knee up but I miss it an’ hit him again in the stomach. This hurts him plenty, an’ he goes up against the wall. I go after him an’ I paste him. I get to work on this guy like I have never worked on anybody before. Once or twice he tries to make a come-back, but he is not so good. The one I gave him on the mark has finished him for a bit.

Eventually he is just leaning up against the wall an’ I smack him down. He stays put on the floor. I look at Periera. He don’t look so pleased now.

“Listen, Periera,” I say. “You take this punk tough guy outa here before he gets me really annoyed. Because I am a guy who is liable to hurt somebody some time. But maybe I will do the job myself.”

Periera don’t say nothin’. I get hold of Fernandez by the collar. I yank him up an’ I take him over to Henrietta.

“Tell the lady you’re sorry, punk,” I say, “because if you don’t I’m goin’ to smack it out of you. Get busy.”

Just to help him along I flatten his nose—which is not so well anyhow, with my thumb.

He comes across, an’ says his stuff.

I take him outside to the top of the stairs leadin’ down to the dance floor an’ I kick him down. He bounces considerable. When he gets to the bottom he sits up like he was tryin’ to remember what his first name was.

I go back.

“Listen, Periera,” I say. “Where does this guy Maloney live?”

He says he lives in some dump near Indio, so I tell him to get out a car an’ drive Maloney home. He looks like he is goin’ to object but he thinks better of it. I tell him that he had better take the Fernandez bird off as well, an’ he says all right.

I turn around to Henrietta. There is a little smile in her eye. I give her a big wink.

“Get your wrap, sister,” I tell her. “You an’ me is goin’ to do a little drivin’. I wanna talk to you.”

She looks at me an’ she laughs.

“You’ve got your nerve, Mr. Frayme,” she says.