Three's a Shroud (The Shell Scott Mysteries) Page 3

  “Maybe I was wrong,” Blake said. “Think it over."

  I swallowed. “I don't have to think it over. No deals, Blake. I won't make any deals with you."

  I wanted to get my hands on him, squeeze his neck a little. Dee was in the room, though, and the .45 was pointed unwaveringly at my chest. I'd play hell making any fast moves. A .45 slug, just in my hand, would toss me halfway across the room. So, for that matter, might Garr. He stared stupidly at me from dull eyes, his droopy lips hanging down as usual.

  Blake shrugged again, looking disappointed. “Okay,” he said. “All right, Ed."

  Garr smiled loosely. In that soft, rumbling voice of his he said, “You mean now, Joe?"

  Blake nodded and Garr's smile widened. He walked toward the bed, passing within a yard of me. The stink of him filled my nostrils. Martita was making whimpering sounds behind the gag, squirming on the bed, pushing with her heels. As Garr got close to her she drew her legs up and thrust them forward convulsively, pushed herself completely off the bed and onto the floor.

  “What the hell is this; Blake?"

  He looked at me. “I didn't want to ruin the merchandise till you got here, Scott. I'm a fair, reasonable man, and I wanted to be fair about this. So far she's got a couple bruises, but she hasn't been hurt at all any other way. Garr's been mighty anxious, though. Not often he gets a chance like—but you say no deal, so there isn't any point in holding him back any longer."

  Garr bent over and picked Martita up in his two big paws as if she were a doll, effortlessly, dropped her onto the bed. She squirmed away, making those whimpering sounds in her throat, but he mashed his left hand against her.

  My heart was pounding. “Blake,” I said, “you must be clear out of your mind. Garr's crazy. He's really crazy, not sane. Stop him."

  He grinned, looked back at the bed. Garr was still holding Martita with his left hand, looking down at her. She kicked at him but he held her easily. Finally Martita stopped kicking futilely, lay still, not whimpering. Garr stared at her.

  “I tell you, he's nuts,” I said. “He might ... might kill her.” Blake laughed at that. “In the Starlight,” I said rapidly. “He hit Hershey, right there in the club, jerked Lorry's dress half off. There's no telling—"

  “I know all about that,” Blake said. “Ed told me he'd been a bad boy.” He chuckled. “That's how it happened I sent for you. Ed's, oh, impulsive at times, makes a few mistakes. But he's loyal, a good man. Man deserves a reward of some kind, little bonus once in a while."

  Garr's face was flushed. For a moment I forgot that Blake and Tolman were even in the room, just saw Ed Garr, a filthy ape. And I started toward him.

  I started, but that was all. At my first step Dee Tolman said sharply, “Go ahead.” I took one more step and stopped, muscles in my back tightening. Garr bad turned to look at me, but Martita lay quietly, head turned to the left and her eyes squeezed right.

  “Change your mind?” Blake asked.

  “No."

  “Let's get out of here then.” He chuckled again.

  I turned as Dee stepped away from the door. Blake went out. After a moment I followed him. As Dee started to shut the door I got a glimpse of the bed, Marrita lying very still and Garr standing, bent over her. The door closed.

  7

  We went into Blake's bedroom again. Dee careful not to get near me, careful to keep the automatic on me all the time. Inside, Blake sprawled on the bed. I said, “For Christ's sake, you can't be serious. You aren't going to—"

  “Oh, shut up, Scott. And what's there to get so excited about? She's no babe in arms."

  I sat down, then got up again. I couldn't sit still.

  Blake said, “I wonder if he'll take that gag off her. If she yells, that's all it'll mean. He won't hurt her."

  I knew what he meant. We'd left her and Garr only a minute ago or a little more, but my face was wet with perspiration, my shirt was damp.

  Blake said, “If it bothers you, beat it. I said you could blow."

  I turned toward the door, then stopped. I could feel my fists clench and unclench, and I said without looking at Blake, “All right, get that punk out of there."

  I heard him swing his heels to the floor and turned to look at him as he said, “You'll go along?"

  “Yes."

  “It's a deal then? You lay off?"

  “Just the way you spelled it out. If you're leveling with me, no strings."

  “I'm leveling."

  “It's a deal,” I said. “Get him out of there."

  I was hoping Blake would send Dee, Dee and his gun, in which case there would have been a much mangled Blake in ten seconds. But Blake went himself. First, though, he said, “Where's the rest of the stuff? I know you've got it."

  “My hotel. Desk. You'll get it."

  He went out. It seemed to take a hell of a time, but it probably was only half a minute or so. Then Blake came inside with Garr, who looked like a big overgrown sulking boy. A boy punk. I called him that. I called Blake and Dee several things, too. They let me run down, then had me write a note to Jimmy, clerk at the Spartan desk, telling him to give the envelope to the bearer. Garr went for it.

  Blake was pleased, grinning. He said to me, “You came through just in time, just barely. Another fifteen seconds even—but I figured you would, Scott.” He shook his head. “Well, I'll keep my end of the deal, but I still say you're a sucker. How you can get all worked up over a little girl like that Mex babe—"

  “Let me see her."

  “You go—” He cut it off, shrugged and said, “Might as well."

  She was in almost the same position as when I'd first seen her here. Her left cheek was pressed into the pillow and her black eyes were sober, fixed on me as I stopped beside the bed.

  “I'd like to talk to her,” I said.

  Blake didn't answer me for a moment, then he walked to the other side of the bed and leaned toward Martita. “Listen to me. You let out any more yells and I'll shut your mouth good this time.” He paused. “Or let Ed do it."

  He took off the gag. She pressed her lips together, moistened them, and I leaned forward with my hand against the pillow. “You okay, Martita?"

  She nodded but didn't speak for several seconds. Then she said, “I thought you'd gone. I can't tell you ... Shell, thank you. Thank—"

  “Forget it.” I was griped, griped at everything.

  Martita moved her head forward slightly and pressed her lips against the back of my hand. Blake roughly fixed the gag over her mouth again. I could still feel the softness of her lips on my skin.

  We went out. When Garr came back with the envelope Blake checked its contents, then raised an eyebrow at me. “How'd you find out I bought off Judge Lewis?"

  “I guessed it. You slimy—"

  “Beat it. You want Dee to give you a little push with that popgun of his? And stay the hell away from me. From now on. Be a good idea if you beat it clear out of town."

  I told him what he could do with that. “You've got your deal. But that's all you've got."

  “I've still got the girl. Beat it."

  “She'll be all right?"

  “She'll be okay. You've got my word."

  I said a foul word of my own. “She'd better be okay."

  “She will be, as long as you don't cross me. I'll turn her loose election day. And by the way, Scott, don't go to your buddy-buddy Samson or anybody else. If you do, you'll never find her. Not alive. And I'll be covered eight ways from the middle. Now beat it."

  My throat was tight. I stared at him a minute, then turned and walked out. Nobody stopped me. The ugly guard unlocked the front door and smirked at me. I hit him on the chin and he reeled back against the wall, slumped to the carpet. I went to the Cad and felt under the seat for my .38. It was still there. I strapped on the holster, held the gun in my hand for a long minute, looking back toward the house. Then I drove slowly down the narrow road, toward Hollywood, wondering what I'd say to Paul Hershey.

  8
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br />   I parked in front of the Spartan Apartment Hotel, got out and walked toward the entrance. Behind me somebody called, “Mr. Scott?"

  I swung around as my name was called again, the sound coming from across the street. My hotel is on the opposite side of North Rossmore from the Wilshire Country Club and I couldn't see who was in the shadows over there. But it was a woman's voice. I grabbed my gun, though, and held it before me as I walked toward the shadows.

  And then I saw the faint gleam of light on white, white legs curving deliciously down from a man's coat. My coat. Her two hands held the coat together in front. And above it was the gleam of long blonde hair, the blur of a lovely face.

  “Well, hello!” I said.

  She reached for my hand and accidentally grabbed the gun and let out a squeal and let go of the coat and I almost emptied my gun into the air whooping like an Indian. My eyes were getting accustomed to the gloom.

  I stuck the gun back into its holster and she reached for my hand again, this time using only one hand of her own, and said rapidly, “I'm about to die. I've been here so long. Oh! You are Sheldon Scott, aren't you?"

  “Shell, call me Shell. That's me. Well, this is ... a pleasant surprise. How in hell do you happen to be out here?"

  In a fast rush of words she told me that Hershey had mentioned my name to her at the Starlight—probably between gasps, I imagined—and after she'd run out of there she'd got into her car and driven clear out of town. “I drove and drove, just mad,” she said, “and then I parked. I couldn't go back to the hotel—if Ed found me, Ed Garr—he'd kill me, I knew. Then I looked through the coat, your wallet was in it and I saw your card and address, that you're a detective, the one Paul mentioned.” She stopped, took a deep breath. “And I need you."

  She, with her eyes completely accustomed to the gloom, must have seen the flash of my teeth. “You do? Well, Miss Weston—or Lorry? Lorry, I, too—"

  “I need a detective. I'll have to explain to you—I never did get to tell Paul—but I'm afraid Garr or Joe will find me. They'll kill me. I want to hire you.”

  “You have."

  “Oh, good. Mr. Scott, I don't know.... Listen, do we have to just stand here?"

  “No, certainly not. I'm sorry. Let's go ... to my apartment. It's right across the street. That's it, I'll mix a couple drinks and put on a few old dance records. And you can tell me what's bothering you. I may even tell you what's bothering me."

  I might have told her then, but she took my arm and we walked across the street, into the Spartan lobby and up to the desk. Jimmy mentioned the manila envelope and I told him I'd sent for it. He frowned slightly, at Lorry's mannish coat, but she was holding it tightly around her so she just looked like a beautiful eccentric gal in a man's coat. He gave me the key and as we started up the stairs I heard a high wailing sound from Jimmy, who apparently had just noticed the extent of Lorry's eccentricity, and as we reached the first turn in the stairs my next-door neighbor, Dr. Anson, passed us on his way down. Tonight he went down faster than usual.

  He gave me a grin and said, “Hi, Shell, what's new...” and then as we walked higher there was a thumping and bumping on the stairs below us. It was my guess that there was a dizzy conversation going on between Jimmy and Dr. Anson by the time Lorry and I reached my apartment and I unlocked the door, escorted her inside, and quickly locked the door again.

  “How lovely,” Lorry said, looking around.

  “It's home,” I said, not looking around. She walked forward slowly, her back to me.

  She stopped and peered at the two tanks of tropical fish inside the door, glanced at Amelia, my garish nude over the fake fireplace, then sat down on the chocolate-brown oversized divan. Oversized means big enough for at least two people, but I pulled a hassock over in front of the divan, sat down facing her and went right to the heart of the problem: “What would you like to drink?"

  She said she didn't care, she could use a drink, though, after standing next to that creepy Country Club for so long. I mixed a bourbon-and-water for me, a gin-and-orange juice for her. We sipped the drinks and talked for a few minutes, and I listened mostly, and looked.

  Lorry Weston had relaxed and leaned back on the divan, drink in one hand, other hand holding the coat together, and sitting there four feet from me she was a sight to see.

  “You've got green eyes, haven't you?” I said.

  “What? Oh, yes, they're green. Bluish sometimes, but usually green.” She smiled, and it was a smile to raise temperatures, to play hell with spines, then she went on slowly, “I didn't think you could tell from way over there. You're quite observant."

  “Oh, yes."

  The smile got even broader, and my spine was a fuse ignited from the bottom. Just before it lit my brain I looked determinedly at the ceiling and said, “Go ahead, Lorry."

  “Go ahead and what?"

  “Ahead with what you were saying."

  She'd already told me that until ten days ago she'd been very close to Joe Blake. Close enough to spend quite a bit of time with him, at his house, but not quite close enough to move in with him, which he'd wanted her to do. He was no fool. Their relationship had lasted a couple of months, about par for the course, then Blake had dropped her like a hot tomato, suddenly, being crude about it. Lorry hadn't known in the beginning that Blake was breaking half the laws in the book; when she'd found out she'd started getting leery of him, and the yen she'd had for him at first had begun wearing off even before he'd kicked her out. The way he'd told her to get lost, though, being sarcastic and contemptuous, had been the last straw.

  She went on, “It made me simply furious. Even if I didn't mind the break, no woman likes being treated that way. Why, that never happened to me before."

  “I'll bet not, I'll bet—"

  “He's a fiend, I tell you. Something wrong with him, got to have new ... something new all the time. Even when I met him he was going with somebody else and he just kicked her out. A fiend. But the way he treated me made me almost hate him."

  Lorry developed the “woman scorned” angle, which seemed to be part of Blake's standard operating procedure, then said, “A couple of the fellows, his staff or whatever he called it, always hung around me while Joe and I were together. They knew he never stuck with one woman very long, and I guess they thought maybe they could ... pick up the pieces. So I sort of strung one of them along for a week or so. Just to keep in touch with what Joe was up to if I could. That's how I found out they'd stolen something from Paul Hershey."

  “Not so fast. Who were these guys?"

  “Robbie and Ed Garr."

  Garr. And Stu Robb, who'd been dead in that ditch last night. “They stole the stuff from Paul?"

  “Yes. Robbie was always after me to go out with him. I did a couple times after Joe and I split, and I let him come up to my place in the Ambassador Hotel last night. That's when he told me they'd got that stuff."

  “Wait a second. You mean Robb blabbed all this to you right after he and Garr lifted Hershey's safe?"

  “I didn't know if it was a safe or what, only that it would hurt Mr. Hershey. They'd done whatever it was about an hour before Robbie came up to see me—all through working, he said. And he didn't just blab, like you put it. I told you the only reason I let him hang around was in case he might tell me anything I could use to get back at Joe—so I gave Robbie Martinis in champagne glasses. He's almost as big and stupid as Ed Garr, and you'd suppose it would take a couple of gallons to get him smashed. But alcohol affects the brain, and he has so little brain. Anyway, he told me, and then I got rid of him."

  “Feed me Martinis and I'd tell you anything. And you'd have one hell of a time getting rid of me. Hey, would you rather have a Martini?"

  “This is fine. But you have one if you want.” She turned on one of those smiles again. “As far as Robbie's concerned, I just told him I had a headache. Guess what. He left and came back with a bottle of aspirins. Talk about stupid."

  “That wasn't stupid. Ed Garr was your
other—other admirer?"

  “Uh-huh. Always near me when he could manage it. He'd stand around and stare at me with his tongue hanging out like an old blown-out inner tube. All drooly. You know the type."

  “Yeah. My type."

  “Silly. You're not a type. I wouldn't have anything to do with that Garr, though. Can you imagine kissing him?"

  “Frankly, no."

  “I mean a woman. No woman would. Ugh. Those big wet sloppy lips. You know, when he's excited and talking, they splash. You've seen him."

  “I've smelled him. Have you any idea how come he popped up at the Starlight?"

  She shook her head. She was sorry she'd slapped me when I'd given her my coat, she said, she hadn't been thinking straight. I told her I understood. Lorry talked a while longer, interspersing her conversation with those warm smiles. Under different circumstances, some of her information might have been quite helpful.

  One item in particular was that during the time she'd been with Blake at his house, she'd often seen him put papers, papers he was very careful about, in a drawer of a steel desk in his den. The way she described it, I felt pretty sure that the envelope I'd just turned over to him, and all the rest of Hershey's papers which hadn't yet been destroyed, would be in there. It wasn't an ordinary drawer, though; behind its steel door was a safe, and the papers were in the safe. Lorry, however, knew the combination. I blinked at that.

  “Baby,” I said, “no wonder he wants to find you."

  “Oh, he doesn't know I've got the combination."

  I said slowly, “How come you know something as important to Blake as that? He'd hardly tell you."

  “Hardly. Never mind. I know what it is."

  It sounded funny. I wondered again if she might be pulling my leg, but discarded that thought. She'd hardly have been a party to that caper in the Starlight. Adding up a lot of “ifs,” though—if she were on the level, if Blake and I were not precariously allied, if he didn't have Martita, if Lorry would tell me that combination and I could get in and out of Blake's house without being killed—Hershey and I might get out of our hole while putting Blake into a deep one. And if brains were eggs I'd be thinking with an omelet.