Complete works of peter.., p.135
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 135
I pick out a swell suit that I have got an' a silk shirt an' ring for breakfast. I finish eatin' an' give myself one little shot of bourbon just to put the polish on the furniture.
I then grab off the telephone an' call Herrick. When he comes on the line I say my piece.
"Look, Herrick," I tell him. "I reckon I been holdin' out on you. There are one or two angles on this Whitaker case that you don't know about.... "
"Such as... " he says, an' I can visualise him grinnin'.
"Such as a dame called Carlette Francini who is a mobster's frail who was put in on the Florida to get next to me an' work in with Manders, the wireless guy; an' such as a boy friend of hers called Willie Kritsch who is so blood-stained that he would make Hengist an' Horsa look like a sissy dance-hall duo; an' such as the boyo who was callin' himself Grant of Scotland Yard but who is nobody else but Giacomo Fratti, another torpedo who got himself blown up last night in a house at Hampstead because a time-bomb that he was totin' around didn't keep its date on time. See?"
He says he sees. He also says that he is not at all surprised that I have been at my old tricks again an' holdin' out on him, an' that he hopes from now on I am goin' to be a good guy an' work in. Because he says that this is not America an' the law has got an entirely different angle around here an' that if I start usin' my technique on the lines for which I have gotta reputation in U.S.A. I am liable to start another Blitzkrieg besides the one Adolf is workin' on at the moment.
I then say that I reckon he is right an' that I think we oughta have lunch together an' that we can discuss the whole works an' formulate some plan of campaign that is not likely to give anybody in authority too much of a pain in the eyeballs; but that in the meantime I will be glad if he will send me around a Police Pass or somethin' so that I can prove I am me, because at the moment I have nothin' in writin' to distinguish between Lemmy Caution of the Federal Bureau of Investigation an' Mae West's stand-in.
He says O.K. he will send a Police Pass round for me right away an' that he will collect me in Jermyn Street at one-thirty.
I give myself a cigarette an' start gettin' the intellect box to work. By an' large I reckon that this job is goin' to be tougher than shootin' craps an' that the sooner somebody does a little heavy thinkin' about it the better. However, I cannot see any light at the moment, so after walkin' around the sittin'-room for twenty minutes I get into my overcoat an' go downstairs.
When I get to the entrance hall there is a guy from Herrick askin' for me. The guy has got a Police Pass with my picture attached an' a note from Herrick. The note says:
I will be with you at one-thirty. I had a word with the Assistant Commissioner and told him that you'd been holding out on us. He said that having regard to the way you handled the Van Zelden case back in< '37 your system didn't seem so bad, but that in this business we've got to be careful. We will discuss the whole thing when I see you.
Yours,
C. J. Herrick.
I tear the note up an' put the Police Pass in the secret pocket I have built inta my waistcoat. So I reckon I am now set up with two very nice identities. First of all I have got Police papers as Lemmy Caution of the F.B.I. an' secondly I have got Fratti's passport, identity card an' permit. So I am very nicely fixed for the idea that I have got sizzlin' at the back of my dome.
The sun is shinin' plenty. I am feelin' so good that I would not change places with a guy who was bein' burned to death over a slow fire, but I am still a bit het up about that baby Geralda.
I have told you guys before that I have taken a run around with a dame or two in my life; but I am also tellin' you that I have never seen so much sweet what-have-you-got done up in one package as this Geralda. I do not wish to rhapsodise to you mugs because maybe you are married an' have other serious troubles, but I am tellin' you that this doll has got so much to look at an' everything in the right places too that it makes you gasp like an' old warhorse who has just remembered a date he had forty-two years ago. You got me?
Walkin' up Regent Street I get to ruminatin' about dames. What is it that makes one dame so different to another. There are plenty dames who are lookers, who have got this an' that an' who know how to swing it prettily, but at the same time they sorta miss. Because the whole thing with a dame is personality an' the way she puts herself over.
I remember one time I was hit for a home run by some honeybelle I saw up in Miami. She was sittin' in a hotel lounge an' I'm tellin' you that if Henry The Eighth coulda taken one look at the dame's curves he woulda given orders for the Royal Bedchamber to be repapered in scarlet an' paid off the public executioner. After which he woulda taken some quick steps to alter the whole history of England an' Good Queen Bess woulda been born a blonde.
I look at this dame an' I think that here is something that you read about in books. So I put on a winnin' smile an' I ease over to her an' open up a little conversazione on lines that woulda made The World's Greatest Lovers look like a book of cookery hints.
She throws me a sweet smile but when she opens her mouth an' starts speakin' it was just like listenin' to a 1920 model in low gear after the big end was seized up. I'm tellin' you that dame had a voice so terrible that it woulda made an automatic nutmeg grater sound like somebody playin' the flute. An' when she walked she packed a waddle that was so acute that she practically needed a compass to steer by.
All of which will show you guys that you very seldom get all the goods in one package an' that customers are advised to open up the case an' inspect the merchandise before they get home otherwise no exchanges can be made.
But this Geralda has got the whole set-up. She is' the complete picture. Any time you get tired of thinkin' about her face you can put in a little overtime on ponderin' on her shape or the way she walks, an' when you get tired of that if you could get tired of that you can always get around to rememberin' the way she speaks an' how you just have to watch her lips when the words come out.
I am tellin' you one an' all if I was stranded on a South Sea Island with this baby I would not even worry to tune up my ukelele. I would just stick around an' make a play for that jane that woulda made Casanova look like an old hayseed.
Because you bozos know just as well as I can tell you that the whole trouble in this little old world is due to dames. The guy who said that the dame always pays was talkin' out of his right ear. Dames always pay but they take goddam good care they get the doin's off some mug before the account comes in. Every dame is armed for the battle. The ugly ones have got sense an' the sweet mommas have got the stuff that makes you lose any brains you originally had.
An' any guys who do not believe me can take a look at the universe today, after which they can go out an' give themselves a cold bath. If Hitler would lay off tryin' to be the big world-conqueror an' would sling a mean look at some warm momma with the right sorta beauty Field Marshal Goering would be travellin' in cash registers, Ribbentrop would be back sellin' cut whisky to mugs, an' the S.S. boys would be gettin' themselves a job outside the local cinema an' thinkin' themselves goddam lucky if they could get two plates of black sausage on Sunday.
By this time I am half-way up Regent Street an' I get a sudden hunch that I would like a whisky sour before I start thinkin' of gettin' back to meet up with Herrick. I remember a little Club stuck away up on a second floor near Cork Street that I usta use when I was over here on the Poison Ivy Case, so I turn down Conduit Street an' start walkin' that way.
When I am half-way down the street I get an idea that somebody has put a tail on me. I stop an' look in a shop window. Over my shoulder I can see, about twenty yards away between me an' Regent Street a big car has pulled up an' a dame is gettin' out. She is dressed in black with a fox fur an' a cute hat.
I light a cigarette an' go on my way. When I am turnin' into Cork Street I take another peek over my shoulder an' the jane is still in sight.
I find the place I am lookin' for an' go up the stairs. There is nobody inside except the doll who is tendin' the bar. I order a large whisky sour, lean up against the bar an' draw the smoke down inta my lungs. I reckon that life could be a lot worse.
I sink the drink an' order another one. I am just gettin' around to thinkin' that life is gettin' brighter every minute when the door opens an' the dame in the black suit comes in.
This dame is a cutie all right. She is wearin' a black suit cut by some guy that knew his curves, a white silk shirt with a frill in the front, a fox fur that cost some dough an' white kid gauntlet gloves. There is a little bit of veil hangin' down from her tailored hat that makes her look good an' mysterious.
I ask the jane behind the bar for another whisky sour. While I am drinkin' it I am lookin' over the edge of the glass at the dame in black.
She stands around in the doorway for a minute an' then she comes right in an' parks herself on a high stool right next to me. She has a very nice thing in legs an' I reckon her silk stockin's cost money. Also her shoes are expensive.
This dame is the sort of dame that looks very good on a high stool. She orders a double Scotch with a chaser, takes a little gold cigarette case out of a nifty patent leather handbag with gold clasps, an' relaxes.
I flick my lighter an' hold it for her cigarette. She screws around a little on the stool an' looks at me. She smiles. She has nice teeth.
I sigh to myself. Because it looks as if I am meeting with some very nice lines in janes these days.
She says: "Thanks a lot, Mister Caution." She then screws around again, lifts her glass an' sinks the whole issue before you could whistle.
"Lady," I tell her, "I am very interested in the way you drink Scotch. Also I am curious about how you know who I am, an' what are you drinkin' this time?"
She says thanks a lot and that she will take another slug of Scotch. I order this an' one for myself. I light a fresh cigarette an' wait for the ball to open.
She blows a smoke-ring. When she does this she purses up her mouth an' her mouth is not so hard to look at.
She says: "Mister Caution, as you probably know life can be very difficult around London for a girl like me. There are moments when I feel that I want a whole lot of advice from the sorta guy that you look as if you are."
"Lady," I tell her. "You don't know how right you are. At the same time I would be very interested in how you know that I am me an' also havin' regard to the fact that you have been chasin' me around for the last ten minutes I reckon you was snoopin' about outside my dump in Jermyn Street this mornin' waitin' for me to blow. Correct?"
"Correct," she says. She crosses her leg an' she is not a bit mean in the process either. She goes on: "Of course you wouldn't know anything about me, would you?" She gives me a big smile.
"I'm not so sure," I tell her. "I've got a very good memory, but it only works when it wants to. How about a little drink?"
She says yes, she thinks that is a good idea. We have more Scotches. She stubs out her cigarette. Maybe, I think, we will now get down to a little business.
She opens the case an' takes another cigarette out. When the case is open I can see, right at one end, four or five slim brown cigarettes. I grin to myself. They look to me like marihuana. So it looks as if the dame is a reefer fan. An' they always talk... well... sometimes.
She draws the smoke down into her lungs. Then she says:
"The name is Kells... Montana Kells. Maybe you heard it... Lemmy.... Hey?"
I laugh.
"You're tellin' me, babe," I tell her. "I been tryin' to place you ever since you came in at the door. You usta get around with Fenzer in the days when Chicago was as open as last week's sardine can. I also got an idea they pulled you in when they slammed Fenzer in the pen, an' that would be about four years ago."
"Yeah," she says. "The bastards sent me up for a year. Of course it was a frame."
I nod.
"It always is," I tell her. "Nobody ever got sent up who really deserved it. It's always them lousy coppers. How d'you like it over here?"
"It's all right up to now," she says. "I'm beginnin' to dislike it just a little bit; but maybe things will get better."
"You bet," I tell her. "They always do. That is if they don't get worse. But maybe you been vaccinated against things gettin' worse."
She finishes the Scotch in front of her. Then she wiggles around an' looks at me. She has got nice sorta eyes. They are soft an' brown an' pleadin'.
"I don't see why I should sit around here an' let you buy Scotch all the time," she says. "I got a little dump near here a service apartment. Why not come along an' let me fix you a drink an' some lunch."
I look at my watch. It is nearly one-thirty. I grin because I am gettin' the idea that once again I am goin' to stand up Herrick.
"That sounds swell, Montana," I tell her. "But what exactly is the big idea? You ain't tellin' me that you have fallen for my personality with a big bump are you? Maybe you remember that it was me who pulled your boy friend in I mean Fenzer."
She starts pullin' on her gloves.
"I know," she says. "An' I didn't ever give a hoot in hell. Fenzer was a meal ticket, that was all. An' you know how it is, Lemmy, once you get stuck with a mob you've got to stay put otherwise somebody starts writing their initials on you, up a back alley, with a hand gun."
She gets up.
"Fenzer was a tough case," she goes on. "He was very hard-boiled an' loaded with sin... plenty of it, but there are some guys who are even worse than Fenzer by a helluva ride."
I raise my eyebrows.
"Such as... ?" I ask sorta innocent.
"Such as a guy like... well, a guy like Panzetti, for instance," she says. "Panzetti is what I call a bad guy. He's bad because he likes it that way. If somebody was to pay him to be different he wouldn't even take the dough. He's nuts an' he's poison. That guy is as deadly as a snake an' twice as slick."
She stands there smilin' at me. She says:
"Are you comin', Lemmy?" Her voice is like treacle. Way back behind that piece of veil she is wearin' I can see her eyes big an' soft an' round.
"Yeah... " I tell her. "I'd be glad to come... now."
"Something made you change your mind, didn't it?" says Montana. "I wonder what that could have been?"
"I wouldn't know," I say. "Maybe it was hearin' the name Panzetti. There are some guys I like talkin' about an' some guys I don't, but Panzetti is a guy that I am always willin' to talk about or listen about... see?"
"I see," she says. "Let's go."
I pay for the drinks an' we go. Outside, the car is waitin'. It is a big Lancia. The guy at the wheel has got the sort of face that makes you think that so far as he is concerned everything smells.
We get inside an' Montana tells him to go home. I relax in the corner an' ponder.
Montana don't say anything. But she takes a long sideways look at me.
I reckon that dame could snap a mean garter if she felt that way.
II.
ABOUT three o'clock I take a look at my wrist an' see what the time is. I reckon that Herrick will be pretty sick of waitin' for me. It just shows you that a detective's life is full of mystery, don't it? I hope that Herrick will take it that way.
Montana has certainly got a very nice set-up around here. Her apartment is big an' well-furnished. There is a big curtained door that is a bit open, an' through it I can see a big bed with a purple silk bedspread. Maybe she has that to remind her of the purple mob that she usta get around with in the old days.
An' the lunch was very good. There was some soup an' a little Scotch, an' a Lobster Newburg with some more Scotch, an' a chicken with fixin's an' a helluva lot of Scotch an' coffee, after which we have drunk a little Scotch. Me... I am so full of Scotch that all I need is some bagpipes an' I'd think my name was MacGregor.
Montana is lyin' over on the big settee showin' a very nice piece of leg sorta accidentally. I have told you mugs that there are several sorts of dame as regards showin' legs I mean. There is the dame who likes her legs an' shows 'em, an' there is the dame who likes 'em an' shows 'em by accident. This second dame is the artistic dame. I am comin' to the conclusion that Montana is an artistic dame. But just how artistic I am not quite sure.
I draw a gulp of smoke down inta my lungs an' send it tricklin' out of one nostril. Me I have always had an idea that Special Agents of the F.B.I. do not get enough light an' shade in their lives an' I am feelin' very good with myself because I think that inta my drab career there is goin' to come a splash of colour an' I got a big idea that splash is goin' to be Montana.
She says sorta dreamy: "Are you O.K., Lemmy... or would you like some Scotch?"
She don't wait for me to answer. She gets up an' pours a big slug into my glass an' splashes in some soda water. She comes over to me with the glass. She says:
"Life is damn funny, ain't it? The last time I remember seein' you before I hung around your place in Jermyn Street this morning, I mean was in Philadelphia the day they tried Fenzer. You were sitting in the well of the Court an' you were wearing a grey suit with a pale blue silk shirt an' a navy tie. I liked you then. Even although I knew that I was gonna win something over you an' I won a year in the pen I still sorta liked you. Is that goddam funny or is it?"
She puts the glass down. Then she bends over me an' the next thing I know is that she has got her arms around my neck an' is drapin' herself across my lap. Her mouth is pressed up close to mine an' she starts puttin' some work in on a kiss that woulda made Cleopatra look like an amateur.
She says sorta hoarse: "Lemmy, I'm crazy about you. You got something that drives me goofy."
"That's my personality, honey," I tell her. "I get it from my great-grandfather. He was the fourteenth love-child of a fourteenth love-child an' any time he usta look at a dame she usta curl up her toes, spit, uncross her fingers an' surrender. My great-grandmother usta say that neckin' with that guy was like bein' strangled to death it was O.K. after you'd finished strugglin'."
