Delphi collected works o.., p.44
Delphi Collected Works of Peter Cheyney Illustrated, page 44
“But tonight I got it. When I went around to that garage to keep that date with Hangover he was waitin’ upstairs on the top floor for me. He was waitin’ to bump me like he bumped Myras Duncan. An’ this little girl four-flushed you that she was goin’ down there to lead me along here. You big saps, she went there to pull a fast one for me, an’ it wasn’t until she shot Hangover just when he was drawin’ a bead on me that I got wise to it.
“You big punks,” I tell ’em. “Do you think I was sap enough to come back here on my own if I hadn’t known that if I’d had coppers bustin’ around this place tonight some of you guys might have got wise to what she’d done an’ put a coupla slugs into her?”
I look at Rudy. He looks like he is goin’ nuts.
“She shot Hangover,” I tell him. “She knew Hangover was goin’ to wait in that garage for me, an’ so she pulls one on you that she should go down there an’ lead me along here so that you guys can fix me. She comes back an’ tells you that Hangover had a shot an’ missed an’ that I did some quick shootin’ an’ got him, an’ that I will follow her along.
“You’re a mug, Rudy. That paper you showed me on the Atlantic Witch about the gold movement was typed on a follow-on sheet with the same watermark as the note I got from Harberry Chayse. That told me all I wanted to know about him, that, an’ the fact that your pal Hangover was the guy who fixed up the arrangements for the seance, so’s you could get the boat, bump that guy San Reima an’ get me, an’ all the time you could keep your big boss Harberry outa the job, so that if anything went wrong he could still look after you mugs.
“As for you, Carlotta,” I say. “Well, if you ain’t the original little sweetheart, then I am the President of Cuba, an’ I’ll think up some more compliments for you later. In the meantime we gotta get busy.”
I give her the police whistle I have got from Herrick an’ she gives me the gun.
“I’ll look after this circus,” I tell her. “Just run outside an’ stand on the doorstep an’ blow that whistle, an’ when Herrick comes along an’ you feel you wants faint just come back here quick so’s I can catch you, because even when I hated you like hell I wanted to squeeze you, an’ if anybody’s catching you when you do a faintin’ act it’s goin’ to be me.”
She gives me a little smile that makes me feel like I am the King of China on celebration day, an’ she scrams. In a minute I hear the whistle an’ in five more I hear Herrick an’ the English cops bustin’ around.
The mob are still sittin’ around. Are they burned up or are they?
While they are handcuffin’ this bunch, she comes over to me.
“What’s all this about this faintin’ business, Mr. Caution?” she says. “I don’t faint.... I’m not that sorta girl.”
An’ while she is sayin’ it she sorta gives a little gasp an’ faints.
I catch her as she flops, an’ while she is lyin’ in my arms an’ I am doin’ a first-aid act — an’ likin’ it — I get around to thinking’ that when I have got this besuzuz cleaned up, then maybe I will go for this dame Carlotta in a big way, because my old mother always told me that a guy needs three things — nourishin’ food, lots of sound sleep an’ a swell dame.
An’ did Ma Caution know her stuff or did she?
Dames Don’t Care (1937)
CONTENTS
I. SOFT PEDAL FOR SAGERS
II. THE LOW DOWN
III. HENRIETTA
IV. PORTRAIT OF A “G” MAN
V. NEAT STUFF
VI. WOMAN STUFF
VII. GOOFY STUFF
VIII. A FAST ONE
IX. HEY PAULETTE!
X. MEXICAN STUFF
XI. PINCH NO. 1
XII. HOOEY FOR TWO
XIII. DUET FOR STIFFS
XIV. SHOW-DOWN
XV. FADE OUT FOR CROOKS
I. SOFT PEDAL FOR SAGERS
IS IT HOT!
I ain’t never been in hell, but I’m tellin’ you that I bet it ain’t any hotter than this Californian desert in July.
I am drivin’ along past Indio an’ I figure that soon I am goin’ to see the Palm Springs lights. An’ I am goin’ some — the speedometer says eighty. If it wasn’t so hot it would be a swell night; but there ain’t any air, an’ there was a baby sand storm this afternoon that caught me asleep an’ I gotta lump of the Mojave desert or whatever they call it stuck right at the back of my throat.
Say, did you ever hear of Cactus Lizzie? Well, there is a song about this dame an’ I am singing it. Not that I gotta voice, because I ain’t, but I am one of them guys who always feels that if Ma Caution hadda fixed it so’s I was born with some honest-to-goodness vocal cords an’ a face that wasn’t like the Santo Domingo coast line, I reckon all the lovelies woulda lined up to hear Lemmy tear off a couple of swing numbers that woulda made croonin’ history.
Revertin’ to this Cactus Lizzie. I oughta tell you that this dame was in a song; an’ for some reason that I don’t know this song is sorta buzzin’ in my head, keepin’ time with the hum of the car. I got this jingle off some cowboy on Sonora two years ago, the time I brought in Yelltz for murder an’ kidnappin’. All this cowboy had was a guitar, smokers’ throat an’ a hey-hey Mexican jane who took a run-out powder on him. He usta keep singin’ it all the time until the noise of somebody readin’ your death warrant woulda sounded like a comedy number it woulda been such a relief. Well... here we go...
Livin’ on the desert... swing Cowboy, Ridin’ on the desert... Love is sad an’ strange... Hit up that banjo... sing Cowboy, Your girl’s got the jitters an’ the cattle’s got the mange.
Cactus Lizzie... grieve Cowboy, I loved her plenty an’ she give me the air, That Cactus Lizzie she got me dizzy, Oh hear me grievin’ ‘cause the dames don’t care.
This is the jingle I am singin’, an’ it’s one of them rhythms that sorta keep with you you know, one of them things...
I am on the straight run now an’ I can see down the road the Palm Springs lights. They tell me that this Palm Springs is one swell desert town. You can get anythin’ there — a diamond necklace from a ritzy jeweller’s shop, perfume at fifty dollars a bottle, an’ a smack in the puss with a whisky bottle at some of the road houses they got out on the desert highways — the sorta places where you can save time by losin’ your reputation an’ your suspenders at the same time.
I am just runnin’ into town now, an’ I’m good an’ tired. I was tellin’ you about Cactus Lizzie, wasn’t I? Well, I reckon that there’s a lotta dames playin’ around like Cactus Lizzie. They’re afraid of spiders but they’d just as soon stick a stiletto into their boyfriend as call for a chocolate sundae. Janes are like that, but maybe you’ve had your own troubles.
Me, I like women. There’s something fascinatin’ about ’em. They got rhythm. They got technique — and how!
I am nearly through Palm Springs now. A bit further ahead on the right I can see a light an’ a neon sign. The sign says ‘Hot Dogs,’ an’ I decide that this is the place I am lookin’ for. I slow down. When I get outa the car I feel as stiff as a corpse, an’ why not? I have been drivin’ ten hours.
I ease over to this joint an’ look through the window. It is one of them fancy eats houses. Everything is just sweet an’ clean an’ there are a pair of janes servin’ behind the counter. They are swell babies. One of ’em is a redhead with eyes that indicate trouble for somebody, some time, an’ the other has gotta figure that makes me wish I was on vacation. There are one or two little tables stuck around all about the place an’ there ain’t anybody there except the girls an’ a guy sittin’ at a table eatin’ frankfurters an’ tryin’ to look wicked at the blonde with the figure.
I look at my watch. It is half past midnight; then I give the brim of my fedora a snappy tweak an’ I go in.
“H’yah, Gorgeous,” I say to the redhead. “Meetin’ up with you calls for a Hamburger an’ a cup of coffee with a lotta cream, because my mother says I need buildin’ up.”
She grins at the other dame.
“Say, Alice,” she cracks. “Here’s Clark Gable.”
She gets busy at the coffee urn.
“Not for me,” says the blonde. “For me he’s Spencer Tracy. He’s got that certain something they talk about, ain’t he? Where’s he been all our lives?”
“No fightin’ now,” I tell ’em. “If either of you honeys wasn’t here I could go for the other in a big way, but you’re a sweet pair an’ you sorta cancel each other out — an’ don’t forget the mustard an’ no onion.”
“Seein’ somebody?” says redhead.
“Not a hope,” I say. “I just never eat onion. It’s dangerous. You never know what’s goin’ to happen. I once knew a guy who ate Hamburgers with onion an’ one hour afterwards some Jane he was tryin’ to make called up the War Department for a gas mask.”
She pushes over the eats.
“You’re new around here, ain’t you?” she says.
She looks sorta friendly.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “I come from Magdalena, Mexico. I’m lookin’ for a friend of mine, a guy named Sagers — Jeremy Sagers. Some guy in Arispe has left him some dough an’ I thought he’d like to know about it. Ever seen him?”
“Ain’t that a scream,” says redhead. “I reckon we know this Sagers. I see him talkin’ to Hot Dog Annie, an’ I reckon the old girl pushed him into one of them dumps she gets around to — one of them select desert road houses around here.”
“You got them, too?” I crack. “Say, this town is the berries.”
“You betcha,” she says. “We got everything around here. Now we got you, we’re all set for a big ride!”
“Nuts to you, sweetheart,” I crack, “Say, who is this Hot Dog Annie?”
“She’s an old peach,” says blondie. “She starts drinkin’ double Martinis about six an’ by midnight she’s good an’ high. Then she comes in here an’ takes in a cargo of hot dogs. She says it sorta absorbs the poison an’ stops her from seein’ handsome cowboys where there ain’t any. That’s how she got the monniker.” She pipes down. “Hold everything, here she is,” she mutters.
I screw around.
Some dame has just blown in an’ she is certainly an eyeful. She is wearin’ a sorta juniper an’ a pair of blue hikin’ shorts. She has gotta pair of sand shoes on, an’ a jag that woulda lasted any ordinary guy for about three years. But in some funny way she has got class... if you know what I mean.
She goes over to a table an’ flops down. Behind the counter the girls are busy. They have gotta plate of hot dogs an’ a large cup of coffee all ready, an’ I pick it up an’ take it over an’ put it on the table in front of this dame.
She takes a look at me.
“An’ who might you be?” she says.
“Me... I’m a guy who believes in fairies,” I say. “Listen, lady,” I go on before she can pull anythin’. “Maybe you can help me. The girls here tell me that you gotta job for some guy I’m lookin’ for — a guy called Jeremy Sagers. I got some good news for this guy — some palooka’s left him some dough.”
She goes into a huddle with a hot dog.
“I got him hired at the Miranda House,” she says, “but he was so lousy they gave him the air. Then he fixed himself up. He’s workin’ at a dump way out on the desert — the Hacienda Altmira — an’ as far as I’m concerned he can have it.”
She starts cryin’. This dame is plumb full of stagger-juice.
“Take it easy,” I say, “an’ tell me where this Altmira is.”
She comes back to earth.
“Go through the town an’ keep goin’, cowboy,” she says, “an’ when you’re out the other side turn right at the gas station an’ take the desert road. Keep goin’ some more an’ when you’ve done about thirty miles an’ there ain’t much more road, you’ll see it away on the right. Only if I was you I’d leave your bank roll behind. They’re funny guys out there.”
I say thanks a lot; I pay redhead an’ I scram.
I drive fast an’ plenty. Bit by bit I get out into the desert. I pass plenty places, road houses, an’ hang outs an’ a dude ranch or two. Pretty soon they start stringin’ out, an’ a bit after that there ain’t nothing, nothin’ but foothills an’ Joshua trees, cactus an’ highway. The speedometer says I have done twenty, an’ so I start singin’ Cactus Lizzie again, because I have found that whenever I sing this song I seemta go faster.
I am wonderin’. I am wonderin’ just how this guy Sagers has been gettin’ along an’ if he has found life interestin’ around here. I get to thinkin’ about him. He is a young sorta guy...
Then I see the dump. The road has sorta tailed off an’ is good an’ bumpy. It curves around to the right an’ inside the curve, stuck right in the middle of a swell spot of desolation, is this Hacienda Altmira. It is the usual sorta adobe building, with a plaster veranda all the way round, an’ a laid out front with some ornamental cactus stuck around. There is a bunch of neon lights over the front, an’ as I get near I can hear hot music. Some guys are playin’ guitars an’ playin’ ’em good.
I find a place for the car an’ leave it. When I say I find a place for it I mean I leave it on one side of this dump in the shadow of a mud wall just so’s I can put my hand on it quick if I wanta get outa this place in a hurry. There have been times before when I have wanted to vacate some spot very quickly an’ I have always found it is not good to have your car stuck right in the front of the place where some guy can stick a knife in the tires.
I go in the front door. The place is built Mexican fashion, an’ there is a sorta passage with a curtain at the end. The guitar playin’ is comin’ from the other side of the curtain. I string along the passage an’ pull the curtain an’ lamp in.
I am surprised. The place is sweller than I thought. It is a big adobe walled room with a wooden floor. Dead opposite me is a bar and by the side of the bar is a flight of stone steps leadin’ up the wall, turning left to some room halfway up an’ then turning right an’ leadin’ on to a wooden balcony that goes all around the room, except on the side to my left which has got big screens from floor to ceilin’. There are tables set all around the place and there are a bunch of people stickin’ around.
In the middle of the tables there is a floor that has been planed down an’ polished, an’ dancin’ on this floor, doin’ a heavy tango with a dame that is old enough to be his mother, is what looks to me like the desert’s swellest gigolo.
He is tall an’ slim an’ supple an’ he is wearin’ a pair of Mexican breeches, a silk shirt, an’ a silly smile, an’ he is pushin’ this dame around as if he would rather have been flirtin’ with a rattlesnake. The band, four guys in chaps on a little platform on the left of the bar, is hittin’ up some swell Spanish stuff, an’ there are four or five other guys stickin’ around the bar. Most of these guys is wearin’ cowboy chaps, or breeches, an’ I reckon that maybe they come from some of the dude ranches that I passed on my way.
From above my head, in some room leadin’ off the balcony I reckon, I can hear a lotta laughin’ an’ conversation. At a table away on the left near the windows three guys who look like Mexicans are havin’ a few words over some tequila. On the right, there is a party of pretty high guys in tuxedos with some women wearin’ some swell jewellery, an’ as I have not seen any cars around this place I reckon that there must be a garage on the other side of the house where I couldn’t see it.
When I go in the guys at the bar take a look at me, an’ then go back to their wisecrackin’ with the fly-lookin’ jane who is workin’ the bar.
I pick myself a table on the edge of the dance floor, an’ I sit down. After a bit some guy, who looks like he would die any minute, he is so thin, comes over and says what do I want. I give him an order for some ham an’ eggs an’ a lotta whisky an’ he goes off. I then amuse myself watchin’ the guy on the dance floor doin’ his stuff.
He goes on pushin’ this dame around an’ by the way the guys who are playin’ the guitars are lookin’ I can see that there is a big laugh somewhere. Maybe they think that the big boy is playin’ her for a sucker, and I gotta admit that he is certainly goin’ on like a hired dance partner. When they come around opposite me he turns her around so that he is lookin’ at me an’ he gives me a sorta apologetic grin an’ a double wink.
After a bit the boys stop playin’ an’ the couple go off to a table where I can see there is a bottle of champagne, and then after a minute some guy in a swell cut tuxedo an’ a silk shirt comes outa the room halfway up the stairs. He sees me an’ sorta smiles an’ runs down the stairs an’ comes across to me.
“Good night to you, señor,” he says. “I am mos’ pleased to welcome you to Altmira. I ‘ope you get everything you want.”
I grin.
“Me too,” I tell him.
Then I shut up.
“You are in thees neighborhood a long time?” he asks me. “I deed not theenk I ‘ave seen you before. You see, señor, you are ver’ lucky to find us open at thees time — eet is nearly three o’clock — but tonight we ‘ave a little party ’ere as you see. I ‘ope we shall see you some more.”
The waiter guy comes back with the whisky. I pour myself a stiff shot an’ pass the bottle to this guy.
“Have a drink,” I tell him, “an’ who might you be?”
He smiles an’ waves his hand that he don’t want a drink.
“I am Periera,” he says. “I manage thees place. Eet is a ver’ good place, when you get to know eet.”
“Swell,” I tell him. “I’m sticking around the neighborhood for a bit,” I go on, “so you’ll see some more of me.”
He grins an’ he goes off.
After a bit the waiter comes in with my ham an’ eggs an’ I start eatin’. After a bit the guitar guys start playin’ again, an’ sure as a gun the gigolo guy gets up an’ starts cavortin’ around with the dame. This old lady is so keen on doin’ a hot rumba that it looks as if she is goin’ to bust outa her dress at any minute.
