Hard Case Crime: Honey in His Mouth (19 page)

He reviewed last night. He decided that no person or persons unknown had been trailing himself and Miss Muirz. That was baloney. Mr. Hassam and Brother had got their wind up, was all. There had probably been some guy and his gal in the car they had found with the warm radiator, but almost any time of the day or night you could hear people whooping it up on the beaches near the estate.

He wished Mr. Hassam and Brother had not shown up last night, because they had sure queered his plans for Miss Muirz. Why couldn’t the silly bastards stay away when they weren’t wanted, he thought.

He went to the wall near the safe and put a cheek against the plaster and looked behind the oil painting for the match head. It was still in place, so no one had tampered with the safe. He felt like laughing as he wondered if Goldberg was working on that key yet.

Then he thought of something that made him feel sick. Jesus, he was dumb! There last night he had walked off and left Brother alone unconscious, and Brother probably had the other safe key on his person at the time. Jesus, why hadn’t he thought of that, how stupid could he get? What a dumb thing, to go following Miss Muirz and Mr. Hassam off down the beach, taking a chance of getting his head shot off, when he might have stayed behind and filched the key off Brother while he was senseless.

He was disgusted with himself. He went to the portable bar and poured bourbon into a glass and drank it, and the liquor promptly tied his empty stomach in a knot and brought tears to his eyes. A guy as dumb as he had been last night deserved to choke to death, he thought bitterly.

When Harsh had dressed, he went down to breakfast, and found Vera Sue sitting on the dining terrace. When he saw her, it was too late to retreat.

Vera Sue planted her knife and fork on the table with a bang. “Walter, I think you are the biggest stinker that ever lived.”

He was somewhat relieved, having expected her to scream and throw something. “I guess you’re right, Vera Sue.”

“You know what I’m mad about, Walter?”

“Yeah, I guess I know.”

“You robbed me. While I was asleep, you took my money, didn’t you?”

“Well, I guess I must have. Anyway I found some dough in my pocket the next morning, and I didn’t remember where it came from.”

“Walter, I bet you split open your head trying to remember where you got the money. I just bet you did.”

She lit her cigarette with elaborate gestures which led him to suspect she had already taken a drink or two.

“Gosh, baby, I knew where it must have come from. But what could I do? I knew it was the liquor made me do it, you know how it is with me, I get to drinking. I pull some awfully hot ones. It was the damn Benedictine, I guess, I don’t know. Anyway, I still got it all and you can have it back if you want, but I wish you would let me have ten bucks temporarily, so I wouldn’t be flat. Or maybe twenty-five.”

“Damn you, you want to keep it all anyway, don’t you?”

The servant who was serving breakfast asked Harsh what he would have. Harsh told him anything would do.

When the servant left, Vera Sue sighed. “Walter, this is one peach of a place, but it gets me down. The servants, a regular goddamn mansion and all, I should have myself the time of my life. But nobody gives a hoot about me. They hardly speak to me, anybody, including you.”

“Vera Sue, I been afraid to say anything to you. I was afraid you would do exactly what you should do, pick up the first thing handy and whock me good.”

“Is that the only reason you ignored me?”

“Well, ain’t it enough? I been working like a dog anyway, of course. You may have noticed me and Mr. Hassam on the beach a lot. We really been going at it.”

Vera Sue jabbed her cigarette into her cup of coffee. “I noticed you went off with that Miss Muirz yesterday and didn’t get back until after dark.”

“Yes, we made a little business trip.”

“You mean a monkey business trip, don’t you?”

“No, absolutely not, Vera Sue. Straight business. Mr. Hassam and Brother and Doc Englaster and I been working like mad getting plans for the factory that is going to make my photographic film emulsion. Well, right now we got to a point where we need to send some telegrams to outfits who might be interested in building the factory, and I went into town to send the telegrams. Miss Muirz just drove the car.”

Vera Sue frowned. “How come I hear nothing about this photographic factory?”

“Why, it’s a big secret. I told you it was a big secret, didn’t I? Listen, you mustn’t say a word to anybody about it, because they’d have a green hemorrhage if they knew I told you or anyone else.”

The servant brought Harsh’s coffee. He arranged a plate and silverware. Vera Sue was eyeing the bandage on Harsh’s face thoughtfully. The servant departed.

“Walter, what happened to your face?”

“Huh? Oh, that, my face. Well you see I fell and cut my face, but it don’t amount to anything much.”

“I was thinking about that photograph I saw of the fellow who looked a lot like you, Walter, only he had a scar on his face about where that bandage is on yours.”

He laughed loudly at her. “Jesus, you get some tall ideas, don’t you?”

When Mr. Hassam joined them on the dining terrace, he gave Vera Sue a courtly bow and complimented her on how nice she looked. Vera Sue listened, but her rosebud mouth was pouting, and she decided to get even with Harsh. “Walter was just telling me that the photographic emulsion project is coming along fine.”

Harsh promptly kicked her shin under the table, causing her to jump. Mr. Hassam understood perfectly. He looked to Vera Sue seriously. “Well now, Miss Crosby, I would prefer no one discussed that.” He sat down and began to talk about the weather and that was the subject for the rest of breakfast.

“Thanks, pal.” Harsh was walking with Mr. Hassam to the beach cabana to resume Spanish instruction.

“What was she talking about, Mr. Harsh?”

Harsh told about the lie he had fed Vera Sue about the invention of a photographic emulsion. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt anybody. It was nice of you to pick up the cue. You are the one guy around here I feel I can halfway understand, Mr. Hassam. I respect you a lot.”

“I appreciate that, Harsh.” They reached the beach. Mr. Hassam seemed in no hurry to start on the Spanish. He picked up a stick and threw it out into the surf.

“Are you worried about something, Mr. Hassam?”

“Well, just the thing last night.”

“There was nothing to that.”

“Maybe. We can hope so, anyway.”

“Mr. Hassam, the next time you guys get a wild hair up your ass I wish you would do it when I am not making a play for Miss Muirz. You sure popped off some plans I had last night.”

Mr. Hassam grinned faintly. “I did not know we preserved your manhood as well.” He began to poke with another stick at objects which resembled small purplish balloons with roots hanging to them. These were floating in from the sea and the waterline was speckled with them. Mr. Hassam lifted one on the stick and suggested Harsh touch it, which he did, and his fingers tingled as if he had dipped them in a mild acid. Mr. Hassam threw the thing back in the water. “Portuguese Man O’War. Spectacular to look at, but another thing to fondle.” He looked thoughtfully at Harsh. “But you are the kind of man who likes to find out those things for himself. I do not suppose Miss Muirz will object to the explorations.”

“Thanks.”

“But there must be no more trips to town. Too risky.”

“Yeah? I don’t think so.” Harsh shook his head. “You are a nice guy and I don’t want to argue with you, Mr. Hassam, but I am not a prisoner here. I’m not in any chain gang. I tell you one thing for sure, I am going back to town this afternoon and get the rest of my new clothes, which I left at the place to be altered.”

“No.”

“Look, goddamn it, Mr. Hassam, what’s eating you? Are you afraid I’ll throw in with Miss Muirz instead of you? Is that why you don’t want me out of sight with her? Well, you’re wrong, old buddy, you’re wrong, and to prove it, I would rather have you ride into town with me this afternoon than her. How is that?”

Mr. Hassam thought this over. “What time will your garments be ready?”

“About three o’clock.”

“I will ride in with you then.” Mr. Hassam smiled. “I am taking you up on your bluff, you see.”

By three o’clock Harsh had worked out a plan, and although it would take some luck to make the plan click, it was the best thing he could think up, and he felt he would have to chance getting the break. He had most of the details clear in his mind, working them out during the rest periods in the Spanish instruction. The essence of the plan was that he would pick up the wall safe key from Goldberg without Mr. Hassam knowing.

When they arrived at Leon’s, Harsh indicated the side street where Miss Muirz had left the limousine yesterday, and Mr. Hassam agreed it was a good secluded spot for parking. Harsh wanted to smile. So far, okay. The limousine was out of sight of the salesroom when it was parked there, but in plain view from the fitting room window.

The next step, keeping Mr. Hassam from entering the fitting room with him, he arranged nicely by pointing out some fabrics to Mr. Hassam and saying how wonderful the fat man would look in a suit made of the cloth. That was enough for the salesman; he tied into Mr. Hassam, unrolling bolts of cloth for his inspection.

“I’ll try my stuff on, Mr. Hassam, while you’re looking over samples.”

“Yes. Very well.”

That got him back in the fitting room without Mr. Hassam, and he went to the telephone at once. With the phone number penciled on the directory cover, he didn’t even have to take a minute to look it up before dialing the Security Locksmithing Company.

“Hello, Security? Is Goldberg around?”

There was a pause. “Speaking.”

“Edward Fry here, Goldberg. I called yesterday about needing a key. You remember?”

“Oh, yes...Fry. We have your key here waiting for you.” The man’s voice wasn’t gruff this time, Harsh noted. No, when he had twenty-five dollars to collect he was all solicitous and honey-voiced, almost sounded like a different person entirely.

“Well that’s why I’m calling, Goldberg. The way it is, I’ve been tied up all day, and it doesn’t look as though I can get away for quite a while yet. I was wondering, could you deliver the key right away to me here in town, so I wouldn’t have to let go of this hot business prospect I’m working on? I’m trying to put the screw in the guy.”

“I guess I could do that, Mr. Fry, depending on where you are.”

“Do you know Leon’s, the men’s place?”

“Certainly. That’s only about four blocks from here.”

“Oh, that close. That’s fine. In the side street on the north side of Leon’s place you will find a large limousine parked. It’s my car, and I can see it from the window of this place where I’m tied up in conference. Suppose you come over in the next few minutes and bring the key. When you get here, sort of lean on the limousine and I’ll be watching and I’ll come down, get the key and pay you. Oh yes, and sign your paper. Bring your paper along. That way I won’t lose but a minute or two. Can you accommodate me that much, Goldberg?”

“Of course. I will be right over, Mr. Fry.”

Harsh hung up, went to the nearest fitting booth, put on one of the pairs of pants he’d left to be altered, and seizing the fabric of the slacks at the crotch, pulled a bag into the cloth. Then he walked out to show Mr. Hassam they were too full and put up a holler, demanding the slacks be fixed right now while they waited. That was to get him more time, time enough to get the key from Goldberg, and also make sure Mr. Hassam was not going to pop up looking to leave while he was down in the street getting the key.

Back in the fitting rooms, Harsh glued himself to the window. He unlatched the hook-and-eye keeping the back door shut and kept his hand on the doorknob.

Presently a solid-looking man about Harsh’s build wearing a gabardine suit and sport shirt came from the north and stopped walking when he saw the limousine. The man wore dark sunglasses and had on a large straw hat, and Harsh recognized him from the day before: the tourist, the one who’d been watching from the orange stand across the way. Goddamn it, of all the times for him to show up—

The man stopped beside the limousine, looked it over, then walked around to the back and glanced at the license plate. He wrote the license number in a notebook. Then he opened the back door and got into the limousine.

Harsh hurried out the side door and strode to the limousine. Some sort of cop, for sure. The regular sort or maybe a private cop, like the guy from Kansas City. Writing the license number down, the nosy bastard.

Harsh flung the car door open. “What the hell, get out of there, you. This is my car.”

The man was sitting on the long padded bench in the back of the limousine. Though it was dark inside he hadn’t taken off the sunglasses or the hat. He held up a key strung on a piece of twine. “That what you wanted?”

The honeyed voice was familiar to Harsh from the phone and the key looked like the one Brother had given him, the one he was now carrying alongside the money in his pocket. But this guy couldn’t be Goldberg. It was impossible. He’d spoken to Goldberg on the phone yesterday while this guy was at the orange stand, watching through the window.