Lady, Here's Your Wreath (8 page)

     She glanced at me and then went on packing a club sandwich away. The guy behind the counter came over and gave me one, too. He winked at me, and then took himself off to deal with a rush at the far end of his beat.
     I said cautiously, “You'll pardon me, but I guess you could tell me something about Miss Jackson.”
     She jerked round like a virgin at bay. Her eyes popped a little and I thought she was going to get tough. “What did you say?” she asked.
     “I'm looking for Miss Mardi Jackson,” I explained, putting on my best manners. “I was told you work for the Mackenzie Fabrics, and I thought maybe you could tell me.”
     The startled expression died out of her eyes, and she swung herself round on the stool so that she faced me. “Are you a friend of hers?” she asked.
     I took a chance. “I'm her boy friend,” I said.
     “Really? Now isn't that a scream?” she exclaimed. “You know, I always knew Mardi was deep... I told the other girls.... Not that they didn't think so themselves... you know how it is, don't you? A girl like Mardi ought to have a boy friend... it's only natural, isn't it? She never said anything about having one... she kept to herself a lot... don't think we didn't like her... we did. We were all struck in a heap when she left——”
     I blinked. “Listen, lady,” I broke in. “Maybe you can tell me what happened? I've been away for a few days, an' I've got some news to catch up on.”
     “Why, surely.” She was ready to give me the whole set-up. I could see that. The trouble was that when a dame like this once got started, it was difficult to stop her. Anyway, I told myself, I'd got the whole day, so I should worry.
     “You go right ahead an' tell me all about it,” I said, lighting a cigarette and giving her one.
     Her eyes grew big again. “Well, I don't know if I ought... but you being her boy friend... well, it's different, isn't it? I mean to say... I wouldn't tell anyone... what I mean is I don't go talking about people to anyone.... Well, I guess you can read character... you can tell that, can't you?”
     I said, “Sure. Don't you worry about that.”
     “Well, Mardi came back from lunch about a week ago... she seemed all up in the air... sort of dreamy... and the girls thought she'd been out with her beau or something... then Lu calls her in... Lu is Mr. Spencer, the big shot of our firm... but I expect you'd know that... well, Mardi goes in and she stays inside for some time... then I heard Lu getting mad... he gets awful mad sometimes... he shouts and bangs around no end... well, I thought Mardi was getting into trouble, so I listened outside the door.... I don't do that ever, really... you see, Mardi was a friend of mine.... I just thought I'd be there in case Lu got really mad... but he shouted so much I couldn't hear what he said. Mardi said, 'I'm sorry, Mr. Spencer, but it's really my own business who I lunch with', and that made Lu crazy as a bug... by that time some of the other girls had come and were listening.... Lu says it's okay with him... but Mardi could pack up and get out... so she comes out quietly... you know how like a lady she behaves... and away she goes. Lu comes out and stands in the doorway and watches her go... we don't have a chance to say good-bye... that's all I can tell you.”
     I said, “Haven't you heard from her since?”
     She shook her head. “No... I just can't make it out. We've all been waiting to hear from her... but not a word.”
     “Do you know where she lives?” I asked.
     She wasn't as dumb as I thought she was. Her eyes suddenly hardened. “Hey!” she said. “You her boy friend, and you don't know where she lives?”
     I saw I'd got to tread carefully here. I took her over the ground gently. “That may sound phoney to you,” I said, “but I've only been running around with her for a day or so. You see, I'm crazy about her, but I don't know how she feels about me. I want to go on with this, but I've got to find her first.”
     “Isn't that too marvellous?” She looked almost coy. “Well, I'll help... I think a girl needs a man... don't you? Look, I'll write down her address.”
     I gave her a pencil and my notebook. She scribbled down an address on the west side of the town, and I put the notebook carefully back m my pocket.
     I slid off the stool. “I'm goin' right away,” I said. “You've been a swell help. I'll ask you to the wedding.”
     I left her at the run, with her mouth open to start all over again. I guess that dame enjoyed her lunch-hour. It certainly had given her something to talk about. And could she talk?
     

     
     ALL THIS DIDN'T get me anywhere. When I got to the address the blonde had given me, Mardi wasn't there. She had left about two days ago, the landlady told me, taken her bags and left no address. Was. I pleased?
     I returned to my apartment, feeling sore. The only thing I did know was that Mardi had left her job because of me. That told me that Spencer thought she knew something and wasn't risking anything. If what she knew was important, maybe he'd hidden her away. Against that, the landlady had told me that she had come by herself to pack her bags and didn't seem very worried. She did say that she had to go out of town on business, and didn't know when she would return. This was probably an excuse to satisfy the landlady, or was it?
     I sat on the table and brooded about it. I wondered if I should find her again by proceeding in the investigation of the Vessi frame-up. While I was thinking about it the telephone rang.
     The hard, clear metallic voice floated over the wire. “Nick Mason?”
     I didn't beat about the bush with this baby. “Yeah,” I said. “Been shootin' any more colonels?”
     I couldn't help grinning a little. I seemed to be always slipping a nasty one in with this dame.
     She said, “You know about that?”
     “Sure,” I said. “I was the guy that got you out of the jam. I recognised your voice.”
     There was a moment's silence, then she said, “You are looking for Mardi Jackson. I told you last time that you would be interested before long. You see, I am not wrong. Mardi Jackson knows too much. I don't think you will see her again. All the same, you might have a look at the Wensdy Wharf to-night at nine o'clock. You might see something there that will interest you further.”
     “Why the hell must you be so mysterious....” I began, but the line went dead. If I ever caught up with this dame, I thought savagely, slamming the telephone back on the table, I'd give her something to be mysterious about.
     All the same, I was alarmed. She had confirmed my suspicions. Mardi did know something. I didn't like that crack about not seeing her again. I wandered round the room restlessly. Who was this woman? Why was she so anxious to get me started on this business? Kennedy knew who she was. I guessed that my next step would be to go along and have a straight talk with him. If I put my cards on the table, maybe he would open up.
     In the meantime, I decided to check the morgue, just in case Mardi was there, unidentified.
     I was mighty glad to get the job over. I didn't find Mardi. There were a good number of young girls lying on the slabs waiting for someone to claim them, and by the time I got through I was feeling low.
     I had a chat with the morgue attendant before going. Casually I asked him if he knew anything about Wensdy Wharf. To my surprise he knew quite a lot about it. His brother used to work close by the place.
     “A real tough spot,” he told me. “No one uses it now. They go farther up river to Hudson's Wharf. You will find all the river rats around Wensdy. Mike... that's my brother... used to say that Wensdy Wharf was used for smuggling. I guess it's cleaned up a bit since then. All the same, it's a tough spot.”
     I got directions from him how to get there, gave him a couple of bucks, and beat it.
     The rest of the day I spent sorting out my correspondence and seeing some of the boys. Things were quiet, and there were no big news stories coming in.
     Around about eight o'clock I took my battered Ford and drove over to the
Globe
buildings. I went in and found Hughson just preparing to leave.
     “H'yah,” he said. “I never really thanked you for fixing Kennedy for us. It was grand work.”
     I waved aside his thanks. “Know anythin' about Lu Spencer?” I asked.
     Hughson shrugged. “I should forget it,” he said. “That Vessi business is buried. You won't get anywhere digging around that mud-heap.”
     I shook my head. “No... I wasn't lookin' at that angle,” I told him. “I just wanted to find out the type of guy he was. A girl friend of mine used to work for him and she's disappeared. I wondered if he'd got anything to do with it.”
     Hughson shook his head. “Spencer ain't that sort of a guy. He's got a wife an' he's crazy about her. He wouldn't go two-timin' with one of his workers. Of course, I may be wrong, but I don't think so.”
     I offered him a Camel. “Spencer's a pretty tough bird, ain't he?” I asked.
     Hughson shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose he is. He's smart and he makes dough. Don't you worry your brains about Spencer.”
     We went downstairs together and I drove him part-way home. I left him at a convenient subway and drove on towards Wensdy Wharf.
     So Spencer was married. I told myself that I'd got to meet this guy soon. I must find Mardi first and hear her story. Then I could go along and talk to Spencer. It seemed I was getting involved in this business, whether I wanted to or not.
     Wensdy Wharf was at the far end of the east side of the town. There were some pretty tough quarters to go through to get there. I had to drive carefully, as the roads were narrow and people walked carelessly.
     I parked the car at a small garage when I got close to the wharf.
     The morgue attendant was right. This place was mighty tough. The streets were narrow and the dark houses seemed to lean forward so that the roofs blotted out the sky above. The pavements were wet and slippery, covered with all sorts of smelly refuse.
     The garage hand had told me where I should find Wensdy Wharf. He looked at me as if he thought I was crazy. Maybe I was, but that wasn't going to stop me.
     I walked fast. The river mist was coming up slowly, and I could hear the deep note of a distant siren. Soon I left the shops behind and I seemed to be quite close to the river. Turning a corner, I came on Wensdy Wharf. At the far end, I could see the oily water reflecting the light of a solitary street lamp.
     On each side of the wharf tall, straggling houses loomed out of the darkness. Yellow chinks of light gleamed from the windows, coming round the ill-fitting blinds. I suddenly felt cold. The mist was damp, and there was a chilly wind coming off the river.
     'Well,' I thought, 'here I am.' Wensdy Wharf didn't appeal to me a lot.
     I wandered to the edge of the water and looked out across the dark river. But for an occasional tug, with its storm lantern, I could see nothing. I glanced at my watch. It was just after eight-forty-five.
     She had said Wensdy Wharf, but that was all. The place was built in a three-sided square with the river for the fourth side. It was easy to watch. I selected a pile of old rope in a dark corner and sat down.
     From this point I could keep an eye on the whole of the wharf, and at the same time I was out of sight and in comparative shelter from the wind.
     This was not altogether a grand way of spending the evening, but if I was going to find Mardi I wasn't complaining. I was afraid to smoke, and I wanted a drink bad. After ten minutes of this I began to get sore. I thought up a few fancy names to call that dame on the telephone. I'd just like to meet her once. It would only have to be once.
     When my watch had told me I'd been there for over thirty minutes, I began to get restless. I got up and paced up and down in the deepest shadows, getting the stiffness out of my bones. Nine-fifteen and nothing had happened. Maybe this dame was taking me for a ride.
     Then suddenly things started. I saw the flickering light from a car coming slowly round the corner. Quickly I ducked back behind the coil of rope and knelt down, peering, like they do in the movies, over the top. A big, closed car was nosing itself into the square. The headlights lit up the darkness and blinded me. I kept down until the light swung away from me, then when my corner was once more in darkness I quietly stood up.
     The car came to a halt outside one of the houses. This house was in complete darkness. Unlike the others, it showed no lighted windows whatsoever.
     I moved cautiously towards it. As I did so two of its doors swung open. A short, thickset man, well muffled up, got out from under the steering-wheel and went to the other door. He leant forward, his head and shoulders disappearing into the car. Then he withdrew himself.
     I stiffened. He was holding something. His back was turned, and for the moment I couldn't see what was going on. Then he stepped back and someone else clambered out. They lurched across the pavement. They were carrying someone wrapped up in a coat. Instinctively I knew it was a woman, and it didn't take me a second to surmise that it was Mardi. I was just going to jump forward when two other guys bundled out of the car. This pulled me up quick. It was no use me running into trouble I couldn't handle. Maybe I'd get tossed into the river, and that wasn't going to help Mardi.
     They all disappeared into the house, and I heard the door slam to. I stood there waiting. After a few minutes the thickset guy came out, got into the car, and drove away as silently as he had come. Well, anyway, I told myself, that only left three.
     I walked softly to the house and glanced up. A light was now shining from a window on the second floor. Even as I saw it a blind was hastily drawn down, blotting the light out.
     I knew which room they had put her in, which was something. I suddenly wished I'd got a gun. The almost eerie feeling from the wharf and the nearness of the river were giving me the heebies. I put out my hand and gently tried the front door. It was locked all right.
     I decided to go round the back and see what that looked like. There was a narrow passage running by the side of the house and I went down there cautiously. I had brought a pencil torch with me, and I switched it on as soon as I was hidden from the street. The bright little spot-light lit up the evil-smelling passage. At the end was a rotten wooden fence. I stretched up and looked over. It gave me quite a shock.
The back of the house looked on to the river.
     It didn't take long for a guy with my brains to figure that one out. If they wanted to get rid of Mardi, all they had to do was to slit her throat and toss her out of the window.
     What I had to do was to get into that house quick. If it did mean a little trouble and maybe a little damage, right at this moment Mardi was in a worse fix than anything that could happen to me.
     I found a window on the ground floor, and by shining my torch through the glass I could just make out a small, unfurnished room. This would do to get into the house. With the aid of my knife, I jacked up the window. It was stiff, but it went up without any noise. I swung my leg over the sill and stepped into the room. Then I shut the window. You try busting into a dark house with three toughs upstairs, in a vicinity like this, and see how you like it. I didn't. My nerves were jumpy, and my throat was dry as hell.
     I gumshoed over to the door and turned the handle. The door came to me as I pulled on it gently. It creaked a little, but not badly. Outside was dark, and I stood listening. I couldn't hear a thing. Cautiously I edged out into a passage, flicked on my torch to get my bearings, and shut the door behind me. On my right was a narrow staircase.
     I started up, testing each step before putting my whole weight on it. It was as well I did. Some of those stairs were mighty rotten and they creaked like hell.
     I was half-way up when I heard a door open on the next landing, and a sudden flood of light lit up the staircase. Someone came out and shut the door. Once more the staircase went black. Footsteps began to shuffle to the head of the stairs. I stood against the wall. If this guy put on a light, I was sunk. Down he came. I could hear his hand sliding on the banister rail. I squeezed myself farther into the wall. He went past me. I felt the tail of his coat brush past my knees. I let him get one stair down, then I swivelled round quick and kicked out hard with my right foot.
     It was a nice kick. At that range it would have staggered an elephant. I felt my toecap sink into something hard, heard a strangled gasp and then a fearful crash. I didn't wait a second, but flashing on my torch I tore up the stairs, three at a time.
     As soon as I reached the next landing I turned off the lamp and stood against the wall. Before I did so I caught a glimpse of a door near the head of the staircase. Just as I got away from it, the door jerked open. A thin guy with a black hat crushed on his head stepped on to the landing.
     “Hey, Joe,” he called, peering down over the banisters. “What the hell you playin' at?”
     When a guy leans over a rail like that, there is only one thing to do. I did it. Moving fast, I hooked my fingers under his trouser legs and heaved. Although he was thin he was heavy, but I'd put enough steam into my heave to launch him okay. Away he went with a startled howl.
     After that I didn't get anywhere. A hoarse voice said behind me, “Hold the pose... exactly like that.”
     I had visions of a gun covering my back, but for all that I turned my head. The gun was there all right. The guy who was holding it looked mean. He was short and fat with close-cropped white hair. By the way he held the gun, I could see he knew how to use it.
     “Okay,” I said quickly, “I'll be good.”
     “Come away from there, lug,” he said. He'd got a very hoarse voice, as if his larynx had gone back on him. “Keep your hands up an' don't start any funny business.”
     While this was going on a lot of noise was coming from downstairs. I've heard bad words in my time, but what came floating up from the darkness was enough to set the river on fire.
     The fat guy said, “Stand with your mug against the wall. I'll drill you if you make a wrong move. Don't let me tell you twice.”
     I did as I was told. It struck me that maybe I was in for a bad time. My only hope was that I'd put those other two out of action.
     “You hurt, Gus?” the fat guy croaked, not taking his eyes off me. “Come on up... I've got the punk here.”
     The only reply to this was another flow of blasphemy. That guy down there certainly knew all the bad words. The fat guy was in a spot. He didn't like to detach himself from me, but at the same time I guess he was itching to get down there and find out if the other two were badly hurt. There was only one obvious thing for him to do, and it didn't take him long to work it out for himself.
     Although I was expecting it, I didn't expect a guy of his size to move so quickly. I managed to get my head rolling, but I didn't get started fast enough. The butt of his gun bounced on my head, and I slipped off the rim of the world.