Stop This Man! (10 page)

“So I see you made a contact,” said the Turtle. Then his eyes bugged out more than usual when he got a closer look at Catell. “Behold the Duke,” he said. “Just get a load of the Duke in them fancy duds. Tonio, you musta made goodio. What happened?”

Catell dropped the cartons he was carrying on the bed and took off his new sports jacket.

“Put it back on,” the Turtle said. “That neon shirt is kicking my eyeballs.”

“Whaddaya talking about? It’s California style, isn’t it?”

“No, it ain’t. You see anybody walkin’ around like that who ain’t a tourist or an actor or somethin’?”

“Well, anyway, I just got this one.”

Catell sat down and lit a cigarette. The Turtle stood opposite, waiting.

“So give. What’s the glad news?”

“No glad news, Turtle. I think I’m going to get someplace, but so far I’ve been roped.”

“Roped? How?”

“I’m doing a job for that fat Smith guy. First the job, then the gold deal.”

“So whaddaya kicking about? So you pick up some extra change plying your trade and also make a most evaluate contact and this you call roped!”

“Yeah, roped. Because I don’t want no part of that syndicate and the way they run things. I need a free hand. I’m no soldier, you know, or a college kid getting a bang
out of playing fraternity. That’s what I’m talking about.”

“Did you sign up for twenty years, maybe?”

“Maybe I did! I don’t know who’s gonna plan this heist or if it’s any good, and maybe some ass I don’t even know screws the works and I get it in the neck. So don’t talk to me about that goddamn syndicate or I might even change my mind. Well, forget it, Turtle, I’m just jumpy is all. Here’s your cut.”

“My cut?”

“Yeah. Your share. I got paid five hundred on account There’s over four hundred left. Take it already.”

The Turtle took the money and stuffed the bills in his pocket without counting them.

“Thanks, feller. You an’ me—”

“Cut the mush, Turtle. And now for some fun. Tonight you and me are going to hit the Pink Shell. Whaddaya say?”

“Man, you’re stepping. You know what that place costs? I been in this town five years, off and on, and I only been hearing about the joint.”

“Tonight we’ll see it.”

They went to the Pink Shell by taxi. After paying a fortune for the fare, they walked around the wide stucco building fronting on the ocean. There was a big moon up and a long pier reached far out over the black, rolling water.

“I hear they got parties down here sometimes. Private parties on the beach,” the Turtle said.

“Too damn cold. Let’s get inside outa this wind.” Like Paar’s place, the Pink Shell was both a regular nightclub and a private club. But in this case the public part was no crummy roadhouse. White baroque columns
supported the arch of a rose-colored ceiling. The walls were covered with pink satin, draped in fancy patterns, and stucco statues of naked mermaids flanked the shell-shaped booths along the walls. The mermaids all had pink nipples and red painted mouths.

“Like a dream,” said the Turtle. “Just like a dream. Pinch me, Tonio. No, let Mabel do it.” He watched the hostess come forward.

If a snake had legs, that’s the way a snake would have walked. The hostess slunk up to them, carrying a little pink book in which reservations were marked.

“It may be difficult to find you a table,” she said when Catell told her they had nothing reserved.

“Don’t bother with this room,” said Catell. “Too crowded. Something a little more private.”

“I’m sorry, sir. Without—”

“Call Topper. Tell him Catell wants a space off to the side there, that low room over there.”

The girl went to the wall phone and made a call. Then they watched her come back. She had a high, complicated coiffure, but the dress she wore was simplicity itself. High neck, long skirt, and sleeves coming to points over her hands. What recommended the outfit was the way it clung to the girl’s body. She waved them to follow her and led the way to a side room.

“Tony, that dress!” The Turtle clutched Catell’s sleeve. “That dress is better than skin.”

“The Pearl Room, gentlemen. Miss Rosemary will take care of you.”

Miss Rosemary could have been the other one’s twin. Same hairdo, same body, same dress. Her face was a little different, but that wasn’t the main attraction, anyway. Miss Rosemary led the way to a small table. There was a
pink tablecloth and just enough room for elbows and perhaps a glass or two.

“Two bourbons on the rocks,” Catell said, and Miss Rosemary drifted off, smiling.

“Tony, I think I’m too impressed to have a good time.” The Turtle spoke in a whisper.

When the drinks came, a waiter was carrying them.

“I’m sobering up already. Here’s to you, Anthony.”

“Mud.”

They drank.

When they ordered their second round, a piano started to crash out some chords and a rose light hit a curtain at the end of the room.

“A floor show yet! They must have one of them stages in every room here.”

“Must be. Christ, look at that!”

The curtain whipped open with a fast swish and five chorus girls, dressed like the belles of the nineties, came tearing out on the small stage. Brass trumpets and drums joined the piano, but that didn’t drown out the girls. In high-pitched voices they screeched a kind of ragtime ballad about an evil baron and five poor sisters, all innocent and beautiful till the baron came along. All the while they kept bumping and grinding fast. When the refrain came, they tore off their hats. A midget dressed like a Turk rushed around to pick up the hats. Next refrain, off came the gloves. Next refrain, the dresses. The midget kept picking things up. Then the chemises came off. The song got louder, the rhythm jacked up to a terrific pace. Off with the corset. Practically naked, they shivered themselves back and forth. Then the last refrain. With crashing of trumpet, drum, piano, and high voices, they ducked behind a skimpy screen that left their legs and
shoulders exposed. The music jumped once and stopped. In the silence only some rustling could be heard, legs and arms moving behind the screen. Then the loud tune started up again, frantic and harsh, and bras and panties came flying over the screen. With a last scream of the music each girl ducked from behind the screen into the wings of the stage. There was just a glimpse possible as they ran across the short open space.

“My, my, my,” said the Turtle. “Oh, my, oh, my! Why wasn’t I born a midget? My, oh, my.”

Then the music changed to strings and sax. To a slow rhythm the girls came out again holding fans in front of them. The song was a tired thing now, something about five virgins no more, but another one already catching the black baron’s fancy, another one pure and young, not knowing of the fate that lay ahead. At that point the rose light got dimmer and a white spot grew against the back curtain. It opened slowly and out walked Lily, Paar’s cigarette girl. She half sang, half talked, moving up to the ramp with a slow swing of her hips.

Catell picked up the Turtle’s half-full glass and poured it down.

“Christ,” said the Turtle. “She can’t sing, Tony.”

“Shut up!”

“All I said—”

“Shut up!” Catell’s voice sounded raspy.

Lily was standing still now, doing her lines, and her only movements were those made by her breathing. She was wearing a long, plain dress, all white, and like the things on the hostesses, the cloth held her body like a second skin. But Lily looked like no snake; Lily looked like a woman.

When her song was over the lights went dead. After a
minute they went on again, showing the stage empty.

Catell got to his feet. Then a smooth voice said:

“Leaving so soon?”

Topper was standing beside the table.

“I said, are you leaving already?”

“How are you, Topper? Nice club you got here,” Catell said.

“And who’s the runt with you?” Topper asked.

Catell sat down again and kneaded the fingers of one hand. “Topper,” he said, “I want you to try to watch that tone of voice. You’re talking about a friend of mine, and when it comes to crappers like you I don’t mind getting my hands dirty messing you up.”

“Now, now, Catell, that nasty, nasty temper of yours. I don’t think Mr. Smith would approve of any of this. We should try and be friends. Don’t you think so, Bugeye?” He turned to the Turtle.

Catell jumped up, but Topper had already stepped back and around the table. He stumbled against the Turtle, who hadn’t said a word, but then regained his balance. With a bored expression he turned and left.

“Turtle, listen. I’m sorry about this and I promise you the sonofabitch will pay for it. Right now I’m trying not to make a commotion, but believe me, he’s going to pay for this, Turtle. So—”

“Stop jabbering, Antonio. He’s paid already, so let the poor sap go.” The Turtle leaned back, looking disinterested.

“Turtle, listen, I mean it.”

“Can that sentimentation, friend. And let poor Topper go. Like I say, he paid already.” Turtle reached into his jacket pocket and showed the edge of a thick sheath of bills.

“Christ! Turtle—”

“Anthony, you are sentimentating again. Now let me finish.”

From his breast pocket the Turtle pulled another handful of folded bills, letting just the edge of them show from under his hand.

“What did you do with the wallet? Are you trying to get us killed right here, you jerk?”

“Anthony, of what you speak, I know all about it. Now slosh another drink for yourself while I return the recriminating evidence.”

“Why, you nut! How—”

“Quiet. I am an artist.” The Turtle left the table.

Topper was standing near the archway of the room, greeting two men who had just walked in.

“Did we miss the show, Topper?” one of the men asked.

“You did, Larry, but why don’t you catch the one in the Boudoir, or in the Shell Room?”

“Second best, Topper. I wanted my friend Jackie Herron to see Lily. Jackie, you oughta see Lily sometime, if only out of scientific curiosity. She doesn’t do a damn thing, and you should see how it goes over. Topper, meet my friend Jackie.”

Topper shook hands with the one called Jackie, but they didn’t pay much attention to each other. Jackie seemed to be watching one of the hostesses, and Topper was watching Larry.

“There’s nothing going on today, Larry. No celebrities.”

“Topper wants to get rid of us, Jackie,” Larry said, but Herron wasn’t paying attention. He had been watching the backside of Miss Rosemary, and now he was watching her front.

“You want to be introduced?” Topper said.

“Oh, ah, why not?” Herron tried to look unconcerned.

“I’ll tell you why not.” Larry took Herron by the arm. “Because neither your expense account nor mine could take care of that situation. So, if you don’t mind, Topper, we’ll just walk around for a look-see and then breeze, eh?”

As they started to move, Topper bumped into the Turtle for the second time. The Turtle, looking apologetic, tried to fade back, but Larry spotted the maneuver.

“Hey, if it isn’t the Turtle! Now, don’t run, Turtle. Since when have you been admitted to the likes of this here pleasure dome?” He turned confidential. “Or is it strictly business, ha?” The Turtle looked as uncomfortable as a hung-up dog.

“So say something, Turtle. Listen, Jackie, this guy Turtle has a very interesting background.”

“Larry—uh, Mr. Metcalf, I mean—I don’t think—”

“Oh, shush yourself, Turtle. I wouldn’t wash your old socks right here in public. I’m just chatting, you know, trying to make everybody feel at ease. So tell me, how are pickin’s these days, Turtle?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Metcalf. What you mean by pickin’s, I mean.”

“Just talking, Turtle, just talking. So come here and meet Jackie. Jackie, the Turtle; Turtle, the Jackie. Ah, you know the Turtle, Topper?”

“No. How do.”

“Sure. And now, if you’ll—”

“Don’t go, Turtle.” Larry grabbed him by the arm. “Why don’t we chat a little longer? Like how’s business and so forth?”

“What is your business?” Topper wanted to know.

“Then you
don’t
know the Turtle!” Larry sounded full of happy surprise. “Well, now, the Turtle used to go by
another name. And this is confidential, of course. Shut up, Turtle, I’m telling a story. He used to be a magician, Dippo the Short or something like that. How that guy could make things disappear!”

“Dippo? What kind of a crazy name is that?” Topper frowned.

“Yeah, Topper. Dippo the Short, wasn’t it, Turtle?”

“So help me, Mr. Metcalf, you promised to lay off’n me.”

“Never you mind, now, there’s no harm done.”

“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen,” Topper said, and he stepped past them in order to greet another party.

They let him pass, looking after him. Larry said, “Watch him, Jackie, watch what he does now. Hey, you too, Turtle. Don’t run off. Haven’t you got any pride in your work?” Larry held the Turtle by one sleeve.

“What’s he supposed to be doing?” Herron wanted to know. “I don’t see a thing.”

“You see it, don’t you, Turtle, ha? Look, he’s doing it now.”

Topper had stopped at the entrance to the main room, and he was patting himself, as if he were hunting for a cigarette. Then he slipped his hand inside his jacket, looked in, and straightened up again. That was all.

“You mean he’s looking for a smoke?” Herron said.

“Smoke! With your training, Jackie? I’m dumfounded.”

“Was he looking for his wallet?” Herron looked at the Turtle with a little more interest.

“As the Turtle will tell you, Jackie, yes. He was looking for his wallet.”

Herron started to grin. He looked down at the Turtle and said, “You little weasel, so you were—”

“Turtle, Jackie. Not weasel.”

“So you were trying to lift his wallet, right here in front of everybody?”

“Now listen, you guys, all you’re trying to do is get me in complications. If I told ya what’s what you wouldn’t believe it noways.”

“You mean you did lift it? But—”

“Jackie. He didn’t lift it. Didn’t you see Topper pat himself? He found it.”

“Well,” Herron said, “I guess you can’t always win, can you, Turtle?”