The Sure Thing (The Shell Scott Mysteries)

by Richard S. Prather

  “Who can? That's pretty much the size of it, Gippy. What it boiled down to at the end was Arnold Trappman's absolutely consuming desire to get his hands on, to possess alone, Dev Morraigne's dingus, excuse the expression. In the beginning he was just like me, if not worse, passing it off as one more dippy doodlebug. But when the Roman Number One came in big, just about the way Dev said it should, that's when Trappman really started wondering. After that there were five more ‘hits’ by Dev, so by the time Trappman eavesdropped on Faisuli's long-distance conversation with Morraigne he was ready to split open down the middle and sideways."

  “Yeah, I can believe that now,” Gippy said. “Trappman told you all this, just before you throwed the Holaselector up in the air?"

  “Well, both before and after. He spilled quite a lot after that. Of course, at first, when he came to, he kept saying over and over, ‘Why didn't it whistle? Why didn't it whistle?’”

  “The Holaselector, up there in the air? He expected it to—?"

  “No, he thought a train hit him."

  “Mr. Scott,” Audrey said, speaking for the first time since I'd begun my recitation of the evening's events, “this is so wonderful. It really is. I can't hardly believe it—but I do, I do. I know it's true, because I know you wouldn't lie to us about it. It's so wonderful, and you're so—"

  “Watch it,” I said.

  Then I walked to the door and looked up and down the hall, came back next to Gippy's bed. “Nobody in sight yet. You're sure you want a whole bunch of people in here? It won't be too much for you, when it's been such a short time since—?"

  “No, it sure won't. I can't hardly wait. Man, the way I'm startin’ to feel, I'll get out of this joint before Dev does. If he's what you said he is—what kind of basket?"

  “Not a basket, a basket case."

  “He's gonna be all right, isn't he?"

  “Well ... I think so. Dev's basically in very good shape. He was. But he shouldn't be laid up for more than a week, I'd guess. He's just down the hall here, on the same floor. Did I tell you?"

  “You mentioned it."

  “I left before they were through putting him together, but at last count he had a broken arm, something wrong with his leg, and back, and neck, and a mild concussion, and several million bruises. He kept asking the doctor where his spleen was. You'd think a genius like him would know a simple thing like that, wouldn't you?"

  “To tell the truth, I'm not even sure which side mine's on. Where is a guy's—"

  “Well, anyway, Trappman's in a hospital bed from which he couldn't escape even if capable of moving, which he isn't, and Easy Banners and a couple of other hoods are in the clink, and....” I knew there was something else. It was right on the tip of my mind. But when I almost had it, through the open door of Gippy's room stepped Sheikh Faisuli.

  And he was—for the first time—not wearing that black suit I had become accustomed to. He was magnificently arrayed in an outfit that damn near knocked my eyes out. Faisuli looked now very much as, back there in my apartment at the Spartan awaiting Eddy's “weird guy,” I had imagined a Sheikh from the middle of the East might look.

  White tunic, buttoned up the front and close to the neck, white turban or mass of some kind of intricate wrappings covering the short black curling hair and falling at both sides of his dark face, glittering belt, trousers of some kind of loosely flowing iridescent stuff, strange white-leather pointy-toed sandals on his feet, and all over he was jewels.

  The buttons of his tunic were impossibly large rubies; something that resembled a diamond the size of a turkey egg flashed at the center of his turban; his belt was studded with red and green and yellowish and blue stones; and he even—this pleased me—carried what was either a short curved sword or a long dangerous-looking dagger, snug in a bejeweled silver scabbard, at his side.

  He was so resplendent that for those first moments I didn't even realize Harim Babullah had come in with him, which is plenty resplendent. I leaned back and waved up at Babullah, saying, “Hi, big fella,” then placed my hands flat together before me, looked at Sheikh Faisuli, bobbed my head once, and said, “I see your stuff got back from the cleaners in time, Sheikh. Glad you could make it to Gippy's party."

  “For nothing, I would not have missed it,” he replied, smiling—at me, at Gippy, at Audrey. He seemed to be in a splendid mood.

  I made some comment to that effect, beginning to worry a little—not about anything, really, just worrying—and he replied, “Yes, indeed, you better believe it. This Morraigne, he and I have concluded that which you are aware I was in hopefulness of concluding with him. What I mean, it is concluded, I am overjoyous. He is overjoyous—"

  “Well, maybe not everybody, Sheikh—"

  “—and, by the grace of everloving Allah, allah—all—is consummated excruciatingly. Blessed be—"

  “Sheikh, somehow I thought, when you showed up here you would, well, I sort of expected you wouldn't just leave your harem, that is your six excruciatingly consummatednesses, lying about any old...."

  Right then, outside, I heard a squeaky-giggly-shrieky-whoopy sound like a flock of big birds laying feathers in the hallway. And I understood what it was I had been worrying about.

  It was moving this way, but not with much speed. Apparently, not with any speed. It took so long for them to bubble into view that I had plenty of time to think about it. Time to figure out what was slowing them down. Thus, when they came fluttering inside, it wasn't such a shock as otherwise it might have been.

  Because they were—naturally, how could it have been otherwise?—fluttering around Devin Morraigne.

  It surprised me to see that the tall, slim, devilishly handsome creep was on only one crutch. I won't say I was disappointed, only that it surprised me. The crutch was clamped under his right armpit, which apparently had escaped injury, and there was a bandage on his right hand. His left arm was in a sling. There were a couple of white patches marring the waving beauty of his long — too long, really—black hair. And that was all. It was really disgusting.

  Of course, maybe he was in worse shape than I'd guessed. Maybe he would have fallen clear down if he wasn't being held up, and supported, and patted, and probably goosed, by six of the most beauteous babes in Christendom—or Allahdom—or practically anywhere, you name it, and you can't have it.

  The dumb squeaky broads moved him inside the room and propped him against a wall, and then in the corridor was the sound of light, brisk steps, and through the open door and into Gippy's room—smiling brilliantly, seeming to exude a sweet warmth and sparks of invisible electricity—came luscious Cynara Lane.

  “Well, hi there—” I began.

  "Gippy!" she cried, marching right in front of me to bend over the side of his bed and give him a smack on his cheek. “Isn't it wonderful?"

  “Isn't what?” he said.

  “Everything, Gippy."

  Then she waved at Dev, called something dumb to him, and walked in front of me once more.

  “Hey,” I said.

  She was in animated conversation with Sheikh Faisuli by that time. I understood now that she'd been at the Casacasbah earlier to give the Sheikh some sort of astrological advice, and now they were at it agan, ding-dong stuff about planets and aspects and progressions and such. He was eating it up.

  I walked across the room and stopped near—as close as I could get to—Morraigne.

  He grinned at me, and flipped his right hand up stiffly in what might have been a salute if it hadn't hit below his belly button.

  Then, looking soberly at me, he said, “General, sir—I'd like to resign my commission."

  I had to chuckle at the imbecile, but as soon as I could say it sternly, I said sternly, “Sorry, Major, the only discharges in this outfit come from the true-blue muzzles of the true-blue rifles of our firing squad."

  “Well ... if that's the best you can do, sir...."

  Right then there was the thoop of a cork popping from a champagne bottle—Gippy himself, wit
h only a little help from Audrey, not spilling a drop—and for the next few minutes there was a really very pleasant bubble of talk and laughter in the air, almost as fizzy as the bubbles in the wine.

  At one point, Audrey—who really couldn't handle that much champagne—slithered over and said she was going to give me a big kiss, and not on the cheek this time. She was looking pretty good to me by then, so I said, “Why not, baby?” and laid a little one on her, only to hear a stentorian bellow—that couldn't possibly have come out of a Gippy Willifer, especially a wounded one—"What the HEY! Quit horsing around with my WIFE!"

  But when I snapped my head around, having given Audrey a little push which enabled her to slide about six feet and reach the edge of Gippy's bed without further effort on her part, I noted that, although the bellow had indeed come from Gippy, he was grinning, and it was quite a wide grin, for it appeared to start in front of his face and finish at the back of his neck, after which he whooped and then stuck his nose into his empty champagne glass, which I thought an odd thing for him to do.

  There was a moment when I was talking to Devin Morraigne again, saying, “I do wish you and your wives well, Dev, and I promise to communicate with you while you are in prison for practicing polygamy—"

  “Practice makes perfect,” he said stupidly. “Besides, I can divorce them instantly by saying—"

  “Don't say it. The memory is too painful. Especially, since that was before I realized Faisuli had instructed his flock not to talk—strike that—not to do anything, not even smile at anyone except Daayyhhavvannn ... Maaahhrrraayyyennn—"

  “What's that?” he asked me curiously.

  “Not what. Who. That's you."

  “Me? I'm a song?"

  “Yeah,” I said grumpily. “And apparently it is the only one they know how to sing. But I forgive them, for they know not what they did. To me.” Then I looked at the six beauties—yeah, they were still holding him up—and continued, “Girls, I say unto you—that's it, smile at me, go ahead, now that it won't do me any good—neither do I condemn thee; go, and sing no more."

  Devin seemed impatient to get away, for some reason, and as I turned around Cynara was walking past, toward Gippy's bed again. “Hey,” I said.

  Well, I had some last words with Sheikh Faisuli.

  He bobbed his head, happily, pointing to Devin, who wasn't out of the room yet, though he had started some time ago. “I tell it to you, Mr. Scott, that one, this Morraigne, he is incroidible.” Then he smiled at me. “And in view of this that you said you would done and have now indeed doed...."

  Champagne was maybe getting to the Sheikh, too.

  On he went, “You said it and you did it as you said you would done it, and I pronounce that you are also incroidible.” Then he paused, smiled, and added with a merry gleam in his black eyes, “Of course, as all will agree or be sorry they didn't, I, too, am incroidible!"

  “You can say that again!” I cried.

  “And he replied, “OK, I, too, am incroidible, maybe of the most of it of all of us."

  And I said wonderingly, “I'll bet you can't say that again."

  He flashed his satanic smile at me and said, “Beautiful.... Or is it?” He pondered this, then continued, “Speaking of beautiful or is it brings upon my soon-departing mind the last finality of my visit. To you am I indebted rewardingly for the secrecy of the utmost, promised by you and fulfilled truly, in the matter of my traveling wives. That they are not my wives of a legalisticalness, you understand now fully. This is so?"

  “This is so."

  “You understand also, Mr. Scott, for me this deceiving of you was not only a necessary ... a necessariness? ... a big need, but permitted."

  “Sure."

  “If I say it, it becomes legal. Of an immediateness. No waiting."

  “Right,” I nodded.

  “However, a fullness of understanding by you is deserved from me for it is due to my request of you that you pursue and recapture these false wives that you have been damaged so grievously in your doing for me your pursuing for me. This is so?"

  “I'm not sure. Damaged, yeah. But it won't last long. Say, I sure like your outfit. Any chance I could get one someplace?” I'm not certain why I said all that; maybe I was still trying to figure out what he'd said. Then, too, I really did like the outfit, and I needed some new ones. I knew a couple of gals who would fall all over me if I wore it. “But, I suppose,” I went on, “that's the official state dress of Kardizazan or something?"

  “Or something,” he replied. “There is at the Casacasbah a tailor of great excellentness, who for me made this. To my direction, of course. Also, of course, now this is official formal dress, for the Sultan of Kardizazan. All I do is wear it. No waiting. Even informal dress if I—"

  “Got it."

  “But come. For the rest of my sayings, into the hallway come. I think, for this of significance, there we should go."

  So there we went. In the corridor, with nobody else near us. Sheikh Faisuli said, “When into my employment I inveigled you, Mr. Scott, I spoke, with respectful regard for truth, of sincerely needed reasons for utmost secrecy. I merely left out some. If in my country it was proclaimed widely, or even narrowly, that the Sultan of Kardizazan—me—was jet-traveling in the land of U.S.A. with six beauteousnesses which are not the Sultan's legalistical wives, this would be even more worse than with real ones. So?"

  “So."

  “This would also become known swiftly and widely among my real wives. So?"

  “So."

  “By the way, to me it was of an easy obviousness that, to your eyes and etcetera, even my false wives possessed attractivenesses worth mentioning. You should see the real ones. But this is aside. If words of my false ones here became even rumored to my real ones there, this would cause for me more difficulties than I like to think about. What I mean, you recall ... Mushlik?"

  “Sure. Her, and Haherain—"

  “Forget her, old Haherain. She is dead, what good is she? Remember what I told you about Mushlik?"

  “Well, she nagged—"

  “So do the others.” This was said with great gravity.

  “The others. Oh, Sheikh, not all—"

  "Forty-seven!" He nodded significantly. “You added it up cleverly. Some more, some less, but not one that does it less than a little bit. None that do it none. You know how it is with one wife?"

  “Oh, a couple of guys have said this or that. It's only hearsay. I don't have one myself."

  “Not one? That is worse than having forty-seven. But, in concludance of this matter, you now understand why it could not then—or not never, from now on—be proclaimed or even rumored of the six false ones. When one is absolute ruler of a great nation, no matter how small it is, to the entirety of all both abroad and at home one must present a strength, a mighty rulershipness, an appearance of ... of...."

  “Absolute being in controlerness?"

  “That is it, I had forgotten how to say it. But to this in addition is what I have informed you regarding my real wives, the totality of my true hareem.” He paused, shaking his head slowly. “Now you know. There are many good things, even things of wonderfulness, due to possessing a hareem of infinite lusciousnesses and those things. But, as you say in America, all it is cracked up to be, it is not."

  I nodded sympathetically. But I was afraid there wasn't much I could say that would help. Not much any bachelor could say.

  Sheikh Faisuli straightened up, fully and springily erect, raised his head, and looked at me directly from the glowing eyes. “I have fulfilled my immoral obligation to explain to you these certain Sultanlike necessities. Needless to say, to you have I spoken with secrecy of the most utmost. None of this must ever pass away from your tongue.... Or else—"

  “Don't tell me the or-else. That's kind of a tricky.... Now that you've already told me, now you tell me. No, now you don't tell me. But—it's OK, Sheikh. I'm not trying to tell you your business."

  “Fine. To the room, in again, now
we may go at last.” He sighed. “From piercing together all that has been told, I have made arrangements that no words exploring this will be promulgated from those capable of it. To the high police officials, and others, have I personally spoken. And in the jails are this Trappman and Banners, plus the two criminal individuals in their—formerly, until this busy night, in their—employment. And except for you, there is none other who knows all. This is so?"

  “Well, of course, there's Devin Morraigne,” I said lightly, as we walked back into the. room.

  “Of course,” said Sheikh Faisuli. “He is how it happened."

  The party was just bubbling along ... but something was making me uneasy. It really bothered me, I started getting a cold, clammy feeling....

  The Sheik was walking away, toward Gippy.

  “Sheikh,” I said. “There's another one."

  He stopped, turned. “What?"

  “There's ... oh, I really feel miserable about it. Sheikh, we'd better go back out in the hallway."

  There I told him. “You see, Sheikh, there's this guy in my trunk...."

  When I had explained fully, to my surprise Faisuli seemed undisturbed. “I think, after his experience with you,” the Sheikh said, “this one will not speak a whole lot. This key to your car, its trunk, may I briefly possess it? In the front seat, I—we, Babullah and I—as we are leaving, will leave it. You will please?"

  It isn't often a Sheikh says Please to me. Or maybe to anybody. If that's what he'd done. Even if he hadn't, it made it hard to say No. And I didn't. But first I asked him, “You aren't going to lop off his head ... or pull out his tongue with tongs ... or anything like—"

  “Nothing, we will do. Even touch him, we will not. Out, we will let him, this is all solely. From your saying of it, you might neglect this for no telling how long."

  “You'll just let him out? Tell him he's free?"

  “Precisely so. Free. Go. Speak nothing, but go freely. No more. I am not a bad person. Usually."

  “OK, then,” And I gave him the key to my Cad's trunk.

  Then I looked around, spotted Cynara talking to Audrey, took a step in that direction only to hear Sheikh Faisuli saying to me, “One thing, in addition. This, I neglected."