The Cockeyed Corpse (The Shell Scott Mysteries)

by Richard S. Prather

  Remember if she was in here last Saturday night? Around nine oclock?

  Saturday . . . He thought about it for quite a while.

  One week ago, I said. That was the night before she was killed.

  He nodded slowly. Yeah, she come in, had a drink and left right away. Brandy Presbyterian, I remember. She was a brandy drinker.

  She left right away? Was she with a man — or did she leave and then come back in with a man?

  He shook his head. No. I’m sure of that much. Place was empty except for her — Saturdays most everybodys at the barbecue or Cactus Corral. She just tossed down that Brandy Press and took off.

  Yeah. Well, thanks. I indicated our empty glasses. Do these again, will you?

  He took our glasses, walked away. I said to April, Mustve been somebody she knew. She went with him even though she was shook up about something. You said he called her honey.

  And she knew it was for her, too. Not somebody wanting to see me.

  Well, who did she know up here? Youve been here a week longer than I have. The only people I know here are guys like Tay Green and Farmer and Dodo. And Harold Calvin — all crooks. Except for Russ Cordiner, that is.

  I heard April take in her breath with a gasp.

  I turned to look at her. There was an oddly strained expression on her face, and her blue eyes were very wide. That’s who I heard talking to Jeanne. Hal. It was Hal!

  That rocked me — for two reasons. The bartender had just put our drinks in front of us and I grabbed mine, gulped a large gulp of it. Because for a second there I’d thought she was referring to Russ Cordiner. Shed said Hal, which was bad enough — but why would she call him Hal instead of Harold Calvin, or Mr. Calvin? And why with such shock?

  I waited till the bartender had moved away and said to April, Hal? You mean Harold Calvin? She nodded, and I went on, Did you and Jeanne both meet him here?

  No. I . . . went out with him once.

  You went — Since youve been here?

  No, in Los Angeles. That’s one of the things I was going to tell you, Shell. I knew Jeanne in Hollywood; I’m the only one of the girls here who did — Jeanne and I made a movie together.

  Yeah, I know. I grinned. I saw it.

  She laughed. Oh-ho, and how did you like it? She turned her head to one side and slanted a sizzling look at me.

  Well, they didn’t have to give away dishes to get me in there. What about Hal?

  It was Hal and . . . whats his name? The gangster that killed himself?

  I closed my eyes. Softly I said, Would you be talking about Jules Garbin?

  That’s him, Garbin was his name. Look, Shell, it was like this. Jeanne and I made that film about two years ago, and during shooting and for a few weeks afterwards we lived together in Hollywood. About three months altogether. Jeanne went out with this Mr. Garbin four or five times, and one night she asked me to go along on a double date — that’s when I went out with Hal. She paused. I only went out with him once, in case youre interested.

  I’m interested.

  I didn’t know Hal was a — crook of some kind. Or that Garbin man, either. Not until there was all that mess in the papers. Golly. Jeannes fellow was married, too.

  She made it sound as if that was worse than being a crook of some kind. I said, Did Jeanne know Hal was here at the ranch? Or did she just run into him?

  I dont know, Shell. I didn’t even see him until late Sunday afternoon, by the pool.

  I’d been so interested in what April was saying that I barely noticed the guy whod climbed onto the stool at my left and said softly, The usual, Clyde. But now I glanced into the mirror at his reflection. It was Pete, the fish-faced guy whod been talking to Hal and Green and that fourth man whod left immediately. I didn’t know if Pete had been here long enough, or near enough, to hear anything April and I had just been saying, but he sure seemed interested in the conversation now. He was staring slightly to his left, as if examining something at that end of the bar, but his right ear was leaning this way.

  I started to turn around and brace him, then stopped. Instead, I said to April, Well, enough of that. Lets liven the joint up, have some fun. Wed been speaking in very soft tones, which would have been inaudible a few feet away, but possibly were audible to the guy on my left. So I continued, in the same quiet tone, Watch this. I’m going to spill my drink in this guys lap next to me.

  Then I casually lifted my glass and turned, not with any sudden movement — but there was sudden movement from the man next to me. I smiled at his startled face and said, Kicks riding the earie, Gapper?

  He looked innocent. I wasn’t ri — He cut it off, but too late again. He dug the hoods lingo. And he’d been listening. But it couldnt have been for long. Not long enough, I hoped.

  I kept smiling at him, but I guess it was a kind of thin smile. He went out, leaving his unfinished drink on the bar.

  I did a little adding in my head, starting with the now dead Karl Hooper. After him, Hal and Green and Pete, and probably that fourth man whod been with them by the pool; Dodo and the two men he’d been sitting with. Farmer somewhere. Seven or eight live ones so far. Plus the second cowboy, unless he was one of the men I’d already seen here at the ranch.

  What was that about? April asked me.

  A guy with big ears.

  She moistened her lips, frowning slightly, but didn’t say anything. After a few seconds she asked, Shell, do you think Jeannes death was really an accident?

  No. Not now. I did for a while, but I dont think so any more. I offered her a cigarette and she took one, then I lighted the smokes for us both and went on, That doesnt mean she was murdered. I dont have anything really solid to go on —

  Right then something occurred to me, and it was odd I hadn’t considered the peculiar coincidence before. Jeanne had been killed, fairly or foully, on Sunday morning. And I had read about Mrs. Harold Calvvin’s funeral in Wednesday nights paper — shed died in that auto accident on Monday afternoon.

  Jeanne on Sunday. Letty on Monday. Letty was Hals wife; and he’d been with frightened Jeanne Saturday night. Which was food, almost indigestion, for thought.

  As was something else I now considered, thinking back to the night when Garbin had jumped from the Hollywood-Crown. Jules wasn’t the only hood who lived there; Hal Calvin lived there, too, among others. And on that night when I’d rushed through the lobby, headed for the mess on Hollywood Boulevard, I’d seen Hal Calvin sitting in one of the lobby chairs. He’d been smiling. At the time I’d wondered why. But now I wondered if perhaps he’d been thinking — even then, two months before their marriage — of Letty.

  And I wondered now, too, if when Hal had been told of Lettys death he might have smiled that same kind of smile.

  But then came interruption that would derail any train of thought. It was the bubble and hubbub and babble and squeal which in any language or no language means: Women. In this case, three women: blonde Delise, redheaded Choo Choo and black-haired, black-eyed Zia.

  Little Zia came in first, stopped a few feet inside the swinging doors as the other two gals came in behind her, pointed an accusing finger at April and cried, There you are. You tricked us!

  And an octave higher, Youre a cheater, cricketed Choo Choo.

  And Delise said dramatically, April, youve gone back on your own sex.

  The He’ll she has, I thought.

  But then we were surrounded, all the gals talking at once, accusing each other pleasantly of monstrous things, and accusing me monstrously of pleasant things, and I was ordering drinks for all, including myself, and drinking one highball very rapidly. When the very rafters seemed to be weakening I held up a hand and shouted, Silence!

  Boy, I wouldnt do that again. All of a sudden it was as though my ears had fallen off. There wasn’t a peep out of anybody, even including the other twenty or so customers in the saloon.

  Well, somebody say something. I said weakly.

  Silence. Except for a faint, I’m lil ol lady fm Pas
adena . . .

  Go ahead, ah . . . I said. I was only kidding. Lets — I was going to say, why dont we all crowd . . . get into a booth? Wouldnt that be . . . fun?

  Squeals and such again. That would be fun; we could see who was talking, have drinks in comfort, get really acquainted; here we are, wholl sit where, yak, yak, yak.

  We got seated in the booth eventually, however. Zia on my left and April on my right; Delise across from Zia and Choo Choo next to her. I had drinks sent over and told the waitress who had arrived at six, to keep filling the glasses when they got empty.

  About three minutes went by, and occasionally I’d say, Well — or But — or, If you want to know what I think — But that was as far as I ever got. Blah, blah, blah, yakkety, blah. Finally the absolute essentials had been covered, and the girls were up to date on all their most recent activities such as pleats, pincurls, pains, cosmic thoughts, exciting developments — theyd been separated a whole hour — and Choo Choo, at last, looked directly at me, and spoke directly to me.

  Shell, how do you think I look?

  She was wearing a cute little white hat with a shallow flat crown and wide stiff brim, a cord from it looped under her shapely chin; a white nylon blouse and pale-blue man’s necktie; pale-blue skirt and soft white calf boots which I’d noticed when shed been standing next to the bar on her shapely feet.

  How do you like me in a cowgirl outfit? she continued.

  Well, it makes you look a lot more girl than cow. It was the first whole sentence I’d manipulated, and not the happiest possible choice.

  Choo Choo blinked her brown eyes, and fashioned a small O of her mouth. I hate you, she said.

  Arrgh, I thought. These babes were going to drive me nuts. And I could hardly wait. Women. Who needs them? Choo Choo, I said, thinking rapidly. Choo Choo.

  Well, that’s better, she said, mollified. I thought maybe you didn’t like the way I look.

  Ah, Choo Choo, I said sincerely. It sounded as if I were sneezing, but the little dear beamed happily at me. That’s the nutty thing about women: it doesnt make any damn difference what you say, they hear what they want to. Or maybe they tune in on your thoughts, which is frightening, but probably the truth.

  This shapely redhead was, however, in comparison with the other three gals, just a wee bit heavier, carrying perhaps one additional quarter-ounce of weight per inch of height — the little bit extra that women, despite the protests of more sensible men, are always trying to take off. So, to make sure the wound was healed, I said, Stated with more clarity, you look delicious, divine, scrumptious. Why, you look almost as good right now as you — woops.

  But she understood; I was forgiven. However, in order to bring back the rapport with the other babes, which naturally had been diminishing for the last half-minute, I had to tell them how much better each of them looked than anybody else. Fortunately, it was true of each in her own fashion, and therefore easy.

  Zia, on my left, was dressed all in black — a riding habit of black shirt, flared pants, and gleaming black boots. April, all in white, I had already examined minutely. But Delise was, in a way, the most eye-catching gal in the area at the moment. The reason was that the tall, slim, super-busty blonde, had not climbed into Western garb, but had instead chosen a simple cotton dress, yellow with a small checked pattern, a bulgingly low neckline that was a sort of decolleté scoop, and shoulder straps so thin that they could not by any stretch of imagination be shouldering the burden they apparently bore. Though, really, it could hardly have been considered a burden.

  Delise had the face of a magazine model, high cheekbones, little hollows in her cheeks as if she consciously sucked them in, as maybe she did, and her eyes were the deep dark-green of moss in shadow. She had full, moist lips that looked as if theyd just been kissed by a caveman — and enjoyed it. She was the oldest of the four girls, I guessed — maybe twenty-eight or twenty-nine — though she might have been a few years older. Or a lot younger.

  The conversation became almost normal for a while. I had to explain again about the dead man whod appeared on my horse, and I asked several questions about Jeanne Blair. The answers were of no value to me, except in a negative way. I gathered that only April bad known Jeanne before; the other three had met her for the first time when filming began on The Wild West — that was one of the exciting things I learned: When the name of the movie was in print, wild was printed bigger for emphasis. Which made a lot of sense, I thought.

  I also learned that the levitating boulder was just a hollow old rock from the special-effects department of one of the Hollywood studios; Ed Finch had brought it along because they needed a boulder near the water, so the girls could take off their clothes behind it and run to the water without making a hundred-yard dash out of it, though it seemed to me Ed was missing a pretty good thing there.

  The girls also brought me babbily up to date on all the news and gossip. There was a nice outdoor barbecue here every night, but on Saturday nights, one of which this was, there was a square dance in the Cactus Corral, which according to Zia was too much! I promised them I’d be at the square dance, if I lived, in return for their individual promises to save me a dance, something slow and uncomplicated, preferably one in which you didn’t dance three feet away from your partner as if preparing to go somewhere else. And tomorrow, Sunday, there was a rodeo to be held here, a real Big Rodeo with horses and bulls and cowboys and everything, and they only held one here about once every two months, and the girls were just sick because theyd miss it — Ed would go absolutely fruit if he didn’t finish the movies final scene tomorrow, so theyd have to work, but they were just sick about it. And theyd miss tomorrows special barbecue after the rodeo — at the Running M, another dude ranch twenty miles away — with champagne and everything.

  A couple of the girls had finished their drinks — I couldnt see how, since they hadn’t shut their mouths for three seconds running — so I looked around for the waitress. I saw something else: Pete. The solidly built, fish-faced guy whod been so briefly next to me at the bar, was back, sitting on a bar stool now, staring at me. That wasn’t all. Just inside the saloons swinging doors were two large, unpleasant citizens.

  One of them youve met: Dodo, the Twentieth Century diplodocus. The other was the mugg called Farmer. I had, of course, met both of them — along with Karl Hooper — in that mens washroom.

  April said softly, Is something wrong, Shell?

  I dont think . . . As I spoke the fish-faced guy slid off his stool and started toward our table. So I added, Maybe. You girls sit tight.

  I certainly didn’t want any trouble, not in here, and especially not with these four lovelies nearby. But I didn’t expect any real trouble. At least not right then, simply because it seemed a fool play from the point of view of the three men, and of no possible advantage to them so far as I could see.

  The husky guy stopped next to our booth and looked at the girls, then at me. I been thinking about you there at the bar, he said. You and your big mouth.

  It jarred me. His voice was hard, belligerent; I hadn’t expected the tough-man approach. I didn’t say anything.

  He looked at the girls again. Besides, you got too many sweet twists here for one fink. Dont seem right.

  I felt my jaw muscles bulging, muscles in my forearms tightening involuntarily. But I didn’t move. Quietly I said, Maybe youve had one too many, friend. I would suggest, politely, that you go back to the bar.

  Politely, he said. Hey, that’s what I like. Yeah, lets have a lot of politeness. Farmer and Dodo were walking across the room now. It looked as if it was going to happen. I couldnt figure why; it still didn’t make a damn bit of sense.

  I turned to April and whispered, Listen, if there’s trouble, you gals stay the He’ll out of the way. And you and the others get out of here if you can.

  But —

  Dont argue, dammit. Do it!

  Her face was pale, except for little spots of pink in each cheek.

  Farmer and Dodo stopp
ed a yard from the other man. Whatsa matter, Pete? Farmer said. Having trouble?

  Nah, Pete said. We got a polite one here.

  Farmer grinned at me. Lo, Scott, he said pleasantly.

  He was a lanky, rawboned hayseed who really had been raised on a farm. He might still have been milking cows, instead of people, but in his teens he’d gotten involved with city slickers and discovered there was more to life than manure and plowing. His speciality was acting as front man, and casing joints before robberies and such, since he didn’t look dangerous or deadly at all. He was, though.

  I didn’t answer him. I looked at Dodo. There was something . . . Something I could sense, feel in the air. It brushed the hair on the back of my neck, rippled slowly up my spine. And I did not like it at all.

  Pete, the fish-faced hard guy, leaned toward Delise, stared deliberately down at the low front of her dress, and said, Why dont you and me take a walk, baby? His right hand was flat on the table, next to Zias half-filled drink. I could see the scars on his knuckles; the knuckle of his little finger had been broken and bulged like a bony growth higher than the rest. Probably an ex-pug.

  He went on speaking to Delise, Lets cut out, Chickie. I got crazy plans for us.

  She looked at me, fright in her green eyes. Shell, arent you going to —

  Shut up.

  She took a long look at my face, and swallowed.

  I said to Pete, I’ll ask you once more —

  His right hand moved, deliberately toppled the drink in front of Zia. It spilled off the table into her lap.

  Well, it was going to happen.

  chapter eight

  As the drink spilled into her lap, Zia said Oh, in a very small voice, but didn’t move.

  I jerked my head — and Farmer said easily, Dont try it, Scott. Dont jump us.

  Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut. Because in that moment I got it, knew what was happening. It was a certainly as solid in my thoughts as a stone. This wasn’t going to be just a barroom brawl. It was supposed to be murder.