The Hardboiled Mystery Megapack

by John Roeburt

  “Hey,” I mumbled. “You’re not kidding, are you?”

  She lifted her purse and looked up at me. “May I get out, please?”

  “Leaving?”

  “I’d like to go to the powder room.”

  I let her out. She worked her way quickly through the mob to the ladies’ room. As the door marked ‘CHICKS’ closed behind her, my attention was suddenly caught by the most bewitching pair of feminine eyes I’d ever seen. They were twin pools of gray fire and they were staring directly at me.

  She was sitting alone at a table against the rear wall, in a quiet air of aloofness. As our eyes met, hers turned cold suddenly and dropped to her Martini. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Exquisite, with a classic, graceful beauty that seemed ethereal, somehow, and untouchable. Her hair was pure white with the faint, misty tint of born platinum. It was coiffed in a meticulous upsweep that added to the austerity that radiated from everything about her. Her dress was a black, silk sheath, possessively caressing the graceful lines of her body. My mouth felt dry watching her.

  She didn’t look at me again, and by the time Louise returned to the table my eyes were riveted to her face.

  Louise slid in across from me. It was an effort to return my attention to her. Her trip to the powder room had resettled her emotions, and now she looked quite calm and composed. “Feeling better?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  “I’m sorry, Mister Winters. I’m afraid my nerves are on edge lately.”

  “Forget it. I was a bit gruff. And please call me Cole, Louise.”

  She shuddered slightly and smiled at me. “All right, Cole. You seem nicer now, and I suppose you’re just doing your job. What is your job, if I may ask?”

  “I’m a private detective. Mister Neal’s a client.”

  “I see. And you were hired to bribe me, is that it?”

  “Yes. Although I heard you wouldn’t take it.”

  “Cole, do you think it’s impossible for me to be in love with Brad?”

  “Anything’s possible, I guess. His father sure doesn’t think so.”

  “Well, he’s wrong. I love Brad with all my heart, and his money has no bearing on it. I know that sounded silly, especially when you consider his past affairs. Brad’s a weak person, Cole. His life’s been one long succession of temptations and impulses that were too much for him. He’s never known what it’s like to be really in love with someone—until now. He loves me. I’m sure of that, and it’s making a man of him. He’s promised me he’ll change, and I believe him. We’re very much in love, and we don’t care if his father believes it or not.”

  “Touching,” I observed. “And I couldn’t be happier for both of you, except that I think you’re omitting something, aren’t you?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning the money he’s been giving you. The money you don’t care a thing about.”

  Her eyes clouded, but she didn’t lower them.

  “I’ll admit Brad’s given me money—but it’s not what you think.”

  “Okay. Tell me about it.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

  “Then you must agree that Mister Neal has a point.”

  “Mister Neal can think what he pleases.”

  “So be it,” I sighed, knowing that now there was no alternative but to put Neal’s plan into action. The thing for me to do was to leave before she did.

  I started to rise, but caught myself.

  “By the way, Louise. This has nothing to do with our little discussion, but do you know the girl in the black dress over in the corner?”

  She gave me a confused look, then eyed the blonde.

  “Oh. You caught me off balance for a minute. That’s Valerie Coe. Know her?”

  “No, but I’d like to. Does she come here often?”

  “All the time. She’s a writer. I don’t know whether she’s gathering material or just plain slumming, but she’s here almost every night. As you can see, she’s not the coffee house type.”

  “True, but I wouldn’t hold that against her. Do you know her personally?”

  “Slightly. Brad and I have met her. She’s lovely, isn’t she?”

  I got up and smiled at her.

  “Well, I’m sorry we couldn’t get together, but if you change your mind I’m in the book.”

  She didn’t return the smile.

  “I won’t change my mind. So tell Mister Neal.”

  She looked very prettily determined.

  “Give the heir my love,” I said, and headed for the door. I wanted to take one last peek at Valerie Coe’s crossed legs before I left, but I felt that one more peek might launch a campaign—and I had business on the street.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It was a short wait. I’d hardly finished a cigarette when a taxi pulled up across the street and Louise came out and got in. They eased from the curb and I kicked the Jag into life.

  Traffic was thin on the rain-swept streets. I had no difficulty keeping the cab in sight as it left the Village and headed uptown. We paced each other through the Bronx for awhile, and about fifteen minutes later I pulled to the curb half a block behind the cab and cut the engine. We were on a quiet residential street.

  Louise paid the cabbie and climbed the stairs of an aged, brownstone apartment house. She opened the outside door without a key.

  I smiled and waited. A few minutes later a light shone in an upstairs window. I left the Jag.

  The downstairs hallway was shrouded in darkness relieved only slightly by a dim ceiling bulb. I lit a match and ran it across the group of mailboxes by the door. The third box had a small white card taped beneath the slot with “Parks” scribbled on it. Number five.

  I dropped the match as it burned my fingers, and headed for the stairs. Apartment five was around the corner from the head of the stairway on the second floor and in the right position for the light I had seen from the street. I approached it quietly and listened at the door.

  I shrugged and knocked on the door.

  It opened immediately and Louise’s pixie face appeared, her mouth falling open in surprise. Her shock at seeing me again so soon stunned her for a second and the door swung open wider while she stared. She had wasted no time changing clothes.

  A sheer silk robe hung loosely from her shoulders, open in front, exposing a lacy black slip that abruptly changed my first impression about her being plump. She was just plain built.

  Recovering, she clutched the robe together at her breast, not that it did much good, and angrily glared at me.

  “What do you want?” she demanded.

  I chivalrously brought my eyes back up to her face and grinned.

  “Hi, Louise. What’s new?”

  “What do you want?” she repeated.

  “Do we have to talk out here in the hall?”

  “I have nothing more to say to you. Good night.”

  The door swung toward me suddenly, but I got a foot inside before it closed. I pushed it back slowly but firmly.

  “No!” she yelled. “You can’t!”

  I opened it wider pushing her along with it.

  “Stop! I’ll call the police!”

  I was inside by then and closed the door behind me. Louise brought her hands up to her face and started to weep.

  The room was small and cheery. A cozy, little living room filled with used but comfortable-looking furniture. The door to a bedroom off to the right was open and caught my interest at once. A man lay fully clothed on the wide bed, asleep—not Bradley Neal.

  I looked at Louise, who still cried softly. Brushing past her, I entered the bedroom and looked down at the sleeping figure.

  He was no older than eighteen, with dark, red hair and a sallow, thin face that looked very young and innocent. An old suede jacket hung over a chair next to the bed, and his shoes were toppled over on the floor. Otherwise he was fully dressed.

  I studied his face for a minute and something clicked in my head. There was something oddly famili
ar about the way he was breathing. Then he raised his hand in his sleep and began rubbing his nose and snorting in a manner that triggered the vague memory in my mind.

  I unbuttoned his shirt cuff and pushed it up to his armpit. The large vein in the middle of his skinny arm was dead black.

  He was a junkie. A very stoned junkie.

  I straightened and looked down at his sprawled figure on the wide bed. The picture I got of Louise on this same bed with a hopped-up teenager just wouldn’t focus. But facts, no matter how unreasonable they seem, are nevertheless, facts.

  I left the kid to his cokey dreams and returned to Louise. She was sitting on the couch with her face on her knees. I walked over and looked down at her auburn curls.

  “Quite a room-mate,” I said. “I guess you know what this means.”

  She raised her head and looked at me through swollen eyes. Her face wasn’t cute any more.

  “Please go,” she whispered.

  I went. What else was there to see?

  * * * *

  I put the Jag in my small garage and went up to the apartment. It was only ten o’clock, but the chaotic din of the Cloistered Id had battered my nerves and I felt a little beat as I opened the door.

  The apartment should have been dark. It wasn’t. The glow from the night-light in the bedroom escaped through the door, making the living room a museum of African shadows.

  I closed the door and hesitated. Automatically, my hand plucked the .38 from under my arm and the cold steel felt good in my fist. Suddenly I wasn’t tired any more.

  Then I smiled, feeling very foolish as I remembered the only other person besides myself with a key to the joint.

  Putting the gun back where it belonged, I crossed to the bedroom doorway and looked in. She was smiling at me from the bed. Her inky hair looked even blacker against the white pillowcase.

  “Hi,” she chirped.

  “Hi, yourself. Having fun?”

  “Uh-uh.” She grinned. “I’m lonesome.”

  The covers were modestly pulled up to her neck. And her knees made a saucy rise under the blanket. Her clothes were piled on a chair.

  “Me, too,” I told her. “For a drink.”

  I left her sputtering and went back to the other room. I lit a couple of lamps and threw my coat on the sofa, heading for the bar. Then I stopped and grinned. The Zulu girl had a towel draped in front of her.

  Two highballs were finished and waiting when Toni came out of the bedroom. She’s slipped into one of my pajama tops and looked a little like a French postcard. The sleeves hung way down past her hands, and the top button pulled the material together just below the beginning swell of her breasts. As she came to the bar, the hem which hung loosely to her lush thighs, bounced jauntily, making it plain that the shirt was all she wore.

  I handed her a drink.

  “What every burglar should wear,” I observed.

  She plopped into my favorite chair and drew her legs under her. This bit of action made my hand shake.

  “Where were you?” she demanded.

  “On a case.”

  “You can do better than that.”

  “Right. I was with a blonde bubble dancer. With a pin.”

  She sipped her drink and wrinkled her nose at me.

  “Was it the Neal case?”

  I sat down on the arm of the chair and put my nose in her hair. It smelled like springtime.

  “Yeah. I think it’s sewed up.”

  “So soon?”

  I put the drink on the bar and kissed her nose.

  “So soon.”

  She got up and pushed me down on the seat.

  “Come on, give,” she said, climbing on my lap. “What did he want?”

  I put my arms around her and she snuggled against my chest.

  “It was son Bradley, like we figured.”

  “What’s he done now?”

  I told her most of the story and ended with the kid on Louise’s bed. “So,” I finished, “there’s nothing to do now but report to the old man tomorrow. Actually, I’m a little disappointed in Louise. I was beginning to like her.”

  She sat up and stiffened, or maybe she stiffened and sat up.

  “Oh?” she cooed haughtily. “How nice.”

  “Easy, tiger,” I warned. “What I meant was she was beginning to seem like a nice kid and I was half-way sold on her story. She’s quite an actress.”

  “Is she pretty?”

  “A dog,” I lied, and kissed the pout.

  Her arms reached for me. I pulled her to me, feeling her breasts crush against my shirt. I unbuttoned the pajama top and pushed it away. The firm mounds felt soft beneath my palms and her nipples stiffened.

  “Cole…” she whispered.

  I picked her up and carried her to bed. My clothes joined hers on the chair as the light went out.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I was running through a crimson jungle with thorny foliage slapping me in the face and tearing at my skin. Toni was about a hundred feet ahead of me, running naked, hand-in-hand with a laughing, teenage junkie. I was sweating from the searing heat of the enormous scarlet sun that hung over the tree tops.

  It was blazing at me and making the sweat pour down my cheeks and mix with the blood from the cuts and scratches.

  Toni was laughing happily and stopping every once in a while to point hysterically at the black needle-track on the junkie’s arm. My feet felt like lead weights. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t catch up. The deafening clatter of loud bongo drums pounded in my ears, laughing at me in a weird, staccato chuckle; sneering at my awkwardness…

  I opened my eyes with a start. It took a minute for relief to grasp me. Nightmares I can do without. Especially when they’re as real as this one had been.

  The bongo beat that had probably started the whole thing was coming from the Hi-Fi in the next room. I relaxed and sniffed the odor of perking coffee floating through the doorway.

  Toni’s clothes were still with mine on the chair and I smiled as I got a picture of what she must look like standing over the stove without them. I got a pair of shorts from the dresser and went to see.

  She was setting the table in the little kitchenette, and this time she was completely swallowed in my bathrobe.

  I kissed the back of her neck as she bent over the table.

  “’Morning,” I mumbled.

  “Go get dressed,” she ordered. “You’re naked.”

  I bit her ear and went to take a shower and shave.

  By the time I was dressed, she had the coffee and a frying pan full of bacon and eggs waiting.

  “M-m-m, you’re pretty.” She smiled as I pulled out the chairs. “All this for Alistair Neal?”

  She meant my suit, of course. My looks don’t motivate comments like that. The suit was a new one. A charcoal black masterpiece that brought out my Madison Avenue charm, or so swore my tailor. For the price he hit me with, something should have been brought out.

  I kissed my girl a thank you and assured her that Neal had nothing to do with it; it was just for her, and we sat down to breakfast.

  After breakfast I called my answering service while Toni stacked the dishes in the sink. I was informed that Louise Parks had called and requested that I call her back at her office as soon as possible. I wrote down the number.

  I dialed the number she’d given me and listened while the phone purred at the other end. After three purrs somebody picked it up and a feminine voice told me I was calling the Caldwell Realty Company. I asked for Louise and was told to hold on.

  While the operator was getting her I lit my first cigarette of the day and mused over the reason behind the call. Had Louise decided it was time to negotiate? I doubted it. After last night she must realize that Neal had her cold and that if she got any money at all it would be just a token fraction of the previous offer.

  Louise’s voice interrupted my smoky ruminations.

  “Mister Winters?”

  “Right. Good morning, Louise.”


  “Oh,” she sighed. “I’m glad I caught you early.”

  There was a note of anxiety in her voice. “Have you called Mister Neal yet?” she asked.

  “Not yet, but I’m planning to. Why?”

  “Please don’t, Cole. I can’t explain over the phone, but please wait until I’ve seen you again.”

  “You’re losing me, Louise. What about last night and your punctured playmate?”

  “Please, Cole. It—it’s very important to me.”

  Her voice was cracking a little. I remembered her act of last night—if it was an act. Maybe she should have been in Hollywood, but I decided to go for it again. A few hours wouldn’t make any difference to Neal.

  “Okay, baby,” I told her. “I guess it won’t cost anything to listen. I’ll meet you at six.” I heard a soft sigh of relief.

  “Thank you, Cole,” she said. “And you won’t call Bradley’s father until you’ve talked to me?”

  “I’ll wait.”

  “Then I’ll see you at six. Good-bye.”

  I hung the receiver and wondered if I was a jerk.

  * * * *

  The Cloistered Id was as crowded at 6:00 P.M. as it had been at ten the night before. In fact, it looked like the same faces. I wondered if it was just the regular crowd returning or whether they had ever left at all.

  Louise was waiting for me in the same booth. I mauled my way back to her and was surprised to find Bradley sitting beside her. I nodded and slid in opposite them.

  “Hello again,” I offered. “You two ever do anything alone?”

  Bradley bristled but he kept it in check. “Hello, Mister Winters,” he said. “We have something to tell you.”

  “We?” I asked. I looked at Louise. “From your call I gathered this would be solo.”

  Louise put her hand over Neal’s on the table. She looked demure in a gray gabardine suit and ruffled blouse.

  “I called Brad after speaking to you this morning and asked him to meet me at noon,” she said. “I told him everything about last night. He’s here because he wants to help.”

  “Help?” I asked. “You’re losing me again.”

  She looked at Neal and he nodded, squeezing her hand.

  “I was upset last night,” she began, coming back to me, “and in no mood to explain anything to you, Cole. The fact that you followed me home and forced your way into my apartment was just enough to unnerve me. I’ve explained everything to Brad.”