"Why? Don't you remember ever being hypnotized?"
"Oh, yeah, once. But I gave a speech, is all. Didn't have anything to do with a damn parrot."
I said, "You wouldn't necessarily remember it, Jay. Believe me, I'm serious."
He bit his lip. "Well ..." Then he glanced up. "Here they come."
I looked toward the entrance. Two men, both husky, solid-looking guys, had come in and were walking toward us. One was about six-one with wide shoulders in a brown tweed coat. The other man was about two inches shorter and maybe twenty pounds lighter. The bigger man had a long, hooked nose in a heavy face. I wouldn't have looked twice at the second man if I'd met him on the street. The shorter of the two stopped a few feet from us and leaned on a glass showcase. The taller man walked up to Jay and me.
"Afternoon, Mr. Weather. We're right on time, you see." He spoke clearly and distinctly, with the too-precise inflection of a would-be radio announcer. He ignored me and said to Jay, "I can have the twenty-five thousand here fifteen minutes after you say the word. I hope you've made up your mind."
It shocked me a little. Up to this point I'd been inclined to regard Jay's story about two guys trying to buy the business for a song as exaggerated. But here it was.
Jay shook his head. "No. I told you I didn't intend to sell to you. I don't know what you're after, but I wish you'd leave—"
"Oh, come now. After all—" The big guy broke off and glanced at me. I'd been standing about three feet away from him, looking him over.
"You," he said. "Run along."
I smiled at him.
He frowned, then shrugged his shoulders slightly and shifted his feet a little so he faced me. He grinned back, pleasantly, flesh bunching at the corners of his mouth. "You didn't hear me at all," he said quietly. "This is private. Take a walk."
"Uh-uh."
He stopped smiling and took a step toward me. He balled his left hand into a formidable fist, placed it gently on my chest, and shoved. I went back half a step and his eyes got a puzzled look. I figured he'd felt the strap of the shoulder harness that held my gun. His eyes flicked to my left armpit, then back to my face. Then his lip curled and he turned his head slowly and stared at Jay.
Jay said hesitantly, as if he were wondering if this had been such a good idea after all, "Mr. Lucian, this is Mr. Scott. He's the new owner of Weather's."
Lucian frowned and looked at me again as Jay went on, "This noon I went to Mr. Scott's office and sold him the business. It's his. I don't have anything to do with it anymore. You'll have to talk to him."
I said, "That's right, Lucian. I'm the boss now. I'm in no mood for any more business talk today, or any day. Sell you a suit, though."
Lucian's jaw sagged an eighth of an inch and he gawked at me.
"Good-by," I said.
His face flushed and suddenly he reached out with his left hand, grabbed Jay by the front of his shirt and pulled him close. "Listen, bum," he began, but I stopped him.
I chopped at the base of his upper arm with the edge of my open hand. I didn't swing very hard, but it doesn't take much, and his fingers slipped from Jay's shirt. He grunted and wiggled his hand a couple times, opening and closing it; then he turned toward me.
I glanced at the other guy, standing erect now by the showcase, then stepped up close to Lucian. I said, "Look, mister. You've thrown your weight around enough. Beat it, and don't come back. I don't know what your angle is, but it's no good now."
He looked into my face and breathed, "You son of a bitch." I could smell garlic on his breath. The corners of his mouth were twisted downward. Moving so fast he caught me flat-footed, he slammed his open right hand hard into my chest again. I staggered back, stumbled and caught myself, then stood where I was, four or five feet from Jay and Lucian.
That settled it. When they'd first come in, all I'd wanted was to convince the boys there'd be no business done today or any other day. Now it was different. My heart was slamming at my chest and I could feel the muscles in my arms starting to tighten. I made myself relax, and peeled open the fists I'd made of my hands, as Lucian started toward me. The guy was damned sure of himself.
The other man had laughed loudly when I stumbled backward, but he didn't make a move toward us. He was lounging on the glass counter again as if there weren't a chance Lucian might need any help with just me.
I said, "That was a mistake, mister."
Lucian grinned and kept coming toward me, moving gracefully, with all the confidence in the world; it was a safe bet he knew how to handle himself. He was poised, ready to block anything I might throw at him. So I waited for him.
The trouble with most tough boys is that they think the only way to take care of a guy is to hit him so hard he loses interest in everything. They're used to nice, clean little fighting men who adhere reasonably close to the Marquis of Queensberry rules. So the tough boy knocks the gentleman down, and then kicks him in the mouth. I wouldn't still be alive if I were that nice or that stupid.
Lucian stepped up closer. He didn't swing, but kept his eyes on my face and reached out with his right hand again. I guess he didn't expect me to do anything but let him shove me around, because he placed his open hand on my chest, grinning happily. I didn't stop him, but when he touched my chest, I reached up with my left hand, dug my thumb between his middle and second fingers and grabbed the second and little fingers tight. I squeezed just as he shoved. I went back on my right foot, but as I moved I jerked his palm upward, then twisted my wrist a quarter turn to the right, bending his two fingers back the wrong way.
I knew what was going to happen—and all of a sudden so did Lucian. That two-finger routine is elementary judo, called familiarly a "come-along," and it looks like nothing until it happens to you. Lucian's eyes got wide just before the pain hit him and lanced up his wrist, then he sucked in his breath sharply, noise squeaking in his throat. He went up on his toes and leaned slightly forward, his lips pulled back and his mouth opened so wide I could see dark fillings in his lower teeth.
I pulled gently, twisting down on his fingers, and he took two mincing steps forward while I turned easily and let him walk around me on tiptoe. To somebody fifty feet away, we would have looked like two fairies dancing in slow motion, but Lucian was completely helpless. He couldn't swing his free left hand at me because another breath of pressure would have squeezed him down on his knees. Another ounce would have broken his fingers.
And I barely kept myself from snapping my wrist and shoving the white bones of his fingers out through the taut skin. I still had a burn inside me, and somebody was going to have to teach this boy some day. But I stopped just in time and eased off on the pressure a little bit.
Lucian hadn't been able to get a word out past the pain, and as I eased off he gasped, "Stop it; Christ, stop it."
"You gonna leave? Keep the hell away from this place?"
I didn't catch his answer, if there was one. Those two or three mincing steps he'd taken had turned me almost halfway around, and I'd been so griped at him that I'd paid too little attention to the other smart boy. He paid a lot of attention to me, though, and he paid it all on the back of my head.
When I came to, Jay was patting my face with a cold rag that dripped water. I was flat on my back and my eyes didn't focus right away. Finally the haze up above me turned into a ceiling and I groaned and said the only thing that seemed appropriate: "Son of a bitch. What happened?"
Jay sighed with relief. "You been out ten minutes," he said. "The other guy hit you on the head with a gun."
I could have guessed it was something like that. I sat up, and the way the back of my head felt, I wondered if I'd left a chunk of it on the floor. I was almost afraid to look. There was a small red spot on the thick carpet, and the back of my head was sticky when I felt it.
"They gone?" I asked.
"Yeah. Told me to keep my mouth shut, then searched you and left."
I saw my wallet, papers, and loose change on the floor near me. "Damn it," I s
aid. "What'd they do, clean me out?" The way my head hurt, I didn't really care. I picked up the wallet and looked inside. Everything was there: photostat of my detective's license, driver's license, the rest of my cards and papers. And almost three hundred and fifty dollars in bills. I gathered up my stuff and put it back in my pockets, then got to my feet and waited till the dizziness went away.
"Why the devil did they search me, Jay?"
"Don't know. They left right after that."
Suddenly I thought of something. "Look. You go on home and I'll come over in an hour or so. Okay? I think I can convince you about that hypnosis business."
"All right, Shell. Where are you going?"
"Just a hunch. Those boys searched me, so they know who I am." I grabbed for my gun. It was still there, so apparently the guys had been content just to bat my skull. "Something I want to check."
Jay nodded and I went out. I was still thinking about my having been searched. Maybe Lucian and his pal hadn't swallowed the story that I was the new owner of Weather's. Or, if they had, they might have begun to wonder whether I had a bill of sale. I hotfooted it for the Farnsworth Building.
I could have taken my time. The office door was ajar; its lock had been forced. Nothing was disturbed inside the office except the desk. Two side drawers and the center drawer had been broken into. The bill of sale that Jay and I had signed earlier was gone.
Chapter Five
EXCEPT FOR A HEADACHE, I was in pretty good shape, so I finished my dinner, had coffee and a cigarette, and headed for Jay's, hoping Gladys wouldn't throw a fit when she saw me. It was seven o'clock and dark now.
Gladys opened the door and glared at me. She didn't look surprised, just angry. Apparently Jay had mentioned I was coming by and she'd had time to work up to a fury.
"Hello, Mrs. Weather," I said.
"You fool!" she hissed softly. "You've got your nerve. What do you mean by that talk about—"
I interrupted just as softly, but more pleasantly, "Look, Gladys, we don't even know each other. Let's leave it that way. Are you going to invite me in?"
"I'll invite you to hell," she said, but she swung the door wider and I brushed past her. The familiar scent of her body climbed up into my nostrils, and my stomach felt hollow for a moment, but I went on into the living room. Jay had spent a sizable chunk for his big home here on St. Andrews Place. It had two stories and sixteen rooms, all tastefully and expensively furnished. I walked across a deep carpet to a long divan and sat down at one end of it. Gladys sat at the other end and turned toward me.
Finally she said, "You're really serious, aren't you?" Both her voice and expression showed her contempt. Contempt for me, I suppose, because I let a little thing like a husband bother me.
I said, "You know I'm serious. Look, you knew this was going to happen sooner or later. I told you as much at least half a dozen times. And this afternoon I told you why."
She let her dark eyes rest on me for a moment, then shrugged. She didn't say anything.
I said, "You like to think of yourself as adult and modern—not Victorian, at least—so let's be adult for a minute and talk sensibly about Jay. Has he seemed all right lately?"
"Of course he's all right."
"I mean, has he seemed more worried than usual? Maybe acted a little odd?"
She shook her head, dark hair swinging, and I remembered it tangled against my pillow. "He's the same as always," she said.
"Incidentally, where is he?"
"Upstairs in the tub. Drowning, possibly."
"Ah, you're a lovely girl, Gladys. Tell me, has Jay said anything about a parrot?"
"No. Why would he?" She looked puzzled.
I started to answer her when the front door slammed and somebody came into the living room. I heard a girl's voice say, "Oh, I'm sorry, Gladys," and I looked up.
She was a little blond gal, five-three or so, right out of the bandbox in a bright green wool sweater and skirt. She looked pretty enough to preserve in marble, and her hair was piled high on top of her head in a complicated swirl.
She came right in and Gladys said, after a long pause, "I think you used to know Mr. Scott, didn't you, Ann, dear?"
Was this the little beast that used to bedevil me? Ann Weather, Jay's daughter by his first marriage? I stood up and shook my head a little. I guess no man ever gets used to the things that happen to little girls when they grow up. He gets used to the things, maybe, but never the transformation. Little boys grow up and become men, but it seems like they simply get bigger and a bit uglier, maybe. Little girls, though—that's different. They not only get bigger, but they grow in a hell of a lot of different directions. Ann had grown right in all the right directions.
She walked gracefully across the room toward me and held out her hand. "Of course, Mr. Scott. Shell, isn't it? I didn't recognize you at first."
I grinned down at her. "I'll bet you still don't. Probably repressed the memory. Last time I saw you, you were pretty disgusting."
She looked shocked, her head cocked to one side.
"You were about ten or eleven," I said. "You kicked me in the shin."
She put her head down and laughed, all the while looking up at me from under long lashes she was probably proud of. "I do remember you, though. I even remember kicking you. Besides, I've seen your picture in the newspapers with stories about guns and things."
I said, inadequately, "You've changed, Miss Weather."
Still looking steadily up at me she said slowly, "I know I have—more than you realize. Call me Ann, Shell."
She sat down in an easy chair and I sank back onto the divan. Looking at Ann, I said, "We were talking about Jay. I saw him earlier and he seemed a little worn out—you know, nervous and sort of jumpy. Has anything happened recently to upset him?"
Gladys slowly shook her head. "I don't think so. We had a nice enough weekend."
Ann chimed in, "Yes, we had a wonderful party Saturday night. You should have been here, Shell."
"Wish I had been. Big deal?"
"Just the three of us and two other couples," Gladys said. "And Ann's boyfriend."
Ann snorted. "Boyfriend! He's a year younger than I am. Gladys's idea of a nice boy for me." She looked at Gladys and said, "That one didn't take at all. I'll bet he wears long underwear." She laughed softly and said, "I liked the hypnotist a lot better."
I opened my mouth, then shut it slowly. Ann sat deep in the overstuffed chair, her legs extended straight out in front of her, her arms resting on the arms of the chair. The wool sweater and skirt rested against her body the way wool always does.
Ann asked, "Do you believe in hypnotism, Shell?"
"Yeah, I believe in it."
She blinked at me. "What's the matter? You look funny."
"I always look funny."
She laughed and said, "That's not what I meant, and you don't look funny, either. I mean you looked surprised."
"Guess I was," I said. "You don't run across a hypnotist at a party every day. How did Jay act when he was hypnotized?"
Gladys said, "I'm not too clear about that—"
"He gave a speech," Ann interrupted. "Darn good one, too."
I looked pleasantly at Gladys. "You say you're not clear about what went on, Mrs. Weather?"
"No, I'm not. I was one of the subjects, too. I'm told I was—amusing."
"Told? Don't you remember?"
She shook her head. "I remember almost nothing about the party. I'm afraid I can't tell you anything."
"Were you and Jay the only ones hypnotized?"
"No," Gladys said. "One of our acquaintances, a girl named Ayla Veichek. Just the three of us."
"That's all," Ann broke in. "Wouldn't work with me." She laughed softly and stared at me. "I was a little scared. I was afraid he might ..." She let her voice trail off, but she was smiling slightly.
A horrible sound floated down from upstairs. The words were "Home on the Range," but the tune was a new one. I grinned at Gladys and asked her, "Does J
ay always murder songs like that?"
She smiled. "Isn't it awful? I'm afraid he does, but we're used to it. He'll be down in a minute."
"Gladys. Hey, Gladys," Jay was yelling from upstairs.
Gladys sighed. "Excuse me a minute. He probably can't find his shoes or something." She laughed slightly, the corners of her mouth pulling down as she glanced at me, then she got up and went out.
Almost immediately Ann said, "Shell, how long are you going to be here?"
"Oh, half an hour or so, probably. Why?"
She spoke softly. "I want to talk to you. When you leave, how about stopping at Frankie's on Beverly?"
"Frankie's? Isn't that a cocktail lounge?"
"That's the place. And don't look so stupefied; I'm twenty-one. Don't I look it?" She was smiling.
I grinned at her. "You're just a baby."
She stopped smiling, slowly, but she didn't act at all irritated. I noted her lips were plump and smooth, protruding a little now as she lowered her chin, mouth closed, and sucked in her cheeks, making little hollows that accentuated her rather high cheekbones. It was a calculated little movement, and she looked good, and she knew she looked good.
She breathed in deeply and said slowly, "All right. Call me baby."
I said to myself, God damn! Then Gladys came back in before I could ask Ann what she wanted to talk to me about. I think that's what I was going to ask her.
Gladys said, "He'll be right down, Mr. Scott."
"What? Who?"
Mrs. Weather looked at me strangely and said, "Why, Jay," and Ann threw back her head and burst into laughter. She laughed, and while she laughed, she wriggled.
I wriggled a little, too. I could feel a slow flush coming up my neck and creeping over my face.
Ann's eyes were still on me, and she looked for a moment like one of the old-time movie sirens getting ready to seduce the hero. Then a giggle squeaked out of her and she burst into laughter again.
She was a cute kid. Be easy to strangle her.
"My word," said Mrs. Weather. "What's going on?"
I smiled a small smile. "Ann's second childhood, I guess."
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