Lady—Here's Your Wreath

by James Hadley Chase

  “I guess I’ve seen your face before,” he said, without looking up.

  “Yeah? Maybe you have.”

  “You wouldn’t be Mason, the news writer?” He overdid it. He knew who I was.

  “Sure,” I said. “Maybe you’ve seen my photo somewhere.”

  “Yeah.” He folded the knife and put it in his vest-pocket. “Yeah, maybe I have.” He gave me a long, hard look, then, tossing the cue on to the table, he walked out.

  I watched him go thoughtfully. I couldn’t quite get the angle. I went over to the bar. Hank was polishing glasses. He was a big guy with red, curly hair and tremendous hands and arms.

  “Who’s the dope?” I said, jerking my head towards the door.

  Hank shrugged. “Search me,” he said. “What’ll you have?”

  “Ain’t you seen him before?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  Just then Ackie came in. When he saw me he grinned.

  “What the hell are you doin’ here?” he said, crowding up to the bar. “Two ryes and ginger,” he said to Hank.

  “I wanted to see you,” I said, “so I looked in on the off-chance.”

  Hank put the rye in front of us. He beamed at Ackie. “You all right, mister?” he asked.

  Ackie leant forward and patted Hank’s arm. “Me? I feel fine, couldn’t be better.”

  It looked like these two knew each other, so I tried again.

  “That guy who was play in on the table over there… who was he?”

  Hank stopped laughing. His little eyes shifted like quicksilver. “I tell you I don’t know him,” he said.

  Ackie looked at me, then he looked at Hank. Ackie was a smart guy. He saw the set-up without being told. “Spill it, Hank… this guy’s a pal of mine,” he said.

  “I tell you I don’t know.” Hank was getting angry. “I can’t waste all my time with you gents… I gotta get on with my work.” He walked to the far end of the bar and began polishing glasses down there.

  Ackie looked after him thoughtfully and poured himself another rye. “What’s it all about?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Maybe it’s nothing. I was pushing some balls around an’ some guy offers to play me. I turned him down, an’ while he was showin’ off I spotted a gun in his pocket. Then he asked if my name was Mason, took a hard gander at me and beat it. I was just wondering who he was. This bar bozo knows who he was, but won’t say.”

  Ackie frowned. “What’s this fella like?”

  “A tall, thin bird, with a hanging lip and cold, hard eyes. He looked a dope, but I guess he was tough all right.”

  Ackie’s eyes narrowed. “.This guy know how to handle a cue?”

  “Sure, he’s the hottest thing I’ve seen.”

  “That’s Earl Katz,” Ackie said. “Well! Well!”

  I shook my head. “That’s a new one on me.”

  “Yeah, you wouldn’t know him. He’s a bad guy all right. One of Lu Spencer’s gunmen.”

  I put my glass on the bar with a sharp little click. “Lu Spencer?” I said.

  Ackie nodded. “Yeah… looks to me like they’re watchin’ you already.”

  “What makes Hank get the jitters about a dope like that?” I asked.

  “Katz a dope?” Ackie wagged his bullet head. “You’re crazy. That guy’s as deadly as a rattlesnake. Don’t go gettin’ ideas about him. Why, Hank and the rest of us are scared sick of him.”

  I took another poke at the rye. “Well, I don’t mind telling you,” I said quietly, “that guy ain’t goin’ to make me nervous.”

  Ackie shrugged. “You wait till you know him,” he said.

  I glanced round the room, but the place was still empty except for Hank, who was keeping away from us. I lowered my voice. “I had a little adventure last night. A dame dropped in and pinched some dough off me.”

  Ackie looked interested. “You mean she came in and took your roll or somethin’?”

  “I was havin’ a shower and she got in, knocked off a nice slice of my rent and skipped without me seein’ her. A guy who lives opposite me saw her go. I’m tyin’ her up to this business, an’ I wondered if you might know who she was.”

  Ackie looked incredulous. “Why the hell should I know?”

  “Can you fit in a dame that’s blonde and dresses in black? Wears a big felt hat and looks like a real hot mamma?”

  Ackie shook his head. “Why should you tie her up to the Vessi business?” he asked.

  I wasn’t going to tell him that, but just as I was getting set to air off my imagination he got it. Ackie had a lot of brain under his hat. “Jeeze! That’s a howl,” he said, smacking his thigh and giving one of his grunting laughs. “You got paid, huh? They slipped you the ten grand already, an’ someone pinches it.” He leant against the counter and hooted.

  When he’d got through with his fun, he mopped his eyes with his sleeve and grinned at me maliciously. “Gee! That’s tough,” he said. “So a blonde hotcha got away with your dough.”

  I said “Yeah,” and gave myself another drink. “Suppose you cut out the sympathy and bend your brains on this. Can’t you give me a lead on the blonde?”

  Ackie shook his head. “What do you take me for? Think I know all the blondes in town?”

  I said slowly, “It wouldn’t be Vessi’s moll, would it?”

  Ackie looked suddenly uncomfortable. “Listen, Nick,” he said, “I like you, but I’ve got to keep out of this… do you understand? You go ahead if you want a funeral on your hands, but you’ve gotta keep me out of it.”

  “All right, all right,” I said, “Forget it. I’ll look into this on my own.”

  Ackie nodded. “You’re the sorta guy who might crack this without gettin’ hurt.”

  A nice line in comfort this guy had got, I thought. I looked at my watch. It was getting on for lunchtime. “Okay, Mo,” I said, “I’ll be seeing you.” I left him giving himself another rye.

  I stood on the kerb thinking. It was a theory of mine to take the fight always to the other guy. I was not quite sure if I was going to be right this time. Maybe I’d start something that I couldn’t finish. I didn’t know. Then I thought I might as well go ahead and see what happened, so I signalled a taxi and told the driver to take me to the Hoffman Building quick.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE TAXI TURNED me loose outside the Hoffman Building, and I took the elevator to the tenth floor.

  The Mackenzie Fabric Corporation was some joint. The entrance was the finest exhibition for chromium wear I’d seen all in one spot, and, once inside, I nearly sank up to my knees in the pile of the carpet. The big reception lobby was as busy as a main-line railway station. At the far end I could make out the reception-desk, that was pretty near swamped by a crowd of shouting men, yelling to see Mr. Someone or other.

  I stood inside the door, taking a look around. Every now and then a dame would come out of a room and flounce across the lobby. They were all hand-picked, and I began to think I wouldn’t mind having a job of work here myself.

  I wandered over to the desk. The mob was still struggling for attention. I stood watching them for a moment, then I took a match, struck it on the sole of my shoe and set fire to a newspaper one of the kikes had under his arm. I stood back and waited.

  There was almost a riot when the paper flared up. While they were all trying to put the fire out, I got in front and asked the girl to put me through to Spencer’s secretary.

  She was also a smart jane. “Have you an appointment?” she asked, watching with half an eye the commotion going on amongst the kikes.

  I was getting sick of this. “Listen, sister,” I said; “ring and tell whoever looks after Mr. Spencer’s business that Nick Mason’s outside, an’ if I’m kept waiting much longer I’m going to get annoyed.”

  She looked at me thoughtfully, making up her mind whether or not I was bluffing, then she decided I wasn’t and rang through. I stood over her while she gave the message. She pulled the plug out. “Room 26, on your right,” s
he said briefly.

  “Thank you, baby… I hope your dreams include me to-night.”

  I went over to Room 26, knocked on the door and went in. It was a small room, obviously an outer office. A flat-top desk took up most of the space. The carpet was like grass, and there was one good painting of a nude on the wall. The nude held my attention for a second. It was the first thing you saw when you came into the room. I thought, after I’d taken a quick look, that if they were built that way these days the cushion trade would be shot to hell.

  I got my eyes down to the desk. Sitting there was a dizzy-looking brunette. Now don’t get me wrong about this girl. She wasn’t Ritzy—she was the kind of girl you’d take home to your ma and not be nervous of starting a riot. She’d got a lot of soft brown hair and her eyes were large and brown. Her mouth was large and generous and her nose was small and cute.

  “You’ll pardon me,” I said. “That dame up there got me startled. I didn’t see you.”

  She smiled. “Mr. Mason?”

  I put my hat on the desk and sat down. “Yeah,” I said, “Nick Mason. I want to see Lu Spencer.”

  Her eyes opened a little. “Mr. Spencer’s engaged. You can’t see him without an appointment.”

  I sat back and looked at her. I couldn’t understand what this girl had got that interested me. She didn’t make up much, she wasn’t over-or under-dressed, and yet I thought she was swell.

  She broke in on my thoughts. “If you’ll let me know what you want to see him about, I might arrange it.”

  I said, “It’s a little involved, Miss… er… Miss….”

  She didn’t help, but just sat there, looking at me a little old-fashioned, and waited.

  I got an inspiration. “Suppose you an’ I go out and eat somewhere, an’ talk it over.” I glanced at my watch. “It’s just after one, so the time’s right. I got a lot to say, and maybe you can tell me if Mr. Spencer’s the right guy to see.”

  I could see she was all set to say ‘no.’ At the same time, her eyes told me that I wasn’t something out of cheese. She almost looked like she could be persuaded.

  “Now don’t be high-hat,” I pleaded. “Give me a chance to tell you all about it.”

  She got to her feet. “Very well, Mr. Mason, let us go to lunch.”

  Believe it or not, I was getting a kick out of this girl. Me, getting a kick out of a girl. I could hear forty thousand floozies turning over in their graves.

  We went down in the elevator. I said, “Suppose we go to Sloppy Joe’s?”

  She laughed. “I’d love to… where is it?”

  I jerked my head at a taxi. “It’s a dollar ride downtown,” I said.

  The yellow taxi drew up and the driver swung the door open. He took one look at the girl and gave me a wink. “I’ll drive nice an’ slow, Capt.,” he said.

  These taxi guys were a big help sometimes. I helped her in. “Sloppy Joe’s, Buddy,” I said, “an’ just shut your window, will you?”

  “Sure, Capt.,” he said with a leer, “an’ I won’t look round. You go ahead an’ enjoy yourself.”

  I got into the bus just a trifle flustered. I saw from a mischievous smile that she’d heard all right.

  “These guys’ve got low minds,” I said, settling down in the far corner. “Maybe we ought to know each other. I’m Nick Mason… I believe I’ve said that before.”

  She said, “I’m Mardi Jackson.”

  I said, “I’m glad to meet you,” and we laughed. I thought she’d got a swell name. I liked that. It suited her.

  “Well, Miss Jackson,” I said, offering her a cigarette, “you’re Spencer’s secretary… right?”

  She took the cigarette. “That’s right,” she said. “Don’t you write articles?”

  I lit her cigarette and mine. “That’s how I keep the wolf from the door,” I said. “It’s a grand way to earn a livin’. I could tell you stories that would do things to you.”

  “Well, perhaps one day you’ll tell me.”

  That’s the way it went. Tossing flowers at each other all the way. For the first time since I reached the age I sat in a taxi and didn’t make a pass. Most dames are so dumb you had to get going or you’d die of boredom. Others think they’ve wasted their time if you don’t, but this baby was just worth looking at and saving it for a big occasion.

  Sloppy Joe’s was pretty full when we got there, but the Greek head waiter saw me and waved from the far end of the room. We went down the aisle between the tables. I got a big kick out of the way the men stopped eating to get a gander at Mardi. Even those guys with their own molls had a quick side look.

  The Greek was all over me. I’d given his eating-joint a good write-up every so often, and I fed on the house whenever I liked.

  He had a table all right. Mardi gave him an amused smile as he bowed himself in half. I could see she was making a big hit with the old guy, and somehow that pleased me, too.

  I saw him shoot me a quick look and I gave him a grin. “You’re lookin’ pretty good,” I said.

  When we were seated, the Greek produced the bill of fare, that was as long as my arm. I looked at Mardi. “How hungry are you?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Plenty.”

  “How about a mushroom canape, and a Swiss steak with what goes with it to follow?”

  “That sounds lovely.”

  “Okay, make that twice, Nic,” I said, “and make it fast.”

  She began stripping off her gloves. I kept my eyes on her fingers. No rings. I was surprised at my relief.

  “Now, Mr. Mason, suppose you tell me all about it.”

  I shook my head. “Don’t rush it,” I said, “I gotta get used to you.”

  Again her eyebrows went up. “Don’t you think,” she said quietly, “we’d better talk business? I’m due back in an hour.”

  Back came the Greek with the canape.

  After he had fussed around a bit and made sure we had nothing to beef about, he took himself off. It gave me a little time to use my brain. “I guess I’ll put my cards on the table,” I said. I seemed to be wearing that phrase out. “Have you ever heard of a guy called Vessi?”

  I saw her give a little start. She looked up quickly. Her eyes were full of questions.

  “I see you have,” I cut in before she could say anything. “The guy who was executed the other night. Well, I’m interested in him and the story that is hanging to him. I was wondering if you could give me a line on him yourself?”

  “I?” She was surprised. I told myself I’d drawn blank here. “But why should I give you any information? What information?”

  I shook my head. “No, I guess I was wrong. Okay, forget it, will you?”

  Her chin tilted. “No, I will not forget it,” she said. “What makes you think I could have told you anything?”

  I saw she was getting a little fussed. I didn’t want to fall out with this baby… I liked her too much. I’d got to be careful, for all that. After all, she was Spencer’s secretary. I shook my head. “I’m sorry to have brought it up,” I said, “I was just bein’ too smart. You’re right. A girl like you wouldn’t know anything about it…. I guess I owe you an apology.”

  She smiled. A little, determined smile. “That still doesn’t answer my question, does it?” she said.

  I grinned back at her. “Don’t put me in a spot, sister,” I said. “I thought maybe I was going to get somewhere if I jumped it on you, but I see I was backin’ the wrong gee. I’d tell you all about it if I could, but for the moment I’ve got to keep this under my hat. Suppose you tell me how I can get in to see Spencer?”

  The Swiss steak did a lot to break up the hostile atmosphere, but she wasn’t going to let me get away with it as easily as that.

  She looked at me pretty straight. “You know, Mr. Mason, I don’t like this at all. You said you wanted to talk business. My business is to do with Fabrics. Then you start some story about a wretched gunman instead. Is this a cheap joke?”

  I found I was getting flustered. T
his certainly was something new to me.

  I said feebly, “This ain’t a joke. I’m dead serious, but I’m in a spot….”

  She pushed back her chair. “In that case, Mr. Mason,” she said coldly, “I don’t think we need waste any more time.”

  Another dame would have got herself smacked, but this baby had me jumping through hoops. I said urgently, “Don’t go, don’t walk out on me… I’ll come clean on this.”

  She shook her head. “No… I think I’d better go.” But she made no move. Maybe she was the cutest of them all, but she was woman enough to be curious. I took a look over my shoulder to see how close the next table was, satisfied myself that no one could hear me, and dived right into the story. I gave it to her from the first gong to the last.

  She sat with her hands in her lap, her eyes wide, her lips parted. I gave her the story with everything I had, and I held her to the last word. Sitting there, I thought she looked swell.

  “Apart from the ten grand,” I concluded, “this frame-up interests me. It would make a swell story, and I always like to think the right guy gets the right punishment.”

  She said, in barely a whisper, “But… but… Mr. Spencer… no, I can’t believe that….”

  I shrugged. “I’ve never met the guy. At the same time, why the hell does he have a gunman? Why should a guy in Fabrics be mixed up with a thug like Katz?”

  I saw her suddenly give a little shiver. “You know a little more about this than you’re lettin’ me think. Ain’t that right?”

  She hesitated. Then she shook her head. “I can’t help you…. I’m his personal secretary…. You see that, don’t you?”

  I scratched my jaw. “Yeah, I guess so,” I said doubtfully. “At the same time, baby, you gotta remember that this is a murder rap, and accessories don’t get much pity.”

  She went a little white when I said this, but she again shook her head. “No, not now,” she said firmly.

  “Okay,” I said. “Maybe later.”

  The Greek brought the coffee and I gave her a cigarette. We sat there in silence, smoking. I wasn’t sure where I was going from here. I had hoped that something would have broken, but it seemed as tight shut as before.