Lady—Here's Your Wreath

by James Hadley Chase

  All the same, I was alarmed. She had confirmed my suspicions. Mardi did know something. I didn’t like that crack about not seeing her again. I wandered round the room restlessly. Who was this woman? Why was she so anxious to get me started on this business? Kennedy knew who she was. I guessed that my next step would be to go along and have a straight talk with him. If I put my cards on the table, maybe he would open up.

  In the meantime, I decided to check the morgue, just in case Mardi was there, unidentified.

  I was mighty glad to get the job over. I didn’t find Mardi. There were a good number of young girls lying on the slabs waiting for someone to claim them, and by the time I got through I was feeling low.

  I had a chat with the morgue attendant before going. Casually I asked him if he knew anything about Wensdy Wharf. To my surprise he knew quite a lot about it. His brother used to work close by the place.

  “A real tough spot,” he told me. “No one uses it now. They go farther up river to Hudson’s Wharf. You will find all the river rats around Wensdy. Mike… that’s my brother… used to say that Wensdy Wharf was used for smuggling. I guess it’s cleaned up a bit since then. All the same, it’s a tough spot.”

  I got directions from him how to get there, gave him a couple of bucks, and beat it.

  The rest of the day I spent sorting out my correspondence and seeing some of the boys. Things were quiet, and there were no big news stories coming in.

  Around about eight o’clock I took my battered Ford and drove over to the Globe buildings. I went in and found Hughson just preparing to leave.

  “H’yah,” he said. “I never really thanked you for fixing Kennedy for us. It was grand work.”

  I waved aside his thanks. “Know anythin’ about Lu Spencer?” I asked.

  Hughson shrugged. “I should forget it,” he said. “That Vessi business is buried. You won’t get anywhere digging around that mud-heap.”

  I shook my head. “No… I wasn’t lookin’ at that angle,” I told him. “I just wanted to find out the type of guy he was. A girl friend of mine used to work for him and she’s disappeared. I wondered if he’d got anything to do with it.”

  Hughson shook his head. “Spencer ain’t that sort of a guy. He’s got a wife an’ he’s crazy about her. He wouldn’t go two-timin’ with one of his workers. Of course, I may be wrong, but I don’t think so.”

  I offered him a Camel. “Spencer’s a pretty tough bird, ain’t he?” I asked.

  Hughson shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose he is. He’s smart and he makes dough. Don’t you worry your brains about Spencer.”

  We went downstairs together and I drove him part-way home. I left him at a convenient subway and drove on towards Wensdy Wharf.

  So Spencer was married. I told myself that I’d got to meet this guy soon. I must find Mardi first and hear her story. Then I could go along and talk to Spencer. It seemed I was getting involved in this business, whether I wanted to or not.

  Wensdy Wharf was at the far end of the east side of the town. There were some pretty tough quarters to go through to get there. I had to drive carefully, as the roads were narrow and people walked carelessly.

  I parked the car at a small garage when I got close to the wharf.

  The morgue attendant was right. This place was mighty tough. The streets were narrow and the dark houses seemed to lean forward so that the roofs blotted out the sky above. The pavements were wet and slippery, covered with all sorts of smelly refuse.

  The garage hand had told me where I should find Wensdy Wharf. He looked at me as if he thought I was crazy. Maybe I was, but that wasn’t going to stop me.

  I walked fast. The river mist was coming up slowly, and I could hear the deep note of a distant siren. Soon I left the shops behind and I seemed to be quite close to the river. Turning a corner, I came on Wensdy Wharf. At the far end, I could see the oily water reflecting the light of a solitary street lamp.

  On each side of the wharf tall, straggling houses loomed out of the darkness. Yellow chinks of light gleamed from the windows, coming round the ill-fitting blinds. I suddenly felt cold. The mist was damp, and there was a chilly wind coming off the river.

  ’Well,’ I thought, ‘here I am.’ Wensdy Wharf didn’t appeal to me a lot.

  I wandered to the edge of the water and looked out across the dark river. But for an occasional tug, with its storm lantern, I could see nothing. I glanced at my watch. It was just after eight-forty-five.

  She had said Wensdy Wharf, but that was all. The place was built in a three-sided square with the river for the fourth side. It was easy to watch. I selected a pile of old rope in a dark corner and sat down.

  From this point I could keep an eye on the whole of the wharf, and at the same time I was out of sight and in comparative shelter from the wind.

  This was not altogether a grand way of spending the evening, but if I was going to find Mardi I wasn’t complaining. I was afraid to smoke, and I wanted a drink bad. After ten minutes of this I began to get sore. I thought up a few fancy names to call that dame on the telephone. I’d just like to meet her once. It would only have to be once.

  When my watch had told me I’d been there for over thirty minutes, I began to get restless. I got up and paced up and down in the deepest shadows, getting the stiffness out of my bones. Nine-fifteen and nothing had happened. Maybe this dame was taking me for a ride.

  Then suddenly things started. I saw the flickering light from a car coming slowly round the corner. Quickly I ducked back behind the coil of rope and knelt down, peering, like they do in the movies, over the top. A big, closed car was nosing itself into the square. The headlights lit up the darkness and blinded me. I kept down until the light swung away from me, then when my corner was once more in darkness I quietly stood up.

  The car came to a halt outside one of the houses. This house was in complete darkness. Unlike the others, it showed no lighted windows whatsoever.

  I moved cautiously towards it. As I did so two of its doors swung open. A short, thickset man, well muffled up, got out from under the steering-wheel and went to the other door. He leant forward, his head and shoulders disappearing into the car. Then he withdrew himself.

  I stiffened. He was holding something. His back was turned, and for the moment I couldn’t see what was going on. Then he stepped back and someone else clambered out. They lurched across the pavement. They were carrying someone wrapped up in a coat. Instinctively I knew it was a woman, and it didn’t take me a second to surmise that it was Mardi. I was just going to jump forward when two other guys bundled out of the car. This pulled me up quick. It was no use me running into trouble I couldn’t handle. Maybe I’d get tossed into the river, and that wasn’t going to help Mardi.

  They all disappeared into the house, and I heard the door slam to. I stood there waiting. After a few minutes the thickset guy came out, got into the car, and drove away as silently as he had come. Well, anyway, I told myself, that only left three.

  I walked softly to the house and glanced up. A light was now shining from a window on the second floor. Even as I saw it a blind was hastily drawn down, blotting the light out.

  I knew which room they had put her in, which was something. I suddenly wished I’d got a gun. The almost eerie feeling from the wharf and the nearness of the river were giving me the heebies. I put out my hand and gently tried the front door. It was locked all right.

  I decided to go round the back and see what that looked like. There was a narrow passage running by the side of the house and I went down there cautiously. I had brought a pencil torch with me, and I switched it on as soon as I was hidden from the street. The bright little spot-light lit up the evil-smelling passage. At the end was a rotten wooden fence. I stretched up and looked over. It gave me quite a shock. The back of the house looked on to the river.

  It didn’t take long for a guy with my brains to figure that one out. If they wanted to get rid of Mardi, all they had to do was to slit her throat and toss her out of the windo
w.

  What I had to do was to get into that house quick. If it did mean a little trouble and maybe a little damage, right at this moment Mardi was in a worse fix than anything that could happen to me.

  I found a window on the ground floor, and by shining my torch through the glass I could just make out a small, unfurnished room. This would do to get into the house. With the aid of my knife, I jacked up the window. It was stiff, but it went up without any noise. I swung my leg over the sill and stepped into the room. Then I shut the window. You try busting into a dark house with three toughs upstairs, in a vicinity like this, and see how you like it. I didn’t. My nerves were jumpy, and my throat was dry as hell.

  I gumshoed over to the door and turned the handle. The door came to me as I pulled on it gently. It creaked a little, but not badly. Outside was dark, and I stood listening. I couldn’t hear a thing. Cautiously I edged out into a passage, flicked on my torch to get my bearings, and shut the door behind me. On my right was a narrow staircase.

  I started up, testing each step before putting my whole weight on it. It was as well I did. Some of those stairs were mighty rotten and they creaked like hell.

  I was half-way up when I heard a door open on the next landing, and a sudden flood of light lit up the staircase. Someone came out and shut the door. Once more the staircase went black. Footsteps began to shuffle to the head of the stairs. I stood against the wall. If this guy put on a light, I was sunk. Down he came. I could hear his hand sliding on the banister rail. I squeezed myself farther into the wall. He went past me. I felt the tail of his coat brush past my knees. I let him get one stair down, then I swivelled round quick and kicked out hard with my right foot.

  It was a nice kick. At that range it would have staggered an elephant. I felt my toecap sink into something hard, heard a strangled gasp and then a fearful crash. I didn’t wait a second, but flashing on my torch I tore up the stairs, three at a time.

  As soon as I reached the next landing I turned off the lamp and stood against the wall. Before I did so I caught a glimpse of a door near the head of the staircase. Just as I got away from it, the door jerked open. A thin guy with a black hat crushed on his head stepped on to the landing.

  “Hey, Joe,” he called, peering down over the banisters. “What the hell you playin’ at?”

  When a guy leans over a rail like that, there is only one thing to do. I did it. Moving fast, I hooked my fingers under his trouser legs and heaved. Although he was thin he was heavy, but I’d put enough steam into my heave to launch him okay. Away he went with a startled howl.

  After that I didn’t get anywhere. A hoarse voice said behind me, “Hold the pose… exactly like that.”

  I had visions of a gun covering my back, but for all that I turned my head. The gun was there all right. The guy who was holding it looked mean. He was short and fat with close-cropped white hair. By the way he held the gun, I could see he knew how to use it.

  “Okay,” I said quickly, “I’ll be good.”

  “Come away from there, lug,” he said. He’d got a very hoarse voice, as if his larynx had gone back on him. “Keep your hands up an’ don’t start any funny business.”

  While this was going on a lot of noise was coming from downstairs. I’ve heard bad words in my time, but what came floating up from the darkness was enough to set the river on fire.

  The fat guy said, “Stand with your mug against the wall. I’ll drill you if you make a wrong move. Don’t let me tell you twice.”

  I did as I was told. It struck me that maybe I was in for a bad time. My only hope was that I’d put those other two out of action.

  “You hurt, Gus?” the fat guy croaked, not taking his eyes off me. “Come on up… I’ve got the punk here.”

  The only reply to this was another flow of blasphemy. That guy down there certainly knew all the bad words. The fat guy was in a spot. He didn’t like to detach himself from me, but at the same time I guess he was itching to get down there and find out if the other two were badly hurt. There was only one obvious thing for him to do, and it didn’t take him long to work it out for himself.

  Although I was expecting it, I didn’t expect a guy of his size to move so quickly. I managed to get my head rolling, but I didn’t get started fast enough. The butt of his gun bounced on my head, and I slipped off the rim of the world.

  CHAPTER TEN

  FAINTLY, IN SOME bottomless pit, I could hear a woman screaming. I didn’t care much, until the screams got louder, then I wished she would stop.

  I opened my eyes and looked round. The flickering light of a candle that seemed to be floating above my head worried me, and I shut my eyes again. The woman who had been screaming had stopped. I thought that was a good thing. I tried to move my hands, but I found I was unable to do so. I began to take an interest in myself.

  I opened my eyes again. Then I remembered. It was like having a pail of water tossed in my face. I tried to sit up, but they’d tied me. My head ached, but every second it was getting clearer. I always did say my skull was tough.

  I was lying on the floor with my hands knotted behind my back with some thin twine that cut into my wrists. It hurt like hell.

  Above me a solitary candle burnt. It was stuck on the mantelshelf, and its light sent dancing shadows round the room.

  Cautiously I pulled myself up into a sitting position. The blood drummed in my head and I had to shut my eyes and take it easy for a bit. Then I got on to my knees and climbed to my feet. They hadn’t tied my legs. I took a few steps up and down the room, to get my circulation working. In a minute or two, but for a headache, I was feeling fine.

  Just then the door opened and the tall, thin guy walked in. He came in with a little limp, and he stood just inside the door and looked at me.

  “H’yah, Gus,” I said, “I thought you’d broken your neck.”

  In the flickering light Gus would scare most people. He’d got a completely flat face with small eyes and a little screwed-up mouth. The bones of his face seemed to be doing their best to burst through his lead-coloured skin. The bridge of his nose had been surgically removed.

  He came into the room and shut the door. He shut the door very slowly and deliberately. I had a feeling that he and I were not going to hit it off.

  He said, “I’ve got a way with wise guys.” His voice had the whine of a run-down gramophone. “You won’t be so snotty when I’ve been through you.”

  I moved slowly away from him. “Now don’t do anythin’ your ma wouldn’t like to hear about,” I said. “Suppose you an’ I talk things over.”

  I was putting a lot of pressure on that twine, but it was so thin that it threatened to cut right through my wrists.

  He followed me right across the room, until my back came against the wall with a little jar. I could just make out a little grin on his face as he swung at me.

  I timed the blow and shifted my head. His fist sailed past, scraping my ear. His left followed that, but I twisted and took it on my shoulder. For a thin, miserable-looking guy, he’d got plenty of steam in his punches. I knew I wasn’t going to keep this up for long.

  Along came his right again, moving like a steam pile for the centre of my face. I bent my knee and dropped my head on to my chest. His fist parted my hair. Then I came up quickly, and dug my knee in his stomach. Can you tie that? This punk let me give him one like that.

  He made a row like a deflated tyre and went over backwards. I wasn’t going to sit around and nurse him. Stepping back, I took careful aim and kicked him on the side of his head as hard as I could. Over he went, his arms flung wide. That kick was a good one. He stayed right where he was.

  I stood over him to hand him some more, but he was past caring about me. When I was sure he was out for keeps, I pulled my hands under me and stepped through my wrists, bringing my hands in front of me, instead of at the back. I examined the twine carefully. I looked at the candle and decided to have a try. I burnt myself once or twice, but I got free. The twine snapped after the thir
d application to the flame. I rubbed the life back into my wrists and scratched the back of my head.

  On the face of it, it looked like I’d only got the fat guy to worry about. I knelt beside Gus and went through his pockets. I should have felt a lot easier if I could have turned up a gun. But I didn’t find one.

  Having made sure, I stood up and walked softly to the door. I reckoned that I could take the fat guy on if I surprised him. I found I still had my torch. Moving softly, I slid out into the passage. I stood there listening. If I’d got my bearings right, Mardi should be behind the door on the far end of the passage. I walked quietly down and listened.

  Just as I had my head almost touching the door, a sudden wild scream made me jerk back.

  I almost burst in, but stopped myself in time. The idea was to get the fat guy to come out to me. I raised my hand and rapped on the door sharply. Then I stepped away to the head of the stairs and flattened myself against the wall. The passage had a sharp bend, so I was fairly under cover.

  There was a moment’s silence, then a light appeared. I crouched down to afford as small a target as possible, and prepared for trouble.

  Nothing happened. I went lower still and moved a little to the bend. I wasn’t risking anything, so I just stretched my ears. I could hear the fat guy wheezing. He, too, must have been listening, and wondering what it was all about. “Gus?” he croaked. “That you, Gus?” He sounded like he was scared.

  I let the silence worry him. He came out into the passage and stood just outside the door. The light was behind him. By keeping close to the wall and peering round the bend, I could just see him; at the same time I was out of his sight.

  He raised his voice. “Gus,” he shouted, “I want you.”

  I very softly tapped on the ground with the butt of my torch. I made just enough noise for him to think he’d heard something, but not enough for him to be sure. I could see him cock his head, then with a grunt he moved towards me. I waited for him patiently, my muscles tense. Just when I was sure I’d get him, he stopped and stepped back. Maybe his good angel had tapped him on his shoulder. He went back into the room quick and shut the door.