“Uh-huh. And he was the boy who could help you, right?”
“Yes. He said if there was anything, anything at all, I should tell him. Then, with the Studio's resources and power and connections they could cover up almost anything. I told him there wasn't anything to cover up. He said I shouldn't be afraid to tell him, no matter what—if there was anything I didn't want made public. He even mentioned that the studio had been able to hide things for other employees. One who was addicted to narcotics, a girl who'd had an illegitimate child.”
She paused, sipped at her drink. I said, “Did he name these others?”
“No. He might just have been making them up, so I would tell him my background—my horrible background, if I had one.”
“In other words, information that could be used for blackmail.”
“That's right. At least that's the way it appears to me now. And there's one other reason, one thing that made me suspect Ted of being party to blackmail, although I was never sure. He was so persistent that I told him...” She let it trail off, eyes on me.
“Something you'd rather not tell me?”
“No, it's all right. I told you somebody tried to blackmail me, but didn't succeed. I—well, I was married before. When I was sixteen. It only lasted three weeks, just long enough so we both knew it was no good. I've never denied being married once, and I won't ever deny it—but I've never been asked.” She shrugged. “I never denied the studio's version of my biography, either. I guess now I should have. Well, it wasn't just the marriage, but my husband's—record. He was several years older than I. When we split up and were divorced, he got in with a tough crowd and committed some crimes. Robberies. He got caught, went to prison, got out and did it again and got caught again. He's in prison now.” She looked at me. “There it is. I wouldn't pay anybody a nickel to keep it quiet. But I told Ted about it.”
“It's starting to form a pattern. Once he got all he could from you—or anybody else, things that normally would be kept in the dark—he put the squeeze on you for money. Is that about it?”
“Yes, only it wasn't Ted. A nasty little man approached me a month or so later. By then he had photostats of the marriage license, court proceedings, prison record—all of it, very thoroughly prepared. He showed it to me and tried to make me pay off.”
She paused and I asked, “What did you tell him?”
“I just slapped his face. Every time he opened his mouth I slapped him. So he left. I got one more phone call from him a few days later. He said if I didn't pay he'd publish the information. I told him to go ahead. I didn't hear any more about it.”
We had finished our drinks. I carried the glasses to the kitchenette and said, “It's a good thing you didn't stick a knife in somebody's gizzard, for example. That would have required more drastic action than slapping a punk's face.”
“Fortunately I didn't stab a single gizzard.”
I mixed two more drinks and walked back to the divan. Coral looked as lovely as anybody who has ever been on that low, long, voluptuous divan, and that includes almost as many curves as there are in geometry. I stopped a yard away and looked at her. She was relaxed against a thick cushion, hands clasped easily behind her head and legs extended in front of her, taut and heavy breasts rising gently on her slow breath.
“Coral,” I said, and grinned at her to keep it light, “I would be keeping the truth from you if I failed to tell you that you are perhaps the loveliest creature ever to warm that divan, and this heart.”
“How sweet you are.” She smiled, teeth gleaming whitely in the soft illumination from the small lamp and the tropical fish tanks. “Are we all through with the case?”
“Not quite. But here, for the juiciest tomato I've seen in a long time, is some more tomato juice.” I grinned at her and handed her the Scotch and water.
She shook her head and smiled, sipped at the highball.
We went over Valentine's technique again. It seemed that he must have told the third person about the info Coral had given him, and then the third person had performed the actual blackmail routine. Coral explained that she felt sure Valentine was the one responsible because she'd told nobody else those facts about her past. There was about one chance in a hundred that the blackmailer had stumbled on the information from another source, but it wasn't at all likely.
I said, “This guy who approached you, Coral. The one you slapped. Do you know yet who he was?”
“No. He was small. The kind of extremely close-set eyes you never expect to see. Sparse black hair.” She went on to describe him as best she could.
I got it then. “And his lips look as if they're wrestling, with the top one losing.”
Her eyes widened. “Yes. How did you know.”
“Viper,” I said. “A hood called Viper. I saw him today; he jumped into a swimming pool with his clothes on. And he works for Nick Colossus.” I thought about that, then said, “Honey, we've not discussed the spot you're in.” I had explained to her what that tap on my phone meant, and I told her, “You're probably in extreme danger from now until half the hoodlums in town are locked up. You simply can't be wandering around.”
“Oh? What will I do, then?”
“Well, uh —” I swallowed, and moistened my lips, and said casually, “you, uh, why, you, uh—you could stay here!”
She laughed. “And you'll get a room at the Hollywood Roosevelt, I suppose.”
“Oh, no. No, no. I'll—I'll be here too. To protect you.”
She didn't say anything. Not with her lips. Her eyes spoke volumes, volumes that would probably have been banned in many places, but certainly not in my apartment.
I said, “I'll sleep right here on this big old comfortable divan.
And you can have my bedroom. Believe me, it won't put me out at all.”
“That's what I'm afraid of.”
“But—no. That's—I mean to say, anywhere but here a dozen thieves and musclemen might grab you. Here you'll be safe.”
“It doesn't sound very safe to me.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Uh-huh.”
I finished my drink. And we just looked at each other. For, I suppose, a long minute or more. Finally I said, “Well, shall we have another highball?”
Slowly she shook her head. “No, Shell. I don't want to be drunk. Or even dizzy. Just in case.”
“In case what.”
“In case you should kiss me.”
“Then stop drinking. Because I'm going to kiss you.”
“I know. I stopped ten minutes ago.” She smiled. “I didn't even finish my second drink.”
All the light in the room seemed gathered in her eyes. They shone on my own eyes, on my lips, and her own lips curved sweetly. I looked at her glass on the low cocktail table, and it was nearly full. Odd that I hadn't noticed before.
I said, suddenly serious, “I'm glad you're here, Coral. I'm very glad.”
“Me, too,” she said. “Me, too.” Her voice washed over me. Her breath caressed my mouth. She was only inches away, just inches and a dozen heartbeats. I looked at her for another moment, and then I leaned even closer to her.
She came into my arms as if she belonged there, as if she intended to stay, and I put my arms around her and held her to me so tightly that it must have seemed she had no choice at all about staying. But she didn't appear to mind. Her face was close to mine, her lips slightly parted, and she said, smiling, “You're crushing me, Shell. But ... I don't want you to stop.” She turned her head and the fiery hair brushed my cheek, then she looked at me with those pornographic eyes, those hot, wonderful eyes, and said softly, “I ... don't know what to think of you. And me. And of —”
“Then don't think.”
“All right—I won't.” She closed her eyes and the full, rounded lids trembled slightly and she tilted her head a little more to the side, lips parting, and her arms tightened on my back, fingers of one hand curling against my neck.
She started to say something else then, bu
t I don't know what it was. I wasn't ever going to know what it was, because my lips stopped her breath, buried the words in her soft throat, and she didn't even try to speak them again. Not for a long time, at least. And then I'm sure they were different words.
I didn't say anything else to her either then, except her name. Just “Coral” after our mouths parted and her lips touched my throat, “Coral” as her hair blinded my eyes, and again as my lips found the warm white skin of her breast. Just “Coral,” and secret things.
Chapter Eleven
No matter how many times it's done in movies or books, or how many times it really happens, it never gets old or too “cute” or anything but delightful. I refer to the sight of a small-to-medium girl in a big man's pajamas.
The girl was Coral who, while not large, was certainly not medium anywhere, and the pajamas were pale blue covered with red and white orchids, and they were mine. Even in those tent-like pajamas, though, Coral looked as if she'd gone to Girl School and graduated at the head of the class. Where the pajamas fell against her, she seemed to lean or even thrust against the pajamas, and it was reasonably certain that they would never be the same.
It was a sure thing that I wouldn't.
She was seated at the breakfast booth in my small kitchenette, smiling lazily at me. I turned from the range and advanced toward her carrying my two bowls.
“There you are,” I said, placing one bowl before her and one at my place opposite her. “How does it seem not having to cook breakfast?”
“Wonderful,” she said. “I'm startled that a big rough character like you is capable ... what is this.”
She was looking down at the bowl before her. “Why that,” I said grandly, “is breakfast.”
“This is breakfast?”
“Sure. I have it every morning. When I have anything. It's lousy. Try it.”
“But what is it?” She had a sort of wary look on her face as she stared at the stuff.
“Mush. It's the only thing I know how to cook.”
“Mush?”
“Yeah. Oatmeal. Mush. You just boil water and pour the slop in and let it bubble. Then you eat it. Go ahead, have some.”
“But there's only a bite or two there.”
“How much do you want? I told you it's lousy.”
Morosely she had a spoonful. I had some of mine. We weren't off to a laughing start. She looked across the table at me and said, “It is lousy.”
“I told you.”
“Have you got ... well, would you mind if I—do you have any eggs, Shell?”
“I've been saving a couple for nogs. Want me to scramble them around in a pot —”
She shook her head. “No. No, I'll—scramble them around myself if you don't mind.”
She went to the refrigerator and then the range, and in a minute there was the sound and smell of eggs frying. I didn't watch. Eggs just kill me in the morning. Somehow it doesn't seem civilized to eat eggs until about noon or later—and by then it's time for rare prime ribs.
Coral came back and sat down and had a great time with her fried eggs, and the conversation got livelier, more rewarding. It was a lot of fun; Coral was a lot of fun. I wished I didn't have to leave; but I had the feeling that this was going to be a big day. Not that I'd had any lack of big days lately.
Over coffee I said to Coral, “I've been thinking seriously about whether you should stay here or find a secluded hotel or motel someplace. I think it will be safer for you here.”
I had some coffee and added, “My apartment might not seem like the safest spot for you, if Nick's boys are trying to grab you. But at least nobody can know you're here—you arrived while the two muggs were waiting for you at your own place.”
“That's right. And I can't very well go back there, can I?”
“Nope. There's a good chance somebody's watching your house, but more important, there's just as good a chance, probably better, that somebody has an eye on the Spartan here now. Not for you; for me. But if that's true and you left then you'd be spotted for sure. No, I think you should stay here.”
“Your logic overwhelms me.” She smiled sweetly. “Besides, Shell, I like it here.”
We finished our coffee and I went into the living room while Coral did the dishes. I smoked a cigarette and thought about a few things. It had occurred to me that, if Valentine had elicited damaging information from several Magna people—under the pretext of wanting to cover up the info—and had then used that knowledge to blackmail them, then one of those blackmailed people might have found out about it and murdered him. That would have seemed an obvious conclusion to me, except for the fat kid's story to me on the phone. I wondered about that for a while. One of the things, obviously, that I needed to do today was talk again to those three witnesses. If I could find them.
I picked up the phone and called the Madison Hotel. The desk clerk informed me that Mr. and Mrs. Gene Gelder had checked out yesterday. No forwarding address. I looked up Peter Fishbaum in the book—or tried to; there wasn't any such person listed. Information had no number for him. I considered the peculiar unavailability of all three witnesses, then phoned Feldspen.
“Harry, Shell here.”
“Ah, Shell. Are you all right?”
“Yeah, to a jaundiced eye I'd look okay. Why?”
“After you phoned yesterday morning I expected to hear from you again.”
Had that phone conversation been only yesterday morning? It seemed like last September. I said, “Things happened. To me. Sorry I couldn't make it, Harry. Anything new? Any more calls from our greedy friend, or trouble with Lou Rio or Gangrene?”
“No. I haven't seen those two since the altercation here in my office. Have you made any progress?”
“Yes, but I've got to pin a few people down today and get some straight answers, then I'll know exactly where I'm headed. The whole thing's shaping up pretty well, I think. I'll be out to talk with Palomino and Suez after a bit.”
“That's an odd thing. Suez hasn't arrived yet. Neither has Coral James.”
“Oh?” It was just a little tingle, a trickle of alarm along my spinal column. “Suez would ordinarily have arrived about eight, wouldn't she?”
“Ordinarily much earlier than that, for makeup and wardrobe. But she was expected at eight today, for publicity stills. My secretary phoned her apartment about twenty minutes ago, but there was no answer. We haven't been able to reach Miss James, either.”
That tingle raced over my spine again. “I'll check it,” I said. “I know where they both live. Palomino arrived O.K., then?”
“Yes. They'll finish retakes on Howdy, Stranger tomorrow.” He sighed. “We've over three million in that one now.”
I told him I'd get in when I could, and hung up. I would have liked to ease his mind about Coral, but I wasn't about to do it over the phone. Not after what had happened yesterday, and where there was a chance this phone might be tapped, too.
Coral came in and sat on the end of the divan. “What was that about Suez?”
“She hasn't arrived at Magna.”
“I wonder why?”
“That's what I hope I can find out this morning. Do you know much about her? Or Palomino?”
“I don't know Johnny at all. Suez and I get along well. Lunch at the commissary often, that sort of thing. All I know about her, though, is that she's wonderful company. She seems like an awfully nice girl. I like her.”
“You know,” I said slowly, “Valentine named you, Suez, and Palomino as the three stars he thought must be the ones referred to by the blackmailer, the guy who called Feldspen, as the ones being blackmailed. Do you see what I'm getting at?”
“No, I don't.” She leaned back against the arm of the divan, looking as fresh and lovely as morning, but almost lost in the folds and creases of my pajamas.
I said, “You told me last night that Valentine was undoubtedly the man digging up blackmail info from the victims—that is, from those who would then become his victims. If so, he would know
better than anybody else who the three being blackmailed were.”
“Yes, of course.”
“I put Valentine in a spot where he knew he either had to name the three of you himself, or let Feldspen and me find out on our own. So he decided right then to spill the names. The true names—it's obvious on the face of it that the blackmailer knows who's being blackmailed.”
She nodded slowly. “But, then, why did he name the three of us?”
“I would assume that Suez and Palomino must have been paying off. But that doesn't explain his including your name.”
She frowned slightly. “I ... it is odd. The only thing I can think of is that he knew I was supposed to be a victim. So maybe he just included me for that reason.”
“Maybe.” It sounded logical enough. I was working it over a little more when the phone rang. I grabbed it and said hello.
“Shell? Is that you, Shell?”
I felt sure I recognized the voice. Those warm, smoky tones sounded like Suez. “Yes,” I said.
“This is Suez. Shell, you've got to help me.”
“What's the matter? Where are you?”
“I'm at 1854 Partridge Street.” She was speaking softly, almost whispering. “I came here to meet Nick Colossus, but when I got here he was —”
The line went dead.
I blinked stupidly at the phone, then jiggled the hook. The connection was broken. I didn't understand; what could Suez have started to say?’ I remembered the address, but she'd gone there to meet—Nick Colossus. Nothing she might have said could have sounded more like trouble. And what had she meant to say.
I got slowly to my feet, putting the phone back into its cradle. Coral said, “What's wrong?” but I didn't answer her. I was trying to think.
Slab Happy (The Shell Scott Mysteries) Page 12
