The Complete Adventures of Toffee

by Charles F. Myers

  And the three of them left, leaving the luckless Dolly thoughtfully testing the blade of a machete with the tips of her fingers.

  “You see?” Toffee said to Marc. “You see how easily differences can be settled under the proper guidance?”

  THE salon, it turned out, was on the fifth floor of the Empire. On the way the manager paused briefly in the silver department to confer with a small, detached looking lady called Miss Winters.

  “Things going well?” he asked.

  “Oh, divinely!” Miss Winters twittered. “Just like magic. They’re simply cleaning out the department.”

  “Bolting the meat and picking the bones, eh?” the manager beamed. “Stealing everything in sight, are they?”

  “Oh, just!” Miss Winters nodded. “To give them encouragement, every so often I close my eyes and feign deep concentration. Every time I open my eyes the place looks just a little more like a desert wasteland.”

  “Just blinking away the merchandise, so to speak?”

  “How cleverly you put it, Mr. Baker! You always were the one with the well-turned phrase, though.” She colored prettily at her own boldness. “How would you like to hear that we’ve lost better than twenty thousand dollars just since opening this morning?”

  “Splendid!” Mr. Baker said. “Splendid! Just keep up the good work, Miss Winters, and we’ll be out of business in no time at all.” As he turned away he smiled broadly at Marc and Toffee. “The sooner we unload all this junk the sooner we can close up and await the end with composure. As a matter of fact the advertising department has devised a little slogan: Steal at the Empire Before you Roast in Hellfire! Clever, eh?”

  “Frightfully,” Toffee said, “in the strictest sense of the word.”

  “Good grief,” Marc said. “They’re so used to the idea of dying, they’re getting flip about it.”

  “Maybe it’s all for the best,” Toffee said. “At least their last days will be pleasant.”

  IN the grey coolness of the fashion salon, Toffee, Marc and Mr. Baker, the manager, sank into low, comfortable chairs and accepted the services of a dark, aloof young lady who brought them drinks in tall, cool glasses. An orchestra played muted background music as from a misted distance. All in all the salon was a den of pleasant relaxation.

  Girls of all types and unparalleled beauty paraded constantly in the latest words from the fashion centers of the world. Some of the fashion designers, Toffee concluded approvingly, were given to very brief and suggestive words. She also noted—again with approval—that most of those in attendance were males.

  “They come here to make dates with the models,” the manager explained. “But then the models come here to make dates with the men, so it’s all right. I see Congressman Bloodsop hasn’t arrived yet.”

  Toffee leaned forward interestedly. “The congressman?” she said. “Tell me, is this Congressman Bloodsop a man of influence? Does he have connections in high places?”

  Marc interrupted the answer. “Pick out some clothes and let’s leave,” he said impatiently. “I have to get home and start looking for Julie.”

  “That can wait” Toffee said airily. She turned back to Mr. Baker with a smile. “You were saying...?”

  “The congressman has the best of connections” he said. “He’s only been in office six months and he’s already bilked the nation of millions.”

  “I see,” Toffee said thoughtfully. “And if you were me and were picking out a dress that would interest Congressman Bloodsop what kind would you choose?”

  “Something unobtrusive,” the manager said. “Nothing to obscure the view.”

  “I see,” Toffee said. “The old gaffer has an eye out?”

  “Both eyes. And so far out you could tick them off with a match.”

  “Something of a rounder, eh?”

  “Everything of a rounder.”

  “Sounds almost too easy,” Toffee mused.

  “Here, now,” Marc broke in, “What are you up to?”

  “Nothing,” Toffee said with great innocence. “A girl likes to make a good impression on persons of importance.” She pointed to the model across the room who was displaying, besides quite a lot of epidermis, a dress made of a vaporish material which had been cut with an extremely frugal hand—almost grudging. “That dresss—could I have that one?”

  “Oh, that’s a dinger, isn’t it?” the manager said approvingly. “You might say it was practically made for Congressman Bloodsop.” He brought the model over with a nod of the head.

  “Madam, wishes to see the dress?” the girl asked.

  “Madam wishes to see the dress on madam,” Toffee said. “The sooner the better.”

  “You got guts, honey,” the model said. “And you’ll need them, too, to keep this thing up.”

  THE two of them adjourned to the dressing rooms and Toffee returned a moment later, the very picture of the most recent thing in scandalous chic. She joined Marc and Mr. Baker and took her place between them.

  “How do you like it?” she asked Marc.

  “You’d be more modest in a plastic shower curtain,” Marc said. He boosted himself forward. “Come on.”

  “I want to meet the congressman,” Toffee said. And even as she spoke a portly gentleman with a ruddy face and almost theatrically white hair appeared and started forward. “And I think I’m about to.”

  At the manager’s limp wave, Congressman Orvil Bloodsop, the accomplished absconder of public funds, presented himself before the company. His eyes, true to forecast, registered a lively appreciation at the sight of Toffee. He nodded perfunctorily to Marc.

  “These are some people I met in sporting goods,” the manager said. “I haven’t the least idea what their names are—or if they have any at all. They can tell you, if they think it’s wise.”

  “What’s in a name?” the congressman said with hackneyed gallantry. He got himself a chair and wedged it deftly between Toffee’s and the manager’s. “It’s the ... uh ... heart that counts, eh?” He settled himself with a snort. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you around before, dear. Where are you from?”

  Toffee lowered her lashes with artful mystery. “A long way away,” she said huskily.

  “Stop that,” Marc said. “Stop sounding like a movie vamp with a bad cold and come on.”

  “I have things to discuss with the congressman, haven’t I, Congressman Bloodsop?”

  “Why, of course, dear,” the congressman said, leering at the things he hoped she referred to.

  “What things?” Marc asked crudely.

  “You’ll see,” Toffee said. “Enjoy the passing scenery.” She turned back to Congressman Bloodsop. “I hear you’ve got some wonderful connections.”

  “Some of the best, dear.”

  “In Washington?”

  “Straight up to the President,” Orvil Bloodsop boasted. “All the way up.”

  “The President?” Toffee said. “Who’s that?”

  THE congressman looked at her twice to make sure she wasn’t joking. “Why the President is Lemons Flemm,” he said. “You know that. But perhaps you remember Lemons when he was a television comedian. That’s how Lemons got elected, you know.

  “During campaign time Lemons’ sponsor refused to give up his air time for the candidates speech’s. As a result everyone was trying to watch Lemons and the candidates at the same time, and they got confused. When they counted the votes, Lemons was elected.

  “And he’s made the most entertaining president we’ve ever had. Taxes up one day and down the next. Anything for a laugh. Anything and everything goes.”

  “I see,” Toffee said. “This comedian, then, is at the head of the government?”

  “Right on the top of the heap. However, if any of us ever live to see another election I doubt that Lemons will be reelected. It seems that during the campaign there were a lot of people who thought the candidates were a lot funnier than Lemons.”

  “But this Lemons Flemm is running things?”

&nbs
p; “A mile a minute,” Orvil Bloodsop nodded.

  “Then if someone were in possession of a really decisive secret weapon he’d be the man to contact, wouldn’t he?”

  “I doubt if he’d be interested,” the congressman said. “Secret weapons have been done to death lately. Everyone’s sick of them.”

  “Suppose this were something that gets in there where it does the most good and really makes itself felt?” Toffee asked anxiously.

  “Something to make ’em rare back and take notice, huh?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I see,” the congressman said. “Then you’re a foreign spy, aren’t you, selling out the old country? You’ve already said you were from far away. Tell me, how do you like our little country?”

  “Love it,” Toffee said. “That’s why I want so badly to meet your President.” She crossed her legs carefully, and no part of the movement was overlooked by the congressman.

  “I see,” he said. “You want to get up in the world where the bidding is high?”

  “That’s the idea,” Toffee said. “Sort of wriggle my way into the affairs of state, so to speak,”

  “Brings to mind an exciting picture,” the congressman commented. “Of course the best way to crash Washington society is to be investigated by the Congress. You may not believe it, dear, but we’ve made some of the very best international figures. But it’s difficult to be investigated, especially for a spy like yourself, with credentials and all. That’s too easy, and we have to concentrate on the more difficult cases—our personal enemies, for instance. However, a girl with your—uh—attributes might prove of sufficient diversion to warrant special attention.”

  “This Congress,” Toffee said. “What is it?”

  “Oh, just a body of men.”

  “Really!” Toffee’s interest shot ahead like an arrow discharged from a sixty pound bow. “I would be investigated by this body of men?”

  “Minutely, honey,” the congressman assured her. “And from every angle.”

  TOFFEE was almost beside herself with anticipation; she almost forgot the purpose at hand. “I’ll kill ’em,” she said. She composed herself, “Could you arrange to have me hauled up for investigation?”

  “Well ... I wouldn’t do it for just anyone, you know.”

  “But you would for me, wouldn’t you? Don’t forget; I do have a secret weapon.”

  “I’m not forgetting,” the congressman murmured. “No, indeed. However, I’ll have to convince the Congress that you’re a substantial menace.” He was thoughtful for a moment. “I think I’ll call the Congressman from Idaho and say that you’ve been insulting his wife. I think something can be worked out.” He rose.

  “Just a minute,” Toffee said. “There’s just one more thing; include my friend, Mr. Pillsworth. Say he’s been insulting Texas.”

  “Well ...” the congressman hesitated.

  “Please,” Toffee cooed. “He might get his feelings hurt if we left him out.”

  “Well, okay,” the congressman agreed, and left.

  Seeing that there was an opening, Marc edged closer. “Is the congressman leaving?” he asked.

  “He’ll be right back,” Toffee said pleasantly. “He’s gone off to arrange something for me.”

  “What?” Marc said evenly. “Just what has he gone off to arrange?”

  “Oh just a little investigation.”

  “What kind of an investigation?”

  “He mentioned something called Congress,” Toffee said. “I think it’s some kind of a club he belongs to.”

  “A Congressional investigation?”

  “Uh-huh,” Toffee nodded. “I believe those were his very words.”

  “Who’s going to be investigated?”

  Toffee smiled the sublimely innocent smile of one of heaven’s nicer angels. “Me,” she announced, “and you.”

  “What!” Marc jumped to his feet as though he’d been wrenched by a pully. “Why you ...! What did you tell that old idiot?”

  “Nothing really,” Toffee said. “I just told him I had a secret weapon, and he assumed the rest. He’s including you as a personal favor.”

  “Dear God in heaven!” Marc yelped. “Let’s get out of here before he comes back!”

  “Oh, no!” Toffee cried. “I have to wait and see if he could arrange it.”

  “Come on!” Marc said, taking her by the arm and dragging her out of her chair. “Where’d he go? We’ll go the other way.”

  “I must say I don’t understand your attitude,” Toffee said woundedly, following him into the entry. “After I worked like a demon to charm the daffy old vulture ...”

  “Just like a demon!” Marc said hotly. “Exactly like a demon! You take the words from my mouth.”

  “And I should dip them in cyanide and put them right back!” Toffee said. “I suppose it hasn’t penetrated your blunted intelligence that I’m only trying to do something to help save this preposterous world of yours.”

  “I see,” Marc said. “You propose to save the world by ruining me. That makes such brilliant sense it fairly blinds me.” By now they had reached the outer hallway and were covering space rapidly in the direction of the elevators.

  “I’m not going to stand for it!” Marc said testily. “And that’s my message to you.” He stopped before the elevators and placed his finger firmly to the button. “If you think I’m going to allow my life to be governed by the noxious fermentations of that fluttering mind of yours ... you’re wrong!”

  TOFFEE parted her lips for an angry reply, but just then the door across the hall opened, and Congressman Bloodsop appeared on the scene. His ruddy face was wreathed with smiles.

  “Ah, there you are!” he boomed expansively. “Well, the news is good tonight. You’re to be investigated tomorrow. I’m to take you into custody right now, and there’ll be a couple of government boys to guard you. You’re to stay at my home under guard tonight, and we’ll fly up to Washington in the morning for the festivities.” He swayed back on his heels in a seizure of self-appreciation. “Fast action, eh?”

  “Mr. Bloodsop ... !” Marc sputtered. “Mr. Bloodsop ...”

  But the congressman held up a hand. “No need to thank me, boy,” he said. “It’s nothing to pull a few strings for friends.”

  “Mr. Blood ... !”

  Just then the elevator doors slid back to disclose Dolly, the impassioned wild gamester, struggling with the stringy vagaries of an enormous tuna net. She staggered forward and paused to disentangle a cork float from the door latch. Then, hunched forward under her burden, she started determinedly toward the salon.

  “On the scent again already?” Toffee inquired amiably.

  Dolly stopped and peered back over her muscular shoulder. “Uh-huh,” she panted. “Only this time I’ve got a switcheroo for the sonofagun. This time I not only toss him into the trap but fling myself in after him.” She winked. “Get it?”

  “In detail,” Toffee said. She turned to Marc. “Isn’t it nice to meet a girl who knows her own mind—even when it’s cracked seven ways to Sunday?”

  “You should know,” Marc glowered. “You should damned well know, you little heller.”

  Congressman Bloodsop’s study was a mammoth vault paneled solidly with the finest oak that purloined money could buy. It was vast-ceilinged and set solidly at one end with leaded windows of a thousand panes. Beyond the windows, like a magazine illustration, one could see formal gardens softened with twilight. To Toffee’s mind it fairly stank with class.

  FROM the depths of her leather-covered chair, she lowered her coffee cup to the table and observed the spectacle of Congressman Bloodsop sitting like a high magistrate behind a kennel-sized mahogany desk.

  “Do the guards have to stay outside in the hallway?” she asked. “Won’t they be lonesome?”

  “A matter of form, dear,” the congressman said. “Looks good. Besides, I’ve told the maid to give them tea.”

  Marc standing beside the fireplace stirred with agitat
ion. “Mr. Bloodsop ...!”

  The congressman raised his eyes with slow patience. “Young man,” he said evenly. “Is there something the matter with you? What is this curious compulsion of yours to rasp my name every few minutes? If you have something to say, say it.”

  “Yes, Marc,” Toffee said sweetly. “Don’t let the congressman think you’re dull.”

  Marc choked, presumably with emotion. “I only wanted to inquire just why I can’t use the telephone to try to find my wife?” he said in a strained voice.

  “Another matter of form,” the congressman said. “Good heavens, man, do you really care so much to find your wife? It’s the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever heard of. I must remind you that you and the young lady now constitute a matter for official inquiry.”

  Marc clenched his fists tight at his sides. “Oh, Christ!” he wailed.

  “At least he’s shouting for someone else for a change,” the congressman said complacently. “An erratic type. Subversives usually are, though. Next he’ll be calling for Phillip Morris.”

  “Poor Marc,” Toffee put in appealingly. “He just can’t bring himself to view the end of civilization with the same happy composure the rest of us do. It upsets him.”

  “No use fighting the inevitable,” the congressman said. “When the whole country has gone gypsy, you might just as well snatch up your skirts, so to speak, and join in the innocent merriment.”

  “Seems a trifle fatalistic,” Toffee said. “Sometimes I rather agree with Marc that you owe it to yourself to resist to the end ... even if it’s only an attitude. It seems more human ... somehow.”

  “Thank you for that much,” Marc said with heavy irony. “At least my attitude pleases you.”

  “Welcome, I’m sure,” Toffee murmured, then turned back to the congressman. “Tell me, congressman, just who is it that’s going to do this bomb dropping anyway? I haven’t heard any name mentioned yet.”

  THE congressman gazed at her. “You mean you’re not really one of them, after all? You’re with another interest?”

  “A private concern, you might say,” Toffee said.