I held her while she chewed on my palm, then I said, "María, this is Shell Scott. You asked me to catch the show. Remember?"
She stopped squirming and I said, "I just didn't want you to scream. So don't." I let her go.
She didn't scream. She turned around in the seat and stared at me and I said, "Sorry I had to be so rough, but if you'd let out a yelp there might have been a bunch of my—uh, friends over here."
She stared at me for a few seconds, then began laughing like mad. "I knew by the way you caught me that you weren't a professional," she bubbled. "I told you to catch the show."
"Actually, my sport is bowling," I said. "But that's my standard catch."
She laughed some more. "All you need is practice." Then she calmed down and asked me, "What are you doing here? In my car, I mean."
I told her about coming up to get my buggy and noticing that goons had been added, then said, "Since you're one of the few people I feel sure isn't a hoodlum, I thought maybe you'd drive me away from this mess. Let me hide on the floor."
"Sure. Come on up front."
I was liking this gal better every minute. "I'd better wait till we get out of here before I move. I also hoped you'd tell me what happened after the fun ended."
She laughed again and started the car. "Plenty," she said. "Why aren't you dead?"
"That will puzzle me till I am." I lay down on the floorboards, wishing I had my gun, as she drove around the drive and headed down to Calle de Tambuco. Nobody stopped us.
When we turned right on Boulevard Manuel Guzmán, María said, "Well, we're here. Come on up front."
I climbed over the seat and plopped down beside her.
"Where do you want to go?" she asked me.
"I dunno. But thanks for the lift out of there, María."
"For nothing."
"Can you buzz me a little way? A little farther from what I want to leave behind me?"
"Sure. Anywhere. I have nothing to do till tomorrow night's show. If they have a show. Be hard to top tonight's, no matter what we do." She giggled.
I rested my head on the top of the cushions behind me. Now that I'd had time to calm down a little, I seriously considered what I was going to do. Probably little else was due to happen tonight, and I wasn't about to go looking for trouble at the moment, anyway. It was past my bedtime. It had apparently been past my bedtime before I ever went into El Peñasco. Las Américas was out, and I hated the thought of turning in at the smelly Del Mar. I'd had enough fighting, and I didn't want to fight cockroaches till morning. But, it appeared, it was the Del Mar or nothing.
I leaned against the door on my side and looked at María. The windows were rolled down and the balmy Acapulco breeze played with her dark hair. She glanced at me occasionally, her red lips curving with smiles as we talked on. She was dressed again, but even now she didn't look medium. She would never again look medium. And even sitting still, she seemed charged with vitality and energy.
"You're sure full of pep," I said. "What do you do with all that energy?"
"Well, I work a lot of it off in the show." She smiled quickly at me again. "And I swim a lot. Do a lot of water-skiing. This is a perfect place for it. You ski?"
"No. I—uh, suddenly don't like the water."
She laughed. "It's easy. Maybe I'll show you how sometime."
"Well, you showed me how to dance. Which reminds me—what happened after—afterward?"
She looked at me seriously then. "First, tell me—did those guys want to kill you? I thought it was a gag for a while."
I shook my head. "To tell you the truth, I'm not sure. They'd like to kill me, all right, but whether they meant to tonight or not, I don't know. The short, wide guy was hopped up. No telling."
"Well," she said, "the place cleared out in a hurry after you left." She grinned. "One minute the place was jammed, the next there were about four tables filled. People even left their drinks."
"Uh-huh. How'd that girl I was with act?"
María slanted her eyes over at me. "She acted a little goofy. Went around slapping people and raising hell. Slapped those guys that tossed you around. Even slapped me. Why should she slap me?"
I let that last bit ride. "This might be important, María. You'd say she acted as if she hadn't known what was coming off?"
"Naturally. I'd say everybody acted like that. I'd have pulled her hair out, only that guy took her away with him."
"What guy?"
"That big stupid-looking guy. One of your pals."
It might mean something and it might not. Stupid-looking was obviously George; it was natural that Gloria would go home with her husband. And I was pretty sure now that my swim had been an impromptu kick. I was thinking that there wasn't much left for me to do this night when María said, "Know yet where you want me to drive you?"
"I guess down in town someplace. I'll put up in some little hotel overnight. Stay out of sight till I can figure what to do next."
We talked a little longer as she drove slowly down toward town, and she asked me how come I seemed to be in trouble with such unsavory characters. I told her I was a detective and put her off with vague answers.
Finally she said, "Shell, in your own words, there's a billion creeps with guns who might be looking for you. And you just want to get out of sight overnight. I've rented a house not far from here. Down on the beach. If you want to, you could stay there. You should be quite safe there." She laughed again. "From the creeps."
It was funny, but the thought hadn't even occurred to me that María might have a place where I could stay. The idea must have been stewing in my subconscious, though, because I was certainly happy when she said that. I was tickled pink.
"You know what?" I said. "That sounds like the answer to practically all my problems."
I looked at María Carmen. This was the best offer I'd had all day. I looked closer, thought about her dancing, scooted nearer her on the seat, and took a real good look. No, by George, this was the best offer I'd had all year.
"Well, let's go," she said.
"Yes," I said. "Indeed yes. Can't you go any faster?"
12
MARÍA CARMEN'S rented house was a small place down on the beach a mile or two past town, right at the edge of the sea. She parked the Cad behind the house, then took me by the hand and pulled me up to the front door. Not that I was hanging back; she just pulled because she knew the way in the dark and was wasting no time herself.
Inside she shut the door, then flipped on the light.
"There," she said. "Here's your hideout. Like it?"
Frankly, a barn would have suited me fine at the moment. But the house was the kind of place you'd like to live in. The lighting was soft, indirect; colorful prints were on the walls, matching the bright hues of the comfortable divans and easy chairs. A woven-reed carpet covered the floor, and you could hear the sound of the surf a few yards from the door.
"Lovely," I told her. "I could hide out here for a year."
She smiled. "I'll only be here two months." She looked me over. "Boy, you look terrible. You better get into something dry."
I started trying to think of some gay reply, but she didn't give me time. She walked out of the room, then came back and grabbed me by the hand and pulled me after her. "Just turned the water heater on," she said. "You'll have hot water in five minutes." We were at another door and she opened it and pushed me into the bathroom. A large, tiled shower was in the corner.
"Climb in," she said. "Even in Acapulco you can catch a cold. Boy, I take good care of you, huh?"
"Yeah. Shower would feel good, at that." I waited for her to leave so I could undress.
She watched me, smiling pleasantly. "Well, you going to shower with your clothes on?"
"Oh, no. I never do that." She leaned against the wall, watching me. I said, "As a matter of fact, I usually take my showers alone, ha, ha."
She threw back her head and laughed. "Is that all that's bothering you?" She walked up to me and stopped, the
top of her head about on a level with my chin. She pointed to the shoulder holster that I still had on. "What's this for, a gun?"
"Yeah, sure."
She fiddled with the strap, slipped the gun harness off, then unbuttoned my shirt.
I grabbed it and hung on. "Whoa. Slow down. Look. I'll get it. I can handle it."
She grinned up at me. "I can handle it better than you can. Let go."
"No. No, I won't."
She sighed and said pleasantly, "All right, Shell. Hand it out the door to me."
"Hand it out the door!"
"Uh-huh. I'll go mix us a drink, if you're sure you can manage alone."
"I can manage alone. I mean, of course I can't manage alone . . . that is, hellfire, woman, I can get undressed by myself."
She grinned. "That's what I figured. You can hand your clothes out to me in complete privacy." She pinched me lightly on the chest and turned and went out.
I got undressed and turned the "C" faucet on. From my experience in Mexico I had learned that the C and F lettered on most faucets did not stand for "caliente," hot, and "fría," cold, but rather for "cold" and "freezing." However, the stream was warming up. María must have had an efficient heater. I was positive she had an efficient heater.
I adjusted the water a little as it got hotter, then wadded up my wet clothes and carried them over to the door.
"Yoo-hoo," I said.
I heard the tap-tap of María's high heels coming toward me. "Yoo-hoo, yourself. You got it warm for me?"
Warm? For her? Maybe that should have been my question. I said, "Well—"
She interrupted. "You finally get your clothes off?"
"Yes. Yes, I did. I—Whoops!"
She had opened the door a little and started groping around it for my clothes. She was one hell of a little groper. We both whoopsed and then I stuffed my clothes into her clutching little hand.
She was laughing outside the door like a gal having a happy fit, and between gurgles she said, "Just a minute. I'll bring you your drink."
She went tap-tapping away and in about a minute I heard her coming back. I got goose pimples all over. She wasn't tap-tapping now. Her feet sounded more as they had at El Peñasco when she'd been barefoot. Well, it was her house. I guessed she could go barefoot if she wanted. I swallowed. Hell, it was her shower.
She stuck her hand around the crack of the door again; this time her hand was already full. She held a tall highball glass like those for zombies. I didn't know what was in it, but I grabbed it with one hand, held her hand with my other one, and started swallowing. I didn't care what was in the drink; it was some kind of alcohol. Besides, I felt a little like a zombie. I got rid of the whole drink while I held her hand, then I put the glass back in her palm and said, "More."
"Whoops!" she said. Then, "Oh, one coming right up."
I had to laugh. She must have been holding two drinks, because in about half a second another glass floated around the door and I grabbed it.
"Thanks," I said. "This one yours?"
"You can have mine. I'll make another one for me."
Seemed like everything she said struck me funny. That one almost broke me up. I had a swallow of the drink and she padded off. I had another swallow, then climbed into the shower. I was starting to feel fine. Warm liquor inside me, warm water pouring over my skin, no hoods giving me a hard eye.
I didn't even hear her pad back. The door just opened and she walked in. It was quite apparent that she was going to take a shower. She didn't shower with her clothes on, either. She had one of those tall highball glasses in her hand and she swung the door shut behind her and casually tasted her drink.
She grinned at me. "I see you made it."
I said something that even I didn't understand.
She finished her drink and put it on a little dressing table, spotted the rest of my highball, and brought it over to me. She asked, "Want the rest of this?"
"Yes, please. Thank you. I believe I do. I'm positive I do." I finished the drink. She took the glass, turned around, and put it on the dressing table. Water was streaming in my open mouth. Then she turned around and advanced on me. That is the only word. She advanced.
"Move over, Shell, honey. Give María a little room."
I moved over. I moved clear over into the corner. But I knew when I was whipped. "Sure," I said. "Come on in. The water's fine."
She stepped into the stream of water. "Mmmm," she sighed. "It feels good."
I didn't know quite what to say, but I definitely wanted to say something. I didn't want to just stand there. If I just stood there, María was apt to think I was a very unworldly oaf. However, this seemed to be one of those times when finding the just-right phrase was difficult.
"Well," I said. "Ah, María, you're looking well."
She didn't answer. She picked up the soap.
I tried again. "My," I said. "You certainly have a lovely little place here. You have a charming little place."
"Water sure does feel good," she said. "Do my back."
Well, by God, if she didn't want to talk, we wouldn't talk. I'd do her back. I did her back. I did this and that and the other, and she kept on saying, every once in a while, "Mmmm, sure feels good."
Finally the water started getting cold, and the thought came into my mind that I'd had just about enough of interruptions by bellhops, hanging from terraces, and trying to carry on light conversations in showers.
"Baby," I said, "let's get out of these cramped quarters."
We did. She pranced into the darkened bedroom and managed to beat me to the bed. Barely.
This little acrobat was incredible. I had seen nothing at the club when she'd been dancing, nothing at all. That had been the calisthenics before the game, and this was for the championship.
I knew there was an open window behind me, and there was always the chance that a fiendish hoodlum was peering in here with a gun and getting ready to plunk me. It didn't bother me. There could have been ten hoodlums there with bazookas, and as far as I was concerned, they'd have been no place. That seemed like the life I'd left behind me, and I knew I didn't have long to live, anyway.
Time passed, filled with strange adventures that rocked my belief in the laws of probability. For that matter, in the laws of possibility. Finally it became still and quiet, like a grave. Perhaps, I thought, it was death.
Later María Carmen said, "Shell?"
"Ah," I said. "There you are."
"Shell," she said.
"Yes?"
"Get up and turn on the light."
"Get up and turn on the light. Oh, boy. Sure. Get up and turn on the light. What makes you think I can move? I sprained something. I sprained everything."
"Shell."
"Yes?"
"You know what I am?"
"Yeah. You're a spy for the syndicate. You've sabotaged me. Now they're gonna get the world."
"I don't know what you're talking about. I mean, what I am is ruined. You've ruined me. It's a cinch I can't turn on the light."
"The hell with the stinking light. I don't want to see any light ever. I want it always nice and dark."
"Shell."
"Yeah?"
"Good night, Shell."
"Good night, María."
And that was the end of our conversation. The only thought I had before falling asleep was that María Carmen was going to do very little dancing tomorrow.
13
THIS WAS A MORNING that I would gladly have skipped. María Carmen was in the shower singing "Ta Ra Ra Boom De Ay," a regular little bundle of jolly energy, and I had managed to slide one foot almost to the floor. I was reaching for the carpet with my toes, carefully, when she came out of the bathroom wearing a satin robe. She looked as fresh and sparkling as dew. She was bright and lovely. And she was too bloody cheerful.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and peered at me. "Hi! How's my boy?"
I didn't answer her; she could tell by looking. The feeling I had was a brand new
kind of hangover compounded of my drinks at Las Américas and El Peñasco, sea water, shower water, and whatever María had plyed me with, plus various odds and ends.
She peered at me some more. "Ugh. Your eyes look horrible."
"You should see them from the inside."
"You mean you can see out of those?"
"I can see a color."
"Uh-huh. Bet I know what color."
"Skip it. I can't bear to think about it. Or to look at it" I closed my eyes. "What day of the week is it? And what time is it?"
"Eleven o'clock Wednesday morning, the thirtieth of April, 1952. The sun is shining, the sea is blue, the little—"
"Oh, shut up. Just so the world's still there."
She laughed. "It's still there. Get up and I'll fix you a big breakfast."
I groaned. "Don't go to any trouble. Just bring me a plate of bourbon."
She went off and came back in two minutes with a fizzing Alka Seltzer and another concoction, both of which I drank, not caring. She sat on the bed and held my hand. I told her while she was at it to take my pulse.
It took about an hour, but by noon I'd eaten and pulled myself together. It was quite a job, as I felt as if I'd been scattered all over, but I was a reasonable facsimile of Shell Scott by the time María said to me, "What are you going to do today, my savage?"
"I'm not sure, little flame thrower"—we had several pet names for each other by this time—"but I'm getting some ideas. Right now I'd like to use your bedroom for half an hour."
She grinned. "Only half an hour?"
"In absolute and complete privacy," I explained. "I want to think. In case you didn't know, I am also a thinker. So how about excusing me for thirty minutes or so?"
She pouted prettily. "I thought we could go swimming. Or water-skiing. I could teach you."
"You're good, huh?"
"I'm an expert water-skier. Really, I am. I could teach you easy."
"Some other time. Right now I must solve the problems of the world."
Darling, It's Death Page 9
