The Essential Works of Norbert Davis

by Norbert Davis

  "Nothing you could say would interest me in the slightest, I assure you. Hold the line."

  Doan listened through a long series of clicks and buzzes and dribbles of conversation. Finally the operator said, "Here's your party, and you're welcome to him."

  "Hello, hello," said a masculine voice. "Hello. This is A. Truegold, president of Severn International Detectives."

  "You won't be for long," Doan said, "if you make any more lend-lease deals with me for the subject or object or whatever."

  "Oh. So it's you. Now Doan, nobody asked me to loan you to them. They told me. You want I should argue with the Army and Navy?"

  "All right. Send five hundred dollars to I. Doanwashi, care of the Double-Eagle Hotel in Heliotrope, Nevada or California. Telegraph it right away."

  "Now Doan, you're already drawn ahead three months. You can't expect to draw any more when you aren't even working for me. Why don't you be reasonable?"

  "Why don't you stop arguing? You know you'll lose. Send the dough tonight. I'm trying to raffle off a used cadaver, and I need it for operating capital."

  "Doan! A what did you say?"

  "Skip it. Just forget the whole matter. Only don't start yelling for me when the cops come rapping on your door and asking about stray bodies."

  "Doan! You didn't involve the agency in a murder? That's against our policy! It says so right on our stationery!"

  "Show it to the police."

  "Doan! Wait a minute! Don't you dare hang up on me! What name did you say you were using?"

  "I. Doanwashi."

  "Why?"

  "I'm a Japanese spy now."

  "Don't say things like that! Do you want to get us both shot? Doan! Are you drunk?"

  "Stinking. I'm liable to start babbling and drooling at any moment."

  "Oh, Doan! Now please. You've got no right to involve me or the agency... All right! I'll send it. But no more! I warn you! I won't tolerate any further blackmail from you!"

  "Okay. Is that little greasy bird who used to collect filthy postcards still hanging out in Des Moines?"

  "Meredith? Yes. Why?"

  "I want you to call him tonight, as soon as you send me my dough, and tell him to send a telegram to Harriet Hathaway in care of the Double-Eagle Hotel in Heliotrope, Nevada or California, whichever he knows how to spell. Have him tell her in the telegram to stay here until she is contacted for important detached confidential duty. Have him sign it with just his initials and last name, and tell him to put the letters C-A-P-T in front of the name. That stands for capitals."

  "It stands for something else, too," said Truegold. "It stands for captain."

  "Does it?" Doan asked.

  "Doan! I won't do it! No!"

  Doan cut the connection and nodded at the clerk.

  The clerk removed his earplugs. "Did you get your party?"

  "Yes. Put the charge on my room bill. Do you know anyone named Dust-Mouth Haggerty?"

  "Not socially," said the clerk.

  "I wasn't looking for a formal introduction. Where would I be likely to find him?"

  "In jail."

  "You mean right now?"

  "Almost any time."

  "Thanks," said Doan. "I'll go take a look." He snapped his fingers at Carstairs and started for the front door.

  A woman, trailed by a faint, dim shadow, came in and stopped short, staring at him. Doan stared back. He couldn't have helped himself had he tried. She was beautifully tall and beautifully slender, and she had shoulder length black hair that gleamed darker and deeper and smoother than polished ebony. She had features so unbelievably perfect they made you gulp and look again, and then keep right on gulping. She was wearing white linen slacks, and a white jacket trimmed with big brass buttons, and white open-toed pumps, and a red sash around her waist. She pulled all the life out of the lobby and focused it on herself, like a little boy sucking soda through a straw.

  "No," she said, and her voice was soft and just slightly hoarse. "There couldn't be two pair like you."

  "If I wasn't looking right at it," Doan answered, "I wouldn't believe there could even be one like you--"

  The faint, dim shadow behind the woman tiptoed closer and peered over her shoulder. The shadow owned a pair of wide, worried eyes and a long nose, and sported a white catalogue sombrero with a high crown circled by a purple and red band four inches wide.

  "A fat little number," said the woman, "with a big mouth and a bigger dog. Wasn't that it?"

  "Now, Sally," said the shadow. "Now, wait. There must be some reasonable explanation."

  Susan Sally glided forward three smooth steps. "I don't like fat little numbers. Especially fat little numbers that call me fat." She paused meaningly. "I don't like big dogs, either."

  Carstairs promptly walked around behind Doan.

  "You coward," Doan muttered. He smiled nervously. "I'm sorry about that. It was a mistake."

  "That's okay," Susan Sally said amiably. "Let's shake on it, huh?"

  She held out her right hand. Doan reached for it, but didn't take it. Instead he shoved her right elbow back and up with the heel of his palm. She had started to move just as soon as he had. She swung a full roundhouse left at his face. The shove pushed her off balance, and her fist swished harmlessly past in front of Doan's nose. She staggered a little, and Doan caught both her wrists, holding her upright, facing him. He was watching her feet.

  The shadow was gibbering and screeching in the background. "Hit her in the stomach!"

  "What?" said Doan, startled.

  The shadow jiggled both fists in an agony of apprehension. "Not in the face! Don't hit her face! Thirty-five hundred dollars a week!"

  Susan Sally was standing perfectly still, perfectly relaxed. Doan didn't let go of her wrists.

  "That doesn't fool me, either," he said. "And if you try a faint, I'll just step out of the way and let you flop,"

  "You think of everything, honey," said Susan Sally. "Let's have a peace conference, huh?"

  "Sure," said Doan, still holding her wrists.

  "I mean it."

  Doan let go. "Okay. I'm really sorry I said you were fat. I apologize."

  She winked at him. "I knew you didn't mean it. After all, you've got eyes, haven't you? I was just griped because you walked off with my special steak. What did you want it ground up for?"

  Doan pointed at Carstairs. "For him."

  "You mean, he ate it all?"

  "Sure."

  "Come on out, large and loop-legged," she said, "and let me look at you."

  Carstairs sidled cautiously out from behind Doan.

  "You're not bad," Susan Sally said. "Only you're not worth a three-pound steak. Walk off with another one of mine, and I'll kick your teeth in."

  Carstairs looked impressed."

  "MacAdoo!" said Susan Sally.

  The shadow with the big hat answered eagerly, "Yes, Sally?"

  "Trot out the etiquette."

  MacAdoo cleared his throat. "This is Miss Susan Sally, internationally famous star of the stage and screen. And may I ask your name, sir?"

  "Just call me Doan for short."

  "Miss Sally, may I present Mr. Doan--a humble admirer of your art."

  "Hi, toots," said Susan Sally.

  "Hi," said Doan. "Who's the echo on my left?"

  "Just a stooge," said Susan Sally. "I tote him around for laughs."

  "I am Miss Sally's business manager and agent," said MacAdoo. "Elmer A. MacAdoo is the name. I'm very happy to make your acquaintance."

  "Pipe down," Susan Sally told him. "What's your line, Doan? Aside from stealing steaks."

  "I'm a Japanese spy."

  "How's business?"

  "All shot to hell. We tried to float a loan, but it sank."

  "Maybe you can pump out the Pacific and recover your investment. Let's go have a slug of sake, Doan."

  "It's an idea," Doan admitted. "We'll toast the Emperor."

  "Over a slow fire," Susan Sally agreed.

  A new voi
ce said, "Excuse me, please."

  The man had come up so quietly they hadn't noticed him. He was the type of person it was easy not to notice. He was small and dusty and shriveled, and he had a long drooping black mustache and round, solemn blue eyes. He had a nickel-plated star pinned to his coat collar.

  "Excuse you for what?" Doan asked.

  "Excuse me for botherin' you. But I think I'm gonna have to arrest you. Do you mind?"

  "Not at all," said Doan.

  The man tapped himself on his thin chest. "Peterkin is the name. Ask anybody. I'm the sheriff. Ask Miss Sally."

  "Hello, scum," said Susan Sally.

  "Right nice to see you again, Miss Sally," Peterkin said humbly. "You went and parked your car in a red zone, and I have to give you a ticket."

  Susan Sally snapped her fingers in MacAdoo's direction. He produced a shiny new dime and handed it to Peterkin.

  "Thank you, Miss Sally," Peterkin said. "I'll sure tear that ticket right up."

  "You sure better had. And remember it gives only a nickel for the next one."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Harriet Hathaway ran in through the front door. "Mr. Doan! Oh, I've been looking everywhere! You didn't pay the bill at the restaurant, and Mr. Blue doesn't have any money, and the man won't let Mr. Blue go until the bill is paid, and I'm not through telling him about the Air Force yet, either!"

  "It's a problem," Doan agreed. He squinted thoughtfully for a moment and then took out his wallet and gave Harriet a five-dollar bill. "Here. And would you mind taking care of Carstairs for a little while?"

  "That nasty, ugly thing!" Harriet said. "Yes, I would!"

  Carstairs leered at her malignantly.

  Susan Sally slapped him across the muzzle. "Mind your manners!"

  Carstairs backed up, staring at Susan Sally with an expression of ludicrously incredulous amazement.

  "Yeah," she said. "I mean you."

  Carstairs sat down and blinked at her, obviously trying to think of some solution to the situation. He couldn't. He decided to ignore it. He lay down on the floor with great dignity and commenced to snore ostentatiously.

  "But I don't want to take care of him!" Harriet wailed. "I hate him!"

  "I'll help you," Susan Sally told her. "Doan, who's this fugitive from a select seminary?"

  "Harriet Hathaway," Doan said.

  MacAdoo stepped forward and cleared his throat. "This is Miss Susan Sally, internationally famous star of the stage and screen. Miss Sally, may I present Miss Hathaway, a humble--"

  "How do you do," Harriet said absently. "Mr. Doan, how long are you going to be gone?"

  Doan looked at Peterkin. "What am I arrested for?"

  "Attempted murder, I guess."

  "A couple of hours," Doan said to Harriet.

  "Well, I suppose I can--Wh-what? Arrested?"

  "Just a formality," Doan soothed.

  "A-attempted murder?"

  "Not a very good attempt," said Doan.

  "But--but--but--Oh, Mr. Doan!"

  "Take a deep breath, kiddie," Susan Sally said, "and mama will let you tell her all about the cute little Air Force. See you in jail, Doan."

  Chapter 6

  DOAN AND PETERKIN CAME OUT OF THE Double Eagle Hotel and walked north along the main street toward the older and dimmer part of town.

  "You want I should walk behind you?" Peterkin asked. "So people won't know you're arrested-like?"

  "I can stand it if you can," Doan told him. "I was thinking of going to jail anyway as soon as I got around to it. Is Dust-Mouth Haggerty there?"

  "I don't know."

  "Who could I ask that would?"

  "Oh, we'll find out when we get there. Dust-Mouth checks in and out at sort of odd hours."

  "I see," said Doan. "Why?"

  "He lives there."

  "Lives in j ail?" Doan asked.

  "Yup," said Peterkin.

  "All right," said Doan. "Why?"

  "Well, he ain't got no place else to live."

  "Sure," said Doan. "Why?"

  "The government went and stole his claim. That was an awful dirty trick to play on Dust-Mouth. He never did any harm to anybody. He never even voted in his life."

  Doan sighed. "Okay. Do you know a character by the name of Free-Look Jones?"

  "Sure."

  "What business is he in?"

  "He's a private detective."

  Doan stopped short. "Oh, now wait a minute."

  "I guess he has a couple of other jobs, too," Peterkin admitted. "I guess he's a sort of an agent or salesman in his spare time."

  Doan started on again. "I should hope so. You know, I'd keep an eye on him if I were you"

  "Would you?" Peterkin inquired, interested.

  "Yes. He looks to me like the sort of a guy who would cheat at cards."

  "Oh, he does. All the time."

  "What if someone caught him at it?"

  "He'd run, likely."

  "Maybe he might not," Doan said. "Maybe he'd haul out that knife he carries and use it."

  "Maybe," Peterkin agreed gravely.

  "A really alert law officer," Doan said, "would sort of think of those things and go out and look over his shack once in awhile."

  "What for?" Peterkin asked.

  "To see if he could find any--ah--clues."

  "What are them?"

  "Clues? Evidence."

  "Like in court?"

  "Sort of."

  "Oh," said Peterkin.

  They turned into a narrower street that wasn't quite so fearfully lighted. A small, towheaded boy marched toward them. He had his head down and his shoulders hunched, and he was kicking the walk hard with his heels.

  "What's the trouble, Joey?" Peterkin asked.

  The boy looked at them with his lower lip thrust out an inch. "Aw, them big kids. They won't let me play with 'em. I don't never have no fun."

  "Aw, now," Peterkin soothed. "I'll tell you something you can do that'll just be more fun than the dickens."

  "What?" said the, boy, skeptically.

  "Well, you see that rock over there? Suppose you take that and sneak up on Schmaltz's Variety Store and heave it through the front window. There'll be a big smash and crash, and people will holler and everything."

  "Gee," said the boy, entranced.

  Doan and Peterkin walked on. The boy was contemplating the rock with glistening, eager eyes.

  "You don't like Schmaltz?" Doan asked.

  "Huh? Why, sure I do. Schmaltz is one of my friends."

  "Why the business with the rock and the window?"

  "Oh, that's for the S.E.C."

  "Securities Exchange Commission?"

  "Nope. Society to Encourage Crime. It's an organization just for police officers."

  "Umm," said Doan. "What does it do?"

  "Like it says, encourages crime."

  "Why?" said Doan wearily.

  "Say, did you ever think what would happen if everybody turned honest all of a sudden?"

  "No," said Doan.

  "All police officers would lose their jobs, that's what! That's why we got the S. E. C. We got to keep a supply of criminals comin' along all the time so there'll be a big demand for police officers. Now you take Joey there. We start 'em out easy, like I did him. He starts bustin' windows. He sees how easy it is. So pretty soon he starts bustin' windows and stealin' the stuff inside. Get it?"

  "Oh, sure. Big oaks from little acorns. Does Susan Sally come here very often?"

  "Sure. Lots."

  "Why?"

  "She used to live here. She comes back to sort of show us how wrong we was."

  "About what?"

  "Well, she used to go around tellin' everybody how pretty she was gonna be when she grew up, and everybody laughed at her because she sure was an ugly little mutt. She ain't now, though."