“I’m not sure I follow you.” Ragore said, and Reggie saw his eye slide involuntarily toward Mimi. It slid only so far and then whipped back to Big Foot. “I mean, what kind of bets do you handle?”
“Horse bets, horse bets,” Big Foot said, irritably: “Where you been all your life? Get awake! We ain’t running no church social. We got protection, right up to the super of police. And I want Reggie to be my boy. I want him to line up these chumps in his club and give ’em good honest service.”
“That’s the kernel of the matter,” Reggie said excitedly to Ragore. “There’s a frightful amount of money to be made.”
“Money, money, that’s it,” Big Foot yelled cheerfully, and jabbed Ragore in the ribs.
“We’ll have to think about it,” Ragore said, backing away nervously.
“Sure think it over, take all the time you want, but lemme know by tonight, right?”
“Er—right,” Ragore said.
His left eye slid over to Mimi again and Big Foot let out a squeal of laughter and jabbed him again in the ribs. “Ripe, eh?” he bellowed.
Downstairs they stopped for a cup of coffee. Ragore wiped his forehead and gazed at Reggie despairingly. “That man is a gangster,” he said. “You can’t get mixed up with him. You’ll end your days in jail.”
“I was afraid there’d be a hitch,” Reggie said, moodily. “You see no hope for the deal, eh?”
“None whatsoever,” Ragore said. “The man is a beast, and that girl—”
“A bit of all right, eh?” Reggie grinned.
Ragore cleared his throat. “Gentlemen don’t discuss such things, old boy. However, I think I might go so far as to say she has an unusually large amount of—er—animal appeal.”
THAT NIGHT Reggie took the Genii out to the Ardleighs’. There was no other course. He had a date with Deborah and Ragore insisted on coming along.
However, to his total surprise, Ragore and old man Ardleigh struck it off famously. They talked of business, and of finance, and licked their lips as the powerful, mighty words of the trade marts rolled from their mouths.
In the library after dinner the three men sat over brandy while Deborah was freshening her makeup.
“You know, an idea occurred to me today,” Ragore said, ruminatively. He sipped brandy and took a long pull on his cigar. “The parking problem in the center of your city is acute. However, I wondered if anyone has thought of utilizing the space atop office buildings.”
Mr. Ardleigh frowned and rubbed his chin. “You may have something there.”
“A hydraulic lift could be built at the rear of the buildings, perhaps,” Ragore said.
Ardleigh hunched forward, elbows on his knees, and looked into the fire with a thoughtful frown. “Perhaps. Rampways zigzagging all the way up would be more expensive, but it would allow faster handling.”
Reggie had listened proudly to Ragore’s proposal. This might show Ardleigh that he had some clever friends.
“I say, I think the idea is capital,” he cried.
Ragore and Mr. Ardleigh exchanged a significant look before turning to Reggie. “I’m glad you approve,” Ardleigh said, and turned back to Ragore.
“Two men with sufficient means might investigate this problem,” Ragore said.
“My thought, exactly. Reggie.”
“Yes.”
“Supposing you wait in the foyer for Deborah. Mr. Ragore and I are going to talk this matter over and you might find it boring.”
“Oh, I won’t be bored,” Reggie said, cheerfully. “It sounds like pots of money are going to be made and I’d like to hear about it.”
“Reggie, we wish to discuss this in private, if you please,” Ragore said.”
Reggie sighed and went and stood in the foyer. When Deborah came down the steps he grinned and blew her a kiss.
“My, you look pretty,” he said.
“Thanks. Where’s father and Mr. Ragore?”
“Oh. Oh they’re talking business. Very dull sort of stuff,” Reggie said. He had decided to put on a brave front. “I left them to it.”
When he brought Deborah back later that night he found the two men standing at a large table on which were scattered sheets of paper covered with figures and diagrams of a weird nature. He discovered then that Ragore had made plans to move into the Ardleigh home to facilitate closer contact with Mr. Ardleigh on his business venture.
Reggie realized sadly that he had lost his Genii. Not that Ragore had been any good to him, but Reggie had found him and he felt a sense of loss now that old man Ardleigh was taking over.
He said goodnight listlessly to Deborah and wended his way homeward.
As he was crossing the street to his club a strange thing happened—a thing that made him pause and reflect.
A car driven at high speed roared out from nowhere and nearly ran him down. Only Reggie’s startled agility saved him and even then he would have knocked into eternity if the driver hadn’t swerved at the last second to avoid striking a fire plug.
The car went down the empty street and Reggie staggered on toward the club, his heart thumping madly.
It wasn’t the narrowness of the escape that unnerved him.
It was the fact that the driver of the car was a young man with a bored face—the same young man he had seen earlier in the day in Big Foot Maguire’s apartment.
What did that mean?
It was this question that Reggie carried uneasily to his bed.
THE NEXT morning he dressed hurriedly and went downstairs still unnerved by what had happened the night before. He had the gloomy conviction that everything in his life was going to the dogs.
Preparing to leave the club for a reviving stroll he saw something that made him start like a neurotic rabbit. Standing across the street with a cigarette in his thin lips was the bored young man from Big Foot’s apartment.
Reggie pursed his lips thoughtfully and tried to control the nervous trembling of his fingers. Somehow, deep in his subconscious, Reggie knew that if this bored young man had attempted to kill him the night before that his present attitude was not one of chummy good cheer.
For a moment or two Reggie watched the bored looking man across the street. The man was sucking on a toothpick and seemed totally uninterested in anything in the world. But his eyes never left the club entrance.
Reggie turned and went hastily to his room. The phone was ringing as he entered. He scooped it up and said hello.
“Reggie, this is Mimi! Kid, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
Mimi! Big Foot’s girl! Reggie loosened his collar nervously. “What didn’t you think I had in me?” he asked suspiciously.
“Why the guts to turn the heat on rat! Kid you gave Big Foot a hot foot with a blow torch! And I love you for it.”
“I say,” Reggie said feebly. “I—I don’t know what you mean.”
Mimi laughed gaily. “You know, all right. You’ll probably get ventilated in about sixty-eight places for what you did, but I say it’s worth it! I’ve taken that big ox’s guff for so long that it’s a pleasure to see him on the receiving end.”
“Now just a minute,” Reggie cried.
“Look, kid, I can’t talk anymore. I’ll probably never see you again—nobody will after a while, I suppose—but you’re a dead game character and we could have made sweet music together, if you dig me.”
Reggie peered at the receiver as if he expected to find there some explanation for all this nonsense. “Now listen to me,” he said, taking a firm stand. “What’s all this business about nobody seeing me anymore?”
“Oh, you sweet cluck,” Mimi said softly. “You’re trying to play dumb. Big Foot’ll get you if he has to spend a lifetime at it. G’bye, baby, I can’t talk anymore.”
The connection was broken with a dry and final click. Reggie shrugged in bewilderment. Who could make any sense from that hysterical creature?
The door opened while he was pondering the matter and Ragore strolled in. The Genii was wearing a new
suit, a dark worsted with a narrow pin stripe, and carrying a walking stick. He was impeccably groomed, freshly shaved, and looked as if he might begin purring any minute from sheer blank contentment.
“Well,” Reggie said.
Ragore raised an eyebrow and surveyed him calmly. “You sound out of sorts, old chap. I just dropped in to say goodby. Mr. Ardleigh and I are in business now, you know, so I won’t be seeing you any more, I fear. We signed the papers this morning and arranged for the necessary financial backing to inaugurate our enterprise, and so—” Ragore smiled contentedly, not bothering to finish the sentence.
“You’re all set, eh?” Reggie said moodily. “Money, friends, all the best, eh? No need for me anymore.”
“Actually, I never needed you, old man,” Ragore said.
“Well, who let you out of the vase?”
RAGORE shrugged. “A temporary inconvenience. Not that I’m not grateful, understand, but I have been rescued on other occasions by more intelligent and socially acceptable people.”
“Wait a minute,” Reggie said, suddenly, as the Genii turned to the door. “I just had a call from Mimi, Big Foot Maguire’s girl?”
“Yes?” Ragore turned back eagerly and while he didn’t actually drool, he created the impression that he would at the slightest provocation.
“She jabbered away about some trouble I’m supposed to be in with Big Foot. And last night one of Big Foot’s men—the bored chap—tried to run me down in his automobile.” Reggie regarded the Genii with a new and awful suspicion. “Do you know anything about that?”
“Why, of course,” Ragore said, pulling on his gloves. “I called the police as a matter of public duty after our interview with him yesterday. I explained to them the nature of his proposal to you, and mentioned his other operations in this area. They were quite grateful, I must say.”
“Oh!” Reggie smiled in understanding. “Well that explains that.” And then another thought struck him squarely. “But, I say. If you called the police, then why is Big Foot after me?”
“Well, naturally, I didn’t give them my name,” Ragore said. “I called and used your name, of course. I had no intention of getting mixed up with that gang of thugs. Au revoir!”
Reggie sank into a chair and stared at the door that closed on Ragore’s erect and smartly tailored back. Now it was all hideously clear. Ragore, that prince of rats, had informed on Big Foot, using his, Reggie’s name. And Big Foot would not rest until he had run Reggie through a wringer and thrown what was left of him into the river.
Reggie stared disconsolately at his shoes. Everywhere he turned the future was black. Rising he tottered out of the room and down to the bar.
Three drinks failed to rally his shriveled spirits. He leaned limply against the bar, staring somberly at his long bony face, and wondered how much time he had left. That made him very sad and since he couldn’t break hours down into minutes anyway, he gave it up and went on with his drinking. By that afternoon Reggie had reached a state of heroic inebriation. He had forgotten in the mists of alcohol the exact nature of his problems. But while the details escaped him he still was aware that he was in a nasty pickle, and that it was all Ragore’s fault.
And so, sometime around dinner, as he was tossing off his fifteenth sidecar, it occurred to him that as a gentleman he was bound to settle things with the Genii. For several moments he turned that thought over and around. It was a pleasant one. And from some unknown depth in his subconscious the sidecars chased forth a streak of bold cunning and a series of wonderful ideas.
Giggling with pleasure he weaved his way to the telephones and put through a call to Big Foot Maguire’s apartment. The phone was answered by Mimi, the person he wanted to talk with, and congratulated himself on the success of his first move.
“Old girl,” he mumbled.
“Who’s this?”
“Ish Reggie. Old Reggie.”
“Oh.” Mimi’s voice softened. “What is it, kid?”
“Remember all that about sweet noise, making sweet noise together?”
“Well, yes—”
“Gotta see you, gotta see you right away,” Reggie said, hiccupping gently.
“Gosh, it’s an awful chance, Reggie.” She was silent a moment, then spoke hurriedly. “Okay, kid. I’ll meet you at the Drake. I have a room there, 609. Got that?”
“Check and check,” Reggie said happily.
Next he called the Ardleigh home and asked for Ragore.
“Well, old Genii,” he said, when Ragore answered. “How’re things?”
“What is it you wish?” Ragore said coldly.
“Look, chum,” Reggie said, tittering. “You know Mimi? Well, she goes for you. And I’m fixing things up for you tonight. Oke?”
Ragore cleared his throat. “Well, this is most sudden. Mimi, eh? Well—”
TWO HOURS later Reggie and Ragore presented themselves at the door of apartment 609 at the Drake. Mimi answered their knock and seemed surprised to see Ragore.
“Had to bring him along,” Reggie Muttered, winking broadly at her.
“Had to slip out the back of the club, too.”
“What is he, your bodyguard?”
Reggie laughed happily in lieu of an answer and then called room service. He ordered liquor, of all types, vintages, and potencies.
Mimi was dressed for an intimate occasion and she seemed slightly nettled at Ragore’s presence. She pulled the folds of her silk-mesh robe about her and sat down on a chaise lounge. There was very little under the robe, Reggie noted with approval. His interest was not personal. He was merely surveying the area with the detachment of a good general.
Ragore’s brown skin was tinted with an undertone of pink and he was breathing like a beached bass. His eyes bulged like a country bumpkins’ on a first visit to the Streets of Paris.
The liquor came and Reggie made drinks for all.
“Well, well,” he said. “This is a bit of it, eh?”
“Clubby,” Mimi said sourly.
The strained atmosphere loosened after a few drinks. Ragore did card tricks for Mimi and got her in a better mood, and Reggie pushed fresh drinks at them whenever the need arose.
Mimi sang a song from her days in show business and then danced about the room to music from the radio. The dance was very interesting, since it proved that by clever manipulation six square inches of silk could be made to seem to be in two places at once.
Eventually Mimi lay on the chaise lounge with her legs across Ragore’s lap, and he was fondling her hand and saying foolish things to her about undying affection.
Reggie giggled to himself and had another drink. Finally with a smothered laugh he took an object from his pocket—the slender vase in which he had found Ragore,
He sat down beside the chaise lounge and tugged at Mimi’s sleeve. “Look, old girl,” he said, brightly. “This chap here can do tricks that’ll knock the old eye out. Right, Ragore?”
Ragore blushed modestly. “Not really,” he said.
“He can get into this vase,” Reggie said, impressively.
“Aw, g’wan,” Mimi said.
“Well, he can.”
“You’re nuts! Get into that vase?” Mimi lay back and let out a peal of laughter. “What’re you giving me? This old character do that?”
Ragore said stiffly, “Age is not the important factor.”
“Yes, he can really do it,” Reggie said.
“G’wan.” Mimi swung her legs from Ragore’s Jap and got to her feet. “You’re not out with the girl scouts, kids.”
“Mimi, old girl, I wouldn’t lie to you. This chap is clever.”
“Well, let’s see him do it then.”
“Really,” Ragore said, grinning and looking modestly at the floor. “I don’t like to make a spectacle of myself.”
“Aw, you’re a faker,” Mimi muttered, making herself a drink. “If you can get in the vase, get in.” She stood in the middle of the room, swaying slightly, and staring at Ragore with sudden be
lligerence. “Yeah. Do it or don’t. I like people who stick to their word.”
“Very well,” Ragore said, standing. He patted her coyly on the cheek, and said, “I’ll do it, and I’ll do other things you’ll like later.”
“Fresh,” Mimi giggled.
Ragore straightened and closed his eyes and gradually his body began to shimmer and tremble. It wavered and lost its shape and Reggie saw with pleased surprise that the Genii had become transparent.
MIMI, HOWEVER, had turned to the bar at the start of the performance, and now she felt other compulsions, for she excused herself drunkenly and staggered out of the room.
Reggie took the stopper from the vase as the ectoplasmic smoke began billowing up in a thin stream, to curve finally into the mouth of the vase. Eventually the smoke disappeared and Reggie stoppered the vase with a lopsided grin.
“All shipshape?” he said.
Ragore’s voice, in answer, was tiny but smug. “Oh, quite. Is Mimi impressed?”
Reggie glanced around and saw that Mimi was gone. He giggled and shook his head with mirth.
“She went to the bathroom,” he said.
“Oh, I say,” Ragore said, in an injured voice. “Let me out of here then.”
Reggie sat down comfortably and lit a cigarette. He watched the smoke with a speculative smile.
Ragore spoke again: “Well, can you hear me? Let me out, I say.”
“Hardly, old boy,” Reggie said. “You made a mess of things for me, so I’m going to toss you back in the lake.”
“You cad!” Ragore screamed shrilly. “You can’t do that.”
“Well, I’ll have a try at it, anyway. Maybe I’ll weigh you down with a few pounds of lead this time to keep you from bobbing around.”
“No!” Ragore yelled.
“Oh, be a man about it,” Reggie said sharply. “Bite the bullet, stiff upper lip and all that. Don’t funk it. Sets a bad examples for the natives.”
Collected Fiction (1940-1963) Page 258
