The Crazy Mixed-Up Corpse

by Michael Avallone

  “Your ladybird has flown too. With or without him. I couldn’t tell in the dark.” She giggled. “I have to admit all I was thinking of was someplace to hide.”

  “It was a fine idea, Penny. You don’t suppose we could find the back way out of here too –”

  “We could try. I don’t want to see any policemen.”

  The racket was getting louder. I stuck my head out in the hallway and reached over to the ugly little corpse hanging over the railing. I pulled my P38 from his dead fingers and put it in my armpit holster. Now I had it again. What every one seemed to want so badly.

  I’d hardly jumped back inside when a hail of lead whistled up and thudded terrifying close into the bannister, the ceiling and the walls. The body hanging over the wooden rail shuddered with the impact of more lead. To the cops down below, he must have looked as if he were leaning over to take some potshots.

  I could also hear footsteps stealthily coming up the stairway.

  “Come on, Penny, Time’s awastin’.” I took hold of her hand and ran her out of the room, through the tiny kitchen. There was a back door. I tried it cautiously then swung it open. A small dark hallway lay behind it. There were piling boxes and old orange crates stacked carelessly in general disorder. But there was also an old stairway. We took it. The sounds behind us grew muffled and dim. The cops would find this way out eventually, but too late to do anything about it because they necessarily had to travel a helluva lot slower and more carefully.

  Penny was losing her breath rapidly, but she hung on until we were down the steps about three flights where I found another door that led into a basement that looked at least a block long. I didn’t stop to check the scenery because now I couldn’t hear any more cop noises at all. It was a long haul, but pretty soon we had reached the end of the basement and another door. Something jumped in my chest. There was a dazzle of street lights and I could catch a few small stars through a grating above the door.

  But Penny had hit her limit. She fell against me, a sob forcing itself out of her slim, white throat.

  “Ed, Ed – I’m beat – can’t make it –”

  I caught her up in my arms. She folded gratefully in them.

  “Easy. We’re almost there. Penny, where do you live? I’ll get you home. I need a breather too. Time to think –”

  Her mouth whispered the address in my ear. I nodded to show I’d heard, got the door open and helped her up rusty metal stairs. The night air was cold and wonderful, as gratifying as a plunge into the surf. Penny swayed in my arms on the sidewalk as my eyes searched for a cab. I looked around. I recognized warehouse buildings, office structures and part of the skyline. As I’d figured. We were in the West Thirties. Way west. I heard a barge whistle hooting out on the Hudson. That kind of neighbourhood seldom sees a street walker at any time of the night.

  I flagged down a cab and helped Penny Darnell inside. As she settled back against the cushions, I shot the address to the cabbie and he gave me a look of shrugging envy. I didn’t give a damn. He was better than cop company any time.

  In less than twenty minutes, we had reached Penny Darnell’s apartment house. She had gotten her second wind and when we reached her fourth-floor apartment, she opened the door herself.

  We dragged ourselves into a clean, bright little foyer. It looked as welcome to me as a filled stocking did on Christmas morning when I was a scrawny kid. But I was a man now. A grown man.

  The door had hardly closed behind us when Penny Darnell came at me with a rush, melted in my arms and threw her bright, piquant face up to mine. Her shining eyes were filling with tears.

  “Ed,” she whispered hoarsely. “We could have been killed tonight. It was close, awful close. And suddenly time doesn’t mean a damn thing. And I’m not going to wait like a proper Jane for you to ask me –”

  I closed her mouth with a kiss. And her music-box voice tinkled with soft, warm, happy laughter. And her flesh throbbed with desire.

  “Love me, Ed.”

  I didn’t wait, I swung her trim body into my arms.

  EIGHTEEN

  It was quite a night. Being a private operator has many disadvantages. And cold, lonely nights are no strangers to Ed Noon. Sometimes you’re staked out in a car for hours waiting for your man. Other nights you stand huddled in a doorway smoking one cigarette after the other. Unlucky nights they have you down at Headquarters grilling your head off. The hours in this racket are terrible. Overtime is the rule rather than the exception. And the Penny Darnells are few and far between. And nights like the one I spent in her place are something to write home about because it’s really news. She’d been right under my nose for years and it had taken this crazy case to get us together.

  It was a different night all around.

  She must have awakened before I did, because when I opened my eyes several eternities later, morning sunlight was washing through the nice frilly curtains on the windows and the spectacular smell of fresh coffee wafted out from the next room. I yawned and stretched my legs, thinking slowly and deliciously. I stared at the clean yellow walls of the room, enjoying the unbeatable combination of not having to rush off any place and of being with her.

  But the coffee smell began to smack my nose, and with it came awareness and a remembrance of the rat race rodeo of the night before. Suddenly I was seeing Ace, Carver Calloway Drill and all the dead bodies in that loft building. And the stark photos of the butchered T. T. Thomas paraded before my mind. I groaned. I was wide awake now, thinking of Holly Hill and something that Penny Darnell had told me. I swung out of the heavenly bed and reached for my shoes.

  “You up, Ed?” Her bright voice sang gaily out from what must have been the kitchen.

  I sleepily mumbled a reply and suddenly she was standing in the doorway, radiant and freshly pretty in a corduroy duster. Her alive eyes twinkled.

  “You don’t sleep much, do you?”

  I smiled. “That’s nothing for a girl to complain about, is it?”

  “Stinker.” She wrinkled her nose. “How do you lik your eggs?”

  “Sunny side. But come here first.”

  She did. She sat down in my lap and ringed her arms around my neck. I said hello the only way you should say hello to a beautiful girl.

  “Ed –” She pushed me away gently. “I have the feeling you’re going to run right out of here and take up where you left off. Mixing with those horrible people. Why do you do it?”

  “Why do fish swim? And why does a doll like you have to wait on tables?”

  “Do you have to be a private detective? You could get killed –”

  “I could. But I’m half nuts, you know. I just flip for this racket. It’s in my blood. Guess I’ll be a detective till I’m old and grey.”

  Her eyes flashed. “If you get the chance to get old and grey.”

  “How about those eggs?”

  She eased off my lap. She was a smart girl. She knew I was changing the subject and she let me.

  “In a minute. There’s a big green towel for you in the bathroom.” She bounced back into the kitchen.

  It took me fifteen minutes to shave and clean up and finish dressing. I made a new dressing for my healing side. It felt much better. By the time I got out to the kitchen, my plate was loaded down with two big smiling eggs and a steaming cup of coffee right by its side. It was a perfect picture that I hated to spoil with a fork. But I was hungry. I dug right in.

  She was having the same. But before she joined me, she had a question. “Ed, take your time. But would you mind telling me what this whole business is about?”

  I didn’t mind at all. I told her. All the way from the beginning, when Monks had called me about my gun and licence, to the shooting down of the Longs and Holly Hill’s invasion of my office. When I sailed into an account of the fire and all the details about the peculiar corpse that had been dumped into Monks’s lap, I had her eyes popping. I told her all about my being in the hospital and the strip routine that Holly Hill had put me through. By
that time, I had finished my eggs, soaked up the last piece of toast and was starting on another cup of coffee. Naturally, I let the story hang where she had come in.

  Penny Darnell was a smart cookie. She didn’t say ooh and aah but asked a lot of sensible questions.

  “So somebody made the corpse very hard to identify on purpose? Or do you think it was just a real nasty way of killing somebody?”

  “Could be.” I sipped my java. “A grudge killing would account for a corpse being marked up so badly. But I wouldn’t bet on it. Old T. T. was done up brown for the cops to find for a very good reason. I don’t know just what. But according to the big Mr. Drill he was carrying the straight line to a big treasure of some kind that obviously means a lot of dough.”

  Penny shuddered in her robe. But not from cold.

  “Why did they persecute the Longs like that? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Not right off,” I admitted. “One reason could be was that they knew Tom Long knew T. T. Thomas and could have mentioned it to the cops. If keeping Old T.T.’s identity secret was important, then it figures. But it could be that Ace was just trying to throw a scare into him so he’d produce whatever T.T. had left with him. Ace was careless with that tommy-gun. It isn’t the easiest gun in the world to handle. He must have had it run away on him. He just wanted to shoot over our heads. Don’t forget he wasn’t shooting at Tom Long. Maybe threatening the kids would have made Tom jump in line and fork the wallet over to Holly and Ace. But Tom is an honourable man. He thought the wallet was mine and he wasn’t handing it to any strangers.”

  Penny shook her head. “But Holly didn’t know about the wallet until after she’d seen you. And that was after the shooting if I remember right.”

  It suddenly hit me. “Bless your eyes, that’s right. Well, that clears something up. Ace and Holly knew that Long had something and were starting to pressure him in their own way. Maybe that also explains Drill’s blowing up the shop.”

  “That’s real screwy,” Penny said. “I don’t get that.”

  “Move over. You’ve got company.”

  She stirred her coffee absent-mindedly.

  “I read stuff like this in the comic books. And here I am – right in the middle of it in real life.”

  I grinned. “I’ve stuck your pretty neck out far enough already. Now you can stay in the background and cheer from the sidelines.”

  “That’s not fair,” she pouted. “I’ve already got a trench coat invested. And I kind of like you. Can’t I help?”

  “Yes, it’s not fair. I’ll square the trench coat with you. Yes, I like you too. And no – you’ve done enough already.”

  She got up from her chair and came around to mine. She settled down on my lap again. Damn. I was getting to like it more and more. She was a real cure for my aching head.

  She braced her hands behind my neck and looked at me.

  “Ed – Drill and that Holly both want what you’ve got. That dollar bill of T. T. Thomas is going to cause you a lot of grief.”

  “It might very well make me a millionaire,” I reminded her. “Also, I want to solve Monks’s crazy mixed-up corpse for him. I want to get in real solid with the police department again. In my racket, it helps.”

  “Okay,” she sighed. “Rush off and do what you have to do.” Her bright eyes burned into mine. “But you will remember the address, won’t you?”

  I smiled. “Cross my forty-fives and hope to die.” We kissed. Kissed and clung like autumn leaves on a wet walk in Central Park. I shoved her gently off my lap before we could get out of hand again.

  She saw me to the door, her hand closed in mine. And I was coming to the end of a perfect experience.

  I stepped through the door quietly and looked at her once more.

  She smiled and her voice tinkled.

  “Ten-twenty Armitage apartments,” she said. “Apartment Four E. And don’t like her too much. I’m the jealous type.”

  The door closed in my face before I could come back with anything. I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it.

  She was some dame all right. She had given me Holly Hill’s address just in case I’d forgotten it. But I hadn’t. I blew a kiss at the closed door and wondered at my luck running into such a heads-up article as Penny Darnell.

  As I walked slowly down the stairs, full of her good breakfast and best wishes, I idly wondered how Holly Hill was making out with Carver Calloway Drill.

  I didn’t know it then. But she was headed for the last round-up.

  NINETEEN

  It was a beautiful October morning when I hit the street. I looked up just once before heading for the corner of Fifth Avenue. Penny Darnell was waving from her bedroom window. She and the frilly curtains made a terrific combination. I waved back.

  Making the date with her in the restaurant was rapidly turning out to be one of the smartest moves of my life. I’d almost gotten her killed but everything had worked out fine, like in the movies. So far.

  I found what I was looking for on the corner. A drugstore. Three telephone booths were lined up like soldiers on the street side of the big glass store front. I went into the store and took the booth nearest the door.

  Dialling Headquarters, I asked for Captain Monks. The switchboard cop started to give me the quiz routine about my business and reasons for calling. Telling him who I was got quicker action than a rent increase. Monks got on the wire in about five seconds flat.

  He wasn’t only fast. He was loud too. Good and loud. And mad. Madder than I’d ever known him.

  “I’m so very glad you finally found a dime someplace, Mr. Noon.” Sarcasm had found a home in his voice. “Where the hell are you?”

  “Mars,” I snapped. “And if you don’t start sounding as if you’re glad to hear from me, I’ll hang up, so help me.” I had no business jumping on him, but I can’t stand loud voices in the morning.

  “Ed.” His tone was weary all of a sudden, and disgusted. “You just can’t keep operating like this. You just can’t keep calling the shots. And after practically begging you on my hands and knees to co-operate, to play ball, you pull a cute deal like last night.”

  “Mike, will you slow down? I don’t get you.”

  There was a deadly pause at the other end of the wire. I could have sworn he was counting up to ten. And slowly.

  “Okay.” His voice was still tired. “You’re not Ed Noon. You’re not the guy I had followed to the Blue Turkey last night. You’re not the guy who picked up a girl in the restaurant around the corner. Nor are you the man who was dumped unconscious into a car with white-wall tyres in the back alley. My man lost the trail and you’d be a dead duck right now if I hadn’t had your office staked out. So when we followed the character that let himself in and out again, he led us right to the joint where we found the same car with white-wall tyres. A joint where we also found three dead people. Of course you weren’t there, so how could you know anything about it? If I’m boring you, please interrupt me.”

  “I’ll thank you later. What else are you mad about?”

  He had lost all his famous patience. His bull roar into the mouthpiece made my ear vibrate.

  “What the hell was that guy turning your office upside down for? Looking for a dime he lost? And why didn’t you hang around to explain that shooting gallery we found in that joint, instead of beating it out the back way?”

  “Michael –”

  “Don’t Michael me. One stiff was tommy-gunned, another had caught a thirty-eight slug. And the third one cashed in because someone hit him over the head with a chair. Now I want the whole truth and nothing but or I’m hanging up and putting out an APB on you and when we find you, it’s your licence again. And this time for keeps. If you want to get your mail at Ossining, just start giving me double talk. I’m giving you the straight goods. Take it for what it’s worth.”

  I let him hammer me good and waited for him to catch his breath. He’d been breathing fire and needed watering down real bad. I also remembered he was
a guy who’d almost been killed just the day before.

  “How’s your head?” I asked softly.

  “Fine,” he growled. “And I’m still waiting for your story.”

  “Okay.” I sighed. “Now let me do the talking. Without interruptions, if you please.”

  He knew me pretty well too because all he said was, “Shoot.”

  I shot. For the second time that morning, I threw the bull about T. T. Thomas’s dollar bill. But where I had left off with Penny Darnell, I continued for Monks. I gave him all of it with the cast of characters included, making it pretty plain how ugly little Luke had killed Ace with one blast from my own P38 and how Holly Hill had machine-gunned him down in the best eye-for-an-eye tradition. It was also pretty obvious that Miss Hill swung a mean wooden chair. She had crowned the guy hard enough to kill him.

  My ton of facts seemed to please Monks. He had calmed down to a point where he wasn’t shouting any more. Just growling.

  “Okay. You’ll have to say it all over again for a police steno. And sign on the dotted line. If the facts check out, I’ll give you a clean bill of health. But the facts better check out.”

  “Thank you, sir.” I couldn’t resist the dig. “Tell me, now that we’re pals again, anything come in on that carved-up stiff of yours?”

  “Still shooting blanks. Why?”

  I took a deep breath.

  “His name is T. T. Thomas. And he hails from Texas. You know, like deep in the heart of. He and this Drill guy seem to have found a lost mine or something.”

  It just wasn’t my day. Monks started to roar and yell all over again, winding up with: “You come over here right now. I want to see you before you get run over by a truck or something. And that’s official.”

  “No dice, Mike. I’ve got some unfinished business to attend to.”

  “Ed, I’m warning you. For the last time –”