The Crazy Mixed-Up Corpse Read online

  “That’s no place to take a lady.”

  “Of course it’s not. But this is pleasure and business combined. I need a girl to go in with because I want to be unobtrusive. And we’ve got a lot of lost time to make up, Penny.”

  She made a face. “I want to have some fun. I don’t want to make history.”

  I grinned. “Would you believe me if I told you I was a secret agent working for the government on the atom bomb project? No, you wouldn’t. Look. I’d like your company in the Blue Turkey. I want to nose around there and find out some things, and I don’t want to do it alone.”

  She laughed. Low and nice. “So you’re the tall, dashing private eye I’ve read so much about. You always take your dates along on cases?”

  “Quit kidding. Is it a deal?”

  She stared at me for a full five seconds.

  “It’s a deal,” she said. “I’ll meet you in front of the place at ten thirty-five on the button. The Blue Turkey. Now pay your check and beat it before you get me fired.”

  I could see she was enjoying herself already. She flounced off smartly and left me with my bill. I picked it up, left a dollar for a tip and headed outside.

  I wasn’t too far from the Blue Turkey but I walked in the general direction. I looked at my watch again. Ten-ten. I had a twenty-five minute wait for my waitress date. Twenty-five minutes before I checked on Holly Hill and where she lived.

  What a date-maker I was. I didn’t even know Penny’s last name.

  But I knew the name of the crazy mixed-up corpse. T. T. Thomas. That was a name worth knowing.

  TWELVE

  Ten thirty-five crawled around while I was enjoying the night air and the crisp flash of the neon signs on Sixth Avenue. Maybe I’d smoked six cigarettes and window-shopped like a maniac but when I paused in front of the Blue Turkey, I looked as if I’d just wandered by.

  Strip Row’s changed plenty since I’d put Bim Caesar’s Place out of business. The cops cracked down on the strip and slip clubs so tight that a lot of them padlocked and quit. But there’re still enough of them left to trim the visiting firemen and local dopes, places like the Blue Turkey where Holly Hill was currently doing her bit.

  Jazz music hammered from behind the glass doors.

  I ignored the leering overtures of the husky uniformed doorman and studied the large blow-ups of her plastered all over the gaudy front of the joint. It was my mean-eyed blonde all right. The fur coat had hidden plenty but what I had presumed she had, she had. In cards, spades and a wiggling then some.

  She was five-feet-seven of pure, unadulterated female hell. And not plain, and very fancy. I studied her and the palms of my hands ached when I remembered what I owed her.

  I was just beginning to wonder where my chicken from the Golden Pheasant was when a bright voice behind me said:

  “You sure it’s business you’ve got on your mind?”

  When I turned, Penny was standing before me as straight and shining as she’d been an hour ago. Her clear eyes were twinkling and the same mischievous smile was playing tag with her mouth. I was beginning to know that the smile was a great part of her. But the trim, erect shape that the waitress get-up had set off was now completely hidden by a tightly belted trench-coat that hung on her in folds.

  I laughed. “You’re kidding. Either that or you’re taking my job too seriously.”

  She also had a laugh that tinkled like a music box. “A screwy coincidence. So help me. Of course, if you don’t want me now that I’m not in my Paris dress –”

  I hooked her arm in mine. On cue, the uniformed doorman leered wider and swung the door open. The jazz music exploded and thundered now.

  “Shut up and follow me. This is our first big night together.”

  The music box kept tinkling as I ushered her into the Blue Turkey. We paused by the cloakroom near the door and an overweight blonde wiggled and waggled and turned on a charm that was strictly labelled over-the-hill until she relieved us of our outer garments.

  “Don’t let that happen to you,” I said as I glided Penny towards an empty table past the bar which was loaded with men whose main interest was the well-lighted stage at the rear of the room. Room was all it was. Dives like the Blue Turkey don’t bother with overhead because all their customers are interested in is the underhead. The underhead in this case was a tall, melon-round young lady bumping and grinding her life away on the postage-stamp-size stage. The drummer, fiddler and piano player behind her were doing a good imitation of a three-man band.

  “Don’t let what happen to me?” Penny asked as we sat down at a table with a small neat card that impolitely announced a three-fifty cover charge. A waiter sleepwalked over trying not to look like the gorilla he was.

  “The blonde,” I said. “Overage, overfat and trying too hard. A woman who refuses to let go of what she thinks is the greatest thing in the world. Youth.”

  “My, my.” The imp smile dimpled for me. “Don’t be a philosopher. I thought you were a detective.”

  “Sometimes. But I’m also an amused observer of the passing scene. What’ll you have?” I indicated the waiter. “These monkeys break your arm if you don’t give them the privilege of cheating you.”

  “Scotch on the rocks will do me fine.”

  The waiter took our order and zombied away again. The jazz music died on stage and there was lazy applause from the men. I looked around. Except for the stage, there was one other couple sitting at a table. But they were arguing and interested only in each other. That suited me fine. Now Penny wouldn’t be uncomfortable about being the only woman in the place and we wouldn’t be so conspicuous. I was also grateful for the poor lighting. And the glare of the stage was blinding. Holly Hill would never recognize me while she was strutting her stuff.

  “Hey, bloodhound. Remember me?”

  I got back to my friend. Her eyebrows were arching again. The more you looked at her, the prettier she seemed. Which is the way a woman’s face should be. There’s a lot to be said for unravelling the mystery by degrees. I could see I’d never really taken a good look at her before.

  Grinning at her came easy. “I’ll relax when I get my Martini. But we’re in business now, so we can talk. And pardon me – I never caught the last name.”

  “Darnell.”

  “It was good enough for Linda. Let’s drink to it.”

  The drinks had arrived and we toasted each other silently. Past her smiling face and shoulders, I watched the stage. The three-man band was rustling sheet music and warming up again. An old henna-haired doll who must have been a debutante during the Civil War tripped out from the wings and poured a lot of sickening goo over the mike. All it boiled down to was that the Incomparable, the One and Only, the Flower of Female Perfection, Miss Holly Hill was raring to go. An outburst of handclapping thundered from the vicinity of the bar. It was pretty plain what the Blue Turkey’s main draw was. There was that muttering and raising of voices that typifies male interest. Then the mammoth hush as the band thrummed and strummed into the opening bars of “The Hucklebuck.”

  Penny Darnell whispered across the table. “Holly Hill’s your pigeon, huh?”

  “She is. She happens to be the answer to all my troubles. I have to find out where she hangs up her bra or I’m a dead duck.”

  Penny Darnell gasped. “I take it back. That’s no pigeon. That’s a boa constrictor.”

  She had turned her chair in time to watch the stage and I’d been too interested in the play of her pretty face for just an instant. Then I swung my eyes. There was only one place and one thing to be looking at in the Blue Turkey. Anything else would have been sacrilege. For a man.

  Holly Hill had slipped smoothly on stage with all the ease and professionalism of Minsky burlesque. Either that or she was born wriggling and bumping and snaking. Penny Darnell was right. A boa constrictor could have taken lessons from Holly Hill.

  The music was just slow enough, the beat skilfully half-pitched so that the contortions of Miss Hill drove every
guy in the joint crazy. I could almost hear the gulps and the gasps and the intakes of breath from the house as she bellied her way across the platform, coiling her arms and tossing to the insinuating blare of the trumpet, the sexy swoosh of the bull fiddle and the tickling rhythms of the low piano.

  I forgot all about my Martini. Holly Hill’s dimensions were fantastic. She knew how to put the green light on sex, all right. And the things she could do with her superb shape were pictures no artist could ever paint and if he could no publication would dare print them. She was strictly designed for the Howling Young Men category and Why Septuagenarians Stay Young department. I pretty nearly forgot the twin .45’s, my own strip act and her lousy manners. When a dame is built like that, you ought to be able to forgive anything.

  But it was the heat, the music and the Martini thinking. When the last note of the piano ended “The Hucklebuck” and Holly Hill threw one last soul-smashing grind to the rafters where the male cockroaches must have exploded with frustration, the applause was deafening. It was like a first night with Barrymore doing Hamlet in front of a bunch of people who believe all playwriting began and ended with Will Shakespeare. Well, it was Shakes all right.

  Penny Darnell pouted at her Scotch.

  “Your tongue is hanging out. And I feel unnecessary. She makes me look like a clothespin.”

  “You can hang me up to dry any time.” I reached across and chucked her under the chin. “I’m sorry. I lost my head for a minute.”

  Her eyes flashed. “Don’t be silly, Ed. If you didn’t think she was some hunk I wouldn’t want to be sitting here with you. At least, you’re normal.”

  “How about a refill while I think?”

  “Sure. But if we’re going to find out where this doll lives, what do you say we start operating? You go to the little boy’s room, and I’ll go to the powder-room. These places always have attendants, don’t they? And those people always have a lot to talk about.”

  I stared at her. Then I started to laugh. I couldn’t help it. She was way ahead of me.

  She made a face. “Don’t you think it’s a good idea? Or have I been reading the wrong books?”

  “Penny, you’re beautiful. It happens to be exactly one of the reasons I wanted you to come with me. I can manage fine, but I couldn’t have crashed the powder room. You may go to the head of the class.”

  She pushed her chair back and stood up.

  “Is it all right if I go to the powder room instead?” She winked. “Order me some more Scotch and behave yourself.”

  She ambled off in the direction she wanted and I enjoyed the view. I’d only seen her in her workclothes and the trenchcoat. The blue dress she was now wearing was the light she’d been hiding under a bushel. It fit her like a welding job. And the subtle movement of her nice legs and nicer hips reminded me of moonlight and roses. Or just about everything that went well together. I sure could pick them. And she had brains and moxie besides. A real stand-up girl, stand-up and stand-out. I decided right then and there when I had more time, I was going to get to know her a helluva lot better. She could be more than a waitress to the right guy.

  Activity had died down on stage. It looked as if the show was over until the next time around. The three-man band was smoking its brains out and the stage lighting had dimmed. And normal conversational noise had picked up at the bar. And the couple at the other table still argued.

  It was time to go to the men’s room and do my share of the investigation. I got up and threaded my way towards the rear of the club. Off to the right of the stage, a narrow corridor ran about ten feet and stopped before a mysterious little door marked Adam. Typical nightclub humour. I stepped in.

  The place was as bright as an operating room at Fordham. Three wash basins, three stalls and a nice smell of bad plumbing and ill-kept drainage. My nostrils curled but the fat little man half-slumbering on the chair tilted back against a peeling-paint yellow wall suddenly fumbled awake as he heard me come in. He made room for me as I pretended to wash my hands.

  “Shine, sir? Fresh handkerchief?” His brown-stained flabby hand pointed to his pile of grooming wares neatly arranged on a stand in the corner. His voice was dead and dreary and rusty from little usage.

  “No, thanks,” I said.

  He handed me a towel that had been to the laundry too many times. And I had a flashing second to reflect how places like the Blue Turkey polish up the front and let the rear go to hell.

  “Nice show,” I said. “That Holly Hill –” I rolled my eyes to show him what kind of a guy I was and just what I had in my mind.

  He was suddenly wide awake. His gimlet eyes widened. They were stained-looking, like his hands.

  “All show,” he creaked. “Nothing there. Take her out, you’ll spend a bank roll and wind up in your own bed, by yourself.” The gimlet eyes looked me over in fresh appraisal. “You from outa town?”

  “Chicago,” I lied.

  “Figures,” he said, satisfied. “You woulda known about her otherwise. Now, if you’re looking for a little action, I could fix it with one of the girls in the show. They’re a helluva lot cheaper and you’ll get what you want.”

  I played along with him. “That’d be great. But I’d still like a crack at Holly Hill. You sure you couldn’t fix that up for me?”

  He pretended to be offended. He began fussing around with his grooming junk on the table.

  “Forget that queen. She’s too costly. And she runs around with gangsters besides. Now, a brunette I could get you – remember the babe in the first turn?”

  I told him it was Holly Hill or no one.

  He sneered.

  “She don’t talk to the help. Too la-di-da.” He sneered again. “Hell, I couldn’t do nothing about her. I don’t even know if she lives in town.” He eyed me closely. “You sure you wouldn’t wanta sample the brunette?”

  I shook my head and handed him a quarter. He’d told me everything I ever wanted to hear from him.

  “Forget it. I was just teasing myself. I’m not supposed even to run up the stairs. Doctor’s orders.”

  He was still gawking at me in confusion when I slammed Adam in his face.

  Back at the table, Penny Darnell was sipping another Scotch and tapping a rhythm on her glass with the mixer. I liked the way her eyes lit up when she saw me.

  “My hero,” she said. “How’d you make out?”

  “One dirty washroom, one dirty old man. No information. And your report?”

  “Ten-twenty Armitage Apartments. Room Four E.”

  My mouth must have fallen open a bit because her head bobbed with musical laughter. Then I laughed too.

  “Who did you run into in there? The answer man?”

  “Ed,” she mocked. “I’m surprised at you. Don’t you know those three sure-fire means of communication? Telephone, telegraph and –”

  “Tell a woman. I know, I know. But –”

  “The gal in the powder-room is a real washerwoman. The best kind. A female Winchell. She even told me that Holly Hill comes from Texas. Left there about six months ago.”

  That reminded me of T. T. Thomas and a lot of other things.

  “Penny, you’re worth your weight in gold. Anything else?”

  “That closes my report, Mr. Noon. Now can I finish my Scotch?”

  “Order three more, if you like, while I dope out our next move.”

  She started to say something when it happened. The next move. And it wasn’t mine.

  A voice behind me said: “The manager would like to see you in his office. Please don’t say no. If you could see the gun in my pocket, you wouldn’t even think of saying no.”

  Penny Darnell gasped. I turned slowly in my chair.

  The sleepy-looking waiter had also taken on some extra glands. Just like the old slob in the washroom. But that wasn’t all he had taken on. His hand was tightened around a lump in his pocket that I just knew wasn’t only his fingers. I looked at him. He was even more of a gorilla with a gun.

  His
grin was crooked and unfunny. “This way, please?” He motioned towards the rear of the club beyond the stage.

  I pushed my chair back.

  “Come on, Penny. Tag along. For a rookie, you’re starting off in the big leagues. This usually doesn’t happen till your fifth assignment.”

  She got up too. Her smile tried to be brave.

  “All I want to know is if I’ll live to have a second one.” Joke and all, I could see she was scared silly. Her cheeks had paled.

  The waiter looked bored. “Now – okay?”

  “Now it is.”

  I took Penny Darnell’s arm and guided her with the half-waiter, half-gorilla right behind me. Nobody paid any attention to us. The lights were low, the romantic couple were still arguing and the three-man band was still taking ten.

  Penny Darnell’s trip to the powder-room had boomeranged. Either that or my gimlet-eyed pal in the men’s room had shot his mouth off. But it didn’t make a bit of difference now.

  I wondered if Holly Hill would be glad to see me again.

  THIRTEEN

  I wasn’t surprised when we wound up our little gun-covered trip in front of Holly Hill’s dressing-room.

  The gorilla waiter took us for a very short stroll. Down the tiny corridor past the door marked Adam, up to another door with a five-cornered gold star on it. You don’t have to be an actor to know that the star’s dressing-room always has a star on it. Even a dump like the Blue Turkey plays ball with tradition.

  Our gorilla didn’t even bother to knock. He motioned me to open the door and I did, with a slightly trembling Penny Darnell just behind me. We walked in like soldiers reporting to the Orderly Room. The room was all lighted up and ready for us. But it was more of a Disorderly Room.

  Holly Hill was seated in front of a dressing-table, a canary-yellow robe hardly hiding her Mount Vesuvius architecture. She didn’t bother turning around. The mirror threw back her snarl of pure hatred for me. The rows of bulbs bordering the glass buried golden glints in her loose blonde hair. Reflected, her mean eyes were even meaner.