Right now, I wasn’t doing too badly. I was selling articles where and when I liked. Editors liked my stuff and paid fancy rates for it. I’d got a nice little apartment, and enough booze to keep me oiled for twenty-four hours a day.
I leant forward and took a poke at the rye.
Suppose I did start something, and there was an investigation? If the Mackenzie-whatever-they-called-it turned out a ramp, then there was going to be a bad smell around, and I would be the cause of it. Maybe the newspapers would warn me off… maybe I’d lose everything I’d got… just for ten grand. Looked at from that angle, it wasn’t even interesting.
I put the glass back on the little table by my bed and lit a cigarette. When I got into bed with a load of grief like this, I always thought it would be swell to have some hot-looking dame right beside me to listen to my beef and give me an angle to work on.
A woman can be a lot of comfort, and the more I thought about it, the lower I got. I was just getting in a pretty bad shape when the telephone snapped me out of my pipe-dream.
As I reached for the ’phone, I looked over at the clock. It was just after two.
“Yeah?” I said, wondering who the hell it was.
“Is that Nick Mason?”
As soon as I heard that hard, metallic voice I sat up. My arm jogged the glass of rye, which went over with a crash. Even the spilling of good liquor didn’t take my mind off that voice.
Four days ago she had rung me up. Without saying who she was, she told me that I’d get a pass to attend Vessi’s execution and I was to try and get a word with him. If I thought I could expose a frame-up, she’d pay me ten thousand dollars. She had hung up before I could say a word.
Boy! Was I intrigued! I could handle that sort of mystery stuff from dawn to dawn. Not only was the incentive there in the way of cash, but the story angle got me excited.
And here she was again.. The voice was unmistakable. It was clear, bell-like and hard.
I sank back on my pillow, holding the ’phone tight.
“You got it right, sister,” I said.
“Did you go?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“He’s dead. I got word with him. He said Lu Spencer had pulled it.”
I heard her catch her breath. “He said that?” she asked eagerly.
“Yeah… now listen, what’s the big idea? What’s all this to you?”
“I’m goin’ to send you five thousand dollars so that you can go on with this. When you’ve found out the truth and have written it all up you’ll get the other five.”
I was scared that she was going to cut off. I said quickly, “I ain’t interested… I’ve looked into this an’ there’s too much to it.”
There was a long silence on the line.
J said anxiously, “You there?”
She said, “Yes… I thought you’d be glad to do it. I see I’ve made a mistake.”
“Suppose we get together an’ talk this over?” I said. “This is a big set-up, baby. All the big shots are in on this… it wants talkin’ over.”
She said, “I think you’ll do it all right,” and before I could shout she had hung up.
I lay there, calling her some fancy names. It didn’t get me anywhere. She was right about me doing it. I liked to push my nose into something that might scorch it. This business had a lot of angles that might prove interesting. I put the ’phone down and turned off the light. I could think a lot better in the dark.
I went through the business carefully. I’d got a few leads to follow up. First, I’d look into the stockholders of the Mackenzie Fabric Corporation. Then I might take a look at the firm and have a sniff round there. Lu Spencer wanted hunting up. Ackie was an all-right guy, and I guessed he was willing to help me if I didn’t pull him into it. Then there was Blondie. Maybe I’d get a little fun with Blondie. I had a weakness for blondes, anyway. It looked on the face of it an attractive programme.
I let it go at that and went to sleep.
CHAPTER THREE
SOMEONE WOKE me up by punching the front-door bell. I love that. Some guy always wakes me up just when I’m getting friendly with my dream blonde. That dame certainly is a nice little twitchet.
I dragged myself out of bed and padded across the two rooms to the front door.
A special messenger was leaning up against the door, humming Cole Porter. He looked at me, then at the envelope he was holding.
“Nick Mason?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s have it, you mother’s nightmare.”
He gave me the envelope and I signed. Then he stood there waiting to pick up something. He’d got a hope. If he thought I was giving him anything he was crazy. I only hoped he’d fall downstairs on his way out and break his neck. I started to shut the door.
“You won’t get any place in that sleepin’-suit,” he said, and made a dash down the corridor. Maybe he thought I’d give him a poke in his puss.
I went back to the bedroom and took a look in the long glass. The kid was right. That sleeping-suit was terrible. I sat on the bed and ripped open the envelope. Five crisp thousand-dollar bills spilt on my knees. No letter—just the dough. I sat and looked at them for a few minutes. That’s one thing I can always do—sit around, looking at money. Then I put the money back in the envelope and put the envelope on the table.
There was a catch in this, of course. I’d got to start right now and earn that dough. I wandered into the bathroom and took off the sleeping-suit. The cold prickle of the shower made me feel good. Once I got through with the wet part of getting up, I always tried my hand at singing. Maybe I wasn’t so good, but I’d got a lot of power. I wrapped the towel round my waist and shaved, then I wandered back into the bedroom with the idea of having a drink to help me on the final task of dressing.
Two things struck me as soon as I entered the bedroom. There was a heavy smell of scent hanging around that certainly hadn’t been there when I left the room, and the envelope had gone.
I moved quickly. Dropping the towel, I grabbed my dressing-gown and struggled into it, running into the sitting-room as I did so. The front door was ajar. I raced to the window and threw it up. The street was deserted. I thought I caught a glimpse of a yellow taxi flashing round the corner, but I wasn’t sure. If it was a taxi, it was moving like hell.
I went back to the bedroom and stood sniffing. I’m not one of those guys who can classify a smell quickly, but I knew this stuff all right. It was the kind of scent hot mammas used to get the boys running in circles.
Right then, I was running in circles. I was as mad as a blind man at a strip tease. I went over to the telephone with the idea of getting the cops, then a thought struck me and I sat down to think about it.
Those dollar notes had looked mighty nice, and now some dame had nicked them. I was feeling mighty sore.
After a few quick drags from the rye I felt better, and I got myself dressed. All the time I wondered what the devil I was going to do. The sooner I started in on this the better. I locked up the apartment and went downstairs for my breakfast.
I ordered two lightly boiled eggs, toast and coffee. I was just getting down to serious eating when the guy who rented the apartment opposite walked in. This guy gave me a pain. There are some guys who just can’t help giving anyone a pain. You don’t know why… they try like hell to put themselves across, but they stick.
I tried to hide behind my newspaper, but I was too late. He came across with an odd expression on his face and sat down.
He said, trying to look shocked, “You didn’t ought to have girls in your place, Mason; it gives the building a bad name.”
I said, “You’re kiddin’ yourself. The place had a bad name long before I moved in. Besides, I don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s all this about dames?”