The Black Lizard Big Book of Pulps

Then I drove around the town a bit, just getting the air. And I didn’t exactly do any thinking, that is, constructive thinking. But, mostly, I never do. The Flame had certainly pulled a Houdini on the police and Sergeant O’Rourke. Was she still hidden in that house, or had she walked smack through the police net unseen, or had she bought her way out?

There’s nothing fantastic about bribery. It’s a matter of how much, and the type of man the receiver of the bribe is. You don’t have to know him first. It works, from a ten spot to a strange speed cop, to a grand for a police captain, who has found the stock market a sucker’s game, but hasn’t recognized himself as that sucker yet.

The Flame was clever. There are no two ways about that. She had gotten into the house, maybe, even arranged that bit of kidnaping. Doctor Michelle Gorgon had picked himself some rare talent when he picked The Flame and — my hand went to my breast pocket. Damn it, I was still carrying around that envelope containing that bit of change and the jewelry which I had been requested to turn over to Eddie Gorgon.

Maybe The Flame would answer some questions at the Cafe Maria. The Flame had already intended to meet me there, before she popped out of that closet. And you know—. Well, we’re all a bit of a fool, I guess. Somehow I wasn’t worried so much about The Flame any more. A guy gets cocky at times. I had held her, told her I loved her. And — she loved me. There were no two ways about that. Any lad who had held The Flame as I did—. But the time was drawing near, so I sped over to Maria’s Cafe.

According to my custom I left my car around the corner, walked leisurely down the block, spotted the darkness of the entrance, and went to the little side door down a few steps and knocked.

The door opened almost at once. I nodded as I recognized the bartender.

“Hello, Race.” He opened the door far enough for me to slip into the dimness of the hall, but spotted almost at once the bulge in my right jacket pocket.

“Gawd!” he sort of laughed. “And me thinking it was just an affair of the heart.”

“There’s a lady waiting to see me, Fred?” It was half a question, half a statement.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “The little room back of the bar.”

“Any one in the bar?”

“No. The Federal officers have closed us up.”

“You’re a nice boy, Fred.” I followed him into the bar. “I wouldn’t like to see anything happen to you.” No threat. Just a warning in my words.

“Cripes!” He slowed, and looked at me. “You ain’t got nothing up your sleeve, I don’t know about?”

“Nothing up my sleeve. Be sure there’s nothing up yours.” I followed him to the door in the rear, down another hall and to another small door.

“You weren’t dragged in here.” Fred gave me the words over his shoulder. “And the door ‘out’ ain’t barred and locked now.” He put a hand on the knob. “What do you say? Got a change of mind? Want to beat it?”

“Do your stuff,” was my say.

“Right!” He spun the knob, shoved open the door and chirped, “The gent to see you.” He turned quickly, pushed by me and closed the door after him. I heard his feet slipping over the uncarpeted floor of the outer hall.

The room was like any other back room of a speak-easy. A single dome light hung from the ceiling, giving a sharp light. There were eight or ten tables, plain wooden armchairs drawn close to them. Not piled up on top, for they wouldn’t be doing any cleaning for a bit. The room still reeked of bum hooch. The open window on the alley didn’t help much. There was an old fashioned mantel to one side, above a fireplace that had been bricked up, and a battered but shining silver loving cup supposedly in the center of that mantel.

And, alone in that room, was The Flame. No dirty masculine get-up now. Silk stockings, black skirt, and a tight fitting, worsted sweater coat affair. To crown that off she had a beret cocked on the side of her head, and a cigarette perched jauntily between her lips.

“You did turn up,” she said. “But then, you would. You always were a fool for courage. Sit down.”

I walked to the window, closed it, and pulled down the heavy shade. I’d rather chance slow death by poison air than a bullet in the back. There was another exit, with a key in the door. I spun the key and turned the knob. It locked all right. An alcove recess, with dirty curtains, proved to be a blind. Just a closet with shelves. Across from that was the door I had entered by. There was no key in the lock. I kicked a chair in front of the door, stuffed a cigarette into my mouth, saw that The Flame was close to the mantel, so dragged up a chair and sat beside her. I could see the window and the door with the chair against it, and had the alcove on the right.

The Flame started. It was the old racket all over again.

“Race, I’ll make you a proposition. I’ll chuck the Gorgon outfit if you do. I’ll chuck the city. We’ll cross the pond, hop down to the Riviera, and—”

“Same old hoey,” I cut in. “Florence, you’ve given that to any guy you wanted to make... make for the time being — make and then break.”

“Yes.” She nodded very seriously. “I have. Because I’ve always thought of it. Thought of it with you, Race.” A hand crept across the table and rested on one of mine. “We could meet every day, spend long evenings together, understand each other — and bust up the show or stick together for life. There’s something big between us, something I never understood. There’s been times when I wished you were dead. Times—”