The Black Lizard Big Book of Pulps

“Of course, sir,” said the colored maid, and held the door open for us to enter.

“A little surprise, Lillian. Don’t mention that I’ve brought a friend. Not a word, now.” And something passed from Michelle Gorgon’s hand to the maid’s hand as we entered a beautifully furnished living room.

Was I a fool to come? I didn’t know. But I’d have come anyway, and bride or no bride my hand still rested on the gun in my jacket pocket. I remembered that I wasn’t in the “sanctuary” of Michelle Gorgon now, and though I remembered also that the elevator man, John, had seen us get off at the twelfth floor and that O’Rourke knew I was in the building— Well, I’m noble minded and all that, but I wasn’t a good enough citizen to be willing to play the part of the corpse that finally roasted this inhuman murderer, Michelle Gorgon.

And that was that. There was a sound of laughter and running feet, and a girl was across the room. Two arms were around Michelle’s neck.

“It was nice, nice of you to come, and I stayed up. Who—” She dropped to the floor and looked at me. “What is he doing here?” And the girlish sparkle went out of those eyes; the youthful softness went from her face. It was the woman now. The woman of the night. As I had expected, but never let myself believe, it was The Flame, Florence Drummond. The Girl with the Criminal Mind. And perhaps half a hundred other aliases in her innocent young life.

Bitter? Yes, I was bitter. Only a short while ago she had told me that she loved me. Maybe Michelle Gorgon’s presence had some strange power over her. I had half thought that from her previous actions. But, she had not felt his presence when she ran from that room to greet him.

“You see, I’m disturbing the lady.” I half turned toward the door.

“Ah! Yes, yes.” Michelle Gorgon seemed to be enjoying himself. “We just stopped in, Florence. I have an engagement, and I wanted to tell you that I couldn’t visit you tonight.”

“If it’s a test—” The girl looked sharply at him.

“If it is, it’s not for you, my dear.” Michelle sort of plucked at her arm. “My confidence in myself, the beautiful things I can shower on you, in the wonderful places I can take you. In—” And turning to me, “Just a minute, Williams. For the last time, you are looking on The Flame, The Girl with the Criminal Mind. Now, that mind will be occupied with nothing more criminal than making a man happy by, by—.” He went very close to her but still watched me. “By allowing him to adore her,” he finished.

And The Flame laughed.

“You’re somewhat of a dumb bunny, Michelle.” Her voice was that of the young girl again, but her eyes and face weren’t. She looked at me defiantly as she stretched both hands upon his shoulders. “You too listen to the gossip of the street, Michelle.” She put her head close to him and whispered something softly. I didn’t get it, but somehow it riled me just the same. I said, purely vindictively, and perhaps without point, but anyway what was on my chest.

“High class house, this. No references needed to get an apartment here, I guess.”

Michelle Gorgon shook his head.

“On the contrary, the clientele is picked most carefully. Miss Drummond’s references were of the best. From the owner of the apartment himself.” And with a smile, “You see, the deeds to this property happen to be in my name.”

While I tried to laugh that one off Michelle Gorgon raised an arm and placed it about The Flame’s shoulder. What did it all mean? Was Florence tired of poverty, and taking riches? Was she tired of being ruled, and wanted to rule? Was—? And Michelle drew her close to him, his eyes ever on me, steady, staring things. Watching me, not in alarm or fear; more, a curious glint, as if he had brought me there for this very purpose. To watch how I took it.

Maybe I didn’t take it well. My left hand clenched at my side, my right caressed the butt of a heavy caliber six-gun in my jacket pocket.

The temptation was strong to slap him down. Maybe I would have acted upon that temptation. Maybe I wouldn’t have. But the thought came then. Was The Flame, after all, the one lured by wealth, by the strange influence of this man? Or was Michelle Gorgon the one lured? Lured, as so many other men had been, by the fascination of this strange girl? Was Michelle Gorgon now the moth attracted by the flame?

Any way you put it, I turned my head, hesitated a moment, then walked toward the exit door. I heard The Flame say:

“And these strange messages, this shadow that bothers you, Michelle. Can’t I—”

“Uh-huh.” At least Michelle Gorgon made a funny noise in his throat that sounded like that before he said, “At a time like this, Florence, why bring that up?” He was annoyed, and showed it.

But Michelle Gorgon reached the apartment door almost the same time I did. We passed out into the wide hall together. He hadn’t gotten my goat, and I’d show him he hadn’t. I said:

“I thought a man doesn’t introduce his future bride with a wife still living.”