Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 1, No. 12, December 1956
- Автор: Дил Борден, Томпсон Джим
- Год: 1956
- Язык: английский
- Год: H.S.D. Publications
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 1, No. 12, December 1956». Краткое содержание книги:
“You’re excited,” the Duke said, solicitously. “You need a drink. Ape, darling, will you get a bottle out of the liquor cabinet?”
“The Scotch?”
“But, of course! Some of that rare old Scotch that our dear friend sold me at a bargain rate.”
The Ape took a full quart from the cabinet. He opened it, and thrust it into Mitch’s nerveless hands. Mitch stared at it horrified, for naturally it did not contain Scotch or any other kind of whiskey. What it contained was radiator fluid and tobacco juice.
“Drink up!” Duke beamed. “I’ll be terribly offended if you don’t.”
“Listen, Duke. I—”
“You better drink, dear!”
Mitch took a sip of the stuff. He gasped, choked and his stomach did flip-flops.
“Delicious, isn’t it?” the Duke said. “Have another.”
“I c-cuh-can’t!” Mitch strangled.
“I... I—”
“You don’t like it? Oh, dear! Ape, why do you suppose the darling doesn’t like our Scotch?”
“He’s just pretendin’,” the Ape said. “He loves it.”
“Oh?”
“Uh-huh. Kinda bashful, you know. His mama told him he should never take seconds.”
“Why, the shy sweet child! Well, if he won’t accept our hospitality, we’ll simply have to—”
Mitch made a wild lunge from his chair. The Ape collared him, and slammed him down into it again. He put a ham-like hand over the upper part of Mitch’s face. His mouth was forced open, and...
It wasn’t as bad as he expected. Rather, they didn’t give him the full treatment he had expected. After a couple of swallows, the Ape kicked him out into the alley, the kick prompting Mitch’s stomach to expel the stuff. He picked himself up, neither seriously sick nor injured, and went down the alley to the street.
He cleaned up in a restaurant washroom. Then, with three glasses of milk soothing his innards, he returned to his wife’s apartment.
Light gleamed under the door. He could hear her stirring about inside. Rapping on the door, he called softly, “It’s Mitch, honey.”
There was dead silence for a moment. A very long moment. Then, there was a click followed shortly by another click as she keyed the two locks.
Mitch gripped the doorknob. He turned it, simultaneously throwing his weight against the door.
Bette had been waiting behind it. Now, half-stunned — crushed between the wall and the door — she surrendered the section of lead pipe with which she had meant to slug him. Mitch tossed it into a corner.
He released her, then, guided her stumbling to a chair despite her profane protests.
She was a nice armful of woman, this Bette. Small but busty; slender but lusciously curved. Mitch could never look at her — particularly in a nightgown as she was now — without getting steamed up. Unfortunately, he was also unable to look at her for long without playing her for a chump. But that was her own fault, he told himself virtuously. When a dame was so easy to outguess, when she just wouldn’t smarten up, what was a hustling man to do?
The dazed look went out of her eyes. She addressed her husband with a kind of surly joy. “Well, go ahead, you lowdown louse. Go on and frisk the joint! Take everything you can find.”
“I just came to say good-bye,” Mitch said quietly. “I only wish there was some way to make up for all the wrong I’ve done you.”
“Nuts! I know what you came for.”
“I don’t blame you for feeling that way,” Mitch said. “Good-bye, my sweet. I want you to know that I’ll never love another woman.”
He planted a chaste kiss on her forehead, swiftly to avoid a punch. Sadly, shoulders sagging, he started for the door. Bette looked at him with worried puzzlement, wondering what the gimmick was this time. Wondering if maybe...
He was one hell of a handsome guy. And gosh, he could be a lot of fun.
“Mitch...”
He shook his head, spoke without turning. “No, Bette. I think we’d better leave it at good-bye. You’re too good for me. I want you to know that I’d never wrong you again, but—”
Gosh, he must have changed. If not, why hadn’t he robbed her again tonight? Of course, he wouldn’t have got anything, but he didn’t know that. “Mitch!” she wailed. “Don’t go, honey!”
Mitch allowed himself to be persuaded. He went back, and Bette sat on his lap.
He softened her up good. Then, to use a con-man’s expression, he told her the tale. Not about the chalice; that was too involved. This one concerned a certain Mame Dorset, madam of a parlor house.
Immediately, Bette’s suspicions flared up again.
“No, by gosh! My dough’s in the bank, and that’s right where it’s staying.”
“All right.” Mitch didn’t argue with her. “I only wanted the money for you. I’d just as soon forget it myself.”
“I won’t touch a penny of that money! All the times you’ve gypped me—”
“I know. So let’s drop the subject. After all, what’s fifteen hundred dollars? You can draw that much salary in eight or ten weeks.”
“Well” — Bette bit her lip. “It’s certainly a nice piece of change, Mitch...”
“I understand,” Mitch said, “It’s dishonest. It’s very bad of me to think about clipping poor Mame.”
“N-no. I don’t mind your clipping other people, Mitch. After all, a man has to do something, and you’re very good at it. If you’d just let me handle the dough you made instead of—”
“That’s what I was going to do,” said Mitch. “But as long as you’re not interested...”
He seemed prepared, practically determined, to drop the subject. Bette gnawed her lip some more, trying to peer inside her husband’s larcenous mind, seeking for the trap which might be awaiting her.
“Let me get one thing straight, honey. How do you know you can turn Mame’s furniture for fifteen hundred?”
“She’s been offered that much. She’s been considering selling it for that.”
“Yes, but that’s legit. How do you know that you can—”
Mitch explained. The old-fashioned mahogany furniture in Mame’s parlor was well-known to the underworld. It had been appraised and listed by the thieves’ market at fifteen hundred. And the dough was ready and waiting for the guy who could get it away from her.
“Just like that?” Bette frowned. “Mame can’t do anything about it?”
“Like screaming to the cops? A madam yelling copper?” Mitch shrugged. “I guess she could sue me if she wanted to.”
Bette giggled. “You say the funniest things, honey! Now one other thing, the big thing. I draw the dough out of my bank and give it to you, but I stick with you all the time. You don’t get out of my sight for a moment. That’s right, isn’t it? I mean, I hate to sound suspicious, but—”
“That’s the pitch,” Mitch nodded firmly. “I deposit the money in another bank, but you’ll be waiting right outside the door. And when I come out, I give you my passbook.”
“Well...” Bette hesitated briefly. “It certainly sounds all right, honey. I have the passbook. I’ll have a check for twenty-five hundred made out in the name of Mame Dorset.”
Her voice trailed away. She frowned again, but not with suspicion. She looked at Mitch curiously, somehow seeming to look at herself at the same time.
“Mitch,” she said, “what’s the matter with us? Why do you do these things, and why do I want you to?”
“Come again?”
“Don’t you see, honey? It takes brains to think up a deal like this. I’ll bet there’s presidents of big companies who couldn’t do it. So why, if you’re that smart — why be a crook? I mean, you could make it easier and bigger on the legit.”