Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 137, No. 1. Whole No. 833, January 2011
- Автор: Коуди Лиза, Faherty Terence
- Год: 2011
- Язык: английский
- Год: Dell Magazines/Crosstown Publications
- ISBN: ISSN 0013-6328
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 137, No. 1. Whole No. 833, January 2011». Краткое содержание книги:
Karin put on a robe and came out to the Mercury with me. I opened the trunk. She picked up the bag of jack. I picked up the sack of weed. “Leave it,” she said. “And the jacket. I must meet Pacho and deliver his goods. Only then will I be safe.” She took the money and started back in.
“Listen,” I said, “I’d better get going.”
“I will give you the other two hundred.” She opened the black satchel. I told her she already paid me enough for one day’s work. “Then wait while I put something on. I will give you a ride.” It was eleven-fifteen.
“I don’t want to be any trouble to you. I’ll walk down to Geary and get a streetcar. See you, Mrs. Maldau.”
“Don’t be silly. I must go out anyhow to meet Pacho. Where can I drop you?”
I told her Lafayette Square.
9
Karin Maldau had a box of license plates in her garage. She selected a fresh one and gave it to me to put on the Mercury in place of mine. I offered to drive, but she insisted she could see through both eyes. She sat erect in the seat, well back from the wheel, her gams spread enough to work the gas and clutch, and her skirt up above the knees. She handled the wheel and gearshift like a farm girl might help a pregnant horse deliver a colt, with care, but with the firmness needed to do the job right. She smoked, and I asked for one. She tossed the Old Gold pack into my lap.
“What about the drugs, Mr. Swiver? Will you be going to the police?”
“You hired me to find your car. I did. If I went to the police, there’s nothing I could tell them without violating your confidence. That would be bad for business.” I looked back over my shoulder for a tail. Carrying that sack of weed in the trunk made me edgy. “What about the maid? She’s quite the hot little number.”
She smiled, for the first time, and exhaled a long cloud of smoke. I lit up. I hadn’t had Old Golds for some time; this one tasted fresh.
“Really? I never noticed.”
“Any boyfriends?” I asked.
“No. I always thought of Bao-yu as rather asexual.”
“How far can you trust her?”
“Oh, completely. Agustin hired her for me when we got married. She does everything for me. She knows Agustin’s business, but she’s completely loyal. I’m sure we have nothing to fear from her.”
I wasn’t so confident. “I’ll give you some advice.”
“I’m listening, Mr. Swiver.”
“Drop these guys, Mrs. Maldau. They play rough. You’re lucky you’re still walking around. And you’re talking like Lauren Bacall.”
She put a hand to her throat. “I was throttled,” she said.
“It’s only going to get worse. Drugs is a bad business. It looks like gravy for a while, but it’s poison underneath. You don’t belong in this.” I took a drag on the Old Gold. Trying times? Try a smooth Old Gold.
“Will you come with me to Oakland, to deliver the goods to Pacho? I would feel safer.”
“That would make me a knowing accessory in a crime, Mrs. Maldau.” I checked behind us one more time. Then I looked again at her knees. Her skirt had slid up another inch or so.
“I would pay you to be my bodyguard.” She held her cigarette between her lips, steered with her left hand, and dropped her right hand down onto my leg and rubbed lightly. When we came to a red light, she took her cigarette in her left hand and leaned across for a lingering kiss. That was a surprise, but it was nothing compared to what she did next. She exhaled a long drag of smoke down my gullet.
The light turned green. I coughed. “Say, these aren’t regular Old Golds.”
“They’re Old Gold Kings,” she said, and giggled.
I found that funny too. “Old Gold Kings. Ha, ha.”
“Ha, ha, ha.” We had a good laugh together. I tried another drag on my cigarette.
“I empty the tobacco out, combine with marijuana, and pack the blend back in. Good, no?”
“Good, yes,” I said. At the next red light, we leaned together for more kissing. Her right hand moved into my crotch and I slid a paw up her right leg, which she held muscled down on the brake pedal. In a couple of blocks, she turned left at Presidio Avenue and pulled to a stop in front of the Casa Rosa Inn. This dame knew all the classy flops between the ocean and Oakland.
“Get us a room, Frank.” It took willpower to break the clinch, but I went into the office. I signed us in as Mr. and Mrs. Francis Kennedy, paid four and a half bucks in advance, and got the key for room 24. I saw a small bodega open across California Street, gave Mrs. Kennedy-Maldau the room key, and went across to get us a bottle of wine. I must have been getting high, because I nearly stepped out in front of a chopped and lowered sled. I should have been able to see it coming — there were flames painted on the side.
10
You can imagine what happened. We smoked a couple sticks of tea and drank that bottle of wine, an Italian Swiss Colony red, if anybody asks. The next thing I recall was coming out of a dream, but in the instant of waking, I forgot the dream. I opened my eyes to the sun coming in on my face through the Venetian blinds. I turned over, and found myself naked and alone. Water ran in the bathroom. Karin’s rags were draped over a chair. It was just after six-thirty.
I got myself upright and realized I felt good. The bathroom door was open, so I popped in, and stood at the toilet. “Karin, how you feeling this morning?” There was no answer. When I was finished at the bowl, I smiled and stuck my head inside the shower curtain. The tub was empty. I blinked but it was still empty. I turned off the water and got dressed.
My first thought was that when I got downstairs, I’d find the Mercury gone, like it had been last night. But it was out front on Presidio where we’d parked it. Some small detail looked wrong, though. It was the key, sticking out of the trunk lock.
It was very bright out, and I took my sunglasses out of my sport coat pocket and put them on. I looked up and down Presidio. I was the only one out on the street. A bakery truck was double-parked by the bodega, making a delivery, and a couple of cars were at the gas station on the far corner.
I weaved across the white pavement, like a nervous spider. I lifted the trunk lid. The still-wet, naked body of Karin Maldau lay folded in the trunk. The head and neck were at an unnatural angle. I put two fingers on her pulse, hoping for a beat, but it was nothing doing. The canvas bag of dope was gone. I closed the trunk lid quietly and pocketed the keys.
Now I was in that dream I couldn’t remember dreaming a few minutes ago, back upstairs. It was a bad dream, and I couldn’t wake up. It was so bright out, I felt a need to get out of the sunlight.
I got in the Mercury and fired it up. I pulled out on Presidio Avenue and drove north to California Street, taking it easy. Let’s see, it wasn’t my car, the plates were phony or stolen, and there was a dead blonde in the trunk. If a copper nailed me now for running a stop sign, I was looking at two life terms if the jury liked me. I decided to go back to the Casa Rosa and pick up Karin’s clothes, and see what traces I’d left in the room. Maybe I’d even find a clue.
I pulled into the alley east of Presidio. Up in room 24, I wiped down anything I thought might have my prints on it, packed Karin’s clothes in a pillow case, and picked up the unfinished pack of Old Golds.
There were a few hairs on the bedding, some blond, some of mine. I picked up the ones I could see. I gathered some more blond hair from the shower drain, and flushed it all down the toilet.
As I walked out from the bathroom to the door, something caught my eye on the floor near the radiator. It was a pair of dark glasses, men’s. Someone had been here who wore shades in the early morning. Karin had struggled enough to knock them off, and after he’d killed her and put her in the trunk, he thought it was too risky to come back for the sunglasses.