Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 51, No. 1 & 2, January/February 2006
- Автор: Бетанкур Джон Грегори, Jr. William J. Carroll,
- Год: 2006
- Язык: английский
- Год: Dell Magazines/Crosstown Publications
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 51, No. 1 & 2, January/February 2006». Краткое содержание книги:
Hoping to escape his notice, Marilyn quickly turned for the hotel restaurant, almost colliding with a pillar that hadn’t been there a moment ago.
Before she got far, she heard the dick’s voice behind her, “Hey! I thought I told you to get lost after the stink you made last time.”
She stopped and faced him, the sudden movement causing the room to spin uncontrollably.
Heavy jawed with small, stupid eyes, he turned to the coat check girl and laughed at his own joke. “Get it? Stink.” He mimed emptying a bottle into his mouth. “Stink!” he repeated, and held his nose at an imagined stench.
The chubby, gap-toothed girl darted a superior smile at Marilyn before she turned back to her work.
“I left my purse here,” Marilyn said, shaping every syllable carefully.
“You didn’t leave nothing here except your dignity, toots. If you have any left,” he said.
She jammed her hands into her coat pockets. Like viewing pictures on a stereoscope, Ray’s birthday party came back to her. Arriving late. Ray in a booth surrounded by his Purple Gang. That hussy of a blonde next to him, wrapped around him like a bun on a wiener. Ray’s smile of unconcern that she’d caught him cheating on her. Two-timing sonofabitch. She was glad that she’d thrown her birthday gift, a bottle of expensive cologne from Paris, France, at him. The bottle burst on the booth’s upholstery, spraying scent over the couple. It had been well worth being thrown out for.
“You’re a real comedian. You should be on the stage,” she said sarcastically, a hand on her hip. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to miss the show and go look in the restaurant for my purse.”
“Oh no.” He approached, wagging his finger at her like a schoolteacher. “I’m under strict orders. You don’t go near that restaurant again.”
“Get that finger out of my face before I take it off,” she snapped, not worrying that the words came tumbling out in a sloppy jumble now. “What’s the matter? Is Ray still celebrating his birthday?” She tried stepping around him, but he easily moved to stop her.
“No, your stinkbomb cleared ’em out pretty good.” He chuckled at the memory, then became serious. “Not that Ray’s whereabouts is any concern of yours no more, but he’s gone.” He folded his arms over his chest, blocking her path.
She crossed her own arms over her chest, then took a sudden step back as she lost her balance. “I’m not leaving until I get my purse.”
He grabbed her arm. “You’ll leave when I tell you. Which is now.” He dragged her toward the door.
She shook him off. “Take your hand off me or I’ll make a ruckus and bring the house down.”
He knew she would, too. He glanced around as if he realized for the first time they were in a lobby full of guests, then released her. “Okay, okay. I’ll take a look for you, if you promise to be quiet and go outside to wait.”
Doubtful, she nodded. She bounced against pillars and walls until she found herself standing under the awning outside. The doorman was nowhere to be seen. Angry humiliation burned in her eyes at the memory of Ray’s treatment. “Got a smoke?” she asked a kid hanging around the door, probably hoping to be asked to run a message. Her mouth was dry, too. She could have used a pull from the flask she carried in her purse.
His blue cap low over his eyes, the kid dug in the pocket of his dungarees and produced a mashed packet. He fished a cigarette out and grudgingly handed it to her.
Before she could light it, the house dick showed up, his hands empty. “Not there,” he said.
“Did you—?”
“I turned the place upside down. Not there.”
“That little tramp—”
“Marilyn, why don’t you use that pretty little head of yours,” he poked at the curls of her bob with a finger, “instead of soaking it? You didn’t stay more than two minutes. You didn’t sit down. Ergo, it follows that you didn’t leave no purse here, unless you threw it at someone?” he ended with a question.
She shook her head. A bad idea. She staggered as a wave of dizziness assaulted her.
“Think about it.” He struck a match and lit her cigarette for her. “It’s gotta be someplace else.”
She took a long drag to steady herself, then exhaled. He was right.
“Where were you before you came here?” he asked.
“Hudson’s Department Store.”
“Maybe you left it there.”
The streets near Woodward and Columbia were glutted with cars and it took O’Neill a while to find a parking space. He squeezed into a space some blocks away, climbed out, and walked along the street looking for telltale signs. A plain sturdy wooden door with a peephole had to be the Kibbutzer Club.
He hesitated before entering, touching the gun in his pocket. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all. It could go wrong fast.
A barrel-chested patrolman strolling his beat, his hands crossed behind his back, tossed a pleasant greeting to him, “Afternoon, sir.” A puzzled grin spread across his face as he saw the purse O’Neill carried.
“Afternoon, Officer.” Sheepishly, O’Neill held the purse up. “I’m wondering if you might happen to know a young lady by the name of Marilyn Massie.”
The patrolman stiffened and turned watchful, as his gaze lit on the bulge of the gun. “What do you want with Miss Marilyn?”
“She dropped her purse.”
The tension in the patrolman’s eyes and mouth eased. “I saw her a few minutes ago.”
O’Neill nodded, straightened his shoulders, took a deep breath, and headed for the door of the club.
The patrolman pinched his sleeve. “I don’t believe you want to go in there, sir.”
O’Neill knew he didn’t, but he pretended surprise. “I don’t?”
“No,” the patrolman said firmly, with a meaningful glance at the gun in his pocket, “you don’t. Besides, if it’s Miss Marilyn you’re looking for, she’s not there now. Left not five minutes ago.”
Annoyed, O’Neill sighed. “In a cab?” he asked.
The officer nodded.
“I don’t suppose you overheard the address she gave?”
“Can’t say I do. Sorry, sir.” He drifted backwards, then turned and continued his leisurely patrol of the sidewalk.
Perhaps she’d realized she’d lost her purse at the hotel and returned. It was worth a try.
A few minutes’ walk bumping against pedestrians on the sidewalk like a billiard ball on a table brought Marilyn to Hudson’s Department Store a few blocks away from the hotel. She pushed through the doors of the department store cautiously, ready to make a bolt if one of the floor dicks the store crawled with spotted her.
Inside, she surveyed the women’s clothing department on the first floor. Shoppers, mostly women, a few with bored children in tow, grazed the merchandise. No sign of a dick. Careful of her balance and her surroundings, she wound her way through racks of dresses and cosmetic counters toward the perfume.
Shifts had changed and a different salesgirl stood behind an array of glittering bottles. Marilyn had fully intended to buy the cologne earlier. She had the money and she would have purchased it if she hadn’t had to wait so danged long in a herd of housewives. She had already been late for Ray’s birthday party. It had been quicker to pocket a bottle and scoot out.
Mustering all her politeness, she addressed the salesgirl, “I think I may have left my purse here earlier today.”
“Lost and found — the fourteenth floor,” the girl shot back, looking down her nose like she was better than Marilyn because she had a job in a lousy department store.
Marilyn opened her mouth for a retort, but the girl intercepted her. “Elevators — in the back of the building.”