Sally's in the Alley, Norbert Davis [i like reading .txt] 📗

at the stairs. He hit them this time, and got halfway up before he lost his momentum. He turned around and sat down with a baffled sigh.

“Two-one-four,” said the clerk.

“Two-one-four,” Joshua echoed obediently.

He got up and picked up the bags again, and made it to the top of the staircase. Doan and Carstairs followed him with due caution. Joshua had dropped the bags halfway down the straight, high-ceilinged hall, and was bent over in front of a door, jabbing at the middle panel with the key the clerk had given him.

“Here,” said Doan.

He took the key and unlocked the door. Joshua dove head first into the darkened room. Doan waited. Nothing happened. Finally Doan groped around the edge of the door until he found the light switch and turned it.

Joshua was sitting on the edge of one of the high brass beds. He had his elbows on his knees and his chin resting in his hands. Doan picked up the suitcases and brought them inside the room.

“Thanks, bud,” said Joshua. “Open the windows before you go, and leave a call for me at ten-thirty.”

“Okay,” said Doan.

He took hold of Joshua by the slack of his uniform jacket and marched him to the door and pushed. Joshua fell in a graceful heap in the middle of the hall. Doan shut the door and looked at Carstairs.

“Well, you can’t blame me for that, surely,” he said.

Carstairs was sitting in the middle of the floor. He watched Doan levelly for a moment and then closed his eyes and sighed with long-suffering patience.

Doan took the .25 automatic out of his pocket and shoved it under the mattress of one of the beds. He straightened his tie in front of the wavery mirror over the dresser, and then nodded at Carstairs.

“Come to, soup-brain. I think we better move around a bit.”

He opened the door and looked out. Joshua had disappeared. Doan and Carstairs went down the hall and downstairs to the lobby.

The clerk still smiled. “I hope you found your room satisfactory?”

“Very,” said Doan. “Where’s Joshua?”

“He went out for a few minutes to get a drink of root beer.”

“Root beer?” Doan said. “Joshua?”

“Yes. He makes it himself in the back of a drugstore next door.”

“I’ll bet,” said Doan. “I want to use your telephone to make a long distance call.”

“If you’ll give me the number, I’ll get it for you. You can take it in the booth over there.”

“I’d rather use your board. Haven’t you got an errand you can run?”

“No,” said the clerk. “But I can use these.” He took a pair of rubber earplugs from his pocket and inserted them in his ears.

“There’s a scorpion on your shirt collar,” Doan told him.

The clerk removed one of the plugs. “What?”

“Those are fine,” Doan said. He sat down in front of the board and flipped the switch that connected with the exchange, holding the half-headset receiver to his ear.

“Hello Gerald, darling,” a feminine voice greeted.

“Gerald’s busy not listening to you at the moment,” Doan said. “Is there any message?”

“No! What are you doing on the board?”

“Trying to put in a long distance call to Brighton 7-7345. That’s an exchange in Brighton outside of New York City. Will you get it for me?”

“I suppose so.”

“And don’t bother to listen in after you get it. I’m a Japanese spy, and the things I’m going to say are confidential military information.”

“Nothing you could say would interest me in the slightest, I assure you. Hold the line.”

Doan listened through a long series of clicks and buzzes and dribbles of conversation. Finally the operator said, “Here’s your party, and you’re welcome to him.”

“Hello, hello,” said a masculine voice. “Hello. This is A. Truegold, president of Severn International Detectives.”

“You won’t be for long,” Doan said, “if you make any more lend-lease deals with me for the subject or object or whatever.”

“Oh. So it’s you. Now Doan, nobody asked me to loan you to them. They told me. You want I should argue with the Army and Navy?”

“All right. Send five hundred dollars to I. Doanwashi, care of the Double-Eagle Hotel in Heliotrope, Nevada or California. Telegraph it right away.”

“Now Doan, you’re already drawn ahead three months. You can’t expect to draw any more when you aren’t even working for me. Why don’t you be reasonable?”

“Why don’t you stop arguing? You know you’ll lose. Send the dough tonight. I’m trying to raffle off a used cadaver, and I need it for operating capital.”

“Doan! A what did you say?”

“Skip it. Just forget the whole matter. Only don’t start yelling for me when the cops come rapping on your door and asking about stray bodies.”

“Doan! You didn’t involve the agency in a murder? That’s against our policy! It says so right on our stationery!”

“Show it to the police.”

“Doan! Wait a minute! Don’t you dare hang up on me! What name did you say you were using?”

“I. Doanwashi.”

“Why?”

“I’m a Japanese spy now.”

“Don’t say things like that! Do you want to get us both shot? Doan! Are you drunk?”

“Stinking. I’m liable to start babbling and drooling at any moment.”

“Oh, Doan! Now please. You’ve got no right to involve me or the agency… All right! I’ll send it. But no more! I warn you! I won’t tolerate any further blackmail from you!”

“Okay. Is that little greasy bird who used to collect filthy postcards still hanging out in Des Moines?”

“Meredith? Yes. Why?”

“I want you to call him tonight, as soon as you send me my dough, and tell him to send a telegram to Harriet Hathaway in care of the Double-Eagle Hotel in Heliotrope, Nevada or California, whichever he knows how to spell. Have him tell her in the telegram to stay here until she is contacted for important detached confidential duty. Have him sign it with just his initials and last name, and tell him to put the letters C-A-P-T in front of the name. That stands for capitals.”

“It stands for something else, too,” said Truegold. “It stands for captain.”

“Does it?” Doan asked.

“Doan! I won’t do it! No!”

Doan cut the connection and nodded at the clerk.

The clerk removed his earplugs. “Did you get your party?”

“Yes. Put the charge on my room bill. Do you know anyone named Dust-Mouth Haggerty?”

“Not socially,” said the clerk.

“I wasn’t looking for a formal introduction. Where would I be likely to find him?”

“In jail.”

“You mean right now?”

“Almost any time.”

“Thanks,” said Doan. “I’ll go take a look.” He snapped his fingers at Carstairs and started for the front door.

A woman, trailed by a faint, dim shadow, came in and stopped short, staring at him. Doan stared back. He couldn’t have helped himself had he tried. She was beautifully tall and beautifully slender, and she had shoulder length black hair that gleamed darker and deeper and smoother than polished ebony. She had features so unbelievably perfect they made you gulp and look again, and then keep right on gulping. She was wearing white linen slacks, and a white jacket trimmed with big brass buttons, and white open-toed pumps, and a red sash around her waist. She pulled all the life out of the lobby and focused it on herself, like a little boy sucking soda through a straw.

“No,” she said, and her voice was soft and just slightly hoarse. “There couldn’t be two pair like you.”

“If I wasn’t looking right at it,” Doan answered, “I wouldn’t believe there could even be one like you—”

The faint, dim shadow behind the woman tiptoed closer and peered over her shoulder. The shadow owned a pair of wide, worried eyes and a long nose, and sported a white catalogue sombrero with a high crown circled by a purple and red band four inches wide.

“A fat little number,” said the woman, “with a big mouth and a bigger dog. Wasn’t that it?”

“Now, Sally,” said the shadow. “Now, wait. There must be some reasonable explanation.”

Susan Sally glided forward three smooth steps. “I don’t like fat little numbers. Especially fat little numbers that call me fat.” She paused meaningly. “I don’t like big dogs, either.”

Carstairs promptly walked around behind Doan.

“You coward,” Doan muttered. He smiled nervously. “I’m sorry about that. It was a mistake.”

“That’s okay,” Susan Sally said amiably. “Let’s shake on it, huh?”

She held out her right hand. Doan reached for it, but didn’t take it. Instead he shoved her right elbow back and up with the heel of his palm. She had started to move just as soon as he had. She swung a full roundhouse left at his face. The shove pushed her off balance, and her fist swished harmlessly past in front of Doan’s nose. She staggered a little, and Doan caught both her wrists, holding her upright, facing him. He was watching her feet.

The shadow was gibbering and screeching in the background. “Hit her in the stomach!”

“What?” said Doan, startled.

The shadow jiggled both fists in an agony of apprehension. “Not in the face! Don’t hit her face! Thirty-five hundred dollars a week!”

Susan Sally was standing perfectly still, perfectly relaxed. Doan didn’t let go of her wrists.

“That doesn’t fool me, either,” he said. “And if you try a faint, I’ll just step out of the way and let you flop,”

“You think of everything, honey,” said Susan Sally. “Let’s have a peace conference, huh?”

“Sure,” said Doan, still holding her wrists.

“I mean it.”

Doan let go. “Okay. I’m really sorry I said you were fat. I apologize.”

She winked at him. “I knew you didn’t mean it. After all, you’ve got eyes, haven’t you? I was just griped because you walked off with my special steak. What did you want it ground up for?”

Doan pointed at Carstairs. “For him.”

“You mean, he ate it all?”

“Sure.”

“Come on out, large and loop-legged,” she said, “and let me look at you.”

Carstairs sidled cautiously out from behind Doan.

“You’re not bad,” Susan Sally said. “Only you’re not worth a three-pound steak. Walk off with another one of mine, and I’ll kick your teeth in.”

Carstairs looked impressed.”

“MacAdoo!” said Susan Sally.

The shadow with the big hat answered eagerly, “Yes, Sally?”

“Trot out the etiquette.”

MacAdoo cleared his throat. “This is Miss Susan Sally, internationally famous star of the stage and screen. And may I ask your name, sir?”

“Just call me Doan for short.”

“Miss Sally, may I present Mr. Doan—a humble admirer of your art.”

“Hi, toots,” said Susan Sally.

“Hi,” said Doan. “Who’s the echo on my left?”

“Just a stooge,” said Susan Sally. “I tote him around for laughs.”

“I am Miss Sally’s business manager and agent,” said MacAdoo. “Elmer A. MacAdoo is the name. I’m very happy to make your acquaintance.”

“Pipe down,” Susan Sally told him. “What’s your line, Doan? Aside from stealing steaks.”

“I’m a Japanese spy.”

“How’s business?”

“All shot to hell. We tried to float a loan, but it sank.”

“Maybe you can pump out the Pacific and recover your investment. Let’s go have a slug of_ sake,_ Doan.”

“It’s an idea,” Doan admitted. “We’ll toast the Emperor.”

“Over a slow fire,” Susan Sally agreed.

A new voice said, “Excuse me, please.”

The man had come up so quietly they hadn’t noticed him. He was the type of person it was easy not to notice. He was small and dusty and shriveled, and he had a long drooping black mustache and round, solemn blue eyes. He had a nickel-plated star pinned to his coat collar.

“Excuse you for what?” Doan asked.

“Excuse me for botherin’ you. But I think I’m gonna have to arrest you. Do