Don't Be Surprised, page 19
An’ what happens?
Just because I am tellin’ the truth on this occasion she does not believe me. She says: “No . . . you always say that. It is a lie. I will not let you go.”
An’ by this time I have got away from this baby her old boy has arrived an’ is doin’ a knife throwin’ act which was practically cuttin’ my chassis to ribbons. If that guy hadn’t run out of knives I would probably be in strips to this day.
All of which will show you mugs that you gotta be very careful when an’ how you tell any woman the truth. Because even if it is sometimes good she won’t like it.
I have never yet met up with a dame who would not rather have a real honest-to-goodness dyed-in-the-wool, custom-made goddam lie—providin’ it was a nice one—than the truth. Work it out for yourself. An’ if you don’t believe me, try it. An’ any time I see any of you male guys walkin’ around with a black eye an’ a bump on your dome that looks like you been bombed with an old-fashioned cannon ball I will know that you been pullin’ a George Washington act on the girl-friend.
Because I will tell you guys somethin’ that is so logical that you can practically set it to music an’ sing it in your bath. If a dame is beautiful she don’t expect to be told the truth an’ if she is ugly she don’t want to be told the truth. If a dame is clever she wants to be told she’s beautiful an’ if she’s beautiful she wants to be told she’s clever, an’ if she’s beautiful an’ clever then you gotta tell her that she’s got a line an’ a technique that makes Helen of Troy, Messalina, Mae West an’ the girl who usta do the belly dance at the Moulin Rouge look like a troupe of performin’ jackals.
An’ if she’s beautiful an’ clever an’ has got technique as well—then I give up. An’ my advice to you is to cross your fingers an’ get yourself a fast train to Oshkosh good an’ quick because a dame like that is probably too good for anybody except a guy with armour plated feelin’s an’ no hope.
But if by any chance you know any dames like the above I would very much like some telephone numbers, because I am one of them mugs who are so used to steppin’ in where angels fear to tread that I have developed a sorta cast-iron temperament an’ am always prepared to try anythin’ once—and maybe twice if I like it.
You got me?
I wake up at quarter to eleven an’ start preparin’ for action. I take a look at the Luger, examine the ammunition clip, stick on my hat an’ overcoat, take one little drink outa the rye bottle an’ scram downstairs.
In the hallway I meet the porter. I tell him that I am goin’ for a little stroll around before turnin’ in. This guy is a nice guy an’ speaks English very well except that it sounds like his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth with carpenter’s glue.
I get talkin’ to him about the Dutch language an’ start askin’ him questions. I ask him the Dutch for this an’ that an’ he is very obligin’. I remember some of the words that he tells me because I reckon I am goin’ to want ’em later.
Then I scram.
I reckon I have got an hour to get busy in.
I start walkin’ down towards the harbour an’ when I get down there I ask some guy where the Spruithuis is because I reckon I am goin’ to do a little checkin’ up an’ see if that dame Ardena is around with Gloydas like she said.
When I get there I see that this dump is an old-fashioned sailors’ tavern down in one of the little harbour streets. I take a look into the main bar-room, which is filled with sea-farin’ guys of all sorts an’ sizes, all talkin’ about the war. Over on the other side of the room is a half-open door an’ through it I can see some people sittin’ around tables an’ drinkin’.
I go over to the bar an’ order a glass of schnapps. When I have got it I ease over to the door an’ take a peek through into the other room.
Over in the corner I can see Ardena lookin’ like a million dollars. She is sittin’ at a table with Gloydas. On the other side of the table are two heavy, square lookin’ guys in jerseys an’ sea-boots. One of ’em has got a woollen cap on an’ looks like Captain Kidd’s great-grandson, an’ the other guy is a shorter fella in a big blue wind-breaker jumper. I reckon these two guys are the pilots who are takin’ the boats out for Gloydas.
I stand there behind the door watchin’ ’em. The two Dutchmen are drinkin’ beer out of mugs but Gloydas an’ Ardena have got a bottle of champagne in front of ’em, an’ by the looks of it Gloydas is carryin’ just about as much as he can hold. He is very red in the face an’ laughin’ an’ talkin’ like hell. Ardena is playin’ him along an’ noddin’ her head at him, an’ the two Dutchmen are lookin’ at him like he was somethin’ very strange from up-country that nobody had ever seen before.
I lean back against the wall an’ start sippin’ at the glass of schnapps. I get to thinkin’ that this Ardena baby has surely got next to Gloydas all right. She has been puttin’ some overtime in on that mug an’ he is certainly takin’ a night off.
Well, maybe this is understandable. He thinks maybe that he has got everything fixed very nicely, that there is nothin’ else for him to worry about an’ that it is O.K. for him to sit back an’ take a little drink.
But I am not feeling so good. I go back to the doorway an’ take another look. Gloydas is leanin’ over the table. The two Dutchmen are sittin’ down now an’ they have all got their heads close together. Then Gloydas starts feelin’ in his pocket an’ brings out a packet of dough. He slips it over the table an’ the biggest of the two guys grabs it.
Then they all start shakin’ hands. All except Ardena who is very busy fillin’ up Gloydas’ glass.
The two sailor guys finish their drinks, get up, button up their coats an’ start walkin’ towards the door. I stand back against the wall of the bar-room. It looks like it is all fixed up an’ these are the two pilots who are goin’ to do the job. When they go past me I take a quick peek at ’em. They are tough-lookin’ guys with faces tanned from sea-air an’ salt water. As they go clumpin’ outa the bar in their big boots I get to hopin’ that one of these days they will run on a big rock an’ stay there.
I take another look through the door. Gloydas is sittin’ back in his chair. His face is as flushed as a tomato an’ he is squeezin’ Ardena like he was a bear.
I move away, across the bar-room, an’ scram. I am not feelin’ so happy. Why the hell does Ardena want to get Gloydas so cock-eyed that he don’t know what he is doin’? What is the big idea?
She an’ I have planned to snatch Buddy. Then we was supposed to hold up Gloydas for the dough before we told him where Buddy was. Well what is the idea in gettin’ Gloydas so goddam drunk that he does not know which way he is pointin’?
I have told you guys before that everybody in this case has been double-crossin’ everybody else.
Ardena has been plannin’ to double-cross Gloydas an’ I reckon to pull a fast one on her.
But what does this new business mean? What is that baby doin’ gettin’ him so high that he will not know what the hell he is doin?
At the back of my head I have got a funny idea. I am wonderin’ whether Ardena is plannin’ to double-cross me!
Hell . . . I reckon it is too late to start askin’ questions.
Whether she is on the up-an’-up or not I am goin’ through with the Buddy snatch if I can.
So here we go!
Chapter Thirteen
Snatch-as-Snatch-Can
When I get outside I start walkin’ away from the harbour. I make a good détour, come around, an’ pick up the road I was on the night before. I walk along quickly, keepin’ in the shadows until I come to the Gloydas-Nakorova-Haal office. I go right past it and strike the dirt road like Ardena said in her note.
When I get about a mile down the road I see the house. It is a two-story dump standin’ back well away from the road. There is a wall round it about thirty yards away from the house but there is no sort of cover, because all around the place is flat marshland an’ even the road I am walkin’ on is wet from the dykes.
I reckon that it is lucky it is a dark night otherwise any guys in this house could see me comin’.
I get off the road an’ start walkin’ towards the wall. I ease around to the back an’ look for a gate or an openin’ but I can’t find one.
I take a look at the wall. It is about eight feet high an’ easy. I jump for the top, catch it an’ pull myself up an’ over. I drop on the other side.
Standin’ back in the shadow of the wall I take a look at the house. It is as dark as hell an’ the shutters are all pulled. I can’t even see a glimmer of light anywhere.
I start walkin’ over towards it. Then I work around to the front. There are two or three plank steps leadin’ up to a sort of wooden veranda that runs around the front of the house. On the other side of this veranda is a door.
I give a hell of a cough an’ start walkin’ up the wooden steps. I make a lot of noise doin’ this an’ I bang on the door two or three times.
Nothin’ happens. After a bit I start bangin’ again. I wait an’ listen. Two or three minutes go past an’ then I hear some steps comin’ towards the door inside.
The steps stop. Then some guy says in Dutch: “Who is there?”
I start rememberin’ the words the hotel porter told me. I say in a very gruff voice to cover up my lousy Dutch:
“This is the harbour police.”
There is a pause for a second or two an’ then I can hear the guy openin’ the door.
I take a step back. As he opens the door I step forward an’ bust him one. I give him a sleepin’ draught on the jaw that woulda sent most guys off for half an hour. He goes over with a crash but starts gettin’ up again. I reckon I do not want any trouble with this guy so I slip the Luger out of its holster quick an’ crown him one on the dome with it. He goes down like a log—makin’ a helluva lot of noise doin’ it.
I am wonderin’ where the hell the other guy is. I close the door quietly behind me an’ stand there listenin’. I can’t hear a thing.
Then I start movin’ forward but I have only gone a step when a light flashes in my eyes.
Right in front of me is a flight of wooden stairs leadin’ up to the first floor hallway. On the top of these stairs is the other guy. He has got a flash-lamp in one hand and a gun in the other.
I reckon that he has seen his pal is knocked out, an’ I reckon I got to work fast. I take a quick shot at the lamp with the Luger an’ get it. Then I bend down in the darkness an’ grab hold of the unconscious guy. I hold him up in front of me an’ as the guy on the stairs looses off with his gun I drop the guy an’ give a big groan.
It works. The bozo on the stairs thinks he has got me. He starts comin’ down. When he gets to the bottom he pauses for a minute. I reckon he is feelin’ around for a light switch.
I am right. As he flicks the switch down I go for him with my head down. I run at him an’ hit him in the guts so hard that it looks like I was going right through him. Just to make quite certain of this guy I smack him a mean one over the brains with the gun-butt. He flops down.
I look at the first guy. He is shot clean through the pump so I reckon it was nice for me that I was holdin’ him in front of me.
I look around. There is a room over on the right of the hallway. I take a look in. It is dark an’ all the shutters are pulled. I pull the dead guy over into this room an’ park him there. Then I go back for the other mug an’ drag him in.
I tear a lump off his shirt an’ ram it down his mouth. Then I get the belts off him an’ the other guy an’ truss him up. When I have finished with him he looks like a chicken. I reckon he is safe enough.
I shut the door, cross the hallway an’ start walkin’ up the stairs. At the top I flick on my cigarette lighter an’ take a look around. There is a passage in front of me with a door at the end. The door is closed but I can see some light comin’ from under the crack.
I gumshoe along the passage very quietly. I have got my lighter in my left hand an’ the Luger in my right. When I get to the door I give it a helluva kick.
It flies open.
In the opposite corner of the room, sittin’ behind a table playin’ patience, is a young guy with blond hair an’ a fancy moustache. He puts the cards in his hand down on the table.
I go over an’ give him a big grin. I say:
“Mr. Buddy Perriner, I believe?”
He says: “That’s right. Who are you and what the hell do you want?”
I grab a chair an’ stick it down in front of the table. I say:
“Now listen: Don’t argue, don’t start askin’ questions. If you wanta get out of this keep your ears open an’ your mouth shut. I am goin’ to do some quick talkin’. There’s no time to be wasted.”
He gives a sorta grin.
“My name’s Caution,” I tell him—“Lemmy Caution of the Bureau of Investigation, United States Department of Justice. You can guess what I’m over here for, but just in case your brain’s a bit muzzy I’ll tell you:
“Your father was framed inta sendin’ orders by wireless to two of his ships, that were at sea with cargoes intended for England, to sail inta Delfzyl, Holland, to await further orders. You know what’s on those boats—airplanes!
“O.K. Sergius Nakorova, who made a play for your sister so that they could get next to you, had you grabbed off by Willie Lodz, Ardena Vandell an’ Borg. They let your old man know that if he didn’t do what they said they’d bump you. You were stuck on one of the boats an’ you were brought here.
“In the meantime Nakorova has got your sister over to Paris. From there they get her to England. They tell her that unless she plays ball an’ does what they want they’re goin’ to slit your throat. They tell you that unless you do what you’re told they’ll bump her.
“O.K. Well, I don’t wanta tell you any lies so I’m not tellin’ you that your sister’s safe because I don’t know she’s safe. Maybe she is an’ maybe she’s not. But I got word to the English police four or five days ago. Maybe they’ve got her—I don’t know. But you can take this as read that if they haven’t found Geraldine, whatever you do or whatever you don’t do you won’t see her again.”
I lean across the table.
“Look, kid,” I tell him. “This is tough, but you gotta listen to reason. Do you think that after you’ve given your orders as representative of the Perriner organisation to these two captains who’re comin’ around here to-night, to take those ships around into the Ems River an’ deliver those cargoes inta Germany, they’re goin’ to let your sister go—that is if they’ve still got her. They’ve got to bump her, see? Have you ever known of any kidnappers who let a victim go after they got the ransom through?”
He says: “What is it you want me to do?”
“Only this,” I tell him. “I just dealt with the two mugs downstairs. I had a bit of trouble with ’em. One of ’em’s dead an’ I have slugged the other one. They are nice an’ quiet now anyway. At half-past twelve some dame is bringin’ a car out here. We’re goin’ to get inta that car an’ we’re goin’ to scram.
“There’s a funny angle to this story. The dame is Ardena Vandell—Lodz’ girl. The dame who vamped you so’s they could snatch you. They’ve been done down for their dough by this bunch. She thinks I am Charlie Hoyt—a pal of Willie Lodz. The idea is that we snatch you again before the captains get here, an’ hold ’em up for our dough. That’s what she thinks. I’m not doin’ that. When we leave here we’re goin’ straight to the American Vice-Consul’s office in Delfzyl. I am goin’ to knock that guy up an’ slam you inside. You’ll be under the protection of the American flag. We shoot the whole story to the Consul an’ we arrest those two boats. We stop ’em leavin’ this port. You got it?”
“I’ve got it,” he says.
He gets up an’ walks over to the fireplace.
“What a damn’ fool I’ve been,” he says.
I grin at him.
“You’re tellin’ me, Buddy,” I crack. “But listen, you ain’t the first guy that’s fallen for a dame. An’ I can sympathise with you in fallin’ for that dame Ardena Vandell. She’s got something.”
He says: “You’re right. Gee, what a mug I was to fall for that blonde.”
I don’t say anything. I look at him.
Then I say: “Well, it can’t be helped now. Get your hat—we’ll get goin’. I wanta get away from this dump. There is only one road leadin’ to this place from Delfzyl. We’ll walk down it. Maybe we’ll meet the dame drivin’ up.”
He puts his hands in his pockets. He looks sorta obstinate.
“I don’t think I’m going to do that,” he says.
“Oh, no!” I tell him. “An’ why not?”
He shrugs his shoulders.
“Look,” he says, “I’ve been told all sorts of fairy stories by all sorts of people. Now you come along. You say you are a ‘G’ man. How the hell do I know if that’s true or not? You don’t seem to realise that I’m in a jam.”
“Don’t be a goddam fool, Buddy,” I tell him. “Of course you’re in a jam an’ I’m tryin’ to get you out of it. I don’t want you to start thinkin’. All the thinkin’ you’ve done so far has been wrong. You do what you’re told. We’re goin’ to get outa here.”
He shakes his head.
“I’m not goin’,” he says.
“Oh, no?” I tell him. “An’ why not?”
He looks at me. He grins. He’s not a bad-lookin’ guy. I feel sorta sorry for him.
“Work it out for yourself,” he says. “All this business has happened through me. They’ve got my sister through my damned stupidity, and I reckon this business is going to break the old man’s heart. I am not looking forward to seeing him again. He’s going to be very tough.
“But this isn’t an ordinary kidnapping. These guys aren’t out just for money. They’re not the usual sort of kidnappin’ thugs. Apparently they want to get the cargo into Germany. Well, I’m not certain that they won’t keep their word to me. After all, all they want is those airplanes. They’ve told me that when the captains get their orders to-night, they are going to leave me here till two o’clock. After that I shall be free. They’re going to give me some dough to get over to England. They’re going to tell me where Geraldine is.
