You Can Call It A Day

1: Narcisse Noir-2

Vallon raised his eyebrows. "You don't say! You don't mean to tell me that you came over here on your own money when you could have charged it to the firm. Well... well... wonders will never cease."

There was a pause; then he asked: "When are you going back?"

"First thing in the morning." Hipper's tone changed. "Look, Mr. Vallon, you don't have to do anything about this. You don't have to, do you?"

"You mean tell Chennault?" Vallon grinned. "You think if I told Chennault he'd sack you. I don't have to tell him. But I could sack you myself. Don't you know that?"

Hipper nodded. "I know it."

Vallon said: "All right, Hipper. I'll forget it. It'll cost you a large whisky and soda."

Hipper grinned. "I always knew you were all right, Mr. Vallon. I'd like to buy you a drink." He ordered the drinks. He went on: "It's pretty nice of you to take this angle on my coming here."

Vallon picked up the glass and drained it.

He said: "That's what I thought. Good night, Hipper." He went out of the bar.

He thought Hipper was a liar.

IT WAS LATE when Vallon went into the lounge at the hotel. The bar was closed. There were two double Bacardis on one of the lounge tables near to it. There was nobody in the lounge. Vallon went over and sat at the table with the drinks on it. There was a note under one of the glasses written on a piece of telephone message paper in a regular, delicate handwriting. It said: "Why should I wait for you? Here's your drink, Q.G."

Vallon sighed. He drank one of the Bacardis; then the other. He got up; lighted a cigarette; crossed the lounge; began to walk up the stairs. He was going into his room when a door opened down the corridor. She came out.

She was wearing an attractive pink lace and black velvet negligee and satin mules. She had a handkerchief over one eye. Vallon began to walk towards her.

She said querulously: "I don't know what to do. I've got something in my eye. The pain's abominable."

Vallon said: "That's easily dealt with. Go back to your room. I'll be with you in a minute."

He went to his room; got an orange stick, a soft handkerchief, a small bottle of olive oil. He went back to her room; opened the door; went in. She was sitting at the dressing-table, the handkerchief to her eyes.

Vallon said: Put your head back and take that handkerchief away. I'm not going to hurt you.

He stood behind her, rolled the eyelid back over the orange stick. He did it deftly with long, nervous fingers. He dropped a little of the oil into the eye. He said: "Now close your eye and keep your fingers away from it."

She murmured: "Thanks... you big; bully... "

After a minute he told her to open her eye. He asked: "How does that feel?" He held the eyelashes back; saw the speck; removed it with a corner of the handkerchief. "It'll be sore for a little while, but that's all. It's a painful business, isn't it?"

She nodded her head. Standing above her Vallon could see the sheen on her dark hair; the shape of her slim neck. She sat looking at the bottles on her dressing-table. He saw the flask of Narcisse Noir.

He said: "Good night."

She got up. She asked: "Did you find your Bacardis?"

He nodded. "I'll buy some for you some time. Thanks a lot. Good night, Mrs. Gale."

She took a quick step towards him. She said: "You're just a big bully... aren't you? A big bully with an attractive style to you, a lazy walk and God knows what... And you don't care a damn for anything or anybody... do you?"

Vallon said: "No... not much. So what?"

She said quietly: "To hell with you, Johnny... " She put her arms round his neck.

2

Vallon stopped the car on the right-hand side of Lower Regent Street. He looked at his watch. It was two O'clock. He locked the car; stood by the door on the pavement wondering why he was undecided. For a moment he thought about Mrs. Gale, but only for a moment. He decided it wasn't any good thinking about anything. Not even Mrs. Gale.

He began to walk up Regent Street. He was almost on the corner of Jermyn Street when somebody said: "Hallo, Johnny!"

Vallon turned round. He smiled. "Hey. Strype... what do you know about this?"

Strype said: "Boy... what do you know... !" You could have cut his American accent with a knife. He went on: "Say, fella... the last time I saw you was on the corner of some damned track on Okinawa with a Japanese light tank comin' round the corner. D'you remember? D'you remember what we did to those bastards? Did I getta kick when I saw that grenade you threw go right through the air-vent at the back. Boy, you made a mess of those guys."

Vallon said: "Those were the days."

"Yeah... or were they? I wouldn't know. Maybe we got inta the habit of thinkin' backwards. Maybe bein' in a war does something to you. You're frightened an' pleased. You don't know which, but you never forget it. Whenever you get bored or steamed up with life you think about it. Howya doin', Johnny?"

Vallon said: "All right... "

Strype looked at his strap-watch. "Hey, what about a snifter? I know a dump near here where they got rye."

They sat at the bar drinking rye whisky, talking about the Japanese.

Then Strype said: "What're you doin', Johnny? You look good. But you always did, hey? Are you makin' out?"

Vallon shrugged his shoulders. "I'm doing all right. Remember Chennault— the guy I worked under after I was wounded— the guy in the U.S. Office of Strategic Service?"

"Yeah... I remember... a fat fella with a weak heart. So you're workin' for him?"

Vallon nodded. "He came over here before I got here. He started a detective business. I work for him."

Strype laughed. "For cryin' out loud! You in a racket like that— crawlin' around lookin' through key-holes tryin' to find co-respondents. Boy... !" He took a gulp of rye. "Say, Johnny... you don't like that, do you?"

Vallon said: "No... not much. But I like Chennault. He did me a good turn once. He's not really fit to run his business. He has good and bad days, you know, and anyhow I don't have to snoop through key-holes. I'm the Staff Manager. I look after the eggs who do the snooping. I see they do it."

"Yeah?" Strype signalled the bar-tender; ordered more drinks. He went on: "So you're working for Chennault. How's that wife of his?"

"She's all right," said Vallon. "I've only seen her two or three times."

Strype said musingly: "Yeah? Look... you tell me something. How does an old mug like Chennault with a weak ticker manage to get himself a frill like that. Is she a looker! Some momma! I saw her once. Some guys have all the luck." He looked sideways at Vallon. "It's lucky for Chennault that he ain't got some good-lookin' mug around the place— somebody who's got what it takes— somebody like you."

There was a pause; then Vallon said: "I told you Chennault did me a good turn, Strypey."

Strype grinned. "You don't haveta get steamed up, sweetheart. I never said anything, did I?"

There was another pause. They both drank rye whisky.

Strype said: "Say, what's the matter with you, Johnny? You usta be full of this an' that. Full of pep an' what it takes an' what-have-you-got. You're sorta serious these days. What's hit you?"

Vallon drank some more whisky. He shrugged his shoulders. He didn't say anything.

Strype said: "Maybe I got it. You know, there's a sort of air of depression around this place that you could cut with a knife. I've been all over the world an' I've been here in London plenty. But, boy, is it grim... ! You remember Churchill said that England could take it. I reckon that guy was right. But, by God, they're taken' it hard! They don't laugh much an' I don't wonder. What the hell have they got to laugh about? Everybody's sorta walkin' around lookin' as if they've lost their bill-fold an' are wonderin' where the next dollar's comin' from. Me— I don't like it."

Vallon said quietly: "Maybe you're right. But they'll pull out." I He grinned. "The English take a lot of beating, you know."

"Yeah," said Strype. "You don't know a lot about 'em. How many years of your life have you spent here? Your mother was English, but that was all."

"That's a lot," said Vallon. "I like them. I've been everywhere and done most things." He grinned. "But it's a nice place to come back to. To me it's home, even if it is tough."

Strype said: "Yeah... maybe you're right. But give me the U.S. all the time where they still have some bright spots— where you can still go some place on a Sunday— where somebody still has a little dough— where babies are babies!"

Vallon grinned. "Meaning that some girl has given you the air? I wondered what had got into you, Strype."

"Aw... hell... !" said Strype. "I should worry about dolls givin' me the air. There's always another one. Who was it said there's as good fish in the sea as those that came out of it?" He sighed. "Me— I like women. My old Pa usta say they were the most pleasant of nature's mistakes. But they're hard to get— very hard." He looked sideways seriously at Vallon. "Maybe not for you, because you've got some sorta special line I've never got around to. You're quiet but you get what you want. Maybe you've got something they never told me about."

Vallon shrugged his shoulders.

Strype said: "Talkin' of mommas, do I get a jolt just after lunch to-day? Boy, did I see a dream walkin' or did I?" Vallon said nothing. He drank a little rye.

Strype went on: "I'm comin' past the Hungaria— the restaurant just around the corner— an' she comes out. For crissake... ! I've never seen anything like it. Boy, I wish you coulda seen it."

Vallon sighed. He said wearily: "I know... she was a blonde... she was buxom with a small waist and good legs. She had what it takes and she threw you a hot look." He grinned at Strype. "Right?"

"Wrong to hell... this one wasn't my type. But, boy, was she something! I'm just passing the restaurant when she comes out. She's wearing a black suit— a coat an' skirt cut by some egg who certainly knew his pineapples. She's streamlined an' she's got legs you dream about an' little feet an' neat shoes. Everything about this baby is wonderful. She's wearin' one of those nifty sorta hats that you get only in Paris an' it makes a sorta frame for her auburn hair. I tell you I could have eat this baby without even usin' the cruet."

Vallon stifled a yawn. "So what... ?"

"So just at this moment," Strype went on, "she's gettin' inta a taxicab that the doorman's got for her, an' she drops her handbag, see? What didn't come out of it was nobody's business— lipstick, keys, bill-fold, a little phial of perfume... So I watch 'em while they stick around collectin' this stuff an' I see something. Some finger-ring has rolled over to my feet. I pick it up. Boy, is it a ring! I reckon you an' me have seen plenty jade in China, Johnny, but this was the loveliest stuff you've ever seen in your life. A sort of eternity ring with roses carved in the centre an' little diamonds an' rubies set in the middle of each rose. You've never seen such lovely stuff in your life."