Dames Don't Care

CHAPTER I-2

He goes on pushin’ this dame around an’ by the way the guys who are playin’ the guitars are lookin’ I can see that there is a big laugh somewhere. Maybe they think that the big boy is playin’ her for a sucker, and I gotta admit that he is certainly goin’ on like a hired dance partner. When they come around opposite me he turns her around so that he is lookin’ at me an’ he gives me a sorta apologetic grin an’ a double wink.

After a bit the boys stop playin’ an’ the couple go off to a table where I can see there is a bottle of champagne, and then after a minute some guy in a swell cut tuxedo an’ a silk shirt comes outa the room halfway up the stairs. He sees me an’ sorta smiles an’ runs down the stairs an’ comes across to me.

“Good night to you, señor,” he says. “I am mos’ pleased to welcome you to Altmira. I ’ope you get everything you want.”

I grin.

“Me too,” I tell him.

Then I shut up.

“You are in thees neighborhood a long time?” he asks me. “I deed not theenk I ’ave seen you before. You see, señor, you are ver’ lucky to find us open at thees time—eet is nearly three o’clock—but tonight we ’ave a little party ’ere as you see. I ’ope we shall see you some more.”

The waiter guy comes back with the whisky. I pour myself a stiff shot an’ pass the bottle to this guy.

“Have a drink,” I tell him, “an’ who might you be?”

He smiles an’ waves his hand that he don’t want a drink.

“I am Periera,” he says. “I manage thees place, Eet is a ver’ good place, when you get to know eet.”

“Swell,” I tell him. “I’m sticking around the neighborhood for a bit,” I go on, “so you’ll see some more of me.”

He grins an’ he goes off.

After a bit the waiter comes in with my ham an’ eggs an’ I start eatin’. After a bit the guitar guys start playin’ again, an’ sure as a gun the gigolo guy gets up an’ starts cavortin’ around with the dame. This old lady is so keen on doin’ a hot rumba that it looks as if she is goin’ to bust outa her dress at any minute.

As they come swayin’ around my way, I swallow some whisky quick an’ make out that I am a little bit high. When they get opposite me I look up at the guy an’ I grin. He grins back.

“H’yah, sissy?” I say, good an’ loud.

You coulda heard a pin drop. The party on the right stop drinkin’ an’ the guys at the bar spin around. The big boy stops dancin’ an’ takes the dame back to the table an’ then he walks sorta casually over to me.

“An’ what did you say?” he asks me.

“I asked you how you was, sissy,” I tell him.

This guy is quick. He takes one step forward, an’ as I am about to get up he kicks my feet sideways an’ busts me in the nose at the same time. I go down with a wallop, but I am pretty quick an’ I shoot after him an’ mix it. I put up a quick uppercut, which he sidesteps an’ when I try a straight one he blocks it. I get hold of his shirt an’ yank him over to me an’ he trips me, Japanese scissor fashion, an’ we go down again. The band has stopped playin’ an’ as I flop I can see Periera comin’ across.

As I go to get up sissy smacks me down again, an’ when I do get on my feet I am lookin’ not quite so hot.

I stand there swayin’ a bit as if I was high, an’ I let out a hiccup so’s they’ll be certain.

Periera stands smilin’ at me.

“Señor,” he says. “I am sorry that you should make some troubles with people in my service. Pleese don’t do eet some more. Eef you are hurt I am sorry.”

He starts brushin’ off my coat where it is dusty.

The sissy has gone off back to his table to the dame. I look across at him.

“Pleese not to start sometheen else, Señor,” says Periera. “We do not like some troubles here.”

I flop down in my chair.

“I guess you’re right at that,” I tell him. “I guess I had too much before I come here an’ anyhow he was right to smack me in the puss. It looks like he ain’t as big a sissy as he looks,” I go on.

He smiles.

“Listen, Periera,” I say. “You go across to that guy an’ tell him I’m damn sorry, an’ that I’d like him to come an’ have a drink with me so’s there ain’t any feelin’s over this. I’m goin’ over there for some air.”

I get up an’ I stagger across the room to the side where the windows are, an’ I pick a table in the corner. Periera goes across to the sissy an’ speaks to this guy, an’ after a bit he gets up, says something to the fat dame an’ comes over. As he stands facin’ me he hands me the double wink again.

“Listen, pal,” I say, nice an’ loud, “I reckon that was a not very hot thing to say to you. I reckon that if you are a sissy then I’m in Iceland. Sit down an’ have a drink on it.”

We shake hands an’ he sticks something in my hand. I yell for the waiter guy an’ get the whisky an’ glasses brought over. Nobody much is payin’ any attention to me now, the fun bein’ over, an’ after I have poured the drinks I light a cigarette an’ start waggin’ my head an’ smilin’ like I was makin’ a lot of light talk.

Under the table I look at what he put in my hand. It is his Federal badge. I slip it back to him.

“O.K. Sagers,” I tell him, smilin’ nice an’ polite, with a swell hiccup, for the benefit of all concerned. “What do you know?”

He gives himself a cigarette an’ under cover of lightin’ this he starts talkin’ quick, smilin’ an’ gesticulatin’ like we was havin’ some airy conversation.

“Plenty,” he says, “but nothing that seems to look like anything. I come out to Palm Springs an’ started to muscle around for a job. Told ’em I’d been tryin’ for extra work at the coast studios. I contact some old lady who gets me a job at the Miranda, but pretty soon I see this is the job I want, so I get myself fired. The only way I can get in here is by doin’ this pansy dancin’ partner act.

“This place is the berries. They got everything. They’ll take you for a toothpick. There’s some play goes on upstairs that would make the Federal Reserve Bank look like a five an’ ten, an’ the roulette wheel’s so crooked that one night when some guy won something the croupier went into a decline. The guy over in the corner with the fancy moustache is runnin’ nose candy. This is the feller who beat the New York Narcotic Squad to it three years back—what he don’t know about sellin’ drugs could be typed on the back of a stamp. The guys who come here ain’t so hot, neither. Some of ’em are the usual Palm Springs daddies lookin’ for somethin’ swell with curves an’ some of ’em look like they could do with ten to fifty years. The women are a mixed bunch. Some of ’em work here an’ some I don’t know. There’s all sorts of janes around here.”

He pushes the bottle over.

“What’s your front?” he asks.

“I’m fakin’ to come from Magdalena, Mexico,” I tell him. “I’m supposed to be bringin’ you some news that a guy’s left you some money an’ that I’ve got a roll on account for you. That gets you outa here. Then I’m aimin’ to stick around for a week or so before goin’ back—that is unless something breaks. Now . . . where’s the dame?”

“She’s around,” he says. “She gets me guessin’ an’ she’ll get you guessin’, Caution. If she owns this place then I’m a greaser. The manager guy Periera treats her like she was nothin’. She does a hostess act around here an’ looks like she could bite a snake’s head off. She’s permanently burned up. She’s got class an’ she dresses like a million dollars. The real boss is Periera.”

“Does she live here?” I ask him.

“Nope. There’s a little rancho, way back over the intersection off towards Dry Lake. She lives there. It ain’t far—about ten miles from here. I’ve cased it. Usually there ain’t anybody around there except some woman who cleans up. Pretty often there ain’t anybody there at all.”

“O.K.” I tell him. “Now listen. In a coupla minutes I’m goin’ to blow outa here an’ take a look at this ranch. If there ain’t anybody around maybe I’ll have a look inside. When I scram you spill the beans about how this guy in Arispe has left you this dough an’ that you’re firin’ yourself an’ goin’ to Mexico to collect. Tomorrow mornin’ pack up an’ get out. Go into Palm Springs an’ make a big play that you are goin’ to Mexico. See the Chief of Police an’ tell him to lay right off this dump while I’m stickin’ around. Tell him to tell the bank manager here to keep his trap shut about that counterfeit bond. Then fade out for the border by car. When you’re well away switch; ditch the car at Yuma, grab a plane an’ get back to Washington. Tell ’em I’m here an’ all set. Got me?”

“I got you,” he says. “But I don’t like it, Lemmy. I sorta got an idea in my head that somebody around here’s leery to the fact that I ain’t an honest-to-god film extra bein’ a dancin’ partner. I reckon they’re suspicious.”

“So what?” I tell him. “Suspicion don’t hurt nobody. O.K. Sagers.”

We start drinkin’ an’ talkin’ again, an’ after a bit I put up a big act of shakin’ hands with him, an’ call for the bill. I pay it an’ give a big buenos noches to Periera who is stickin’ around the entrance, smilin’ like he was in heaven, an’ then I get the car an’ scram.

I drive along till I come to the intersection an’ I take the main desert road. It’s still plenty hot. I step on it an’ pretty soon I see this ranch. It is the usual sorta place. I pull up behind a joshua tree an’ get out an’ take a look around. There ain’t no lights an’ there ain’t a sign of life. I go around the back an’ it’s just the same. There is a stake fence around this place an’ after a bit I find a gate an’ I go through. I amble up to the back veranda an’ knock on the door, but nobody don’t take any notice.

I think I will try a fast one, so I put in a little heavy work on the door with a steel tool I got, an’ in about two minutes I’ve got the lock open as good as any professional buster-in coulda done it an’ I step inside.

I pull out my electric flash. I am in a sorta little hallway that is furnished not too bad. In front of me is a passage leadin’ through to the front hall an’ doors each side. At the end of this passage on the right is some stairs leadin’ to the floor above. I reckon that maybe what I am lookin’ for is likely to be in a bedroom, so I ease along the passage an’ up the stairs an’ start gumshoein’ around tryin’ to find the dame’s bedroom.