Chapter 9
When I awakened, it was late in the afternoon. I ached all over. I felt as though I had taken part in combat maneuvers. I must be getting old!
Heaving myself up to a sitting position, I stretched lazily. I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, trying to come fully awake.
As I dressed, I could think of nothing but the two murders. Was Red really the guilty one? Doubts assailed me. I realized that, up until now, everything pointed to him. This being the case, what was the matter with me? Was I suffering from detective jitters? Was I just plain nuts ... or merely stupid?
I decided to go over to the cookhouse for some coffee. I grabbed my hat, picked up my smokes, and hurried out.
I walked briskly down the Midway to the cookhouse and plunked myself down at the counter.
Whitey's hell-cat wife, Ruby, walked over and stood staring at me.
"Cup of Java," I said, without giving her a smile. I didn't cotton to the sharp-tongued shrew.
She walked away without speaking, drew a cup of steaming Java, and slammed it down in front of me. Evidently, the feeling was mutual.
I took a big gulp of the coffee. It burned all the way down to the pit of my stomach, making me choke and cough. Self-consciously, I glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. That was when I saw Blackie and Cryin' Bert, sitting opposite me. Apparently, they hadn't seen me. They were engaged in boisterous conversation.
"How was Sheik's funeral?" Bert asked, in a loud, raucous voice, as though he were ballyhooing a side-show. "Not many there, I heard."
Blackie shrugged, indifferently. "I went because, rotten though Sheik was, he still was a fellow trooper. There were only two cars. Dimples and Dolly rode with Clem and Francis, and I rode with Lucille Rood. Boy, what a farce that funeral was: Dimples and Dolly both looked so sad ... as though they had just won a million bucks on a sweepstakes ticket!"
He took a sip of coffee, then added, with great intensity, "The only real emotion I could see was when the eyes of Dimples and of Lucille met, across the grave. I thought for a minute that they were going to tackle each other right there, from the expressions on their faces."
Bert sounded amused. "Sorry I missed it, but one of my big prize bitches whelped. She had nine puppies. She and the pups are far more important to me than Sheik was."
"I just thought of something," Blackie said, with a grin. "You know the public should give a vote of thanks to carnivals. Just think, if Sheik hadn't been in show business, and had lived in a small town for instance, he would've had half the female population compromised."
"I always thought that the government should award plaques or should devote a week in honor of the carnies. Just look at all the screwballs, the cripples, and the freaks that carnivals support! They'd be in institutions, or they'd be charity cases, if it weren't for carnivals," Cryin' Bert said.
Blackie agreed enthusiastically, warming to the subject. "You're right, Bert. They could at least have one week a year. Look at all the other outlandish things they promote, such as: "Check your butcher's meat hooks on the scales week, and 'National beatnik week!" He exaggerated this with a gesture.
"Yeah, they celebrate all kinds of things. Like, 'Be kind to your mother-in-law' and 'Salute to the overworked, pistol-toting Western television stars'. Why not carnivals?"
"And don't forget 'Be kind to idiots' week. That one you both can celebrate," Ruby mocked.
Ruby and I both laughed, and they glared over at us. They didn't appreciate either Ruby's humor or my reaction to it. With a last dirty look, they shut up and left the cookhouse.
Just then, Sleepy hopped up on the stool next to me.
"How's Red doing, Donlon?" he inquired. "Have they booked him for murder yet?"
"They're holding him on suspicion of murder," I replied. "There's quite a difference."
"Mom Carter told me if I saw you, to tell you to drop over for a chat."
I stood up and dropped two dimes on the counter.
"Give Sleepy a cup of Java on me," I told Ruby.
Sleepy thanked me, and I got up and headed for Nellie's trailer. I had almost reached my destination, when I ran into Sam. He looked beat.
"Oh there you are, Steve. Terrible about Red, wasn't it?" He didn't give me a chance to anwer but continued in a depressed tone of voice. "I sent a lawyer down to see him. I just can't believe he's guilty ... not my own brother-in-law. Lorette feels terrible!"
I gave him a sharp glance, wondering if he suspected that something had happened between Lorette and me.
"I know," I said. "She told me when she dropped by at my motel."
He nodded absently, at this statement.
"She told me they were holding him on suspicion of murder. Do you really think he's guilty?"
A sense of relief almost overwhelmed me. Evidently, Sam didn't suspect his wife and me of tearing off a piece.
"The sheriff has to find definite evidence before he actually can arrest Red. So there's still hope Sam, and Johnson hasn't crossed anyone off his list of suspects yet. Not as far as I can ascertain anyway."
"Where are you going now?" Sam asked, off-handledly.
"Sleepy told me that Nellie Carter wanted to see me. I'm on my way over to her place now."
"Mom Carter is something of a mystery. She opened up with us last spring. I was a little hesitant about hiring a woman who was all by herself, but I considered her age, and I felt it would be all right. I haven't been sorry. She has endeared herself to me and to all of the other show folk. It was evident she wasn't a carnie but she learned fast, and as I have said, we have all grown very fond of her."
I pondered over his statement for a moment. He had given me food for thought.
"That is peculiar," I mused. "Why should a woman her age get the idea to join up with a carnival? There ought to be a lot of other things she could do what would be a lot less strenuous."
"It beats me," Sam said, then he added, "I'd better get back to the trailer. I don't like leaving Lorette alone too long. She's been drinking a lot since they took Red to jail."
"Guess she's taking it hard. I don't blame her. It's rough having your brother suspected of murder."
After Sam walked away, I stood thinking. He had opened up a whole new avenue of thought for me, in fact, more than one. I had known a lot of women, selfish, grasping females like Lorette, thinking always only of their own pleasure. I couldn't see Lorette in the role of a grieving sister. Maybe I was too cynical.
My mind returned to Nellie Carter, and as I wandered aimlessly between the trailers and the trucks, I wasn't watching where I was going. I ran right into the portable fence that surrounded Cryin' Bert's trailer.
Cryin' Bert had a regular menagerie of police dogs that I had seen only from a good safe distance before. I jumped back, startled, cursing. The fence had hit me ... or I had hit it. Bert had it bugged with electricity.
The scene before me was bewildering, to say the least.
Enormous police dogs bayed at me from the roof; more dogs leaped at the fence, snarling at me, their teeth bared, barking loudly. Two more dogs ran back and forth atop the car which still was hooked up to the trailer.
A door at the back end of the trailer swung open, and three more growling dogs joined the others at the fence, running up and down the length of it. One dog fell off the car top onto another dog and pandemonium broke loose in the form of a terrific dog fight. I stood, frozen to the spot, hypnotized by the scene.
The trailer door flew open, and Bert rushed out. He was clad only in his shorts, and a battered felt hat. A big fat cigar stuck out of the corner of his mouth. He grabbed the hat off his head, cursing loudly, and started hitting at the dogs right and left, giving them loud commands. After a few hectic minutes, he had order restored. Then he rushed over to the fence, his face a study in livid rage.
"Why in the hell people can't stay away from this fence beats me. I've wired it, and I've hung up signs. The dogs alone should discourage people," he ranted. "Ignorance, I guess!"
He spat, disdainfully. Before I could retort, he whirled about and stomped back into his trailer. He slammed the door so hard the whole trailer shook.
I walked toward Nellie's trailer. What a character Cryin' Bert was! Imagine traveling with all those dogs!
Nellie was standing in her trailer door, looking out. Her face was ashen, and she had dark circles beneath her eyes. There was a desperate urgency in her voice.
"Come in, Mr. Donlon," she invited. She gestured with her head toward a chair. She seated herself on the sofa, her face grim.
J. sat down and suggested, "Suppose you tell me what's on your mind, Nellie?"
She nervously clasped and unclasped her hands in her lap. Her full lips quivered, twisting in an embittered grimace.
"I didn't sleep all night," she said. "I laid awake trying to make a decision. It should have been obvious to me from the start ... there was only one possible decision."
She paused, giving me a furtive glance.
To say I was puzzled would be putting it mildly. I felt stupid; she had me at a disadvantage. "Madam, would you please tell me what you're talking about?"
She took a kerchief from her dress pocket and twisted it nervously between her fingers. "My name isn't Carter-it's Nellie Swank."
"Then you're Red's mother?"
This unexpected information had me flabbergasted for a second.
She inclined her head, and stared at the floor. Her voice sounded a little choked. "Yes, I'm Red's mother."
"But I don't understand. Why did you keep it a secret?"
"It's a long story, Mr. Donlon, but I want to tell you about it." Her voice broke, and a bitter sob escaped her. She stared at me with tear-filled eyes, her words almost incoherent.
"Red didn't kill anyone. I killed Sheik O'Dea," she said, harshly.
I gasped at her in open-mouthed astonishment. "I don't believe you. I think you're trying to take the blame to protect him."
"No, that isn't it. I planned the murder."
Suddenly it hit me: If Nellie was Red's mother, she also was Lorette's mother. But what kind of a deal was that ... daughter and son not acknowledging their own mother?"
"Want to tell me about it, Nellie?" I said, gently.
Her face was white with pain as she answered, "I had two daughters. My oldest girl ran away with Sheik O'Dea when she was sixteen."
She paused, and her voice was like the whimper of a frightened animal when she continued. "She was my husband's favorite. It ... it killed him."
I remained quiet, waiting to hear the rest of her story. My mind was a turmoil. Could she be telling the truth? I would defer judgment until I had heard her entire story.
She pushed her rumpled hair from her eyes, and her voice grew very low. "Laura, my oldest daughter died in a hospital ward from drug addiction ... actually a suicide ... when she was eighteen."
She stopped talking again, and blew her nose, visibly striving for composure.
I waited patiently for her to resume her strange, sad story. Finally, recovered and babbled on, her frustration and hatred pouring out. "Sheik did it. He killed her! The day I buried Laura was one of the saddest days of my life. That day I lost both of my daughters. My other daughter left home. She said she never wanted to see me again-that she had no mother. A week later, my husband died. That day I swore to track down Sheik O'Dea and-and kill him."
I stared at her in silence. What could I say? I was more interested in what she had to say.
"Red wrote me a letter. He told me that Sheik was here and that Lorette was involved with him. He said that Lorette still blamed me, not Sheik, for Laura's death. Why, Mr. Donlon, why should she blame me?" Her words were an anguished plea.
"I don't know, Nellie. Who knows why some people think like they do?" I said, with compassion.
"I had to bide my time. I couldn't kill him right away. But the thought of causing his death kept me going. I tried to talk to Lorette several times, but she wouldn't talk to me. In all these months, she hasn't spoken to me."
Nellie's voice trembled. With a harsh sob she buried her face in her hands. Violent sobs shook her whole body.
I stood up and awkwardly patted her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Nellie, but I had better find one of the police officers. You'll have to go to the sheriff's office, and tell him what you have just confessed to me."
She raised her head, and stared at me. "Will you come down to his office with me, Mr. Donlon?"
"I'd like to, Nellie, but I have to let Sam know. He'll have to get another ticket-seller for tonight."
Nellie appeared slightly bewildered.
"Poor Sam!" she said, "I wish he didn't have to know."
"This will be a great shock to him," I said.
We left her trailer and walked briskly down the Midway. It was hectic with its usual bustle and hurry of preparation for opening. Carnies on all sides stared at us curiously, waving at Nellie and giving me disgruntled looks.
A police officer was standing beside the merry-go-round. We walked over to stand beside him.
"Officer," I said, "take this lady to Sheriff Johnson's office. She has just confessed to the murder of Sheik O'Dea. Tell the sheriff I'll see him later."
The officer took the distracted woman gently by the arm. I felt like hell as I stood watching them drive away in the squad car. It was incredible! A woman like Nellie, capable of murder.
I walked slowly over to Sam's trailer and rapped on the door. When he opened it and saw me, he told me to come in. As he held the door open for me, I stared at him. He looked upset.
Lorette was standing in front of the sink, a glass in her hand. She evidently had been drinking heavily. Her pretty face was flushed, and she was wearing a filmy pink negligee, as transparent as cellophane. I tried not to look at her, but it was damned hard not to.
"You're just in time to join me in a little drink." Her words were slurred, and she was unsteady on her feet.
I wondered if I had blundered in on a family argument, but looking at Lorette, I didn't much care.
She started to pour a drink for me, but missed the glass, spilling it all over the sink. She giggled, foolishly.
Sam leaped at her, grabbing the bottle of whiskey from her hand. He spoke angrily.
"I'll fix the drinks, Lorette. You go get some clothes on." He gave her a light push as he spoke.
She slapped him a stinging blow on his cheek, then sailed into the bedroom, closing the door with a bang.
Sam winced and gave his nervous laugh. I was embarrassed and avoided his eyes. As he handed me a drink and sat down on the sofa, he said, "It's ironic how 'lushing it' can change a nice girl into a hell cat."
I didn't comment. After all, what could one man say to another in such a situation?
I nursed my drink. "I had a specific reason for dropping in to see you, Sam."
He tossed me a questioning look. "Does it have anything to do with your talk with Nellie?"
"She confessed to the murder of Sheik, Sam."
"Old Nellie murdered Sheik! I don't believe it!"
Just then a loud crash came from the bedroom.
Sam jumped to his feet. "Excuse me. I'll see what happened." He opened the sliding door and entered the other room. The door closed behind him, and I heard the two of them exchanging low whispers, but I couldn't distinguish any of the words.
Soon he slid the door open and re-entered the room. "Lorette tripped," he told me.
After he was seated again, he asked, "Do you think Nellie's guilty, Steve?"
"It's got me, Sam. She told a pretty straight story. She joined your outfit for the specific purpose of kiUing Sheik."
A gasp of surprise escaped him, and he spoke excitedly, "You mean she actually told you that?"
"Yes Sam, and a lot more."
A knock sounded at the door and Sam rose to open it. Hank stood there.
"Oh, it's you, Hank. I guess you want the ride tickets?" Sam said.
"That's right, boss."
"One second, Hank." Sam went over to the table, picked up a stack of rolled tickets and some change boxes, carried them over to the door, and gave them to Hank. "Nellie won't be here tonight, Hank. Tell Lucille I said for her to sell tickets for the tilt as well as for the ferris-wheel. Just use the tilt ticket box."
After Hank departed, Sam took up our interrupted conversation. "You were telling me what Nellie said."
Looking directly at him, I said, rapidly, "In the first place, Sam, Nellie's last name isn't Carter; it's Swank."
I got an instantaneous reaction.
Sam had just taken a gulp of his drink. He choked, spraying both of us with whiskey.
"Swank! You mean she is related to Lorette and Red?" He paused, then exclaimed, "I don't understand."
The bedroom door opened and Lorette staggered into the room. She stood staring wide-eyed at us, then she smiled, her mouth bitter.
"First my brother, then my mother," She began to laugh, hysterically.
Sam grabbed her and put his arms around her shoulders. His face appeared puzzled. "Why didn't you tell me, Lorette?"
Lorette hiccoughed, giving him a disdainful glance. "I don't care to discuss it, Sam."
There was an atmosphere of tension between them as they stared at each other.
I got up. "I've got to run down to the sheriff's office, Sam. I'll see you later."
I gave them both one last look before I opened the door and stepped outside. I felt sorry for Sam, but I felt much more sorry for Lorette.
As I drove to the sheriff's office, my mind was on murder more than on driving. Lorette surely had acted strangely. I wondered if she knew more about the murders than she had admitted. Something about her bothered me. I couldn't latch on to it. Whatever it was, it seemed as elusive as a tenant avoiding an irate landlord.
I pulled up in front of the police station, and got out of my car. I started up the steps. The door opened, and Red Swank came out. He gave me a sardonic grin. He looked as though he had gone through a wringer.
"The sheriff released you, I see."
His smile was without mirth. "Yeah. I should be dancing for joy. They got off my back so they could pin the murder on my old lady."
"You're a little unfair, Red," I said, sharply. "After all, your mother did confess."
Red gave a nasty laugh. "Don't worry. The sheriff informed me I still was a possible suspect in the Pierre LaTrent murder. However, I didn't kill him and my old lady says she didn't either."
Red whistled at a cab that was cruising past, and I opened the door to the sheriff's office and went inside. My mind was doing a tailspin. Some detective I was! I hadn't even questioned Nellie regarding the murder of Pierre. I had been so shook up over her confession that she had killed Sheik, I had completely forgotten the other killing. I could only hope the sheriff never caught wind of this omission. If he did, I never would live it down.
I shuddered as I thought of the months of ribbing I could be letting myself in for. I walked through the front office, down the long corridor to the sheriff's office and rapped at the door.
It was opened by Deputy Nickles.
"Come in, Steve!" Sheriff Johnson boomed.
He sprawled in his swivel chair behind his desk, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. His necktie was loosened, his hair was touseled.
"You look like a picture of the morning after the night before," I remarked, only half kidding.
"You don't get much sleep on this job. Bright Eyes," he retorted sourly.
"Through questioning Nellie?"
"All taken care of. Signed, sealed, and delivered to a jail cell."
I went over and took the chair next to Johnson's desk. "Got the whole story, I suppose."
"Ran the gauntlet ... complete signed statement, fingerprints, even tears."
"And your satisfied she's guilty?"
He gave me a shrewd glance. "I'll feel better and a lot more certain when I get those divers busy in the morning ... if they find the gun, that is. She said she drove out Old Mill Road and tossed it in the river."
I thought, Oh man. I even forgot to ask what she had done with the gun. Clearly, this wasn't my day.
"How about Pierre? Do you think she killed him, too?"
Johnson tapped his fingernails nervously on the desk top, before answering.
"She says she didn't kill Pierre. You know, for some reason, the whole story she gave sounded a little too glib ... as though she had rehearsed it. I believe what she said about joining the carnival to get at Sheik and to kill him, and she sure as hell had a motive. But there's something about her story, especially about the perpetration of the crime, that doesn't ring quite true."
"I'm inclined to agree with you, Sheriff."
"Fine. Agree with me ... is that all you can do? Don't you have any ideas of your own?"
"I don't know. Pierre's murder doesn't make sense at all ... that's what has me stymied. If Nellie killed Sheik, who killed Pierre ... and why? My idea all along has been that one murderer committed both cimes. Her confession disrupts my whole line of deduction."
"I've been thinking the same thing. Tough, isn't it?" Johnson agreed.
I sat, flipping my fingertips at an imaginary speck on my trouser leg. "How about sending out for some Java, old buddy? I'll pop if someone goes after it."
"Nic...." That's as far as he got.
"I know. Go get some coffee," Deputy Nickles said, resignedly.
"Congratulations, Nickles. You're becoming quite perceptive."
The deputy flushed. "Is that good, Sheriff?"
Johnson snapped, "Idiot." Then he turned to me. "How do you take your coffee, Steve?" he ask-ed.
"Black, hot, and plenty of it!" I pulled a dollar bill from my pocket and handed it to Nickles. His face still was flushed brick-red when he left the office.
Johnson eyed me, inquisitively. "Now that I've released Red Swank, he'll be closely watched of course, but you know the old saw: 'give a man enough rope...."'
"I met him on the way in. He was just leaving. Seemed very bitter about his mother's arrest."
The sheriff's face registered annoyance as he replied, "I wasn't too enthusiastic about holding her, myself. But we don't make murderers. We just track them down."
"I visited Sam and Lorette before I came here. She really was crocked. Sam hadn't even know that Nellie is Lorette's mother," I told him.
Curiosity tinged Johnson's voice. "That's strange. How did he take the news?"
"He was shocked. And that's putting it mildly."
Nickles returned with the coffee. For a few minutes, as we drank it, we were silent, each lost in his own thoughts.
"I'm trying to keep this latest development ... the arrest of Nellie ... from the papers until we have more conclusive evidence. I hope I can succeed," Johnson said, finally.
"I know what you mean," I replied.
He rubbed his hand across his forehead in a weary gesture, and sighed deeply.
"I'll really be glad when this business is over with," he stated, fervently.
"Me, too," I said.
"I guess I'm just overly tired," Johnson observed, irritably. "I think I'll go home and catch a few hours sleep. My wife says she sees more of the butcher than she does of me."
He rose, yawning and stretching. "You going back to the show lot?"
I stood up, giving him a tired smile. "I think I'll stop off there before retiring."
"Good night, Sheriff, Donlon," Nickles said.
"Good night, Nickles. Thanks for getting us the coffee," I said, as I started to leave.
"Call me at home if they find the murder weapon before I get back. I want to know, immediately," Johnson ordered as he grabbed for his hat on the desk, then followed at my heels.
"Yes sir," Nickles said.
Johnson and I walked silently, side by side, down the long corridor, through the front office, and out the front door. We parted with a brief nod. We got in our respective cars and drove away. Expertly, I guided my convertible through the heavy night traffic.
At random, my mind sifted, the various suspects. It was worse than looking for the mythical needle in the haystack, trying to train all my thoughts on one logical person. I still was mentally sorting and discarding, when I pulled the convertible to a smooth stop in front of the motel.
I glanced across the road at the carnival. The last few stragglers were leaving. I walked over to the cookhouse and flopped down on the bench.
Whitey gave me an impish grin as he walked over to me. "How's tricks, Donlon?"
"Okay, Whitey. Slip me some Java."
I looked around. Dimples was sitting across from me. Our eyes met. She smiled.
I smiled back, thinking what a knockout she would be in bed ... or even the floor, right this minute.
Whitey slapped the coffee down in front of me.
"Cripes, what a night! The marks were out in droves. Another murder, and I could retire, that is if my barking dogs hold out!"
He glanced down at his feet, a half-rueful, half-comical smile on his face.
"Nothing like a good, gory murder to bring out the sweet, gentle public," I agreed, sardonically.
He gave me a ghoulish smile, running his tongue over his broken yellow teeth.
"Guess I'll have to run down to the liquor store. I need something stronger than coffee," I said, pushing the cup aside.
Whitey smacked his lips. "I know what you mean. I always keep a little snake bite remedy in my trailer."
Dimples got to her feet and gave me a suggestive look. "How about joining me for a drink at my trailer, handsome?"
I was off the stool in a hurry. "No sooner said than done, baby."
Whitey's obvious leer followed me as I walked around the other side of the counter and took Dimples by the arm.
Dimples' trailer was in its customary state of upheaval. The chimp, whining like a baby, ran over to his mistress, clasping his hairy arms around her shapely leg. She bent to plant a kiss on the lifted puckered face.
Oh, to be a chimp, I thought. But maybe being a man wouldn't be so bad either. I pushed some laundry and an assortment of junk off the sofa and sat down.
Dimples disengaged herself from the chimp's hairy embrace. She undulated over to the sink and retrieved a couple of glasses from the clutter of dishes. They looked fairly clean, but she ran water over them, reached into the cabinet, and took down a bottle of whiskey. The supply of giggle water here seemed endless. She started to fill one glass, looking at me. "Say when."
"Hold it," I said, when the glass was almost half full.
She poured the same amount in her own glass, walked over to where I sat and plumped down beside me ... close.
I settled back, studying her beneath lowered lids. She toyed with her glass, her full red lips parted in a tantalizing smile.
"Don't you like me a little bit, Steve?" she coaxed.
"A bushel and a peck," I teased, then I asked. "Where's Dolly?"
"Dolly's at Celeste's trailer. They're having what Dolly calls a beatnik orgy. Your guess is as good as mine as to what she means."
"Afraid to be alone with me, honey?" She moved closer.
"I'll show you how afraid I am, baby," I whispered as I put my glass down, reached over, and pulled her into my arms.
Our lips met in a bruising kiss. She strained closer yet, her hot, pointed breasts almost flattening against me. She gave a soft, sensous moan as her tongue flicked in and out of my mouth.
We were lying half on, half off the sofa, so close together we could have been one body. I knew she couldn't be too comfortable in that position because I sure wasn't, so I whispered a suggestion in her ear.
She wiggled around without taking her mouth from mine or missing one maneuver of our teasing tongues. She brought her legs up, and we molded together like a compact car.
Her thin dress and her slip were up around her neck. I fumbled at her brassiere. It was all I had to do. She wasn't wearing panties. I wondered if she even owned a pair.
Even against my shirt, her nakedness was wonderful. Feverishly, I unbuckled my belt and unzipped my trousers, shoving them down ... along with my shorts ... to my knees. I pushed my shirt and underwear up so I could feel more of that moist satiny skin.
She didn't wait for me. Expertly, she grabbed and guided what she wanted to where she wanted it. Man, I was in total agreement.
Sensuously, slowly, she began to move, her ankles crossing at the nape of my neck, her hot body greedy for all I could give her. It went on and on and on. Each time we were near the exploding point, she would stop abruptly.
"Net yet," were the husky words she kept whispering in my ear.
I was almost ready to throw in the towel when she whispered frantically, "Curse me, Steve. Call me a bad name!"
"Are you kidding?" At a time like this?"
"Don't argue! Just do it ... quick!" she panted.
I shrugged. I sure didn't dig this chick, but each to his own pleasure.
"You bitch, you bastard!" I managed, feeling completely out of character ... I'm a lover with women, not a fighter ... but from the increased squirming, the faster pumping, and the loud moans of ecstasy my verbal abuse evoked, I must have scored.
When I thought it was over, I realized I had once again under-estimated Dimples. This broad was just getting started. She rolled out from under me, then before I could get up, she pounded on me and started showering me with kisses ... all over. She started at my chest and worked from there.
I closed my eyes and sailed with the tide. When this damn case was over, I would need monkey glands, pep pills, and pernod. But who cared?
"You're not tired, are you, big boy?" she whispered.
"No, just catching my breath," I said, gamely.
I wondered vaguely what the chink at the laundry would think when he saw lipstick on my briefs.
The trailer door banged open, and Clem stood in the doorway.
Dimples stood up, pulling her rumpled clothes down into place.
"What the hell do you mean by coming in here this way, Clem?" She flared.
Clem was enraged. "You keep out of this, Dimples. I've got business with this bastard. I've wanted to do this ever since we met."
He drew a long knife out of his pocket, snarling like an enraged beast.
I braced myself for the attack. I always had been strong, and the limp in my leg didn't hamper me in a fight.
Clem leaped at me, the knife poised in midair.
We wrestled like two maddened grizzlies.
I grasped the hand holding the knife, giving it all the pressure I could muster. I forced it open. The knife fell to the floor with a dull thud. I gave the ugly weapon a kick. My right fist shot out in a swinging arc. My knuckles made contact with Clem's jaw, in a smashing impact.
Clem fell forward. He went down, and out.
Dimples stood near the door, a strange smile curving her lips, her eyes gleaming with eager anticipation.
Clem, breathing laboriously, forced his body upward. His glazed eyes stared fixedly at my face.
"Oh no you don't!" I said. "I've had enough of you for one night."
I kicked upward, planting the toe of one of my size tens under his chin.
He fell backward with a groan, and lay still.
I opened the door, and placing my hands under his armpits lugged him over to the doorway, and rolled him out. I slammed the door shut and turned around, facing Dimples.
She squealed, "Oh, Steve, you were wonderful." She threw her arms around my neck, kissing me.
I gave her a playful tap on her back. "How about another drink?" I asked.
"Coming right up, big boy," she said. She poured me a stiff one. She handed it to me, and putting two cigarettes between her lips, lighted them, giving one of them to me.
I took a long pull at my drink, then a drag at the cigarette.
"I feel better-I needed that," I said, as I got my breath back.
Dimples sat down next to me, feeling the muscles in my arm. "You got something there, big boy."
"I've still got something here too, baby," I said with a grin.
The door was flung open, and I leaped to my feet thinking it was Clem again. I relaxed as Dolly sacheted through the door. I gaped at her. She was togged out in scarlet skin-tight leotards, and a matching turtle-neck sweater. Her arms were raised to her head, her hands holding a portable record player on her head. It was blaring out some strange, icky poetry by an equally strange, icky poet.
"Isn't it b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-I?"
Dimples laughed, staring at Dolly.
I'm afraid the laugh I gave was a little hollow.
Dolly reeled toward us, doing the Twist.
Dimples sounded snippy as she said, "I suppose what you're really here for is a drink."
Dolly put the record player down on the table, turning it off. "Oh, the pain of having to associate with squares! Oh, such is my dismal destiny!"
Dolly looked over the table, and pointed at the chimp. The animal was sitting in the corner, with the whiskey bottle tilted to its lips. As we looked, he drained the bottle.
Dolly waved her fingers at us gaily, and opened the door. "I've got to go now. I've seen this chimp drunk before."
As the door closed behind her, I turned to Dimples. "What does she mean?"
Before Dimples could answer, the chimp weaved to his feet, the bottle still in his clutches. He jumped up and down, a horrible noise erupting from his throat. His beady eyes fastened on me, and he hurled the empty bottle at me.
I did some fast fancy side-stepping. "What gives? Is he dangerous?"
"You had better get out of here, Steve. The last time he got at the whiskey bottle, Sheik went to the hospital for two days. The chimp is jealous of me, you know."
While she was talking, the chimp picked up a heavy skillet from the stove, and in one leap, landed on top of the table.
I made a wild dash for the door and pushed it open. As I started to leap outside, the skillet sailed past my head, missing me by inches. Then something landed on my back. It was the chimp, and he sank his full set of choppers right into my rear end. He was pulling at my pants, biting like mad.
I yelled in pain, hurriedly unzipped my pants, and leaped out of them. As I took off on high, I saw the chimp out of the corner of my eye, tearing my pants to shreds.
I took about three steps-then stopped, realizing I was in my briefs. I picked up a piece of canvas that was lying on the ground and wrapped it around me. I only hoped no one saw me in this condition.
I rubbed the wound where the chimp had bitten me, then leaned against one of the girl-show tent poles. I lit a cigarette and started to laugh. I laughed until tears rolled down my cheeks. I had heard about men jumping out of bedroom windows because of a husband's unexpected return, but never had I heard of anyone high-tailing it out because of a drunken, jealous chimp.
The boys never would believe this. I would be willing to bet that I was the only private eye in the business who had a full set of chimp teeth marks where you sit. I laughed until I was weak.
Finally, I calmed down and started walking toward the front of the Midway. I hoped I could get back to my motel without being seen. My get-up would be hard to explain. I was walking in front of one of Red Swank's joints when I paused to listen..
I could hear voices. Lorette and Red were talking. I stood perfectly still.
"You're a selfish bitch, Lorette!" Red raved. "If you weren't Sam's wife, one of the carnies would have blown the whistle on you long before this. Everyone knows you were fooling around with Sheik."
"How dare you speak like that to your own sister?"
"Don't give me that high-and-mighty routine, Lorette. Remember me, I know you. And I happen to be the only one who knows that Sheik was tired of you. He wasn't having any more, was he, Lorette? He hurt your vanity. You thought you would be different from all the others. That you were too smart for him, you poor fool!" He gave a dirty laugh.
Lorette's voice was high-pitched now. "You're guessing, Red. You don't knoiv anything."
"Oh, don't I? You contemptible tramp, break-'ing Mother's heart, all because of a silly idea of yours, that you wouldn't let go of! So your husband hires a lawyer for her. That squares everything, doesn't it? That salves your lowsy, so-called conscience!"
Lorette gave a hysterical laugh. I could tell by a sharp smacking sound that Red had slapped her.
I just had time to duck behind the tent as she came running out, heading for her trailer.
I stood hidden, waiting for Red to leave. I didn't have to wait long before he came out of the tent and walked toward his house trailer.
I went slowly down the Midway, my thoughts in a turmoil. The bite I had received hurt so damned much, I could hardly think. But I would have given almost anything to hear that entire conversation. I went over what I had heard, in my mind. What had Red been driving at, if it wasn't the supposition that Lorette, herself, had killed Sheik? It seemed to fit together like a stacked deck of cards.
The Midway now was entirely deserted. With the exception of a couple of them, even the trailers were dark. I was all keyed up, and my rear end throbbed, hurting. Not only did I feel the need of a few good stiff drinks, but I needed something else even more. Oh, not what you think! A good antiseptic to put on that chimp's bite.
After stopping off at my motel and putting on another pair of pants, I decided to stop by at my secretary's apartment. She always was ready to oblige me, and I knew that she could be counted on to do a bit of expert nursing.
Helen was just the person I needed to see. Although I didn't know exactly how I could explain away my unusual wound, I went over several explanations in my mind that just might sound plausible to her.