GET A LOAD OF THIS

It sometimes happens that you meet a dame who’s such a hot number that you want a second look. Maybe you’re driving a car at the time of seeing her. Most likely you’ll run up on the kerb or have a collision. Then, again, you may be walking along the street, and, turning your head as she passes, you bang into someone who starts bawling you out. Well, Fanquist was one of those take-a-second-look-dames. You know what I mean, don’t you? An all-metal blonde with a build-up that does things to you, and a figure that weakens your resistance.

I saw her for the first time when she was working for a guy called Rabener. This guy ran a smart restaurant-floor show on Broadway. I’d known Rabener off and on for several months. He was smart; maybe he was too smart. Anyway, I didn’t like him. He was a cold, hard-faced guy, and I guess he had a mean streak somewhere. It always knocked me how the hell he ever made a success of his restaurant; but he did.

Fanquist acted as his secretary. Odd name that, but it came out after that it was just a glamour build-up. I’ve forgotten her real name, but it was something pretty terrible. Anyway, we don’t have to bother with that.

As I was saying, I used to see quite a lot of her when I went to the restaurant. My work as a society columnist took me there most nights. It was as good a joint as any for meeting the sophisticated mob I wrote about. She didn’t mix with the customers. I’d see her pass through from time to time on her way up to Rabener’s office. Her appearance generally made the men splash soup on their shirt-fronts. She was that kind of a dame.

I played around with the idea of getting to know her, and I guess I wasn’t the only one. Rabener wasn’t having any. When I suggested that I’d like to meet her, he just looked at me as if I were something that’d crawled out of an exhaust pipe. So I actually never spoke to the broad. And what’s more, after what happened, I don’t suppose I ever shall.

You see, one evening she killed Rabener. It was quite a spectacular killing. It happened when Rabener was in the restaurant—slam bang in front of everyone.

Rabener had been hunting around for a publicity stunt for some time. He wasn’t satisfied with the entertainment he was giving. He thought all the other night-spots were doing the same sort of thing, and of course he was right. He even asked me for a suggestion, but I didn’t see why I should help to fill his pockets, so I played dumb. Well, he did hit on an idea. He staged one of those crazy thriller nights on us unexpectedly. You know the kind of thing. We were given a horrific ballet—a faked gun-fight, a guy pretending to be stabbed, someone punching his pal in the eye and other such harmless stuff which went down big with the moronic mob. The evening was nearly over when it happened, and the crowd was well oiled. There had been a great deal of shooting, and believe me it sold a lot of liquor.

Rabener came in and walked around the tables, having a word here and there with the customers. He could never unbend, but we were used to him by now, and we gave him a big hand for the fun and games he’d arranged for us.

I was sitting with a party near the stairs leading to the office. As Rabener was going round, Fanquist suddenly appeared at the head of the stairs. I forgot about Rabener and concentrated on her. Believe me, she certainly was the tops. There was just one little thing that had kept me from insisting on an introduction. She looked tough. When I say tough I mean she didn’t look the type who’d give in without a fight. My time’s so tied up that unless they give in quick I have to pass them up. It’s too bad, but that’s the way I live. Anyway, I should worry. There are still a lot of broads even today who do it for the joy of it.

Fanquist came slowly down the stairs. Her large eyes were like ice-blue chunks of sky. She passed close to me. I saw she had a small automatic in her hand, which she held by her side. For a moment I thought she had joined in the fun and games, but something about her made me think otherwise. I suppose I ought to have grabbed the gun, but I didn’t. I was curious; I wondered what the hell she was going to do. I thought I was going to get a front-row seat at a first-rate news scoop. I was so sure that I grabbed the telephone that was plugged in at the table. I rang the night editor.

Rabener became aware of her when she was about twenty paces from him. He looked up and met her eye. He reacted like he had trodden on a rattlesnake. I guess that guy saw death staring him right in the face and did he sweat! His face went loose and yellow. His eyes stood out like toadstools.

Everyone sat watching. I don’t suppose anyone in the room realized that this wasn’t play-acting—but me!

She didn’t take her eyes off Rabener. The gun came up slowly, and the little black muzzle stared Rabener right in the face. Just before she shot him, the night editor came through. I gave him a running commentary on the whole set-up. Boy! Was that guy shaken!

The gun made a vicious little crack. It startled us into a half-foot leap. A spot of blood appeared in the middle of Rabener’s forehead. He swayed over with his hands pushed out, as if imploring her not to do it. Then he went down on his face.

She turned and walked back to the office without haste and without looking at anyone. It was the coolest killing of the century.

The uproar didn’t start until she had disappeared. Then holy hell started popping.

I just sat there, feeding the night editor with the stuff while he slammed it down on paper. It was on the streets within half an hour.

Handling a murder like that gave me a reputation that I’ve been trying to live down ever since.

There was no bother about arresting the broad. She just sat in the office until the cops came. They didn’t like to bust in on her at first. They were scared she’d start some more shooting. One of the braver ones went in at last. He found her smoking a cigarette as calm as a chink in a hop-dream.

When I got home I was as jumpy as a flea; even a couple of double ryes didn’t do me any good. I just could not imagine what had made her do it. It wasn’t as if it was in a jealous rage. It was all so utterly cold-blooded.

The stink the newspapers raised in the morning would have suffocated a skunk. They played it all over the front page. There were photos of Rabener; there were photos of Fanquist behind the bars. She looked as calm in jail as she did when she shot him. I guess nothing this side of hell would rattle that baby. But she wouldn’t talk; she wouldn’t say why she had shot Rabener. They worried her for hours in a nice way. That’s one thing she had in her favour. She was such a dizzy-looking number that there was no cop strong enough to get tough. A week or so before the trial came on I ran into the local police captain. He was having a snack at Sammy’s Bar. I spotted him through the window. I walked right in and parked on the next stool.

He looked at me with a cold eye that the cops reserve for newspaper guys and started bolting his food like he was in a hurry.

“Don’t strangle yourself, Cap,” I said, “I’ve got plenty of time and I won’t run away.”

“I know,” he said, sticking a sandwich way down his throat. “But I ain’t got nothing for you.”

“Tell me one thing,” I returned, “has she talked?”

“Not a word; not one goddam word.”

“O.K., Cap. I won’t worry you again.” I slid off the stool. “That was a nice little red-head you were leading into temptation last night; I admire your taste. Well, Cap, I’ll beat it.”

The Captain looked like he was going to have a stroke. His neck expanded and his eyes looked like poached eggs. “Hey!” he said in a strangled voice. “Where do you get that stuff?”

I paused. “I didn’t get any stuff, Cap,” I said, “it was you who were doing the trafficking.”

“Now, listen,” he said feverishly, “you’ve got to keep your trap shut about that. It was business—you understand?”

“You’re of interest to the public,” I pointed out; “it’s got to go in the column. If your wife gets mad, what the hell do I care?”

He sat like an exploded balloon. “O.K.,” he said bitterly. “What do you want to know?”

I resumed my stool and ordered a club sandwich. “Give me the dope, Cap. You’re not telling me that you haven’t unearthed a lot of stuff what would interest me. I won’t print it until you say so. I’ve been in on this from the start, and I may as well finish it.”

It took me a little time to handle him, but the red-head threat worked like a charm.

Rabener, he told me, was the brain behind one of the biggest dope-rings in the country. He used the night-club as a front. He had to have some place where pedlars could come with safety each month to collect the dope. What better place than a well-established, busy night-club? Rabener was a killer too. Years ago he’d been a small-time heist man. His ruthlessness as a killer took him slowly to the top of the ladder of gangdom. He was smart. He always kept in the background. Whereas other big-shots were rounded up by the F.B.I., Rabener managed to keep clear. When repeal came in, he decided to go in for dope. So thorough were his preparations that no one had ever suspected the night-club to be the distributing centre of the dope-ring.

Somehow or other Fanquist fitted into this picture. The Captain wasn’t quite sure where she did fit in. But they couldn’t tie her up with the dope traffic. They could get nothing out of her. The smaller members of the ring had vanished. Fanquist was the only one who could enlighten the police, and she wouldn’t talk.

“Maybe she thinks someone will knock her off if she squeals,” I suggested.

“Yeah, it might be that; but why did she kill Rabener?”

“I’d like to know too,” I returned. “Think she’ll get off?”

The Captain shrugged. “I don’t mind if she does,” he said. “Nice-lookin’ dish, ain’t she?”

I agreed very heartily.

The trial was fixed at last, and the court-room was packed to the ceiling. Strong men trampled on weak women to get in; strong women gave up in despair. It was a real picnic for the men all right. They’d come to see Fanquist, and nothing on two legs would stop them.

The Judge was a dopey-looking old hound. The D.A. seemed nervous, but the defending counsel was as cocky as hell. There was not one woman on the jury. I thought that it was almost inevitable the Fanquist woman was going to get acquitted.

I had a front seat, a packet of sandwiches, and a flask of rye. No one was going to stampede me. Jackson, the night editor, was with me. We both felt that we had an interest in the case.

Fanquist looked good. She sat by her counsel, quiet, still and restful. Boy; how she could dress! Any young dope wanting to know what the female form looked like had only to step up and get an eyeful of Fanquist. He’d learn more in that glance than all the text-books on anatomy could teach him in a year.

“If I have to watch that dame all day,” the night editor grumbled, “I shall go nuts.”

I understood how he felt even though he was a coarse-minded slob. I knew the court-room was steamed up to hell.

The D.A. got to his feet for his opening speech. It lacked the ginger and hate he usually worked into his openers.

“That guy,” the night editor grumbled, “ain’t got his mind on his job. If you ask me, he’s worried by his lower nature.”

It didn’t matter how much the D.A. played the killing down, the facts were undeniable. Fanquist had shot Rabener in front of a hundred witnesses. Even if the D.A. didn’t want to be responsible for burning her nice little tail, he couldn’t very well help himself.

The counsel for the defence rose to his feet. “Your honour,” he said with a bland look on his face, “before going further with this trial, I would like to ask the District Attorney a question.”

The Judge told him to go ahead.

The defence turned to where the D.A. was sitting. “Can you assure me,” he asked, “that the bullet found in Rabener’s skull could have been fired from my client’s automatic?”

You could have hung your hat on the silence that followed.

The D.A. went all colours of the rainbow. He got to his feet with a feeble, “Your honour—I object!”

The Judge, who had been giving himself an eyeful of Fanquist, looked at him coldly. “I think that is perfectly in order. In fact, I will go further and say it is a very proper question.”

The defence smiled. “I take it that you are unable to do so,” he said blandly. “In which case, I must ask for an adjournment while this point is verified.”

The Judge looked at him intently. “Why have you raised this point?” he asked.

“Your honour,” the defence returned, “my client did not kill Rabener. It will be found that the bullet in Rabener’s skull could not possibly have been fired from a small automatic. The bullet, I should imagine, came from a Smith-Wesson revolver. Perhaps at this point I should wait until the bullet has been checked.”

So the Judge adjourned the Court for two hours.

It caused a sensation. There wasn’t one person who left the building during those two hours’ wait; the atmosphere was electric.

When the Court sat again, I think the only person in the room who wasn’t worked up was Fanquist.

The Judge looked at the D.A. “Well,” he said, “what are your findings?”

The D.A. looked a sick man. “Your honour,” he returned, “the defence is right. The bullet that killed Rabener was fired from an Army service revolver.”

When the uproar died down, the Judge scowled at the defence. “Why was this case ever brought to trial?” he demanded.

The defence rose to his feet. “I can explain, your honour, and will do so immediately. You will recall that on the night of the killing, Rabener had put on a special form of entertainment. The idea being that his usual floor-show was continually interrupted by faked shootings, thrills and so on. Rabener had arranged with Fanquist that she should participate in this publicity stunt. He thought it would be amusing if she pretended to murder him. She was given a gun loaded with blanks, and she carried out her instructions. She had no more idea that Rabener was killed when she fired than she had that someone, using a gun fitted with a silencer, had fired at the same time as she had at Rabener. She returned to the office. And when she was arrested she instantly thought that by some accident the gun had been loaded with live ammunition instead of blanks. The realization that she had killed a man was such a shock to her that her reactions were slightly abnormal, which was only to be expected. Rabener was killed by a person unknown who used a silencer and an Army service revolver. This is pure supposition on my part, but I did take the trouble to examine the wound, and thought it very unlikely that so small a bullet could have made such a big hole in Rabener’s head. The prosecution, having so many witnesses who actually saw my client apparently kill Rabener, did not think of checking the matter, or even of checking Fanquist’s gun, which was only loaded with one blank round.”

There was a great deal of talk, but of course she got off. Who killed Rabener was never discovered. After all, he was an enemy of society, and the State didn’t want to spend too much money tracking his killer down.

I’ve thought a lot about this since. It did strike me that if Fanquist had a lover who wanted, for some reason or other, to kill Rabener, this method was an exceedingly good one. Suppose this lover had suggested to Rabener to stage the crazy thriller night? Rabener never had those kind of ideas himself. Suppose this lover and Fanquist arranged that she should pretend to kill Rabener, whilst the lover, hidden somewhere, actually did the shooting, using a much heavier type of gun. While she was waiting the two months for her trial, the lover could have plenty of time to leave the country and set up somewhere, so that when it was over she could join him. It was obvious to me from the expression on Rabener’s face that he certainly had not arranged for Fanquist to join in the fun. He knew all right when she shot him that he was going to die.

Of course, this is just my theory. I’m probably wrong; but you know how newspaper guys get when there’s a story around. But I did hear that she had sailed for South America, and that spot is as good as the next if you’re hiding from the cops. What do you think?

(The story of the London Hippodrome Musical, presented by George Black and produced by Robert Nesbitt.)

TWO THUMB A RIDE

Denny Merlin hit the north end of Daytona Beach in the late afternoon. He drove the Lincoln Zephyr V-12 slowly past the stadium and the ornamental coquina-rock bandstand. He looked enviously at the crowded beach and wondered if he had time for a swim, but decided that he had better get on and kept the car rolling. At the farther corner of Ocean Avenue he spotted the red triangular sign of a Conoco Service Station. He pulled over and ran up the half circular drive.

Three attendants in smart white uniforms, with red triangular badges on their breast-pockets, came out of the office and began servicing the car. Denny pushed open the door and climbed out stiffly.

“Fill her up,” he said, “and look her over. I’m going over to get somethin’ to eat.”

A short thick-set guy, wearing a foreman’s armlet, came out of the office and said “Good evening.” He looked at the Lincoln with approval and then ran his eye thoughtfully over Denny. This guy was trained to recognize a good client from a bad one. He considered that Denny had a lot of money, was going on vacation, and didn’t care a great deal how much he spent. He was right on every point.

Denny took a cigarette from a heavy gold case and lit it. “Where can I get a decent meal?” he asked.

The foreman pointed across the road. “There you are, sir,” he said. “Chesney’s will give you good food and quick service; you don’t have to look further than that.”

Denny said: “O.K., that’ll do. Have the bus ready for me in half an hour. I’ve still got some way to go.”

“Yes, sir, it’ll be ready. Goin’ to Miami, sir?”

Denny nodded. “Yeah, I guess so. How did you know?”

The foreman grinned. “Oh, I guess they all go to Miami on vacation,” he said. “The traffic’s mighty heavy this time of year. You’ll have to keep going. There’s a hurricane blowing up, and it wouldn’t do to run into that.”

Denny shrugged. “No hurricane’s goin’ to stop me,” he said. “What do I care about a hurricane?”

The foreman grinned again. “Thought I’d tell you, sir,” he said. And thought to himself: “O.K., sucker, if that’s the way you feel. Maybe you’ll change the record when it starts to blow.”

Denny said: “Well, I guess I’ll go on over and have somethin’ to eat. I’ll be right back.”

The foreman watched him cross the road and disappear behind the discreetly curtained doors of Chesney’s, then he wandered over to the Lincoln and glanced inside. “Nice wagon,” he said to one of the attendants who was cleaning the windscreen. “I guess that guy’s got a heap of jack.”

The attendant spat on the sidewalk. “I bet he tips in dimes,” he said bitterly. “The bigger the car the smaller the tip. I know these guys.”

The foreman agreed. He was watching two girls who had been standing under a shop canopy for some time, just opposite the station. They had stood in the shade for over half an hour watching the cars come in and pull out. He had noticed that they had been intently interested in Denny Merlin when he went into Chesney’s and now they were talking to each other very seriously. They were an odd couple. The little one was a honey, the foreman thought. She was beautifully curved and blonde. She wore a thin red sweater which revealed her figure, and a short, pleated yellow skirt. Her well-shaped legs were bare and her feet were shod in yellow sandals. She was bare-headed and her face was tanned by the sun and wind. Her companion was a good six inches taller. She also was fair, but she had no feminine charms. In fact, she was almost mannish in her dress and appearance. She wore a pair of shabby yellow-white trousers and a black polo sweater. Her hair was cut short, like a man’s, and her complexion was almost mahogany.

As he watched them, they suddenly made up their minds and crossed the road, coming towards him. He moved away from the Lincoln, looking at the smaller of the two with an appreciative eye.

The tall girl walked right up to him and said, “Like to do something for two deserving girls?”

The foreman eyed her thoughtfully. She puzzled him. He couldn’t place her at all. She had very hard green eyes, and her mouth was thin and cruel. Now that she was close to him, he was a little startled to see how broad and muscular she was. It irritated him that he had to look up at her. So, he said rather abruptly, “What do you want?”

She smiled. Her teeth were big, white and beautiful. He noticed that her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “The Lincoln over there,” she said, “where’s it goin’?”

The foreman looked at the smaller of the two and gave her a wink. She flushed and looked away quickly.

The tall girl said: “Never mind that stuff for the moment. Where’s the guy goin’?”

“Miami—lookin’ for a lift?” The foreman continued to ogle the small girl.

“Yeah. Can you fix it for us?”

The foreman shook his head. “Why should I?” he asked, shifting his feet a little. “We don’t do that sort of thing on a station like this.”

The tall girl turned to her companion. “Let me talk to him, Stella,” she said. “Move out of the way.”

The girl called Stella hesitated, then walked away a few paces and stood watching the other two with fixed intentness.

The tall girl moved a little closer to the foreman. “Nice, isn’t she?” she said. “She’s shy, but she could go for a guy like you in a big way.”

The foreman took a step back. “Yeah?” he said. “What of it?”

“We want that ride, playboy. I guess Stella would do her stuff if you fixed it for us.” The tall girl smiled with her mouth again. “How about it?”

The foreman shook his head. “Once you’re in the car, I’m left holding the can—nothin’ doin’.”

The tall girl shifted a little impatiently. “Got anywhere where you can take her?” she said softly. “You can’t give her the works, there ain’t time for that. But you can play around. Will that satisfy you?”

The foreman began to sweat. “Nice sortta bitch, ain’t you?” he said, looking over at Stella and licking his dry lips. “She wouldn’t stand for it.”

“Of course, she would,” the other said sharply. “Come on, for God’s sake. Haven’t you anywhere where you can take her?”

He looked uneasily over his shoulder. “Why, yes, I guess so. She could come into the office.”

“Well, go on then. I’ll send her to you. Work fast, and fix that ride, playboy, or I’ll start somethin’ for you.”

The foreman hesitated, then turned on his heel and walked over to the office. He glanced back at the two girls. The tall one was talking very fast. Every now and then she would emphasize a point with her hand, cleaving the air. Stella suddenly left her and walked rapidly towards the office, and the foreman stepped inside and waited for her.

The tall girl sat down on the low wall that surrounded the station and lit a cigarette. She smoked slowly, her eyes intent on the restaurant across the road. She didn’t once look towards the station office.

About ten minutes later she saw Denny signal the waiter for his bill and she got to her feet. She walked over to the office and pushed open the door. The attendants were watching this little scene with puzzled grins, but she took no notice of them. She stepped into the office, but couldn’t see anyone there. She called, “Come on, you two, he’s on his way.”

She waited a minute, her eyes searching the room impatiently, then called again. The foreman came through a door at the rear of the office. He was breathing heavily, and she could see the blood-congested veins on his neck. She smiled at him very contemptuously. “Go out an’ fix that ride, Mr. Sheik,” she said. “An’ fix it good.”

He went past her without a word, and she went to look into the room beyond. “Never mind about those,” she said impatiently. “Take them off and leave them here. We’re about to pull out. For God’s sake, don’t cry or you’ll spoil everything.” She turned back to the office again, her face angry and her eyes viciously cold.

Denny Merlin walked over to his car and nodded his satisfaction. The boys had certainly made a good job of it. He felt satisfied and good after his meal. He tossed a big leather and silver flask full of Scotch on to the front seat. He looked at the foreman and winked. “Got to have a little help on the way,” he said. “What do I owe you?”

The foreman told him and Denny paid, giving him a five-dollar bill. “Split the change amongst the boys. I guess they’ve done a nice job.”

The foreman licked his lips and said awkwardly: “There are a couple of dames in my office looking for a lift as far as Miami. Nice kids. Do you feel like giving them a hand?”

Denny looked at him, startled. “I guess not,” he said abruptly; “no riders in this car. I don’t want a couple of dames hanging around. What should I do with two of them?”

“Sure, I just asked, sir,” the foreman said. “If they hadn’t been something special I wouldn’t have mentioned it. Maybe you’d like to see ’em first?”

Denny got into the car. He thought the foreman had got a hell of a crust. “No, I’m sorry, but I don’t take riders,” he said firmly.

Stella came out of the office as he slammed the car door shut. She came down the concrete path into the sunshine.

The foreman said very quickly: “That’s one of them. Nice little thing, ain’t she?”

Denny looked over casually and then leant forward. He wasn’t expecting anything as good as Stella. He hesitated, and the foreman, seeing him wavering, said: “Tough on those girls. They seem pretty anxious to get to Miami. It’d be a long walk for them.”

Stella came timidly towards the Lincoln. Her eyes looked appealingly into Denny’s. He put his hand to his tie and then opened the door. “You the little girl who’s looking for a ride?” he asked, sliding out of the car again.

Stella looked up at him. “We want to get to Miami,” she said. “We won’t be a nuisance, honest.”

The foreman noticed that the tall girl had kept out of sight. He grinned evilly. She was fly, that one, he thought.

Denny nodded. “Sure, I shall be glad to give you a lift.” He looked round. “Where’s the other one?” he asked the foreman.

The tall girl had been waiting her cue. She came out of the office and walked with long strides to the car.

Denny stared at her, his face falling a trifle. He didn’t quite like the look of her. “You the other one?” he asked, raising his hat awkwardly.

The tall girl smiled with her mouth. “Thank you,” she said. “May I introduce my friend here and myself. This is Stella Fabian and I’m Gerda Tamavich.”

Denny would have preferred to have left her behind, but he had committed himself, so he just smiled and said: “Well, that’s fine. I’m Denny Merlin from New York. If you’re all set, let’s go.”

Gerda glanced at Stella and opened the front door of the car. “You sit with Mr. Merlin. I’ll sit at the back.” She revealed her teeth as she turned to Denny. “I like plenty of room. My legs are a little long.”

This arrangement suited Denny all right. He helped Stella into the car and climbed in beside her. Gerda got in the back.

The foreman touched his peaked cap, but none of them looked at him. Denny felt that he had been impertinent, and the other two hated him. Denny rolled the Lincoln slowly out of the station drive into Ocean Avenue and headed down Broadwalk.

At the cross-roads a traffic cop signalled him to stop. “What the hell does he want?” Denny asked, as the cop moved over to him.

The two girls sat very stiffly in the car, watching the cop. Gerda took out a handkerchief and held it near her face.

The cop saluted Denny with a friendly smirk. “Goin’ to Miami, sir?” he asked, putting a large foot on the running-board.

Denny nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Can’t I?”

“At your risk,” the cop returned. “Sorry to stop you, but we’re warning all traffic. Hurricane’s on the way an’ it’s likely to catch you up around Fort Pierce.”

Denny nodded. “I know,” he said, “the Conoco people told me. I’m going to get as far as I can. I’ll stop at Fort Pierce if it looks tough.”

The cop saluted. “O.K., sir, just as long as you know.” He took his foot off the running-board and waved them on.

Denny scowled into the small driving mirror. “They’re making a hell of a fuss about a storm,” he said. “It’s got to be mighty bad to stop me.”

Gerda leant forward. “You’re a stranger to Florida, ain’t you?” she asked.

“Yeah, what makes you ask?”

“It sticks out a yard. Folks who live around this district take these hurricanes seriously.”

Denny was bored with this talk about hurricanes. The sun was still very hot and strong and there was only a mild breeze coming from the coast. There was not a sign of a rain cloud anywhere. He glanced down at Stella, who sat away from him in the corner of the seat. From that angle he could see her firm beautiful curves and he wished that Gerda wasn’t with them. He said, “You don’t worry about hurricanes, do you?”

Stella glanced at him and shook her head. “I guess not,” she said. “I’ve seen a good few, and they don’t really amount to anything.”

Denny liked her voice. “What are you two girls, anyway?” he asked. “What’s the idea of hitch-hiking?”

Gerda took charge of the conversation. “We’re looking for a job,” she said, almost in his ear. Her voice was low and flat. “Daytona Beach bored us, so we thought we’d go on to Miami. I guess we’ll find something there.”

Denny turned into the old Dixey Highway that led to Port Orange. He trod on the gas, sending the Lincoln forward with a sudden push. “Well, what do you do?” he wanted to know, looking with interest at Stella’s nicely rounded knees.

“Who we can,” Gerda said, with a harsh little laugh. “Don’t we, Stella?”

Stella didn’t say anything.

“I see. That sounds sort of bad,” Denny said, wondering what she meant. “I’m in real estate myself. I was wondering if either of you could shorthand or something. I might be able to get you fixed up.”

Gerda laughed again. Denny frowned. He didn’t like her hissing little laugh so close to his ear. “Don’t do that,” he said sharply. “What’s funny about it?”

“Nothin’,” she said quickly, “we think you’re swell to offer, don’t we, Stella?”

Stella said after a pause: “You see, we do a song an’ dance act. I guess office routine is way up the wrong street.”

Denny grunted. “Sure,” he said, “I understand that. If you’re an act, you don’t want any sort of job. What makes you think Miami’ll take to you?”

“Oh, we don’t know,” Gerda said, “we just hopin’. When you’ve pushed around as we have, hope is about the one thing that gets you anywhere, and nice-looking Stella.” She laughed again.

Denny watched her in the driving mirror. “So Stella helps too, does she?” he said for something to say.

“Sure, it’s her capital to look nice,” Gerda said with a tiny sneer in her voice.

“And what do you do?” Denny said curiously.

“Me? I guess I run the outfit. We’ve got along all right so far, haven’t we, Stella?”

Stella didn’t say anything. She shifted uncomfortably and her short skirt rode up a few inches. Denny could see a long expanse of bare thigh and he pursed his lips. If it wasn’t for Gerda in the back, he could go for this honey in a big way he told himself.

They swept through Port Orange and on to the U.S. Highway 1. They were now in the heart of the East Coast citrus country and the road curved across lowland meadows, pink with rose mallow. The mandarin trees were heavy with fruit. Denny thought it was all very beautiful.

“This part of the country does things to me,” he said. “Don’t you think it’s swell?”

Stella said: “You don’t think of the ugly things in life after this, do you?” She spoke very tensely, as if she meant every word.

Denny glanced at her curiously. He wondered what sort of a life she had been leading. She didn’t look like a little tramp. He shook his head, giving up.

They stopped at New Smyrna for petrol. Evening was drawing on rapidly and the sun, wrapped in a yellowish haze, was sinking behind the skyline. Denny got out of the car to stretch his legs and the two girls followed his example. Up the road they could see a long line of trucks moving slowly towards them, crowded with farm hands and bedding.

Denny asked the mechanic who was operating the gasoline pump what it was all about.

The man shrugged. “Oh, I guess they’re coming in because of the hurricane,” he said indifferently. “The radio says it’ll hit us before long.”

Denny felt a sudden wave of apprehension. “Listen, I’m goin’ through to Miami tonight. This hurricane won’t stop me, will it?”

The man screwed the cap on the gas tank and hung up his pump hose. “That depends on you, mister,” he said. “Two bucks, please.”

Denny paid him and walked over to the edge of the road, where the two girls were watching the trucks pass. “Think we ought to go on?” he asked. “These people are coming in from outlying farms because of the hurricane.”

Gerda said very decisively: “A little rain and wind wouldn’t stop me. It’s your car, you can please yourself what you do.”

“Well, let’s get on then,” Denny said, turning to the car.

“You wouldn’t like to stake us to a meal, would you, Mr. Merlin?” Gerda asked, smiling with her mouth.

Denny looked at her. “Say, what is this?” he asked. “Are you two flat broke, or something?”

Gerda moved over to the car. “Think no more about it, Mr. Merlin. Forget I ever spoke.”

Denny turned to Stella. “You tell me. I can talk to you.”

Stella hesitated and then nodded. “I guess we’re tight for money just now,” she said awkwardly. “But we ain’t really hungry. Please don’t—”

Denny said, “Wait for me,” and walked over to a coffee-shop. He came back with two paper bags and dumped them down on the seat. “There you are,” he said, “that ought to hold you until we get to Fort Pierce. We’ll have a decent meal then. Let’s get on before we waste any more time.”

He drove out of New Smyrna in silence. The two girls ate the chicken sandwiches silently and ferociously. Gerda said, “Is that Scotch you’ve got there?”

Denny handed the flask over his shoulder without a word. He was beginning to understand why Gerda looked after the outfit, as she called it. She wasn’t slow in getting what she wanted.

They drove along the Indian River. It was just dusk enough to see the luminous water, ruffled by an increasing wind. Every now and then faint flames seemed to be flickering along the top of the water. The scene so enchanted Denny that he forgot to be annoyed any more, and slowed down so that he could concentrate. Overhead a flight of herons passed, looking dark against the evening sky. Woodpeckers still continued to plunge from the telephone wires like rockets after minnows.

“This is a grand country,” Denny said to Stella. “I’m mighty glad I decided to come here for my vacation.”

“Why are you alone?” she asked. “Haven’t you got a wife or a girl friend?”

Denny shook his head. “I guess not,” he said. “I’ve been too busy making money. Believe it or not, this is the first real holiday I’ve had in ten years.”

Gerda said softly in his ear, “Have you made a lot of money?”

Denny grinned. “Oh, I guess so. Enough to get by.”

“What do you call big money?” she persisted. “Ten grand, twenty grand, fifty grand—how much?”

“Five hundred thousand,” Denny said, half to himself. “Believe me, it’s nice to feel you’ve made that little lot just by yourself.”

Gerda drew a deep breath. The amount left her speechless. They drove in silence for some minutes, then she said: “I guess you can do what you like with all that money.”

Denny nodded. “It certainly helps,” he said lightly.

They were running through a road bordered by Australian pine windbreaks which swayed in the increasing wind.

Stella said suddenly: “Look, the wind is rising. Do you see the trees? It is getting rough.”

“Well, we’ll be all right in this bus,” Denny said confidently. “This old hearse doesn’t leak; it can blow and rain as much as it likes.”

The sun had given place to a big moon. It was almost dark now and Denny switched on his head-lamps. “I like driving in the dark,” he said, “especially in this country. Look at the river now. It looks as if it were on fire.”

The wind had whipped the water into large waves which flickered like tongues of flame. Overhead small clouds began to race across the moonlit sky, joining up with each other rapidly. They were dark clouds that fled before the wind, gradually building up a barrier between the earth and the moon.

“This looks like it,” Denny said as the landscape began to fade into darkness. “I guess if it gets too bad we’ll have to put up at Fort Pierce.” A thought suddenly struck him. “Haven’t you girls got any luggage?”

Gerda said, “No.”

There was a long silence and then Denny said, “You two seem to be having a bad time.” He felt uncomfortable, as most very wealthy people do when they run into real poverty. He began to wish he hadn’t given them a ride. He supposed that they were going to be a damn nuisance before he had seen the last of them.

Gerda said, casually: “Oh, we’ve been in the same sort of spot before. We’ll get by.”

Fine rain appeared on the windscreen and the darkness came down like a shutter. The two brilliant pools of light from the head-lamps lit the road, making the grapefruit trees and the lemon trees look grotesque as they flashed by them.

Above the soft note of the Lincoln engine they could hear the moan of the wind, and out to sea came the thundery roar of the rollers smashing themselves to foam on the beach.

A vivid and jagged flash of lightning lit the sky and the first clap of thunder startled them. The rain began to fall in earnest and Denny switched on the rain-wipers. He drove slowly, as he found it difficult to see through the windscreen.

“I hope it’s not going to get worse than this,” he said suddenly.

“Oh, it will,” Stella told him. “This is just the beginning. The wind hasn’t reached its height yet.”

As she spoke the wind suddenly increased, making a shrill, whistling noise. Denny felt the car shudder against it, nearly coming to a halt. He fed the engine more gas and the speedometer needle crawled up to twenty miles an hour.

“I guess we’d better get under cover,” he said. “I wish now that we had stayed at New Smyrna for the night. Keep a look-out for a house, will you? I don’t care to drive much further in this.”

“Oh, let’s go on,” Gerda said quickly. “Fort Pierce is only about twenty miles from here.”

Denny grunted. The lightning was beginning to worry him. It leapt about the dark sky, lighting the trees which swayed almost to the ground from the blast of the wind. The Lincoln was crawling now, although he kept his foot hard on the accelerator. He reckoned the wind must be blowing at well over a hundred miles an hour.

The rain drummed on the top of the car, blotting out the noise of the thunder, and the wind had risen to a shrieking howl.

Over to the left he thought he saw a building in the flash of brilliant lightning and his head-lights picked out a narrow road that turned off abruptly from the highway. He didn’t hesitate, but swung the car into it. The wind caught them broadside and he felt the off wheels lift a little.

“There’s a house here,” he said. “We’ll take shelter. This is beyond a joke.”

He drove as close to the building as possible, and then stopped the car.

“Be careful how you get out,” Stella said anxiously, “or you’ll get blown away.”

Denny thought that was most likely, and opened the car door gingerly. He slid out, keeping his body hunched. The wind and rain struck him solidly, and if he hadn’t been holding on to the car door he would have gone over. He steadied himself, feeling the rain driving through his clothes as if they were paper, then, keeping low, he began a desperate struggle to the house. He had only to walk a few yards, but by the time he had reached the shelter of the house he was nearly exhausted.

He could see that all the windows were boarded up, and he hammered on the front door. Fortunately, he was on the lee side and he could remain there without being battered. No one answered his knocking. Finally he lost patience and, taking a step back, aimed a violent kick at the lock. The door creaked, and a second kick sent it flying open. He stepped inside, peering into the darkness. He called loudly once or twice, but his voice hardly sounded in his own ears above the roar of the rain and wind.

Taking his cigarette-lighter from his pocket, he made a tiny flame and finding an electric-light switch near his hand, he turned on the light. He found himself in a well-furnished lounge with three rooms leading off. A quick examination of the house proved that it was empty. The owners had most likely, he thought, gone to Fort Pierce, away from the hurricane. Anyway, the place was well furnished and comfortable. The next step was to get the two girls inside.

He again stepped into the hurricane and fought his way back to the car. He tried to shout to them that it was all right, but the wind blew his words down his throat, leaving him gasping. He pointed to the house and took hold of Stella’s arm. She hesitated for a moment, then slid out of the car. It took quite a time to get her into the shelter of the lounge. Twice they lost their balance and sprawled into a big pool of rain water, and by the time they got inside both of them were soaked and plastered with mud.

Even at that moment Denny felt his blood quicken a trifle when he saw Stella in the light. Her jersey and skirt clung to her figure, revealing every line. The superb sweep of her hips down to her feet and the curve of her firm full breasts enchanted him. He said, “You look cute like that.”

She turned her head. “Oh, don’t look at me,” she said. “Please go and help Gerda.”

He laughed a little nervously and turned away from her. Gerda stood in the doorway watching them. The wet jersey on her big figure made her look even more mannish than she actually was.

She said: “I’ve locked up the car. The rain isn’t getting in. I think it will be all right to leave.”

Denny shrugged. “It’ll have to be,” he said. “I’ve had enough of that wind for tonight. My God! I’m wet through. Maybe I’d better get a suitcase in.”

Gerda went to the door. “You’ll need some help,” she said, and together they battled their way once more to the car. Denny was a little piqued to see that Gerda managed the wind much better than he did. In fact, once she came to his aid and shoved him forward. He was equally astonished at her strength. Together they brought the suit-case back and closed the door on the storm.

“You’re hellish strong,” Denny gasped, wrenching off his sodden collar. “Quite a Samson.”

Gerda didn’t say anything. She disappeared into the kitchen.

Denny wandered into the lounge, where Stella was standing shivering before an empty grate. She held her wet skirt away from her body as he came in.

“Have a nip of this,” Denny said, producing his flask, “otherwise you’ll catch a cold.” He was feeling shivery himself.

They both had a long pull from the flask and immediately felt better for it.

“You ought to get out of those things,” Denny then said with a grin, “although they suit you like that.”

Stella flushed hotly. “You’re making me feel awfully uncomfortable, Mr. Merlin,” she said. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

Denny took another pull from his flask. “Well, I guess I don’t want to do that,” he said. “But you shouldn’t have such a nice little figure.”

Gerda came in with some paper and wood. “Get those things off, Stella,” she said, “the bathroom’s down the passage. There’s an electric geyser and I’ve turned it on. I’ve found a wrap for you. Hurry up.”

Stella went away and Gerda knelt down before the fire. In a few minutes she had a roaring fire going.

Denny looked at her admiringly. “I can see why you’re the boss of the outfit now,” he said. “Are you always as efficient as this?”

Gerda looked over her shoulder at him with her hard green eyes. “I have to be,” she said. “You aren’t a great help, are you?”

Denny scowled. “You didn’t give me much time,” he retorted.

She got to her feet. “Don’t let’s fight,” she said. “Suppose you change too. I’ve had a look in the pantry. There’s some food there. I guess we can make ourselves quite at home.”

Denny scratched his head. “Bit rough on the owners,” he observed.

“I see you haven’t my philosophy,” Gerda returned, moving across the room to the door. “Still, you have plenty of money, haven’t you? Leave them something. That’s what money is for, isn’t it?”

Denny undressed quickly after she had gone, and gave himself a brisk rub down with a towel. He couldn’t help thinking how much more pleasant it would have been to be in this house with Stella alone. He dressed in a pair of flannel trousers and heavy sweater over a white silk shirt and took his wet clothes into the kitchen.

Gerda, dressed in a dark red dressing-gown, her long slender feet in a pair of Turkish slippers, was preparing a meal. On the table close at hand stood a large cocktail-shaker and three glasses.

Denny picked the shaker up and sniffed at it. “Gin and du Bonnet,” he said. “Hell! This is going to be quite a party.”

Gerda said, “You like Stella, don’t you?” She said it very casually, without looking at him.

Denny paused, his hand hovering over one of the glasses he was about to pick up. “What do you mean?” he asked sharply.

“What I say,” Gerda went on, turning a thick slice of ham on the grille. “I know what you’ve been thinking. You’d like to sleep with her, wouldn’t you?”

Denny controlled himself with an effort. He poured out the cocktails and then came over and put one of them close beside her. “I’m not used to that sort of talk,” he said quietly. “I suppose it is pretty general where you come from?”

Gerda sipped her drink. “That still doesn’t answer my question,” she said, suddenly looking at him. “You would like her in bed, wouldn’t you, Mr. Merlin?”

Denny finished his drink and poured out another one. “I’m certainly not going to discuss a subject like that with you,” he said abruptly. “After all, you’re the third party, and as such you have no business at all to suggest such a thing.”

Gerda put her drink down and went to fetch eggs from the pantry. When she came back she said: “In a way, I suppose I’m unfortunate. I think along the same lines as a man. I noticed your eyes when Stella was showing off her body. It rather gave you away. Not that I blame you in the slightest. I’m sure I’d feel exactly the same in your place.”

Denny said acidly, “Don’t you?”

“You mean am I one of those?” She shook her head. “Oh no. I might have been if I let myself go, of course, but I saw what an awful mess it would get me in. Stella is very much in love with me, but I don’t do anything about it.”

Denny lit a cigarette. “You know, you’re rather an unpleasant person,” he said. “I’m damn sorry I ever had anything to do with you.”

Gerda smiled. “Suppose we stop fooling around like this. You want Stella. I know you do. You are wishing I wasn’t here so that you could be alone with her. You have a lot of money. I haven’t any. I want money. I don’t make any bones about it. I must have it. Tell me, Mr. Merlin, how much would you pay to have Stella alone for tonight?”

Denny took a step towards her. His face had gone suddenly white. “Shut your beastly mouth, you bitch!” he said, “I’ve taken all I’m going to from you. So shut up, do you understand?”

She stood very still, looking at him, then her mouth smiled. “Does that mean you’ll think it over?” she asked, putting two eggs and the ham on a plate and putting it into his hand. “But eat this. I’ll go and hurry Stella. I should like a bath too.”

She left him standing staring after her with an angry, puzzled expression on his face.

Stella was still in the bath when Gerda came in. She looked up and smiled. “Am I keeping you waiting, darling?” she asked, cupping her breasts in her hands and lying back on her elbows.

Gerda looked at her beautiful white figure and sat on the edge of the bath. “No,” she said, “take your time. I want to talk to you.”

Stella’s face clouded. “What do you want now?” She laid stress on the word now.

“What do you think I want?” Gerda said, her hard eyes suddenly brightening. “There’s five hundred thousand dollars outside wolfing ham and eggs. I want a little of him.”

Stella swirled the water with her legs. She didn’t say anything.

“Go out and start on him. He’s really soft on you so he’ll treat you right. Leave it to me to get the dough out of him.”

Stella shook her head. “No,” she said, biting her lip. “No—no—no!”

“You can do it. It would be easy. I’ll go to bed and then you go to him. Tell him you’re frightened by the wind. Play up to him. Give him the works. He’s only waiting for you to start. Then I’ll come in and you can go to bed. You don’t have to go far with him—just enough to get him going”.”

Stella said “No” again.

“Think what it will mean. I could knock him down for a grand. Think what that would mean. You and I could go to the best hotel in Miami. We could buy clothes and we could eat what we wanted.”

Stella put her hands to her face. “And when the money was finished you would find someone else to sell me to. Like you did in Daytona Beach, like you did in Brooklyn, in New Jersey. No—no—no!”

Gerda got slowly to her feet. “You are the only capital we have,” she said. “You wanted to come with me, didn’t you? I didn’t ask you to, did I? Do you think I should have any difficulty in getting along by myself? How do you think I’ve managed before? I’m not afraid of work. I’m strong, not like you. You wanted to be with me—how do you think we can live unless you help? Do you think I’d mind what I did to make you happy? If men wanted me and would pay for me, do you think I should care? Can’t you get outside your body and forget that it is you? Use it to get us somewhere, use it as a singer uses his voice.”

Stella climbed out of the bath and wrapped a towel round her. She shivered a little. “How long have I got to do this?” she asked. “Don’t you love me any more? Doesn’t it mean anything to you that I’m used like this?”

Gerda went to her, her eyes half closed, knowing that she had got her way, and therefore willing to be kind.

Denny had finished his meal when Stella came out in a light-blue wrap, which suited her. He was mixing some more cocktails, having drunk six in a row, and he felt a lot better tempered. In fact, he greeted Stella with a grin as she came in.

“How are you feeling now?” he asked. “You’re looking grand. Have a gin and du Bonnet. Can you cook yourself a meal? I wish I could, but I’ve never learnt how.”

Stella took a cocktail and began preparing supper. “Don’t you want a bath, Mr. Merlin?” she asked.

Denny shook his head. “No, I’m fine. I guess I’ve been having a few drinks instead.”

She turned on the grill and stood waiting for it to heat up. With her back turned to him, she loosened her wrap, then pulled it closely round her as if to avoid spotting the material from the hissing fat.

Denny could see the slim outline of her figure, the soft curve of her buttocks, and he suddenly wanted her very badly. He turned away and took another drink. “Where’s your unpleasant friend?” he asked abruptly.

Stella stiffened. “Gerda?” she said, looking over her shoulder at him. “What do you mean—unpleasant?”

Denny shrugged. “Forget it,” he said; “I was forgetting she was a friend of yours.”

“Gerda’s in the bath. She won’t be out for ages. She loves to soak. She told me that she’d get her own supper. Odd way we’re eating. We ought to have all sat down together.”

“How old are you?” Denny asked, leaning against the stove, so that he could watch her face. “Right now, you look like a lovely little girl.”

Stella blushed. “Oh, I’m nineteen,” she said. “I’ll be twenty at the end of the month.”

“Isn’t it a pity that you’re living this sort of life? I mean, haven’t you any parents to look after you?”

Stella broke an egg into the pan. “No,” she said, “I guess not. I get along, really, Mr. Merlin, only just now we’re in a jam. We had some bad luck and the landlady took our bags in payment—you know.” She broke off and gave a little sniff.

Denny came a little closer. “This girl, Gerda. I don’t think she’s a suitable companion for you. Tell me, don’t you get into trouble sometimes because of her?”

Stella looked at him, trying hard to force anger out of her eyes. “Gerda has been very wonderful to me,” she said.

Denny shrugged and turned away. He couldn’t make this business out. Stella didn’t look like a tramp, he kept telling himself. She wasn’t that type at all, he could swear to it, yet why did Gerda make that suggestion? Why was she so sure that Stella would agree? Could it be that Stella liked him? By now the cocktails had made him a little drunk and he was very sure of himself. It would be rather a joke if Stella went for him in a big way and Gerda was left holding the can.

He followed Stella into the dining-room and sat opposite her while she ate her supper. Outside, the wind and rain lashed the walls of the house, making it shudder and forcing them to shout a little when they talked. He insisted on taking her plate away when she had finished, and came back with the cocktail-shaker full again. Stella was sitting on a big settee near the fire. Her wrap had fallen open, showing her neat bare legs. As soon as he came in, she hastily adjusted the wrap, but he had seen all right.

He felt the blood mounting to his head and he came over and sat beside her.

She said, “Do you like being rich?”

He was a little startled. “Why, sure,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

“You know, money means so much to some people. To me, it doesn’t mean anything at all. Once I saw a man with a hundred-dollar bill. I had never seen a bill like that before. He was awfully pleased with himself.”

Denny laughed. He put his hand behind him and pulled out a big wallet from his hip pocket. “Ever seen a thousand-dollar bill?” he asked, opening his case. “And I don’t look so pleased with myself, do I?”

He opened the wallet and took out a fat packet of currency. He had eight one thousand-dollar bills and a number of hundred-dollar bills. Stella went very white. “Oh,” she said, “put it away. Don’t let—”

Gerda said softly from behind them: “It’s there. Enough money to live on for months. To go down Lincoln Road and buy what you want. To go to Dache’s or Miller’s. To eat at Allen’s. Miami would kneel to us.”

Denny spun round, snapping the wallet shut. “Where the hell did you come from?” he asked.

Gerda stood looking at him, her green eyes like bits of glass, without expression, shiny and hard. “You are a very fortunate man, Mr. Merlin,” she said. “I am going to bed now. Perhaps by tomorrow the storm will be over. We shall go our different ways soon afterwards. I don’t think I shall ever forget you.” She went to the door and then turned. “I should come too, Stella,” she said. “Mr. Merlin will want to sleep. Good night,” and she went out, shutting the door behind her.

Denny looked at Stella. “What did she mean—never forget me?”

Stella was still looking very pale. “I don’t know,” she said: “I wish I did.”