The Bloodshot Eye

8/7/2019 The Bloodshot Eye

1/43

THE BLOODSHOT EYE

By Richard S. Prather_____________________________________________________________

One

Iwas sitting at the bar in Mirandas having a bourbon and water when this wild-lookingtomato came in, looked around until she spotted me, then marched straight over and slid

onto the stool on my right.

Hello, honey, she said, smiling like a gal saying thanks for a brand-new mink.Have you been waiting long?

Thirty years, I think.

She had those arched brows and slanted eyes that make you think of black catsslinking through scented darkness, getting ready to pounce on little animals and eat them.

She was wearing a brief green cocktail dress that looked like a large strapless fig leaf,with a wide V at the top cut clear down to hoo-boy, exposing what must have been Gods

gift to brassieres, but not any brassiere, at least not as far as I could see, which was farenough. Her hair was black and thick and lustrous, and her lips had that just-chewed

look, and she had a pair of eyes that could burn holes in a wet blanket.

Id never seen her before.I was afraid you might get tired of waiting for me, Shell, darling.

Shell, shed called me. So she knew my name, Shell Scott. And darling shed

called me. First honey, then darling. What was going on between us? Something grand,apparently. I had to pull my eyes from those curves before I could think straight, but

even that didnt help enough.It was apparent that shed recognized me as soon as she came through the door.

Of course, thats no great trick. Im six-two and weigh two hundred and six pounds fresh

from the shower, and my inch-long hair springs up into the air like the crest on a startledbluejay, and not only that hair but also the angular brows above my gray eyes are so

white that Ive been accused of buying them from among the remainders.

My nose has been broken twice and splendidly set once; theres a fine scar over

my right eye and a wee slice missing from my left ear, and even though Ive a dandy tan,strong white teeth, and a solid jaw at least large enough for my chops, it has been perhaps

twenty years since anybody called me gorgeous. Actually, it has been a bit longer than

that.Suffice to say, this gal could have recognized me from a blind drunks

description. That still didnt explain what was going on, however. But . . . Im a

detective, the Sheldon Scott ofSheldon Scott,Investigations in downtown Los Angeles,and I live in Hollywoods Spartan Apartment Hotel, only a block and a half from

Mirandas and on occasions strange and perplexing things happen to me. Especially

here in Hollywood, the bulls-eye of the cuckoos target.

So I went along with it. Sort of.Sweetheart, I said, now that youre here all is forgiven. So lets hurry home

and smooch a bit. I raised my highball, smirking, thinking: Thatll fix her.


2/43

She narrowed those steamy eyes and let naked flames lick out of them and

moistened her carnivorous lips with a pink branding iron, and said, Lets.I dropped my glass.

Clunk. Right on the bar, spilled all over everything. While the bartender mopped

it up and mumbled something unfriendly, I shook my head to make sure no bugs were in

my ears, then I said silently to myself, Okay, now. Lets go over that again. I wentover it again. Same deal. No two ways about it. I was in some wonderful kind of

trouble.

I looked at the lovely tomato and said, Sweetie, IahI did not mean to implythat I am suffering from an overabundance of sleepiness.

Well, I hope not.

Couldnt get ahead of her. But there was, I supposed, maybe one chance in fouror five billion that she thought I was Shell Blandingham or somebody who resembled

him, so I turned to her and leaned close. Real close like that, I could smell an airy and

yet heavy perfume, floating up from her curving white breasts like temple incense. Youcould almost see guys hitting big gongs, and babes twirling around yanking at their veils.

I said, I--What, Shell?

I forget.Forget what?

Thats a silly question. Ah, Ive got it. Im not somebody else.

Shell, how much have you had to drink?Listen. Thats irrelevant now. Listen. I mean, if you and I fly home, well

Shell, not so loud. She hunched her shoulders up and sort of ducked her head

down and chuckled throatily. Goodness, we dont want everybody to know, do we?So, thats the way you want to play it. Okay, baby. Listen. That was all I

could think of.She said, Do you want another drink first?

First? I lifted up my hands and let them flop. Well, sweetie, I said, you

win.Win what?

Me.

She laughed.

I thought about that laugh. Was it a fun laugh? A victory laugh? Sexy?Gloating? Hell, I didnt know. Right then you could have asked me, Whos buried in

Grants tomb? and Id probably have said, Ah, uh

I finished my drink, slid from my stool, bowed to the lovely, clicked my heelsIwas a little nervousand said, Shall we go?

Oh, youre impossible, she said, smiling that splendidly sinful smile.

There isone little thing Id like you to do for me.Ah, I get it. Now Im hooked, all I have to do is some little thing. Like I commit

suicide, or

Oh, its nothing like that. Not exactly.

Not exactly, huh? Well, how close?Its a simple thing. Wont take more than a few minutes.

Sounds all right so far.


3/43

I wrote some letters to a fellow. Im well, aa rather friendly girl.

Thats good.And I said a lot of, umm, friendly things in those letters. And I want them back.

Thats all.

Well, thats nothing unusual. Must have happened thousands of times. One of

the oldest stories in the world. The guys going to blackmail you. He holds thosethosefriendly letters over your pretty head like swords of Damocles; hes torturing you with

them. Youve got to pay and pay and

Not exactly.Shed said it again. I wondered when we were going to get to the exactly.

Maybe youd better tell me, I said.

He wasntgoing to give them back to me, thats true. But hes willing to now.Hes not a bad fellow at all. And a girl friend of mine has the letters. All you have to do

is go get them.

She smiled at me and sort of squinted her eyes as if somebody had just pinchedher somewhere and she liked it a lot.

But she wasnt going to befuddle me. No, sir.I said, Yeah? What changed this guys mind? And who is he? Boy, thats a

crazy perfume youre wearing. And whos this girl friend? You didnt put it just behindyour ears, either, did you? Whats hername? And where

Im not going to tell you where I put it. Her name is Ellen Smith, and she lives

in suite sixty-three-A at the Seward Hotel. Its on the sixth floor.You didnt have to tell me that.

Shes got the letters there, in a little gray steel case. Theyll be on a chair in the

living room; thats where she said shed leave them. Walt thought if he kept the letters,maybe Id be, umm, friendly with him again. But once I convinced him it was all over,

he decided to be reasonable. So thats why hes letting me have the letters back.I see. I guess. So why dont you just go up to this Ellens suite and get the

letters from her yourself?

I might run into Walt. He lives in the Seward, too, only a few doors from Ellen.And if we did meet, it would be just a mess, thats all. He gets awfully angry. He might

even hit me.

We cant have that. Walt who?

Walter Foster. I just dont want to see him. He frightens me now. After Ivebeen friendly with a fellow, and its all over, sometimes they get mean, all sort of wild

and crazy--

You must be one of the friendliest babes in town.and I dont even want to see Walt again. So will you go get the letters for

me?

Well, Iit sure sounds simple enough. I just go see this Ellen, and she givesme

Oh, she wont be there. But she said shed leave the door unlocked.

Let me think about this a minute, I said. She wont be there? Why wont she

be there?She had to go someplace. A date, I think.

Not with Walt, I hope.


4/43

Of course not. If he was with her, I wouldnt be worried about running into him

at the hotel, would I? I could go myself.Makes sense.

But Ellen left the little gray case on a chair. All you have to do is pick it up and

bring it to me. If you run into Walt, well, youre about twice as big as he is. But you

probably wont even see him.He doesnt carry knives and guns and sticks of dynamite and things like that--

Goodness, no! Hes really a nice fellow. Hes just jealous.

You must be one of the friendliest babesThe Sewards not far from here. And please hurry, Shell.

Are you kidding?

Ill just wait here till you get back.Yeah. But . . . Wait just a second. I think maybe I should think about all this

just a little

Shell, you will do it, wont you? I just wont feel any peace of mind until this issettled. You will help me, wont you? If you dont, I just wont know which way to

turn. Sure, I said. Ill help you.

You will?Of course. What made you think I wouldnt?

Im so glad, Shell.

Fine. What do you want me to do?I already told you.

Yeah, Im on my way. I slid from my stool, started out, then turned back.

Letters?Yes. In a gray steel box. They should be on a chair in the living room of Ellens

suite.Got it. I thought a moment. I even remember the number.

Ive a little money. Not much, but if youll let me pay you

Dont worry about a fee, I told her. Not for a simple little errand like this. Ismiled. After all, what are, umm, friends for?

Two

The Seward was a block off Hollywood Boulevard, only a couple of miles from

Mirandas, and I made it there is less than ten minutes. The girl, whoever she was, had

come into the bar early, about six-thirty, so it was not yet seven when I walked into theSewards lobby.

As I strolled toward the bank of elevators that thought crept into my mind again:whoever she really was

Yeah, who was the tomato? I hadnt gotten around to asking that question. Of

course, I was supposed to know her, apparently. Maybe even pretty well. But I sure

couldnt place her. I wondered if when we met I was drunk. But I never get that drunk.At least if I ever did, I dont remember it.


5/43

Well, it probably wasnt important. In another ten or fifteen minutes I figured Idbe talking to the lovely again, and that would be time enough for a more probinginterrogation.

At the door of suite 63-A I turned the ornate, gold-plated knobit was a swank

hoteland the door opened. So far, so good. But even though this was supposed to be

merely a falling-off-the-log type operation, I eased my .38 Colt Special from the holsterunder my coat, and held it ready in my right hand as I stepped inside.

Nothing. No sound, no sign of anybody. But I did see, quite obvious against the

orange-red fabric of a big overstuffed chair on my right, the dull gray gleam of a small,rectangular steel box. So there it was after all.

For a few seconds Id begun to wonder if the gal in Mirandas had been feeding

me a line of lusciously wrapped con for some dark and devious purpose of her own.Apparently, however, she had been telling me the simple truth, and all was well.

I walked over the thick carpet to the chair, reached for the small boxand

stopped. I almost had my hand on the steel case before the other thing intruded upon myconsciousness. The other thing was a leg.

Not a leg all by itself; presumably there was a body attached to it somewhere.Its not the sort of thing you notice and then push out of your mind. But all I

could see at first was the shoe, a trousers-covered leg, and then the half-open bedroomdoor which concealed the rest of the mans body from me.

He lay flat on the floor in the adjacent bedroom, and even from fifteen feet away I

didnt like the look of that leg. I walked softly to the partly open door and steppedquickly inside, glancing around, gun ready.

But the room was emptyexcept for the dead guy. He was dead, all right. There

was a snub-nosed revolver on the floor near him.I leaned over and felt for his pulse, which wasnt there, but he was still warm.

Before doing anything else, I looked carefully around again, then put my Colt back in itsholster. Its always wise to look carefully around when you find a dead body, especially

a warm one. There was a smear of red on the bedroom doors edge, as if somebody

might have put a bloody hand there.As I turned back to examine the dead man, several thoughts were floating around

in my mind, none of them fun. I was wondering if the luscious lass from Mirandas had

known I might find, in addition to some flamingly compromising letters, a corpse in suite

Sixty-three-A. I was even wondering if maybe shed killed the guy herself.I didnt move him but by bending over the body I could see the small bullet hole

in the mans forehead, and the cramped, sharp features. I recognized him.

And that was an even bigger shock than finding a dead man here.He was called Little Kay by his hoodlum friends, of whom there were plenty,

because he was the son of one Kurt Durstin, or K. D., known to all the local mobs and

mobsters as Kaydee. Little Kay had been bad enough, a young punk of twenty-six ortwenty-seven, but he was merely a chip off the old blockhead.

His father was one of the most vicious big-time punks west of the Atlantic, a

cruel, conscienceless shrimp who had his fingers in half the crime pies on the West Coast

but had never done a day of big time.


6/43

What, I wondered, was Kaydees unlovely son doing here, dead as a doornail, on

the floor of suite Sixty-three-A? Had he, perhaps, come for some flaminglycompromising letters?

I didnt know. But I did know that Little Kay had been the apple of his fathers

eye, and Kaydee was one of the powers at the top of the L.A. underworld, and governed a

loosely-knit and viperous collection of torpedoes, heavy men, and flunkies, all handywith the heat.

When Kaydee learned his pride and joy had been pooped there was going to be

something resembling an earthquake in the whole general area of the West Coast.It occurred to me that maybe Id better get the hell away from here, before half of

California fell into the ocean.

So, right then, from behind me: Freeze, you s.o.b.It was a harsh, guttural voice, and it did not have the sound of cops. Even before

looking around, I knew it wasnt cops.

By golly, I thought, Ill bet there arentany flaming letters.I let everything freeze except my head, which I cranked aroundslowlyuntil I

could see the three hoods just inside the bedroom doorway. A big hood, flanked by twolittle hoods holding small cannons in their hands.

Actually, the two flankers were about twice the size of the guy in the middle; hewas big only in the sense that he was the boss-man over a lot of hardboiled hoodlums,

like the nerve that moves the muscles.

His name was Kurt Durstin, or K.D., and his boys called him Kaydee.Kaydee moved away from the other two men, to his left, and looked at the body

on the floor. From where he stood he could see the dead mans face, see the small hole in

the forehead and snake of blood that wiggled into one eye, and he must have knownimmediately that he was looking at his son, dead.

But nothing changed in his expression; his face still looked like a cold rock.Kaydee was a couple of inches over five feet in height, just about a foot shorter

than I, but both of the big muggs had an inch or two and thirty or forty pounds on me.

Kaydee looked like a Boy Scout next to a company of Marines. He wasnt a Boy Scout,though. Nothing like that. He was a mean, hard, cold killer who could cheerfully burn

off your feet and complain about nothing but the odor.

Kill him, he said flatly.

Hold it, I said. Dont jump to concluShut up!

Boss, one of the big men saidthe first one whod spoken, judging from his

voicetake it easy. You want we should hit him here? In the hotel?Kaydee didnt say anything. He hadnt looked at me yet. His eyes were still on

Little Kays face. I got slowly to my feet as one of the two big men stepped a little closer

to me, gun pointed at my chest, and the other man walked around behind me.Look, I said. I didnt shoot him. I just got here. Use your big brain, man.

I knew one of the men had stepped behind me; now I knew why. Something

slammed into the back of my head and it felt as if part of my skull fell off. The blow

didnt knock me out, but it knocked me down, and the numbness of my hands and kneesagainst the carpet told me it was going to be a long trip back up.


7/43

There hadnt been time before to become really alarmed about the sudden

appearance of Kaydee and his two muscle men; but while trying to hold myself off thefloor, and with my head hanging rather loosely from my neck, I began to become

alarmed. Because there seemed no doubt that these guys were sure as hell going to kill

me. Unless I could think of something very clever. This struck me as unlikely.

Finally Kaydee spoke again. Yeah, he said. Yeah. I wasnt figurin it straightfor a minute. Well kill him when we get him outa the hotel.

You umummsul, I mumbled. I shook my head, moved my tongue around. It

was a job, but I got my head raised and looked up at Kaydees thin, cruel face, and triedagain. You imbecile, I said, I didnt kill him. Why the hell dont you

Shut up! He looked at the man behind me. He opens his chops again without

me asking him nothing, bust his head open.Then Kaydee Stepped closer to me, squatted on his birdlike legs and said,

Youre the guy hired Weirmeister, huh? What was your angle, Scott? This close, all

scrunched up, he looked quite a bit like a dead sparrow.Weirmeister? I said. Ad Weirmeister?

Theres another Weirmeister?Hell, I havent even seen Ad for two, three months.

Dont give me no jazz. I know you hired him. He was workin for you. Sowhore you workin for, Scott?

Im not working for anybody. In a way, it was true. I was just doing a nice girl

a favor.Scott, I figure I already know. Couldnt be but one guy. Youre doing the job

for Vungter, right?

Vungter. Maybe it was starting to make a little sense. A man named TimothyVungter had come to my downtown L.A. office three weeks ago and asked me to do a job

for him. He hadnt mentioned any names, merely indicated that the job would involvebugging a place or two, planting some mikes or taps, and maybe small radio transmitters.

Ive done that kind of work, for myself when on a case, but its a little out of my line. So

I had referred Vungter to Ad Weirmeister, who in my book was the best man in thatfringe of the business.

I looked at Kaydee.

Wrong, I said.

Some of the strength was coming back into my arms and legs. The blood seemedonce more to be moving more speedily than sap in a tree. Pretty quick I was going to

bust Kaydee in his beak, and see what happened.

He said, This dont make no sense, Scott. Be smart, make it easy on yourselfand cooperate with me.

With you? Thatll be the day. If I get the chance, Ill feed you poisoned

birdseedPossibly he nodded, or made some kind of signal, or maybe that guy behind me

took it on his own initiative to hit me again. Whatever the reason, he hit me again. And

this time the lights didnt just flicker and dim.

This time the lights went out for good.


8/43

Three

Beneath me was cool earth and a lot of small, sharp rocks. When I moved I could feel

the rocks grind into a hand and knee. Everything was wrapped in darkness. In another

kind of remembered darkness were bits and pieces of the memory of movement. Just a

little, not much. I didnt know where I was or how Id got here.My head felt dismembered, and there were more aches handy than I felt like

counting with my head in the shape it was in. I rolled over, sat up slowly. Stars were

bright in the sky above me. I was out in the countryside somewhere. A hundred yardsaway the lights of a car melted the darkness.

There was a burning sensation between my shoulder blades. And I rememberedsomethingah, getting hit on the head. Sapped twice, and on the same square inch. But

was that lately? Ive been hit on the head so many times, occasionally all the swats blend

into one gargantuan and amorphous lump.No, it was coming back to me. Mirandas and my friendly sweetheart . . . the

Seward Hotel . . . the dead guy . . . Kaydee and his two nameless hoods . . . and then the

swat. Yeah, it had been recently.Everything in the earlier, or pre-sap, part of the evening was clear, but except for

a blurred montage of leaping, running dreamlike movement. I remembered nothing after

that. How had I gotten here? Why hadntKaydee and his toughs killed me? It didnt

make sense that they wouldnt, especially if Kaydee believed, or even half suspected, thatId shot his slobbish son.

I bent an arm and felt the burning spot on my back, found the cloth of my coat

torn, probed for the presumed hole in me like an undecided corpse feeling for the smallbite of death. I did find a raw, damp and sticky furrow two or three inches below the

shoulders. A furrow about four inches long, but, praise the fates, not four inches deep.

It seemed logical to assume that somebody had triedto kill me. Somebody had at

least shot at me and narrowly missed. But whatever had gone on between the sap and theshot, and nearly to the moment of my awakening, had vanished. It was gone, completely

and forever, kidnapped by unconsciousness.

At least, thats what I thoughtthen.After walking to the road I hitched a ride to a nearby gas station, from which I

phoned for a taxi. While waiting, I tried to figure out what was going on, not very

successfully. It wasnt easy to think straight, the shape my head was in, even though Igot four aspirins from the station attendant and gobbled them down. He looked at me

closely and asked if I wanted any more.

It was a while before I even thought of checking the clamshell holster where Icarry my .38 Colt. Im so used to wearing the gun I notice it as little as a shoe or a shirt,

and I naturally assumed it would be gone. But it wasnt.The gun was still in its holster, under my coat. Not only there, but still loaded and

ready for action. And that, I thought, was odd. I went through my pockets. Wallet,

comb, keys, everything was where it should have been.

It was nearly eight-thirty when the cab arrived. I remembered getting to the

Seward Hotel before seven, and adding up the time I could account for I estimated Idbeen out cold for a good half-hour. But the night was still young, even if I wasnt.

Where to? the cab driver asked me.


9/43

For a moment I thought of Mirandas. But, with the help of my four aspirins, I

managed to conjure up a picture of that superbly stacked tomato approximately eighteenmiles from Mirandas and still going. Was it telepathy? I wondered. Or merely logic?

No matter, there was something of even more pressing importance to take care of.

Downtown Hollywood, I said. The Seward Hotel. And step on it.

At the desk of the Seward Hotel stood a tall, thin clerk with a sneer in his eyes.I asked him, Would you tell me whos in suite sixty-three-A?

He let his eyes flick over my jacket, which didnt look fresh from the Sanitary

Dry Cleaners, and then speaking as one from Olympus began giving me a song and danceabout the hotels policy of providing guests, especially those in the expensive suites, with

the utmost privacy.

I was thinking that if young Kay Durstin, or old Kaydee himself, or even one ofKaydees punks was registered in the suite, not only might the evenings events start

making more sense, but somebodys privacy was going to be shattered no matter what the

hotels policy was. Besides, I was not in the mood for any song and dance.So I leaned against the desk, or maybe about halfway over it, and said, Please?

and my tonenot to mention my appearancemust have told the clerk I was not in ajolly mood.

He stepped back about a yard. Then, very friendly, he said, Uh, why, thatsIremember now. Miss Smith is in sixty-three-A. Ellen Smith.

It surprised me.

Whoever-she-was at Mirandas had told me an Ellen Smith lived in the suite I wasto visit. So shed told me the truth about that, at least. But then a queer idea sprang into

my brain and I said, This Ellen Smith. Would she be a wild-looking black-haired

tomato with slanty green eyes and a body that would be banned in Chicago and lips thatcould cook biscuits and"

Oh, no, no indeed. Miss Smith is a blond lady, quite tall. I suppose you couldsay, however, she is, ah, that her figure is quite remarkable.

Oh. Maybe five-five? Or five-six at most?

He shook his head. Taller than that, I should say. Two or three inches taller.I let the queer idea limp out of my brain. Then I looked at the small key-cages

behind the desk, found one numbered 63-A. No key was in the little cubicle. Would

you know if Miss Smith is in her suite now?

Yes, she is. She came in ten or fifteen minutes ago.I thanked the clerk and walked to the elevators.

I had my gun in my hand and my hand in my coat pocket when I knocked at the

door of 63-A.The door opened and a tall, lovely blonde looked at me from sleepy brown eyes.

She was wearing a white quilted robe, one of those shapeless things padded with cotton,

but its belt was cinched tight around no more than twenty-three inches of waist, and itwas clear that though perhaps the robe was shapeless, she wasnt. Unless of course she,

too, was padded with cotton.

I said, Are you Ellen Smith?

Yes.Im Shell Scott.

I might just as well have said, Im selling cemetery plots. She didnt want any.


10/43

Yes? she said, like No.

May I come in?I glanced past her into the room. Is anybody in there with you?

Her soft, straight brows pulled down, and in toward her nose a bit, and a narrow

crease appeared between her eyes, and she started to slam the door.

I managed to get my foot slammed instead.Miss Smith, a lovely young lady, whom I met earlier this evening, asked me to

come here and get someletters. She said you had them, and would leave them in your

suite. Im not asking you these questions just for the fun of it. It hasnt been a funnight.

Her face relaxed. The crease between her eyes went away and she said, Oh, you

must be the friend of Tims she mentioned.Who?

Tims friend.

I mean, who mentioned?Cloris.

Is that her name?Dont you know?

Frankly, no. Thats one of the things I missed. But Id like to. Cloris what?And whos Tim?

She was angry again, or puzzled. Or else she like pulling her eyebrows down.

She didnt answer.I was more than a little puzzled myself, not only by certain of this gals reactions

but also by her lack of certain others. The last time Id been here thered been a gray case

on a chair and a body on the floor. But she looked cool as a cucumber.I said, Miss, this is important. Are you alone in the suite, or is somebody with

you?Im alone.

Youve been here only a few minutes?

Yes.When you came in, didnt you notice anything unusual?

Like what?

Likeoh, like a dead body, say.

She laughed.Im not kidding, I said.

This must be some kind of joke. Miss Smith was still smiling, and when Miss

Smith smiled, she was a very sweet-looking cookie.May I come in for a moment? I asked her.

She hesitated, but stepped aside. When I went in she closed the door behind me,

then walked across the room and sat down gracefully. I watched her walk, and gracefullysit, and the way she moved around under that robe it was abundantly clear that only the

robe and not Miss Smith was padded. It was also evident that in a sheer negligee shed

be a riot.

But I could not let my attention dwell on such pleasantries, since the chair she satin was the orange-red one on which earlier I had seen the gray steel case. There was no

case on it now, however.


11/43

I stepped to the bedroom door, found the light switch and flipped it on, still

holding the gun in my coat pocket. The room was empty. There wasnt a body on thefloor, but I could see a small dark stain on the carpet where the body had been.

Ellen Smith had turned her head to watch me, and was giving me a look of dark

suspicion.

I said, Would you come into the bedroom for a minute?Well!

I would merely like to show you something.

Like what? She was still suspicious.A bloodstain, I said.

There was an odd look on her face, but she stood up and moved toward me,

stepped into the bedroom. I walked over the carpet, knelt and pointed to the dark stain.What in the world is that? she asked me curiously.

I already told you. Its blood. A guy died there earlier this evening. I know. I

was here. I saw the dead guy.As I spoke I watched her face, and her reaction was quite striking. She got nearly

as pale as milk, tottered to the bed, and sat heavily upon it. I thought she was going tofaint, but she didnt. She sure seemed to be considering it, though.

I sat down on what looked like half a chair and waited. After a minute shemanaged to speak again.

Died? A man diedthere? Her voice was like something caught in cobwebs.

Yeah. Due to the fact that he was shot in the brains. I took the Colt Specialfrom my pocket and let her look at it before jamming it back into my holster. With a

shooter like that one, I said. Also there was a little gray steel case on a chair in your

front room when I was here before. But it isnt there now.The rumor is, it contained some dandy letters. Quite likely it contained instead,

a bomb, or a kilo of heroin, or smuggled diamonds, or a guys dripping head, whoknows? Not me. But maybe you. Right, Miss Smith? Maybe you? There were also a

number of half-demented hoodlums in here earlier, and possibly a herd of buffalo,

kicking my skull around.All this in addition to a corpse drooling blood, in your suite, during your

convenient absence, Miss Smith. Do you really expect me to think this is all news to

you?

I hadnt pulled any verbal punches, and with reason. During the ride in thetaxicab, and at various moments since, a fact of large proportions had become more and

more evident to me.

Kaydee, the local scourge of goodness, obviously had intended to kill me. He hadintended to kill me because of his firm belief that I had shot his pride-and-joy boy dead.

And what Kaydee had intended, he surely still intended. Even if I couldnt yet remember

exactly how Id gotten away from him and his musclemen, I hadgotten away aliveacondition which Kaydee would do his utmost to remedy as soon as possible.

What he had intended, without the shadow of a thin doubt he still intended. He

and all the lop and cauliflower ears his word could reach, would be gunning for Shell

Scott. If at first they didnt succeed they would, after the fashion of very positivenegative-thinkers, try and try again. And unless I suddenly learned more than the vast

blankness now in my possession, they would damned likely succeed.


12/43

So it was too bad that Ellen Smiths neck muscles turned to jelly, and her pretty

head wobbled to one side and then the other, and finally flopped clear back behind oneshoulder as she melted onto the bedspread, but it couldnt be helped. I had to know if she

was playing the same kind of games as my little friend from Mirandas.

And I learned what I wanted to know.

This was, indeed, all news to Ellen Smith. Or else she was an actress capable ofgoing three-fourths into quivering unconsciousness on cue. Ive not yet seen an actress

who could fake the real McCoy; and this was the McCoy.

She didnt go all the way out this time, either, but it was a near thing. She lay onthe bed with her jaw slack and her eyes slowly opening and closing like the mouths of

dying fishes, the lids quivering.

After a minute or two she slid back off the bed, got her feet under her, and stooderect, swaying.

Please, excuse me, she said thickly. Ill only be a minute. It was justwell,

at first I didnt believe you.She walked to a door and opened it, went inside. It was a bathroom with walls of

sparkling tile. I heard water running from a tap, and soon she came out again patting herface with a fluffy blue towel.

Pressing the towel under her chin and against her neck she walked around the bedand sat on it again, this time on the side nearer me.

Did you have to say it like that? she said.

I thought I did.Will you say it again, not quite so

She didnt finish the sentence, but I knew what she meant. So I told her again,

delicately. Sprinkling the telling with such comments as, and then this beastly chapassaulted my cranium with vigor, and where we went thence, I know not.

How ghastly, se said when Id finished.Youre telling me.

What did you say your name was?

Shell Scott.Ive heardarent you a detective?

Thats right. And from now on Im going to be detecting like crazy, in the hope

of lengthening my days to, well, at least another couple. So its your turn.

Turn to what?Tell your tale. What were Kaydee and his two heavies doing here? What the

hells in that gray case? Why the stiffthe deceased in your room?

She was shaking her head. But I dont know. I never heard of any of thosepeople before.

Kaydee? Kurt Durstin? Little Kay?

She kept shaking her head.Well, she really didnt look like a gal whod know creeps like the ones Id

mentioned; it could be she was telling me the truth. But she had earlier mentioned a

couple people she did know. People who, almost surely, were somehow involved in

whatever Id gotten squeezed into.So I said, Okay, Ill buy that for now. But whats the score on those letters? If

thats what was in the case.


13/43

I dont know a thing about any letters.

I could feel a little heat rising toward my chops. Miss Smith, I said, I havetold you in some detail about big apes kicking the livingof the havoc wrought upon me

this evening. I have even chosen phrases which might better flute from the lips of a

female poet in order not further to offend your sweet sensibilities. But if you are now

going to clam up on me, I mayBut I dont know anything about them. She paused, and as I began scowling

fiercely at her said, Really I dont. This gray thing, this caseI simply dont have the

littlest idea what you mean.You want to get me killed?

She threw the blue towel, which until then shed been holding before her, onto the

bedspread and then lifted one foot an inch and stamped it on the floor.Cant you understand Im telling you the truth? she said with some heat.

More heat than she knew.

Miss Smith had recently been half-fainting, and walking about, and washing herface, and all that activity had, apparently without her becoming aware of it, caused the

belt of her robe to become all loose.As a result, the top of the robe billowed and slid away from her body, which even

that sneery-eyed clerk had described as remarkable, and there loomed in the pearlylight a quivering vista ofwell, suffice to say I would not again be able to think of her as

Miss Smith.

Ellen, I said.Im not a liar.

Ellen.

Maybe I wont say what you want me toclam as you put itEllen!

but Im not a liar. Stamp went the foot again.Your robes falling off, I said rapidly.

She looked down, then yanked the robe over her and cinched the belt tightly.

Blushing furiously, I noted.Thats better, I said. Now, nobodys calling you a liar. But you did mention a

gal named Cloris. Is she the one who sent me up here?

She wouldnt have anything to do with things like this. Like the things youve

told me.You did know somebody was coming to your suite tonight, didnt you?

Well, yes. But not any gangsters. Not any awful people like that. Besides, all I

know is what youve toldmeYou can believe it.

Well, they didnt have anything to do with that. And Im not going to tell you

anything about friends.Maybe you dont understand. Im going to sit right here until you tell me about

this Cloris, and this somebody else, and this guy Tim whose friend you assumed I was

at first. And if this damned Tim and Cloris

I stopped.At last. The first ray of light.

TimTimothy.


14/43

Who else? I knew only one Timothy, and him not well, but almost surely he wasthe one. Timothy Vungter. The guy whod asked me to do a job for him, and whom Ihad sent toAddison Weirmeister.

Ad Weirmeister was the bug expert.

Kaydee had assumed Id hired Weirmeister.

Kaydee had assumed, also, that I was working for Vungter.The rest wasnt tough.

I probed for some more of it. There was more coming. Vungter, Ziska. I had it.

The Vungter-Ziska case. What tied it all together was the fact that Ziska was, or hadbeen while alive, one of Kaydees prince charmings, blood brother to the two whod been

with Kaydee tonight.

I skimmed over the facts in my mind. Vungter, Timothy and Tyrone, brothers.Tyrone Vungter, a newspaperman, reporter on the crime beat. Hed started chumming

around with some of the Kaydee creeps in his hours off the jobthough I had a hunch

the chumming had been part of the job. Hed spent most of his time with a slope-shouldered hulk named Ziska. Then he and Ziska had a falling-out over a girl. Some hot

words, a few blows, not many. Ziska won the fight. Tyrone lost a tooth.A week or ten days later a highway patrolman spotted a break in the chain-link

guardrail on a sharp curve in the road a few miles outside of L.A. It was a night of rain,the streets slick. Investigating, he found Tyrone Vungters car fifty feet down the

slanting ground below the road, front end crumpled against a boulder.

Beyond the boulder the earth dropped off even more precipitously for a hundredyards. Except for the boulder Tyrone Vungter would have been dead. Not that it made

much difference now.

Because in the front of the car, unconscious and bleeding from his mouth whichhad smacked the steering wheel, was Ty Vungter. In the back of the sedan was Ziska,

dead. Not from the accident, however. In him were two slugs from Ty Vungters .32pooper, the revolver being in Ty Vungters coat pocket.

The assumption was that Ty had plugged Ziska and was hauling him out to dump

him or bury him when he skidded off the rain-slick road and nearly got killed himself.Tyrone claimed innocence, said hes been sapped, knocked out, and knew nothing more

until hed come to in a hospital bed. Nobody bought it. Result: Tyrone Vungter had

been mugged and booked, charged with murder, tried and found guilty. And he was now

in the house of many slammers.I wondered if he might really have been hit on the head. It was at least possible. I

knew some people who hit other people on the head. Also, though Id had no reason

before to dig for info, I knew from words dropped here and there among some of my lesssavory acquaintances that Kaydee had looked with rising wrath upon Vungters

hobnobbing with his hoods. And Kaydee didnt have to be mad at a guy to feel justified

in knocking him off; he might kill you if you had B.O.All this was, of course, merely speculation; but interesting speculation. The

details of the case had flashed through my mind in no more than a second or twoI can

think like lightning when it doesnt make any difference. So, after only a brief silence,

Ellen was speaking to me again.Mr. Scott, if a dead man really was in my bedroom, as you have been saying

That isnt strawberry jam on your carpet, dear, its tired blood.


15/43

Where is the body now? What happened to it?

Beats me. Kaydees boys must have hauled it out of here. The same way theymust have hauled me, for that matter. I didnt leave under my own power. Incidentally,

whats this Cloris got to do with Timothy Vungter?

It almost worked. It did work, in a way.

Ellens face didnt change expression, and she didnt let any unguarded wordsspill from her lips. But her breasts, which had been gently rising and falling beneath the

now-tightly-cinched robe, stopped rising and falling.

For three or four long seconds she held her breath, then asked in a casual, curioustone, Who?

Never mind.

I got up. Thanks for your time, Ellen. I looked down at her for a moment. IfTim wouldnt object violently, Id like to buy you a drink, or dinner, some time. Like

maybe tomorrow. If youre alive.

I turned and walked toward the living room. I was studying that red stain Idnoticed earlier on the doors edge when Ellen said, Alive? Alive?

Uh-huh, I said.What do you mean? Why would anybody

Uh-huh, I said again.I let her think about it a little more. I could almost see the wheels turning as she

went back over what Id just been telling her, about Kaydee, dead guys, lumps on my

head and such.She said, very seriously, But I truly dont know those people. I dont quite

honestly know anything about

You think they have to be introduced first? I leaned against the door frame.Ellen, if I knew what was going on, I might be able to give you a more accurate analysis

of your probable life span and some helpful advice. Like, get yourself thrown in jail, orat least buy a steel-mesh girdle.

Youre just trying to scare me. And I dont wear girdles.

Good for you. I knew you werent all bad. The red stain on the doors edgewas almost certainly blood. It looked like a smeared palm print.

But Im not trying to scare you, I went on. I would at least recommend a

bullet-proof bra. About size I cocked an eyebrow at her. Thirty-nine?

She almost smiled. Thirty-eight.Grand. These jolly minutes havent been entirely wasted. I have amassed one

entire fact. A little here, a little there, and finally you've got a lot. You do, you know.

She did smile this time. If I ever do have that drink, it will be a Scotch-and-milk.

How ghastly. Theres nothing else you want to tell me?

No.Okay. If you think of anything, Im in the book. Homes the Spartan Apartment

Hotel. I went out.

I walked along the sixth-floor hallway, checked the elevators. One was

apparently not for normal passenger use, and I rode it down as far as it would go andwound up in the basement parking lot.


16/43

On the way back up a floor to the lobby I got down on my hands and knees and

studied the floor. There was one spot that might have been blood. Maybe a single drop.At the desk I got the same clerk. One last thing, please. What room is Mr.

Walter Foster in?

Foster? I dont recall a Walter Foster.

Id appreciate it if youd check, make sure.He looked at a bunch of cards, shaking his head. No.

Hes supposed to be on the sixth floor.

He shook his head again. No. No Walter Foster.Thanks very much.

On the way out I stopped at a phone booth and called Central Homicide, spoke to

the captain, Phil Samson. Sam, good friend, long-time friend, and a cops cop. I toldhim of the events which had transpired in the Seward Hotel, and my brush with Kaydee

and his lads.

Also the corpse of Little Kay, which was among the missing. I gave Sam thesuite number, 63-A. Ellen probably wasnt going to like that. And that was too bad.

My car was still parked here at the Seward, so I picked it up and drove toward myapartment. On the way I stopped and peeked in the front door of Mirandas just in case

that nice girl was still there.I felt quite certain she must have flown the coop by nowcertainly after this long

delaybut I peeked to be sure, nonetheless. She was still there. Damned if she wasnt.

That glorious posterior was, in fact, still perched on the same stool where last ithad perched, and was still sending out giant ergs of hey-nonny-nonny, or maybe even

something better, a veritable holocaust of whoopee in living infra-red.

Well how about that? I said to myself. This babe is nuts.Here she had merely sent me on a wild-goose chase for some inflammatory letters

which I was now reasonably absolutely certain did not exist except in her diabolicallyfiendish imagination, but conceivably she also had known she was sending me naked into

the hoodlum wilderness.

Why, she was a gal who would ply alcoholics with gin, sharpen the teeth of tigers,saw halfway through cripples crutches. Yet there she sat waiting for the guy to whom

shed done it.

I could feel the cords in my neck getting like steel beams, veins bugging, arteries

writhing. I stalked across the floor like a giant robot, one of those big dummies you windup.

She heard me snorting and let her head swing gracefully around.

Hello darling, I said. Have you been waiting long?She looked me up and down. She looked at my left fist, then at my right fist.

Looking for a little gray steel box, I presumed.

Did you get it? she asked me eagerly.Yeah. I got it. And how I got it.

A little emptiness suddenly came into her flaming eyes. As though she was

beginning to lose some of her faith in me. I suppose she must have noticed something a

little different about my appearance. Oh, there was the landscape on my coat, and holesand snags in it, and some raw, scraped places on a hand and some knuckles, and all that.


17/43

But probably it was the wind whistling from my nostrils, the bulging of muscles

in my cheeks, the crunching of my teeth as they ground together.Is something wrong? she asked, kind of hesitantly.

Wrong? I smiled sweetly. As sweetly, that is, as I can smile. As sweetly,

rather, as I can smile while whistling wind from my nostrils and bulging my cheek

muscles and crunching my teeth together. What evercould be wrong?Oh, she said in a small voice. You mean you had a little trouble, Shell?

Nothing I couldnt handle, I said airily. I merely went to suite sixty-three-A

and found your dear letters, and also found a dead hoodlum, and while apprising myselfof the fact that this was, indeed, a dead hoodlum, found myself surrounded and set upon

by his living father and a couple executioners, who then attempted to demolish me. Isnt

this fun?Ummm

Naturally I got away from them by means of some kind of splendid trickery,

which unfortunately I dont remember, since there is an interim of blankness duringwhich these fellows probably operated on my head with gun butts, and possibly ran over

me with motorcycles.But once trickily away, I returned to suite sixty-three-A, determined to keep my

innocent promise to you and complete my little errand, which I now laughingly think ofas the eighth labor of Hercules, but alas. Gone was the little gray box. Gone, even, was

the dead hood. Gone was everything but a little blood and a lot of busty blonde, whom

Ill wager you know.She had wrapped her arms together in front of her and was sort of squeezing

them. She bit her poochy lower lip. She blinked her eyes, batting the long lashes around

like fly swatters.I said, If you say Oo again, Ill sock you.,

There was a dead man? AndIs that all?Its not enough?

I mean, was anybody else there?

Besides those killers? Or do you mean Ellen? She wasnt there till later. Whoelse were you expecting?

And when you went back the gray case was gone? she asked. And the dead

man, too?

Yes. And part of my head, I barked.Oh, Shell, I didnt think youd get into any trouble. At least I hoped you

wouldnt.

Im glad.I didnt know anybody would see you. I honestly thought it would be simple. I

was just so anxious to get those letters She paused, hugged herself some more, took a

deep breath, twisted around a little, obviously trying to come to some difficult decision,or get undressed.

Finally she said, I might as well tell you. There arent any letters.

No kidding?

Itssomething else in the steel box.Well, how about that?

I didnt tell you the truth before.


18/43

No?

Notexactly.Not exactly. Thats neat.

Im sorry, Shell. I really am.

Well, that makes everything all right, dear. By the way, now that I have

sacrificed my only skull for you, and splinters of my fifth and sixth cervicals, and mybladder, and perhaps a couple of things I havent checked yetwould you mind telling

me your name? Your name, and a few other items?

She moistened her lips nervously. Didnt Ellen tell you?She was nearly as helpful as youve been. I gathered you are either Cloris

something, or something else. Is your name Cloris?

Elba Weirmeister.Cloris Elba Weirmeister? Thats a goofy name. It fits, though.

Not Cloris. Just Elba Weirmeister.

So whos Cloris?I havent any idea whoOh, that must be what Ellen meant. Tim has a sister

named Cloris.Tim Vungter?

Yes.Well, I was making some progress after all.

Ah-ha, I said, so shes Cloris Vungtertheres another dandy, and youre

Elbahey! Weirmeister? You any relation to Addison Weirmeister?Of course. Hes my father.

Hes your father? Youre his daughter?

It wont work any other way.Hell, I didnt even know he was married. His daughter? Why didnt he tell me

he had a daughter like you?She smiled. Then she moistened her luscious lips again, and this time there was

no question but that she did it slowly, provocatively. Maybe he knew better.

Could be. Ive never made any secret of the fact that I am fond of the good life,bourbon-and-water, toothsome tomatoes, tropical fish, money, and rare prime ribsnot

necessarily in that order. In fact, not in that order at all.

I said, looking at her abandoned lips. Now were cooking. So youre Elba

Weirmeister. Elba!Gee, Id have thought youd be named Sirena, or Voluptua, orBazoo

Its the name of a place.

Come again?You know, like sometimes parents want a girl but get a boy and name him

Vivian? Or want a boy, so they name her Fred?

Ah, come onWell, my parents didnt want anything. So they named me Elba. I think its

where Napoleon

I put my tongue behind my front teeth and whistled a faint little whistle.

What kind of an answer is that? she said.Dont be ridiculous, that wasnt an answer. I was merely thinking out loud.

Listen, BazooElba. I put my fingers against my eyes and pushed a little, taking a


19/43

couple of deep breaths. Listen, I said with determined air, Whats your connection

with Timothy Vungter?There isnt any.

Unless the light is dimming fast, I heard you mention his name only a minute

ago.

Oh, thats because hes the one who hired my father.I smiled. To bug somebodys home or place of business, I presume?

She nodded.

Like whose?You already mentioned him. Mr. Durstin. I guess you call him Kaydee.

I smiled again. And apparently Ad, your father, was eminently successful in the

endeavor.Yes. Thats what was in the gray steel case. Tapes. Not letters.

Uh-huh. Recordings of whatever Ad picked up and recorded.

Thats right. She glanced toward the door as another couple came in. Maybewed better sit in a booth.

Good idea.We left the bar and found a booth across the room, with empties on each side.

Elba leaned over and slid in, and I sat down, tooright next to her.Oh, no, she said. You sit overthere. On the otherside.

Fine. I slid out, got seated across from her. Okay, from the beginning.

I could almost have put it together myself now, even without Elbas explanation.But I let her tell it.

You know about the Ziska murder, dont you? I think my father said you sent

Mr. Vungter to him in the first place. About three weeks ago.I nodded.

Well, he told Dad he was sure Tyhis brotherwas innocent, and had beenframed by this man Durstin. Framed because he was learning so much about the way

they operated, people they knew and things like that. Mr. Vungter hoped Dad could get

some proofyou know, from conversations between Mr. Durstins men, or even fromMr. Durstin himself.

Conversations electronically recorded in that way might not be proof, Elba, at

least not for a court of law.

He knew that. But it would be evidence, and it might convince the police.True. So Ad took the job, obviously. And apparently got what Vungter was

after?

Yes. Just this afternoon, late. He was going to deliver the tapes to Mr. Vungtertonight.

In Ellen Smiths suite?

They, the men, found out he was recording their conversations, somehow. SoDad had to pack his equipment up and leave in a hurry. And he was afraid they were

looking for him.

Kaydees men were on his tail?

Yes, Dad was afraid they might be following him, or even watching his home,our home, or Mr. Vungters. So he phoned somebody and said theyd better find aa

neutral place to meet, I think it was.


20/43

I still dont understand why it was Ellen Smiths suite.

I dont know. All I know is what Dad told me.But your father was going to meet Tim Vungter there?

Not Mr. Vungter. A go-between or something like that. Dad didnt tell me who

he was delivering the recording tapes to. He just said it wasnt Mr. Vungter.

Very odd, if Vungter hired him.She lifted the arched eyebrows, and shrugged.

Thats enough of that, I said. Lets sum it up. Ty hired Ad to get the goods on

Kaydee and company if he could, which apparently Ad did this afternoon. Fearing thecreeps were on to him, he arranged to transfer the tapes at Ellen Smiths suite. So why

the dead guy in the bedroom when I got there, and that gray case on the chair?

I paused. Where, I now recall, you knew it would be.It didnt slow her down. If anything, it speeded her up. Dad went to the suite to

deliver the case. Nobody was there when he arrived. He put the case on a chair and

looked into the bedroomand somebody hit him. Hit him on the head.Suite sixty-three-A seems a good place to stay away from. He see the guy who

slugged him?No. Somebody behind him just hit him on the head. It knocked him out. When

Dad came to, he She let it trail off.Dont stop now. Its getting interesting.

She hesitated some more, and twisted her torso this way and that way, but when

she spoke I understood her reluctance to continue. When he came to, he saw athedead man in the bedroom. He got out of there as fast as he could. And left the case of

tapes on the chair."

I see. So when you sent me for youryour letters, you knew there was a deadguy in the suite.

There was silence for a while. It was becoming more clear to me why she hadnttold me everything.

She said, When Daddy remembered leaving the tapes there, he felt awful. You

can understand that, cant you?Ill try.

But he couldntgo back. Not the way it was.

Of course not, I thought: but Icould.

It seemed Elba was thinking along the same lines as I, because finally she said, IfId told you what really happened, Daddy getting hit on the head and those things, I was

afraid you wouldnt have gone for the lettersI mean tapes.

Smart thinking. It was.I just did what I thought was best, she said. For my father.

Uh-huh. We didnt really ever meet, you and I, did we?

Another big breath and an exhaled, No-oo.Of course, a gal who breathes like you do, and thinks so voluptuously, might get

a guy who breathes and thinks like I do to believe practically anything, right?

Well

Ill accept that answer.


21/43

But I wasnt sure whether I should accept all the previous ones or not. Everything

seemed to dovetail pretty well, but I wasnt sure I should believe her this time; I knew Isure shouldnt have believed herlasttime.

Tell me, Elba, I said pleasantly, when did your father inform you of all these

exciting things?

Just a little while before I came in here and talked to you.He told you, and you came straight to me. Thats kind of touching. Didnt even

stop to powder your nose, Ill bet.

Oh, I though a while, when I was changing clothes, and tried to think who mightbe able to help. Who, of all the people I knew or had heard of.

I said, still pleasantly, While you were changing clothes you thought all this. I

paused. Ad is okay, then? Where is he now? Id like to talk to him.I dont know where he is.

If you talked to him, surely

Well, I did, but I didnt see him.I am a little perplexed. How did you talk to him about these various and sundry

developments if you havent seen him?He phoned me at home, and told me what had happened. He was going to a

doctor. He said his head hurt a lot.I can understand that part. Howd you happen to find me here at Mirandas?

I remembered Daddy saying you often stopped here on your way home. I knew

you lived at the Spartan. I went there first.Drink will be the death of me.

I guess you wont help me any more, now that Ive lied to you.

I guess not.I didknow about the dead man. Ill admit that. Daddy didnt kill him, but if he

went back and the police were there they might not have believed him. But they wouldbelieve you. Youre friends with a lot of the police, arent you?

Yes, but

So I knew the police wouldnt give you any trouble.They didnt. It was those great big ugly mobsters, with their great big ugly

guns.

I didnt have any idea theyd be

You knew Daddy was bugging those great big ugly mobsters, didnt you?No, Iyes, of course, But I didnt even thinkof them, and even if I had I would

have been really worried. Youre so big and strong and capable

Yeah?And you know how to deal with men like that. Youre just sooh, I dont

know.

Go on, I said encouragingly.Maybe I shouldnt have done it the way I did. But somebody had to help Daddy.

And of all the people I knew or had heard of, I knew if anybody could do it, you could.

She leaned over and put her hand over mine, and I whistled an involuntary little

whistle. She said, Oh, Shell, Im so confused. I cant even think aboutanything,when Im so worried about daddy. And those tapes. And everything. Im just all

unstrung.


22/43

I can see that.

I know I cant expect you to help me, after the terrible thing Ive done, but Icant honestly say Im sorry I tried. Ive got to keep trying, too. Ill just have to find

somebody else. Ill just have to find somebody else to

Maybe you wont have to find anybody else, after all.

Oh, Shell! Do you meanI didnt tell her what I meant. My night was already planned, no matter what

steamy Elba Weirmeister did, or didnt. I was going to pursue Kaydee and Company

through L.A. and its environs in the hope of finding them before they again found me;and I intended also to pick up any info I could which might make more sense of this

evenings events, the who and the what and the how and the why.

But I didnt tell Elba that. After all, there was lots she hadnt told me.I merely said, Its simply that Ill be hunting Kaydee tonight, and if I find him

its barely possible Ill find those tapes. Hell destroy them of course, but probably not

until after hes listened to them.Oh, Shell!

Barely possible, I said. Maybe one chance in, oh, say half a million. Butmaybeha-hamaybe its my lucky night. If so, I just might get my hands on the

creep.Youre going to do this for me?

I couldnt let her go on like that.

No, I said. Lets get that straight, if nothing else. In the last, best, practicallyentire analysis, for me. And for the elementary reason that I am so very fond of life that

Id like to keep a little of it.

Keep a little?Everything. Catch Kaydee, get the tapes for me, clear Tim

Tim?Ty, I mean. With the tapes. And help Tim. And get even with everybody who

hurt you

I slid out of the booth and stood up.Off I go, I said. Into the night, the dark, the jaws of death, the gums of fate

Ill wait for you.

Are you cracked?

She looked at a watch on her smooth, white, soft, wrist, pursing her hotyumyummy lips. Its only a little after ten oclock. Ill wait.

I rolled my eyes heavenward, but decided not to ask for help right then.

I didnt really think I deserved any yet.

Four

Swindle was a wispy little guy, retired now from the rackets. That was really his name,

not a moniker. Billy Swindle. Arthritis and ulcers and gallstones and three bullet holes

had slowed him down, but at one time hed been among the best heavy men in thebusiness. Oddly, he didnt drink.

A lot of retired hoods hit the bottle hard, either to forget the bad old days or to

keep fear drunk in them, but Swindle was a teetotaler.


23/43

I found him in Emilios, a small Italian restaurant on La Brea, not far from

Hollywood Boulevard. While he shoveled down a big plateful of cheese-baked ravioli, Ihad a bourbon and water and asked him about Kaydee, Little Kay, the Vungters and

Ziska. And more light began to illumine the darkness.

He didnt know where Kaydee and his cohorts might be, but that didnt surprise

me. I had already put some lines out among citizens, and a few characters who were nolonger citizens, who could get a lead to those slobs if anybody could. I didnt expect that

anybody would, however, at least not for a while.

Kaydee and his two apes knew I was loose, and that I thus would be on thededicated prowl. Consequently they would not, I felt certain, be in any of their usual

zoos.

Kurt Durstin was not in evidence at his home, or the half of the Seventh Floorwhich he leased in a Hollywood hotel, or at the homes or rooms of any of the known

members of his psychopathic entourage. Nor was he present in any of the restaurants,

bars, or whorehouses he either owned or frequented. Teams of police officers hadchecked those areas, thus saving me time but gaining me nothing of positive value.

The light began breaking when Swindle talked about Ziska.Until tonight I hadnt thought much about the Vungter-Ziska case because Id not

been personally involved, and you cant worry about them all. To me, until tonight,Tyrone Vungters guilt or innocence was six of one and half a dozen of the other. Maybe

hed been justly accused and clapped, crying his innocence, into the slammer; and maybe

he hadnt.Now, though, it made a difference, since I had little hope that Kurt Durstin would

fall down in his john and drown in the toilet. If I couldnt get my hands on him, maybe

there was another way to ruin him: prove him guilty of one of the crimes hed committedbut for which hed never done a day of big time. It wouldnt be quite as satisfactory as

smothering him alive in red ants, but it would get him out of my hair.So I listened intently while Swindle sprinkled welcome bits in my ears. Ziska?

he said. Yeah, maybe the guy hit him, and maybe he didnt. Dont mean nothin to me,

Scott. But could be it was his own ever-lovin pallies.Kaydees wipers?

I only say it could be, Scott. He balanced a fat ravioli on his fork, eyed the

crisp-crunchy golden cheese crust on its top admiringly, then forked it into his mouth.

He chewed ecstatically for a few seconds, then said, his voice muffled, Ill just tell youhow it was and you can draw your own conclusions.

Good enough.

Well, you know what the morternity rate is with burners, dont you?I really pricked up my ears at that. Ziska?

Like I say, Ill tell you the thing and you draw up your own ideas. You

remember, after the Florence jewel score, how it was in the papers about that green bug?Some kind of Egypt bug?

I nodded, remembering. Florence Jewelers was a top-rank jewelry store on

Wilshire Boulevard, which had been hit several months back for an estimated quarter-

million in diamonds and other pretties. One of the news accounts a couple of days laterquoted the owner as expressing particular concern about a jade scarab with ruby wings

which he was exceptionally anxious to get back.


24/43

It was worth only a few thousand dollars, he said, but it had merely been on

display and not for sale, since it belonged to his wife, and his wife had expressed to himher grievous disappointment and shock at the loss.

A reporter told me privately what hed actually said: The old womans giving me

the living, boiling hell for letting the bastards steal it. Lettingthem, you get it? Shes got

a tongue like an asp. Boys, if you dont find that damn beetle the old ladys going to bustmy ulcer. No matter, the description of the piece had been accurate.

Yeah, I said. Jade scarab, ruby wings.

A stringy piece of cheese was stuck in the corner of Swindles mouth. He pushedit inside, then sucked his finger with relish. Thats the one, he said. Heres the

picture. Ziska, Ed, and Big George pulled that one, went in after midnight, in and out in

a hurry. All three of them scoopin up the rocks, just grabbintheyd cased the jointsome before.

It was planned so all the loot goes to Ziska and he takes off one way, Ed and

George goin after him for a few blocks then offtheyd be a kind of crash car in casethey didnt get out sooner than the fuzz showed. If the coppers nail Ed and George they

got no rocks on them, so they can go the Who-me? route all night and all they lose issome shuteye.

Uh-huh. As I remember, nobody got tagged for that job.Yeah. Way it worked out nobody seen them and it was a piece of cake. So they

met later at Ziskas place, with Kaydee hisself and a coupla others, and checked the loot.

It was a good score. Kaydee takes the works and blows.Swindle was down to his last ravioli. He sighed, burped, then cut it in two with

his fork. Everything was love an kisses. Then coupla days later theres the thing about

the bug in the papers. Only when they cut up the pieces Ziska give them, there wasnt nobug.

That was all. But it was enough.Apparently Ziska had been what is known in the trade as a burner. That is, a

dirty crook who holds out part of the score from the clean crooks, which is to say those

who do not steal from each other. The usual fate of a burner, when his meanness isdiscovered, is that his chums beat most of, and sometimes all of, the life out of the

burner.

I stood up, leaving under Swindles bread plate a bill which would enable him to

buy great gobs of cheese-baked ravioli, and have some left over for fetuccini.Thanks once more, Swindle, I said. How much later was Ziska dead?

Two days, he said.

It was nearly midnight when, after casing the area with some care, I parkedbehind the Spartan Apartment Hotel. Either in person or by phone I had talked to two

bartenders, three ex-cons, and a gal on probation from Tehachapi, and I had my lines out.

But the only valuable info Id picked up had been from Swindle. Valuable, but itmade me a little uneasy, too. Nobody likes to think about an innocent man in jail, and

facing the gas chamber at that.

I smoked a cigarette, pondering the mess into which my gallantry and over-active

glands had got me, then went into the hotel. When I got my key at the desk, Jimmy, theSpartans very young and very exuberant night man, said, Boy, you look like you were

in an accident, Shell.


25/43

I was. Only it was no accident.

Youre such a mess.Yeah. And youre a little late with that brilliant remark. Sixteen other people

already beat you to it. I know Im grimy. Thats one reason Im home. I may put on a

tuxedo and silk shorts. Any calls for me?

One. A woman named Moira.Ah, Moira, I said.

Moira wasor at least had been until tonightthe most fantastically-put-together

amalgamation of pulchritude these eyes had appreciatively ogled. And not only my owneyes; I was not the only one thus exuberantly appreciative.

A very good friend of mine who also resides in the Spartan, Dr. Paul Anson, had

spotted Moira and me while we were dining at a small spot on La Cienega. Either hedjust happened upon us, or hed spotted me with her earlier and had deliberately, sneakily

tailed ushed do it, too. I wouldnt put anything past Dr. Paul Anson where a

gorgeous-looking babe was concerned, particularly if she was my gorgeous-looking babe.Were good friends, yes, but there are no holds barred in such situations. But thats

another story.Paul did sit at the table with us. Uninvited. I would never have invited him in a

million years, and he knew it. He eyeballed Moira like a sick calf. His eyes rolled. Ithought his tongue was going to fall out on the tablecloth. It was a sickening exhibition.

I gave the waiter ten dollar to tell Paul that a patienta womanhad called and

asked for Dr. Anson: shed sounded as though in terrible pain. Then, zip, I sneakedMoira out of there.

I had been better when we were alone. Much better.

Ah, Moira, I said again. Not tonight, Jimmy. Shell have to get in line. Otherpeople are trying to kill me.

I turned and headed for the stairs and Jimmy yelped, Hey, you got some holes inyour coat, Shell. And theres someblood? They lookthey arent bulletholes, are

they?

I glanced around. Yeah.Boy, you werent kidding! Is the bulletis it still in you?

Ah, the faith of youth.

Probably not, I said.

But then I went back to the desk and jawed with him for a while. For no veryadmirable reason, Jimmy liked to hear details of the various situations I got into,

particularly those in which I got the hell beaten out of me. Probably he wasnt a well

boy.But I told him some of what had occurred, and said I sure wished I could tell him

what went on during my last half hour, since it was probably the best part.

He gobbled it all up. They still trying to kill you?You can count on it, Jimmy.

I hope they dont.

Id hate it myself.

I still didnt feel extra lively, but I went up the stairs two at a timeJimmy waswatchingand down the hall to 212.


26/43

The little doohickey which flops over the keyhole had not flopped over the

keyhole, which indicated nobody had gone inside during my absence, so I let myself inand greeted the fish with a cheerful, Hello, little fishies.

I am fruit for fish. Tropical fish. Inside the front door of my three-rooms-and-

bath, on the left as you come in, are two aquariums. One is a small ten-gallon tank for

some fine, fantastically colorful guppies with huge silken caudal fins, and the other thetwenty-five-gallon community job.

I fed the little beggars some shrimp meal and dried daphnia, and watched them

bump their noses on the glass, then blew a kiss at Amelia, the pleasantly protruberant andprovocative nude on the wall above my fake fireplace, flopped on the low, chocolate

brown divan and grabbed the phone.

I called Samson. There had still been no sign of Kaydee and his chums. Nocontract had been made with Addison Weirmeister or Timothy Vungter, either; both of

them were also conspicuous by their absence from places they normally would have

been. There was no trace of Little Kay, except his blood on the carpet of Suite 63-A, andon the floor of the Sewards elevator. Maybe the spot wasnt his blood; but it was human

blood for sure.A team of officers had talked to Ellen Smith, who proved a bit looser of tongue

with them than shed been with me but hadnt added much. Ellen explained shed goneout for dinner, leaving her suite unlocked at the request of Cloris Vungter, who had told

her only that a friend of her brother, Timothy, wanted to meet somebody alone in the

suite. She hadnt mentioned the other persons name, or explained the reason for themeeting.

Ellen, though somewhat puzzled, had been quite willing, not only because she

was a close and affectionate friend of Cloris, but also had on several occasions datedTim, and apparently thought him infinitely more fun than the late-late show.

None of it seemed highly significant as yet, but another thing uncovered by theofficers was perhaps more important. They had found a bullet hole in the wall behind

and below the head of Ellens bed, not visible until the bed was moved. The slug had

gone through the bed clothing near the pillows and continued on down through themattress and into the wall.

Ellen had been hugely surprised. The bullet was downtown now, at SID, but

hadnt told the lab boys anything yet, except that it was from a .38 revolver.

That was it. I went into the bedroom and stripped.The furrow between my shoulder blades wasnt bad, just red and blistered

looking. My head hurt more than the back did, even after the four aspirins. But the

showers hot water was going to be a lot of fun on that raw skin. It was.Id finished dressing when the cling-clongof my chimes announced somebody at

the door. It was Paul Anson, so I didnt shoot him, but instead put my .38 back into its

holster.Paulthats Dr. Paul Anson, whom I have mentioned, and who lives two doors

down the hall from mewatched with an expression of vast boredom on his strong,

tanned face as I eased the Colts hammer down and stuck the revolver under my coat.

Go ahead and shoot, he said. Ill never talk.Hey, if you everstop talking, thatll be the day.


27/43

I just got back. Had to give some sugar pills to a very rich, very gruesome old

hag in Beverly Hills. He put his hand on my forehead and thumbed up one eyelid, thenthe other, peering at my eyes intently.

Well, theyre still there, he said smugly.

I could have told you that. And Im not even a veterinarian.

Jimmy said you came in looking as if youd been killed again. Are you in bettershape than James assumed?

Naturally.

He had his thumb against my neck now, checking my pulse. This, I thought, isgoing to cost me something.

But I was also thinking something else: Paul often drops in and we horse around

verbally, or cut each other up, and get into loud and wonderful arguments; but I knowPaul well and usually can tell when his visits are a bit less than casual.

I had a feeling he was leading up to something. But he would broach whatever

was on his mind in his own good time, I knew. So I merely said, An I drafted?Afraid not. Youre in terrible shape. Isnt there anything I can do?

Yeah, give me a sugar pill. What was wrong with the hag? Nothing?Thats right.

He strolled inside and sat on my chocolate-brown divan, clunked his feet on thescarred coffee table, then kicked off one shoe and scratched the bottom of his foot

thoughtfully.

Make yourself at home, I said. Can I get you something? A hot bath? A bed?A

You can get me a drink, old sock.

I got him a bourbon and water. Then I perched on one of the leather hassocks andsaid, Paul, I must once more try to save your immortal soul

If its immortal, how can you save it?Will you shut up? I refer to the hag. Doesnt your conscience bother you?

Youre all the time giving these doomed patients of yours little tablets of nothing. Youre

going to hell, you know. Sugar pills. IwouldntThats because youre not a doctor. Youre a dumbbell. Im doing her a lot of

good.

Whatd you do, neck with her?

I told you, she was an oldhag.That cut no ice with me. Paul Anson was perhaps the proddiest physician in L.A.

County, which covers a lot of territory. He was a tall, lean, handsome sonofagun, and he

looked just a bit like a young John Wayne, and he cut a wide swath among Hollywoodsmore juicy morsels, and I do not mean with his keen scalpel.

He was nonetheless a brilliant physician and surgeon, but even more than that

one of the most intellectually-alive men Id had the pleasure of knowing.Any time I wanted the answer to a medical question, nine times out of ten I could

get the answer from Paul. Either it was on the tip of his tongue, drawn from his

gargantuan digestion of ancient and brand-new medical literature, or he could find the

answer in the library which covered one wall of his living room and overflowed into thebedroom.


28/43

It wasnt only medical literature he devoured, either. The guy was interested in

everything from the Tarot to lockjaw. Of course, he was still going to hell.I said, What, precisely, was the patient suffering from?

Flab. Eats pounds of cake and cookies and candy. Thus not only is her blood

too sweet and her disposition sour but she is depressed, because she knows under that

flab there is a lovely lady. Also her feet hurt.She gobbles too much sugar, so you give her sugar pills. It figures.

He smiled. She gobbles because she is unhappy. My sugar pills will help make

her happy. We must go to the source, and the source is in her head. I will fix her head.Then I will fix the rest of her.

Paul swallowed two fingers of his drink, then balanced the glass on his knee,

watching me all the time.How does it feel to be a genius? I asked him.

Its a burden. Hows your head?

It aches.And your back?

You have been talking to Jimmy, havent you? A scratch, Paul.Take off your shirt.

Hell, I just put it onDont argue with the doctor.

I removed my coat and tie and shirt, dropped them onto the divan.

And then Paul said, Hmm. Not bad. He took a tube of something from hispocket and smeared part of its contents over the bullet burn on my back.

Let it dry before you put your shirt on. Ill slip the bill under your door

tomorrow.What bill? All you did was smear a little toothpaste

Ah, but Im not through yet.I smiled. Now it comes, huh?

He smiled. Now it comes.

He had me more than a little curious at this point. Which was probably hisintention.

I wanted to look you over first, Paul said, talk a little, check your reactions.

Id say youre mentally normal. Same dullness, same glassy gaze

Get on with it.I talked to Jimmy, who repeated what you told him, but Id prefer to hear it from

you. In more detail, if you please.

You mean how I developed the headache and such?Paul nodded. Must have been a pretty close squeak this time, Shell.

I filled him in with what had occurred in the Seward Hotel, and after coming to in

the dark countryside.While telling Paul the tale and getting my shirt and tie on again, I also had a few

moments to wonder what his fee would be. It was a matter of some slight concern to me,

because it was never money.

Once it had been a case of Jack Daniels. Another time a rare book, which tookme two days and fourteen phone calls to locate. And once it had been the phone number

of a redhead you wouldnt believe, and whom I never saw again.


29/43

Paul liked to charge what he felt his services had been worth, and that last fee had

been for quite an operation. He was quite an operator, as you may have guessed.When I finished talking, Paul said, Well, you know it was Kaydee and two of his

men. You know they meant to kill you but, somehow, you got away. You know they

must still intend to kill you. But naturally youve no idea what they did while you were

unconscious.Naturally.

But if you didrecall what was done and said during that period, youd certainly

know much more than you now do, and might even know enough to wrap up the case.Yeah, and if I could flap my arms like a hummingbird maybe I could fly.

Not necessarily.

He wasnt smiling. Rarely had I seen Paul Anson so serious.Youre up on crime, but you cant be completely informed on newest discoveries

in the medical field, Shell. Just a couple of days ago I was reading a fine Prentice Hall

book, Self Hypnotism by Leslie M. LeCron. I found it tremendously revealing.I raised my eyebrows. What did you learn?

That the busy subconscious part of your mind never stops listening, even whileyoure asleep, or when given a drug anesthesia, or even when youve been knocked

unconscious from a heavy blow. Two trained men have articles on the subject in medicaljournalsa Dr. David Cheek and a skilled anesthesiologist named Dr. L. S. Wolfe. It

can be definitely proved by hypnosis that at the time of an operation the patients mind

continues to heareverything.Go on, this is interesting.

The patient can even hear a negative suggestion, for the subconscious is open to

all sounds. Dr. Wolfe believes that a death on an operating table can result from somestatement, for instance, the doctor saying, Its malignantI dont think the patient can

live long.I didnt say anything.

After a while he asked, Interesting?

Interesting as hellif true.Oh, its true, all right. Since coming across this Ive read the Cheek and Wolfe

papers, and done a little work in the area myselfso far, only to recover memories of

patients whod been under anesthesia. But theres no reason why the technique shouldnt

be equally successful with a patient who has suffered anesthesia from a blow on thecranium.

I shook my cranium. What hed told me was slowly sinking in. I sat silently for a

few seconds, then said, All I hope is, the next time Im out cold on an operating table,the nurse doesnt say, Doctor, youve cut open his McGinnus!

Paul laughed. Lets us hope the surgeon doesnt even say Oops!

I said, Well, youre the doctor, Doctor. And Im the patient.I looked at my watch. It was exactly twenty-six minutes before one.

Sure, I aid. But do it as fast as you can, will you? Maybe this is my lucky

night.

Paul was puzzled, but I knew better than to tell him what I meant.


30/43

Five

How do you feel, Shell? Wide awake?

Sure, I said. Lets get on with it.

Its done.

Whats done?The hypnosis, regression, uncovering of subconscious memory. You know

enough about hypnosis, yourself, to realize there is often total amnesia for the period of

hypnosis. And that the operator or therapist can generally, by giving appropriatesuggestions, cause the subject to awaken with either total recall of the session, or total

absence of memory.Yeah, I know that much, butWe already didit?

He nodded. Look at your watch.

It was one minute before one A.M. It had been twenty-six minutes till one only afew seconds agoor so it seemed to me.

I said, Did it work?

Splendidly. In fact, I would say it was extraordinarily successful. Youre anexcellent subject.

What did I say?

He leaned over, poked a button on the tape recorder still in operation at his feet,

switching it off. The twin reels stopped turning. Its all on there, Shell. You talked forseventeen minutes, and with remarkable clarity of detail. You quoted the words spoken,

mentioned sounds heard, even movementyou told me the route Kaydee and his men

took on their way to murder you. A fellow named Ed was driving, by the way. You werein the back seat with the other man.

Ill be damned, I said, in a more than normally subdued voice. This is

fantastic. Well, hell, lets play the tape, and Ill be

I stopped. Something was bugging me. Something Paul had said a minute ago.And the sly, scheming, evillook on his face.

Somethings cooking, I said.

He waited for me to get it. He knew I would.Ah, I said. Why didnt you simply tell me Id awaken with full recall, with

total memory of what I said under hypnosis? Why this hocus-pocus?

Oh, the tape is largely for the record, and in case we want to play it again a timeor two, pick it apart. I gave you a post-hypnotic suggestion, Shell. So you willremember

the session in its entiretyincluding your thoughts, what you said and felt while the

recorder was runningas soon as I say one word. They key word which will trigger thepost-hypnotic suggestion.

So say it. I told you, Im in a hurry.Yes, I know. But, there is the matter of my fee.You always send me a bill. Send it tomorrow.

Yes, but you might, erah, object to this one. I must have your pledge to pay in

advance, dear friend. Then I shall say the word.

I pointed at the recorder. If everythings on the tape, all I have to do is stun youwith one mighty blow, grab the tape and run. Play it over and over

You wouldnt do that. It wouldnt be cricket.


31/43

This is cricket?

Also, it would take too much time. And youre in a very big hurry.How do you know?

You told me.

I said a good old Anglo-Saxon word.

Well? Simply agree to the fee I shall ask, and I shall say the key word.Whats the fee?

Thats what the key word is. If I say it, youll know what the fee is, but then you

will also remembereverything. Thats why I cant say it until you agree. Once I say thefee-word, Ive nothing to bargain with.

Bargain? Why this is extortion! Youre a blackmailer!

Of course. He smiled innocently.I looked at the recorder. Straight goods, its on there? And I tapped my

headwhen you say the magic word it will all be up here? And it will be valuable? Tome, I mean.

He nodded and said, quite seriously for a change, You bet it is. Its beautiful.

Heres an example to whet your appetite. You came to in Durstins carwhen they wereslowing down, fortunately. You must still have been addled, half out, but Id guess you

simply moved instinctively. You were in the back, on the floor. I gather Little Kaysbody was in the cars trunk.

You hit the door handle and tumbled out, rolled, and ran. It was so sudden you

caught them by surprise, and by the time your friends got the car stopped and their gunsout you had a head start. They fired at you but missed. Fired seven shots, according to

your splendid report.

He paused, then added, Its there, all right. Youll know what happened, andalso where Kaydee and Ed and George are now.

I blinked, and shook my head, and blinked again.Ed and Georgehe even knew their names, which was something I hadnt

known.

It was difficult for me to understand how, even under hypnosis, I could have toldPaul things I hadnt known myself half an hour ago, and stilldidnt know. But I was sure

Paul wouldnt make something like this upand besides, I was remembering what

Swindle had said to me in Emilios. The Florence jewel job, hed told me, had been

pulled by Ziska, Bi

The Bloodshot Eye

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