Sally's in the Alley by Norbert Davis (best color ereader .txt) đź“•
Chapter 2
DOAN PACKED IN TEN MINUTES FLAT, AND WHEN he got through the apartment looked as though he had done just that, but he didn't. He looked neat and fresh and cool in a light gray suit and a lighter gray hat and gray suede oxfords. He parked his two big, battered suitcases at the door, and as a last move pulled the cushions off the chesterfield and unearthed a Colt Police Positive revolver.
He slid that inside the waistband of his trousers, hooking it in a cloth loop sewn there for that purpose, and then he went over and pulled up the rug in the corner behind the bridge lamp. He found a .25 caliber automatic hidden there. He put that in the breast pocket of his coat and pushed an ornamental dark blue handkerchief down on top of it to keep it in place.
He was all ready to go when he had another thought. He took out his wallet and counted the money in it. The sum did not impress him. He put the wallet aw
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“Wait here for a moment,” Doan told Blue and Harriet. “We’ll be back.”
He and Carstairs went into the apartment lobby. It was very thoroughly empty. Doan went the length of it to the door next to the back hall that had a neat, enameled plaque saying “Manager” on it.
“Mr. Rogan,” Doan said, tapping on the door. “Whoo-hoo, Mr. Rogan.”
There was an emphatic silence from behind the door.
“I’ve come to pay my bill, Mr. Rogan,” Doan said.
No answer.
Doan took a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet, folded it lengthwise, and then knelt and thrust the edge of it tantalizingly under the door. Somebody tried to snatch it from the other side, but Doan jerked it back.
“Mr. Rogan,” he said.
The bolt snapped, and then the key grated in the lock, and then the door opened just wide enough to show that there was a heavy metal chain holding it from opening farther. One of the lenses of Mr. Rogan’s horn-rimmed glasses glittered through the crack.
“You give me my money.”
Doan rustled the bill enticingly. “Mr. Rogan, I want to rent my apartment again.”
“No!”
“Aw, come on,” said Doan. “I’ll pay my bill and pay in advance.”
“We’re full up! We’re closed! I’m out of business! Go away!”
“Now, Mr. Rogan, you know what happens to people who tell lies.”
“Mr. Pocus, I will not have you in my building. You’re a criminal!”
“Oh, no,” said Doan. “Not any more. I’ve changed my character and my business and even my name. My name is Doan now. Don’t you think that’s an improvement on Pocus?”
“No! Go away!”
Doan looked over his shoulder at Carstairs and said, “Woof.”
Carstairs sat down and filled his lungs to capacity, and tilted his head back and bayed. The sound was indescribable. It filled the lobby until the walls bulged, and the echoes whimpered in the corners for minutes after Carstairs had cut off their source
“He can do that all day,” Doan said, taking his fingers out of his ears.
The chain rattled, and Mr. Rogan crept cringingly out into the lobby. He was holding his head in both hands.
“Please, Mr. Pocus—I mean, Mr. Doan–why don’t you go away?”
“I like you, Mr. Rogan,” Doan said. “Carstairs does, too. And we both like your apartment hotel. It’s so quiet here. That is, it will be unless you refuse to give me my apartment back again.”
“Why do these things happen to me?” Mr. Rogan demanded plaintively. “I’m a good citizen. I’m honest. I’m only trying to earn a living for my three divorced wives.” He sighed deeply. “What is this new profession of yours, Mr.—ah—Doan?”
“I just go around looking at things.”
“An inspector?” Mr. Rogan inquired.
“You could call it that. I collect things, too.”
“What things?” Mr. Rogan asked suspiciously.
“Secrets and stuff.”
“You give me your word that it’s an honorable profession?”
“Certainly,” said Doan. “People in my new line of work are much sought after these days.”
“All right,” said Mr. Rogan. “But in advance, remember. In advance, strictly. Edmund!”
Very slowly Edmund’s curly head rose above the level of the desk. He parked his snub nose on the edge of it and looked from Doan to Carstairs, and then back again.
“Ah, Edmund,” said Doan. “And how are you, my boy?”
“Mr. Pocus,” said Edmund. “I mean, Mr. Doan, I didn’t tell those G-men on you. I really didn’t. They asked me if you lived here, and I wouldn’t tell them.”
“That’s very nice of you, Edmund,” Doan said. “I’ll remind Mr. Rogan to give you a raise. Now you two just ready up the receipts and things, and I’ll be back flush in a flash.”
He went out to the Cadillac. Harriet had Blue crowded into one corner of the back seat, instructing him in a firm and kindly manner on the latest theories of medicine.
“Private Hathaway,” Doan said. “We’re going to set up temporary headquarters in a couple of apartments here. Come on in.”
“You come, too,” said Harriet. “I’m not through yet.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Blue glumly.
They went back into the lobby.
“Mr. Rogan,” Doan said, “I want you to meet Miss Harriet Hathaway. She works for me. I want to rent an apartment for her, too.”
“Oh, no!” said Mr. Rogan. “Strictly, no! None of that sort of thing in my building.”
“Just what do you mean by that?” Harriet snapped.
“No goings on,” said Mr. Rogan.
“Do you dare to stand there and insult your country’s uniform?”
“What?” said Mr. Rogan, dazed.
“Shush-shush,” Doan said to Harriet.
“Well! Governmental secrecy or not, no one is going to insinuate that I—Well, indeed! I’ll have you know, Mr. Rogan, that I’m doing confidential work for Mr. Doan and that we’re the merest acquaintances in private life. We’re not emotionally interested in each other in the slightest. Mr. Blue, here, has preempted that position in my heart.”
“What?” said Blue hoarsely.
“Well, you know you have. There’s no point in being silly and bashful about it.”
“Hey!” said Blue.
“Not now. We’ll discuss it at some more opportune time, in private.”
“Oh,” Blue moaned.
Harriet looked Mr. Rogan right in the eye. “Are you going to rent me an apartment so I can continue my work for Mr. Doan, or shall I report you to the authorities as a traitor to your country and a fifth columnist?”
“Excuse me,” said Mr. Rogan. “I think I’ll go lie down. I don’t feel well. Edmund, sign the people up. And remember. In advance, strictly.”
THE BATHTUB IN APARTMENT 229 HAD BEEN cleaned and polished during Doan’s absence, and he was sitting in it splashing and splattering contentedly when he felt a draft on the back of his neck.
“Yes,” said a voice. “You’ve got all the soap off.”
Doan turned around slowly. Arne was standing in the doorway. Barstow was looking over his shoulder.
“Now don’t get in an uproar,” Doan said. “I’ve already been to Heliotrope. I just got back.”
“Where’s the ore deposit?”
“That’s a matter we’ll have to go into at great length some time. How about next Tuesday?”
“Here,” said Arne, handing him a towel.
Doan sighed, turned the drain lever and got up and dried himself.
“And here,” said Arne, handing him the bathrobe.
Doan put it on and followed them into the living room. He sat down on the chesterfield. Arne and Barstow sat down and watched him. There was quite a long silence.
“Where’s Carstairs?” Barstow asked at last.
“In his sulking corner,” Doan said.
“What’s he mad at now?”
“He doesn’t like the job you gave me. It involves associating with too many people he disapproves of.”
“How does he feel about us, anyway?”
“Hey, you,” said Doan.
Carstairs’ head appeared very slowly above the back of the chesterfield.
“Look who’s come to see us,” Doan invited.
Carstairs studied Arne and Barstow thoughtfully for about thirty seconds, and then he yawned in a very elaborate manner and pulled his head down out of sight.
“I get it,” said Barstow.
“Don’t feel hurt,” Doan advised. “You should have seen the way he looked when I introduced him to a senator once.”
“Let’s stop the clowning,” Arne said. “Doan, what was the idea of going around telling everybody that you were a Japanese spy? All this cute stuff about I. Doanwashi and the rest of it?”
“You told me Dust-Mouth Haggerty was a whack. When you’re dealing with a whack you have to act whacky. If you act normal, he’ll think you’re on the offbeat. I didn’t know how much trouble I’d have finding him, and I was just laying sort of a ground fire.”
“It spoiled all the buildup we gave you under the name of Pocus. We expected you to keep on using that name. Why did you take it in the first place?”
“On account of his fans,” Doan said, jerking his thumb toward the back of the chesterfield.
“What fans? Why does he have fans?”
“He trains dogs for the Army. He’s been making some movie shorts about how it’s done, and all such. They show those not only to soldiers but to dog owners, and then the owners pester the Army until they find out who he is, and then they come around and make goo on him. He’ll take only very small doses of goo before he takes a leg back in trade. I got tired of trying to keep him from assassinating fat ladies and cute little tots, so I decided to be H. Pocus and assistant.”
“That’s what you should have stayed. We put out the buildup about Pocus in Heliotrope because we knew Dust-Mouth hung around the jail there and would pick it up from Peterkin.”
“Why not from Harold?” Doan asked.
“Who?”
“Harold. The majordomo of the jail.”
“What about him?” Arne inquired coldly.
“Nothing,” said Doan. “Only I thought he’d spread the news to Dust-Mouth on account he’s FBI”
“How did you know that?”
Doan shrugged. “All private detectives can spot a government man—if they stay in business long. When are you going to pounce on Peterkin and Gravelmeyer and Heliotrope in general?”
“The indictments are all ready now, but we’re frying bigger fish first. So let’s get at it. You contacted Dust-Mouth. What happened?”
“I convinced him,” said Doan. “We’ll make a deal as soon as I can find him.”
“He’ll find you. He’ll call you here.”
“How do you know?” Doan asked.
“We arranged it.”
“Come, come,” said Doan. “We’re not in a B picture—yet. I’d just as soon know how you arranged it.”
Arne said, “I suppose I’d better tell you or you’ll butch this all up too. Ever hear of Gower Gulch?”
“You mean the place where all the horse opera cowboys hang out?”
“Yes. Most of them are the genuine article, outside of a few professional rodeo and circus performers. Every Western picture has a few old prospectors and desert rats and such kicking around in it for atmosphere. They’re mostly genuine, too. They all hang out together, and Dust-Mouth knows lots of them. We put out the rumor that it would be a profitable idea for him to call you here. We used the name Doan this time. Dust-Mouth will be certain to see some of the boys from Gower Gulch if he conies to town, and they’ll relay the information.”
“Dust-Mouth has sort of a down on Pocus,” Doan said. “Maybe he’ll spend his time hunting him instead of calling Doan.”
“No. There’s a new bulletin about Pocus circulating in Gower Gulch. He’s just been shot while he was trying to blow up an airplane factory.”
Doan sighed. “Things certainly move fast these days. Sorry to hear about old Pocus. He was a fine chap.”
“He concealed it well, though,” Arne said. “Now there’s another little matter. Just what happened to Tonto Charlie?”
“Who?” said Doan.
“You heard me.”
“Yes. But the name’s not familiar at all.”
“Isn’t it? He was sort of a weird character who used to make his living by taking money for smuggling aliens across the line in the desert. We’ve never been able to get a grip on him because he never actually did it. He used to take the aliens out in the desert south of the line in Mexico and lose them there. Sometimes they didn’t die. It didn’t make any difference to Tonto Charlie because he got half his dough in advance, and that’s all he wanted. He’s been having a tough time since the war because we’re hand-in-hand with the Mexican patrols now.”
“He sounds like a delightful character,” Doan commented. “But I still don’t know him.”
“Dust-Mouth Haggerty sent him here to contact Pocus. Did you see him? You’d better think about your answer.”
“Never saw him in his
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