Peter Cheyney
Dames Don't Care
CHAPTER 1
SOFT PEDAL FOR SAGERS
It is hot!
I ain't never been in Hell, but I'm tellin' you that I reckon it ain't any hotter than this Californian desert in July.
I am drivin' along past Indio an' I reckon that soon I am goin' to see the Palm Springs lights. An' I am goin' some - the speedometer says eighty. If it wasn't so hot it would be a swell night; but there ain't any air, an' there was a baby sand storm this afternoon that caught me asleep an' I gotta lump of the Mojave Desert or whatever they call it stuck right at the back of my throat.
Say, did you ever hear of Cactus Lizzie? Well, there is a song about this dame an' I am singing it. Not that I gotta voice, because I ain't, but I am one of them guys who always feels that if Ma Caution hadda fixed it so's I was born with some honest-to-goodness vocal chords an' a face that wasn't like the Santa Domingo coasline I reckon all the lovelies woulda queued up to hear Lemmy tear off a couple of swing numbers that woulda made croonin' history.
Revertin' to this Cactus Lizzie. I oughta tell you that this dame was in a song; an' for some reason that I don't know this song is sorta buzzin' in my head, keepin' time with the hum of the car. I got this jingle off some cowboy in Sonora two years ago, the time I brought in Yelltz for murder an' kidnappin'. All this cowboy had was a guitar, smokers' throat an' a hey-hey Mexican jane who took a run-out powder on him. He justa keep singin' it all the time until the noise of somebody readin' your death warrant woulda sounded like a comedy number it woulda been such a relief. Well... here we go...
Livin' on the desert... swing Cowboy,
Ridin' on the desert... Love is sad an' strange...
Hit up that banjo... sing Cowboy,
Your girl's got the jitters an' the cattle's got the mange.
Cactus Lizzie... grieve Cowboy, I loved her plenty an' she give me the air, That Cactus Lizzi - she got me dizzy, Oh hear me grievin' - 'cause the dames don't care.
This is the jingle I am singin', an it's one of them rhythms that sorta keep with you-you know, one of them things.
I am on the straight run now an' I can see down the road the Palm Springs lights. They tell me that this Palm Springs is one swell desert town. You can get anythin' there-a diamond necklace from a ritzy jeweler's shop, perfume at fifty dollars a bottle, an' a smack in the puss with a whisky bottle at some of the roadhouses they got out on the desert highways - the sorta places where you can save time by losin' your reputation an' your suspenders at the same time.
I am just runnin into the town now, an' I'm good an' tired. I was tellin' you about Cactus Lizzie, wasn't I? Well, I reckon that there's a lotta dames playin' around like Cactus Lizzie. They're afraid of spiders but they'd just as soon stick a stiletto into their boy friend as call for a chocolate sundae. Janes are like that, but maybe you've had your own troubles.
Me, I like women. There's something fascinatin' about 'em. They got rhythm. They got technique - and how!
I am nearly through Palm Springs now. A bit further ahead on the right I can see a light an' a neon sign. The sign says HOT DOGS, an' I reckon that this is the place I am lookin' for I slow down. When I get outa the car I feel as stiff as a corpse, an' why not? I have been drivin' ten hours.
I ease over to this joint an' look through the window. It is one of them fancy eats houses. Everything is just sweet an' clean an' there are a pair of janes servin' behind the counter. They are swell babies. One of 'em is a redhead with eyes that indicate trouble for somebody, some time, an' the other has gotta figure that makes me wish I was on vacation. There are one or two little tables stuck around all about the place an' there ain't nobody there except the girls an' a guy sittin' at a table eatin' frankfurters an' tryin' to look wicked at the blonde with the figure.
I look at my watch. It is half after midnight; then I give the brim of my fedora a snappy tweak an' I go in.
'H'yah, Gorgeous,' I say to the redhead. 'Meetin' up with you calls for a Hamburger an' a cup of coffee with a lotta cream, because my mother says I need buildin' up.'
She grins at the other dame, 'Say, Alice,' she cracks. 'Here's Clark Gable.' She gets busy at the coffee urn.
'Not for me,' says the blonde. 'For me he's Spencer Tracy. He's got that certain something they talk about, ain't he? Where's he been all our lives?'
'No fightin' now,' I tell 'em. 'If either of you honeys wasn't here I could go for the other in a big way, but you're a sweet pair an' you sorta cancel each other out-an' don't forget the mustard an' no onion.
'Seem' somebody?' says redhead.
'Not a hope,' I say. 'I just never eat onion. It's dangerous. You never know what's goin' to happen. I once knew a guy who ate Hamburgers with onion an' one hour afterwards some jane he was tryin' to make called up the War Department for a gas mask.'
She pushes over the eats.
'You're new around here, ain't you?' she says.
She looks sorta friendly.
'Yeah,' I tell her. 'I come from Magdalena, Mexico. I'm lookin' for a friend of mine, a guy named Sagers - Jeremy Sagers. Some guy in Arispe has left him some dough an' I thought he'd like to know about it. Ever seen him?'
'Ain't that a scream,' says redhead. 'I reckon we know this Sagers. I see him talkin' to Hot-Dog Annie, an' I reckon the old girl pushed him into one of them dumps she gets around to - one of them select desert roadhouses around here.'
'You got them, too?' I crack. 'Say, this town is the berries.'
'You betcha,' she says. 'We got everything around here. Now we got you, we're all set for a big ride!'
'Nuts to you, sweetheart,' I crack. 'Say, who is this Hot Dog Annie?'
'She's an old peach,' says blondie. 'She starts drinkin' double Martinis about six an' by midnight she's good an' high. Then she comes in here an' takes in a cargo of hot dogs. She says it sorta absorbs the poison an' stops her from seem' hand some cowboys where there ain't any. That's how she got the monniker.' She pipes down. 'Hold everything, here she is,' she mutters.
I screw around.
Some dame has just blown in an' she is certainly an eyeful. She is wearin' a sorta jumper an' a pair of blue hikin' shorts. She has gotta pair of sand shoes on, an' a jag that woulda lasted any ordinary guy for about three years. But in some funny way she has got class... if you know what I mean.
She goes over to a table an' flops down. Behind the counter the girls are busy. They have gotta plate of hot dogs an' a large cup of coffee all ready, an' I pick it up an' take it over an' put it on the table in front of this dame.
She takes a look at me.
'An' who might you be?' she says.
'Me... I'm a guy who believes in fairies,' I say. 'Listen, lady,' I go on before she can pull anythin'. 'Maybe you can help me. The girls here tell me that you gotta job for some guy I'm lookin' for - a guy called Jeremy Sagers. I got some good news for this guy-some palooka's left him some dough.'
She goes into a huddle with a hot dog.
'I got him hired at the Miranda House Hotel,' she says, 'but he was so lousy they gave him the air. Then he
