He Won't Need It Now

Alice said, “Bill Duffy, go straight back to bed!”

“I wish you two wouldn’t pick on me,” Duffy said, sitting in an easy chair, “I’m feeling good. Hi, Sam, what about a drink?”

The other two looked at each other helplessly.

“A hopeless soak,” Sam said sadly. “You better go back.” Duffy shook his head. “You two birds had better be careful,” he said, “I’ve just had a little fast training, and I’ll get tough.”

McGuire settled the argument by producing a bottle of rum, a squeezer, some fresh limes, and a bottle of absinthe. He set about making up some Bacardi Crustas.

“Make ’em big and strong,” Duffy said, “I want to get cockeyed tonight.”

Alice looked round the kitchen door. “I’ve been waiting for that all day,” she said.

“My wife’s an awful drunkard,” Sam said.

“You’re telling me?” Duffy stood up to look at himself in the mirror. He took one glance, grimaced and sat down again. “I remember, before you knew her, when she got so stewed that it took ten cops to handle her.”

Sam poured out the drinks. “That’s old stuff,” he said, “you don’t know what she’s like now. Give her a few shots of rum, and it takes an army to handle her.”

Alice came in. “When you two loafers’ve finished pulling my reputation to bits, come on in and eat.”

They followed her into the kitchen, Duffy walking slowly, careful not to touch anything, and Sam with the big shaker in his hands.

They sat round the table Duffy found it was difficult to eat, but he made a good show. They talked about general things until the meal was over. Both Alice and Sam were burning with curiosity, but they let Duffy have his head. When they had finished, they went back into the sitting-room. Alice sat herself on the arm of Duffy’s chair, and McGuire stood in front of the empty fire-grate.

Duffy said, “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I guess you’d better have it from the start, and then we’ll go into the whys and whats after.”

He told them everything. How he met Morgan, what Morgan wanted him to do, how he went to the house and took the photographs, how the camera was stolen, how he found Cattley on the lift-shaft, how he got rid of the body, the meeting with the three toughs. He gave them the whole works.

When he had finished, there was a long silence. Then McGuire said, “You’ve started something this time.”

“I’ve not only started something, but it’s something I’m going to finish.”

Alice ran her long fingers through his hair. “I know it’s no good me saying anything, but don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

Duffy put his fingers tenderly on his face, his eyes were suddenly very bleak. “No one can push me around like this and not know something about it,” he said softly.

Alice got off the arm of his chair and walked over to the fireplace. She stood looking down at Duffy, her big eyes were sad. “You men are all alike,” she said; there was a faint undertone of bitterness in her voice. “All tough guys, who come home hurt!”

Duffy looked over at Sam. “Suppose we forget that for a moment,” he said; “tell me what you found out about Annabel English.”

Sam began to fill a pipe. “That dame’s going to get herself into trouble one of these days,” he said, fumbling around for some matches. Alice took a box off the mantelshelf and gave them to him. “One of these days, she going to be stuck for a sucker, and then she’ll be landed in the cooler.”

Duffy said, “I want facts, not an extract from True.”

“Well, in brief, she’s Edwin English’s daughter. I supposed you guessed that?”

Duffy looked startled. “No,” he said seriously, “I should have thought of that, but I didn’t.”

“Do you mean Edwin English, the politician?” Alice asked.

Sam nodded shortly. “Yeah,” he said, “Annabel’s the wild one of the family. English stands for anti-vice, you know all about his racket. Annabel’s his big thorn. I guess she about crucifies the old man. About three years ago they agreed to part. He set her up in a swell apartment, and gave her a big allowance, on condition that she behaved herself, and didn’t give him any cause for getting in bad with his voters.”

Duffy said, “I’d just hate to be an anti-vice candidate with a daughter like that.”

Sam nodded. “You bet,” he said, “this little dame’s a nympho-something or other, I forget the word. You know, she’s hot for anything in pants.”

“You mean nymphomaniac?” Alice said, “isn’t that rather strong?”

“Strong?” Duffy broke in. “Say listen…” He paused, changed his mind, and went on, “never mind. It ain’t too strong. Go on, Sam.”

“The old man’s for ever steaming himself in case she breaks out, and stains the family name. You know the type of thing. The other politicians are just praying that she does start something. They all hate English like hell. I don’t wonder at it. That guy’s mind is so narrow, he overbalances everytime he uses it.”

“Anything more?”

Sam shrugged. “A lot of hushed-up scandal that won’t help you much,” he said. “English has paid plenty during the last two years, keeping her out of gaol and out of the papers. She goes to every smut night-club in town. She’s on the list for getting smut cine-films for private exhibition. She’s had three or four fancy boys who’ve been mixed up in shady business. And so on. Not a nice little girl.”

Duffy brooded. “Somehow,” he said, “I guessed as much.”

“Now you know all this,” Alice said quietly, “you are not going to do anything further?”

“You’re a swell kid.” Duffy got up and went over to her. Quit worrying, can’t you? I don’t care how bad that dame is, I started this damn business. I was sucker enough to take those photos, and I guess I’m getting them back.”

Alice sighed. “Worthless women always seem to get help from men,” she said. I suppose it is so easy to fool a really fine man.”

Duffy exchanged glances with Sam. “Skip it, Alice,” Sam said. “You know what Bill is. You’re holding us up.”

Alice forced a little smile. “I’m sorry,” she said and sat down in Duffy’s chair. Duffy came and sat on the arm.

“What about Morgan?”

Sam blew out a cloud of smoke. “Now Morgan, he’s a cagey bird to nail. He’s got some racket in connection with a chain of night-clubs. I’d say at a guess, he’s a boss behind the scene, and he’s controlling vice in a big way. Anyway, I can’t get a proper line on him, except rumours. They know him down at headquarters, but they’ve never pinned anything to him yet. Still, they’re always hoping. He’s got plenty of dough, runs a big house, and has a tough mob working for him.”

“If Morgan’s got that sort of a background, I guess he’d want those pictures of that girl. It might give him enough pull to scare English off closing his joints.” Duffy was looking thoughtful.

Sam nodded. “That’s just it,” he said. “Morgan would be sitting very pretty if he could close English down.”

“Cattley? Did you find out anything fresh about him?” Duffy asked.

Sam shrugged. “There’s not much you don’t know about that rat,” he said, “you know what he did. Dope, women, and white slaving. Cattley’s certainly been making plenty of dough these last months. No one’s sure of where he got it. He’s moved up a lot since we knew him. Does, or rather did, everything on a big scale. The cops can’t get a line on him, but they watch him from time to time.”

“Is he going to be missed?”

Sam shrugged. “Not unless someone who knows him gets worried and blows to the police. That ain’t likely.”

Duffy brooded some more. “You done a swell job of work,” he said at last. “What I want to know, is where do I go from here?”

Sam said, “I’d take it easy for a bit.”

Duffy shook his head. “I got to get those pictures,” he said, “and I’ve got to get ’em fast.”

Alice said, “Has Morgan got them, do you think?”

“No. Morgan hasn’t got them. It was Morgan’s crowd who pushed me around. It looks to me that some other