No Pockets in a Shroud Read online

  'I've told you before,' Dolan said, standing up. 'There are no extra beds.'

  'That one looks good enough—'

  'That's my bed.'

  'I know it. Stop being stupid.'

  'I'm not being stupid, for God's sake. I know what you want. I know I'm irresistible. I know I've got all the sex appeal in the world—'

  'Swell. Now you're being you,' Myra said, smiling. 'Swell.'

  '—but you're not going to sleep in my bed! Goddam it, I wish you'd stopped to get that cup of coffee that day!'

  'Marvellous. I like to see you get steamed up. You're marvellous then.'

  'You should see me throw women out of here at four o'clock in the morning. That's when I'm really marvellous. Now will—'

  Somebody knocked at the door.

  'Come in,' Dolan said, thinking it was one of the boys from downstairs, maybe Ulysses.

  The door opened and in came April Coughlin Menefee.

  'I didn't know you had company,' she said, looking unperturbed at Myra. 'Am I intruding?'

  'Why—no,' Dolan said, still surprised.

  'That's nice,' April said, closing the door behind her.

  Myra stood up, sucking in her breath audibly.

  'Don't go,' April said, smiling, putting out her hand. 'My name is April Menefee. I've seen you around—'

  'Hello!' Myra said, shaking hands.

  '—Miss Barnovsky,' Dolan said, recovering from the first shock. 'My secretary. At the magazine, I mean. She helps me with the writing. Miss Barnovsky.'

  'Yes, I know,' April said. 'Miss Barnovsky.'

  'She's my secretary,' Dolan said, grinning foolishly.

  'That's nice. I think you're awfully attractive,' April said to Myra.

  'Thank you—'

  'I'm so sorry you're going. Really. I'd like to know you better.'

  'Good night, Mrs. Menefee,' Myra said, starting out.

  'Wait a minute,' Dolan said, following her to the door. 'I'll get Ulysses to drive you down—'

  'Don't bother,' Myra said over her shoulder, walking through the darkness of the living-room, towards the stairs to the street...

  'She's gorgeous, Mike. She looks like a girl in a Benda drawing. Now I see why you've been neglecting—'

  'Oh, for God's sake, don't you ever have anything in your mind but sex?' Dolan said, closing the door.

  'I'm pathological,' April said.

  'You're insane. How'd you get in here?'

  'Don't scowl so! I came in the back way, through Ulysses' room, and then up the inside staircase. Why?'

  'Well, by God, this beats me,' Dolan said, shaking his head. 'You're the screwiest dame I ever saw. You've just been married, this is your wedding night, and you ask me why.'

  'I ask you again: Why? What's wrong with coming here? “It is altogether fitting and proper-” or don't you remember Lincoln?'

  'I give up,' Dolan said, sitting down on the studio bed, running his fingers through his hair. 'I positively give up. Everybody in town knows your car. Have you thought about what they'll be saying when they see it outside? They all know I live here.'

  'I came in a taxi,' April said, taking off her coat.

  'But what about Menefee?'

  'Nothing about him. We had an argument and I got out of the car.'

  'A swell way to start married life, that is.'

  'The argument,' April said, coming over and sitting beside him on the bed, 'was about you. It started when he cut in on you at the dance, and it's been going ever since. Roy's very jealous of you.'

  'Why the hell should he be jealous of me?'

  'Maybe,' she said softly, looking at him with wide, innocent eyes, 'it's because you were a much more satisfactory lover than he was.'

  'Well, I'll be goddamed,' Dolan said, staring at her in amazement. 'You told him that?'

  'Certainly.'

  'Oh, God,' Dolan groaned.

  'That's not the only reason I came. I mean—not for that alone. I've brought you something,' she said, opening her purse. 'I thought perhaps the finance company had been after you—I know your car payment is due,' she said, laying a check beside him.

  The door burst open and Myra plunged in.

  'There's a car just stopped in front and a man's getting out,' she said, excited. 'I think it's your husband. A Packard coupe.'

  'That's who it is, all right,' Dolan said, standing up. 'Get out of here, April—down the back stairs.'

  'Let him come,' April said doggedly. 'We may as well have the showdown now as later.'

  'Jesuschristyou'vegottogetout!'

  'I'm not going,' April said calmly, relaxing, lying back on the bed.

  'Hurry!' Myra said.

  Dolan rushed over and grabbed April by the arm, jerking her to her feet. He turned her loose, stepped back, and taking deliberate aim, he slammed her in the jaw as hard as he could. April uttered a little animal squeal and fell back unconscious on the bed. Dolan leaned over, shoveling her into his arms.

  'Throwthatcoataroundher—'

  'Hurry!' Myra said, taking the coat, laying it over April's body.

  Swiftly Dolan went out the door, turning towards the back stairs. There was no light back here in the long living-room, but there was enough illumination from the street lamp outside to show him the way. He turned out of the living-room to the back hallway and hurried down to Ulysses' door, kicking against it with his toes...

  'What's the matter, Mister Mike?' Ulysses asked, opening the door.

  'Plenty,' Mike said, putting April's body on the cot. 'I'm in a hell of a jam and all because of you, you black son of a bitch. I told you before not to let April in the back way.'

  'What's the matter with her, Mister Mike—'

  'I socked her. Her husband's upstairs—'

  'I wouldn't have let her in if I'd knowed she was married—'

  'You'd do anything for five bucks, you bastard. Listen. I've got to go upstairs and pretend like I'm surprised to see the guy. Cover her over and see that she keeps quiet until he leaves. If she comes to and tries to get funny, slug her again. I'll come back when he leaves.'

  'Okay, Mister Mike,' Ulysses said, throwing a quilt over April's body, completely covering it. 'Mister Mike—I didn't mean to get you in no jam—'

  'It's all right. I guess I'm as much to blame as you are,' Dolan said, going out.

  * * * * *

  Outside his own door Dolan paused to light a cigarette, and then went inside. Myra was in the bed with a sheet held tightly under her chin and only her head visible. Roy Menefee was standing by the typewriter desk, his handsome face sullen.

  'Well—hello!' Dolan said, pretending great surprise, looking from Myra to Roy and back again inquisitively. 'I never expected to see you here. Where's April?'

  'That's what I'm trying to find out,' Menefee said.

  'He thought she was here,' Myra said.

  'Here? What would she be doing here? This is not a joke, is it? What happened, Roy?'

  'April and I had an argument on the way home, and she said she'd rather walk than ride with me. I thought she was bluffing, so I stopped and let her out. I thought I'd teach her a lesson, so I drove around the block thinking I'd pick her up again—and when I got back she wasn't there.'

  'You don't know April very well. She's not the bluffing kind.'

  'I see that now. Naturally, I came here—'

  'What made you think she'd be here?'

  'Well—I don't know. She's always talking about you—'

  'But why didn't you telephone first?'

  'You wanted to catch her flagrante delicto, didn't you?' Myra said. “That's Latin for in the act,' she explained to Dolan.

  'I'm almost sorry to disappoint you, Roy—but she isn't here.'

  'I see she isn't,' Menefee said. 'It's useless for me to tell you I'm sorry this happened, Dolan—'

  'Forget it. She probably took a cab and went home. Why don't you try there?'

  'I guess I will. Well... sorry to break in on you like this,' Menefee
said, moving slowly towards the door. 'Could I speak to you a minute, Dolan?'

  'Sure.'

  They went outside to the living-room, and Dolan switched on the floor lamp by his door.

  'I just wanted to ask you not to say anything about this—in the magazine—'

  'All right, Roy, I promise. And I wish you'd try to get it through your brain that there's nothing between April and me now. I used to be nuts about her—but not any more. Her old man fixed that.'

  'I believe you—'

  'And I wish you wouldn't listen to Harry Carlisle. He'd like to have you believe a lot of things that aren't true.'

  'I won't any more. Good night, Dolan,' Menefee said, taking Dolan's hand and shaking it. 'I'm sorry I disturbed you—'

  'Forget it,' Dolan said, walking with him to the door to the stairs that led to the street. 'Good night.'

  'Good night,' Menefee said, going down.

  Dolan watched him through the window until he got in his car and drove off, and then he went down to Ulysses' room.

  '... She's still out,' Ulysses said. 'You musta hit her with a baseball bat.'

  'Get some water and let's get her out of here. Get a bucketful of water—'

  Dolan yanked the quilt off her and started rubbing her wrists. There was still no flicker of consciousness. April lay like a corpse, and in the dim yellow light of Ulysses' small night lamp she looked like a corpse.

  'Here you are, Mister Mike,' Ulysses said, coming back with the bucket of water. 'Did you get rid of him all right?'

  'Yes—he even apologized for coming. Get her feet. We'll lay her on the floor—'

  They laid her on the floor, and Dolan picked up the bucket of water and slammed it in April's face. She quivered under the impact of the cold water. Dolan raised her up to a sitting position and started shaking her. In a moment her lips moved and she grimaced, as you do when you taste a not-quite-ripe persimmon, and then she blinked her eyes and opened them.

  'April! April!' Dolan said in her ear.

  April smiled, looking around the room.

  'Don't be alarmed; I'm all right now. Dolan, you son of a bitch,' she said, still smiling, 'you clipped me when I wasn't looking—'

  'What a girl!' Dolan said, looking at Ulysses and grinning in spite of himself. 'Come on April, you've got to get out of here. Roy's just left—Ulysses, get on your shoes and coat and take Miss April through the back lot and put her in a cab.'

  'Yes, sir,' Ulysses said, delighted to be a principal in one of Mr. Mike's intrigues.

  'I'm not going out any back way,' April said. 'I'm going out the way I came in.'

  'You're going out the back way. I don't trust Menefee any too far. I think he believed the lie I told him, but he's jealous, and a guy who's jealous as hell is pretty cagey. He may be parked up the street right now waiting for you to come out.'

  'Besides,' April said, 'I'm cold. Look what you've done to my hair.'

  'Look what you've done to my life,' Dolan said. 'Come on—' He helped her up.

  'Go with Ulysses. You can always get a cab down at the corner. Got any money?'

  'I've always got money, Mister Dolan—'

  'I didn't know. I thought maybe you'd used all you had to bribe Ulysses. Go on, now—'

  'I'm going—but I'll be back—'

  'You do and I'll cut your throat. Ready, Ulysses?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Beat it then—'

  Ulysses and April went out the back door. Dolan closed it behind them and went upstairs. He turned out the floor lamp and then went to the window that looked on the street below, peering out. There was no sign of a car. He smiled and went into his room.

  'Well,' he said, looking at Myra's clothes neatly folded on the back of the chair, her shoes under the desk, 'and how have you been?'

  'Is she gone?' Myra asked, turning on her side, raising on her elbow.

  'Yes. I wish you'd go too.'

  'Not a chance. Oh, by the way, here is a little souvenir your mad friend left,' she said, handing him the check April had written.

  'Thanks,' Dolan said dryly, putting it in the pocket of his bathrobe.

  'Haven't you any qualms about taking money from women?' Myra asked, amused at his nonchalance.

  'Not when it's for value received,' Dolan said brutally.

  'I see ... Tell me, are all your nights as hectic as this one's been?'

  'Hectic?' Dolan said, smiling coldly, taking off his robe, sitting on the edge of the bed. 'This one hasn't been hectic. This one has been very dull—'

  'You're a wizard,' Myra said, putting her head back on the pillow. 'You're the damndest combination of charm and personality and heel that I've ever met...'

  'Nuts,' Dolan said, snapping off the light...

  * * * * *

  A few days later Lawrence called him into the front office.

  'This situation's pretty serious,' he said. 'You tell him, Eckman.'

  'Well,' Eckman said, 'it all boils down to this: we're not getting any business for the Cosmopolite. The fifth number went on sale the other day, and how much business do you think we had in it?'

  'I don't know,' Dolan said. 'Seven or eight pages, I think—'

  'Five and a quarter,' Eckman said. 'Two of those were paid for. Two hundred dollars' worth.'

  'And every issue costs us better than a thousand dollars,' Lawrence said. 'You can see where that leaves us.'

  'Look,' Dolan said. 'I don't know much about the business end of this thing, but I'm damned if I see why we ought to give away three and four full-page ads a week. We ought to get something for those.'

  'They're complimentaries. We have to give them away,' Eckman said. 'Those half-pages we gave the Courier and the Times-Gazette were in return for ten- and twelve-inch ads in their papers. The two-and-a-quarter other pages were to big stores to show them what we could do in the way of bringing them new trade—'

  'Haven't we brought them new trade?'

  'They say not,' Eckman said. 'You can see how difficult that makes it for me to actually sell them space.'

  'Well, in the last four weeks Myra has got something like four hundred yearly subscriptions. That's two thousand dollars. Is that gone too?'

  'Yes,' Lawrence said. 'You want to see the books?'

  'No, I believe you. Only this comes as a sort of surprise to me. I thought we were doing fine—'

  'We are doing fine,' Eckman said, 'as far as the editorial end is concerned. It's really a swell job of putting out a magazine. Just enough of everything. Except, of course, society. We've gone overboard on society.'

  'That was no accident,' Dolan said. 'Put their names and pictures in the paper—that's the way to handle 'em. I know 'em.'

  'We don't want to argue with you about that,' Lawrence said. “That's a minor point. I'm satisfied with the magazine—and the publicity the baseball expose got us. That put us in the public eye. But what good is all this unless we have sufficient business to pay the overhead?'

  'Well, I don't know what to tell you,' Dolan said, shaking his head. 'All I can do is put out the best magazine I can—'

  'Looks like there won't be any more,' Lawrence said.

  'What? No more?'

  'Not at a thousand dollars a week—a little better than a thousand dollars—'

  'But won't you gamble a few weeks on it, Mr. Lawrence? This can't miss! It's bound to hit! Hell, don't let me down now. Next week we're breaking the biggest story of the year. Bishop's working on it now.'

  'I'm sorry, Dolan, I can't gamble—'

  'An' I suppose it's no use to sell you on the idea that the story we're breaking next week ought to be printed?'

  'It won't be worth a thousand dollars to me to have it printed,' Lawrence said. 'No story's worth that much to me, personally.'

  'Well, it's worth it to me. Suppose I get the money to put out the next few issues—you know, like I did the first one?'

  'We'd do it. Just so the expense is paid.'

  'But would you keep on trying to sel
l ads for me, Eckman? This magazine might develop into a gold mine for you some day—'

  'Certainly, I'll keep on. I'll work harder than ever for you—if that's possible. I'd like nothing better than to bring in all the business in town for you. I'm for you. I admire your spirit. I really believe you're idealistic about this thing—'

  'Thanks. I'll try to have the money this afternoon—but don't stop plugging because I'll have it either today or tomorrow,' he said, going out, proceeding up the stairs to his own office.

  Myra had the telephone in one hand, checking the long list of prospective subscribers with the other. Bishop was banging away at the typewriter.

  'Where's Lillian?' Dolan asked.

  'Out to the Country Club covering the women's golf tournament,' Myra said. 'Did you see Lawrence? He was asking for you—'

  'Yes. Why the hell couldn't Lillian have covered the tournament by telephone? Or waited for the newspapers—'

  'Not Lillian,' Myra said. 'She went out with her pencils and her little tablet—she couldn't brag about being society editor of the Cosmopolite if she had stayed in the office—'

  'How's it going, Eddie?' Dolan asked, pausing beside him.

  'Okay,' Bishop said, 'but for God's sake stop peeking over my shoulder. You know how that unnerves me. You're worse than Thomas.'

  'Sorry. I called you a couple of times last night—'

  'I was out. You got any idea where this McAlister woman lives? To hell and gone out by the county orphanage. Almost to Cold Springs.'

  'Did you see her?'

  'Yeah, had a long talk with her. She says her daughter died of acute indigestion. Mrs. Griffith said the same thing. Begins to look like that was all old Doc Estill knew how to write.'

  'They didn't suspect what you were after—'

  'No, I brought it all out casually. I found out another thing in our favour, too. Neither one of the mothers had ever heard of Estill. He was suggested when Elsie Griffith was very ill with the poison. Of course, Mrs. McAlister never heard of him until the certificate was signed. But then she wouldn't. Fay McAlister died on the operating-table. This goddam Carlisle's a mass murderer—'

  'I wish we could locate the guys that knocked 'em up—'

  'We can locate 'em. But you can't prove it. You can't prove any part of this business. Even the girls who went to Carlisle and got away with it won't talk. You can cause an investigation, but what the hell? Carlisle'll be whitewashed. You can exhume the McAlister and Griffith girls, but that won't do any good. By now they're nothing but bones—'