Sallys in the Alley | Page 5

put the telephone back on its stand, took hold of Carstairs' spiked collar and heaved. "Come on. Hurry up."
Carstairs got up one foot at a time and sauntered to the door. Doan opened it for him and picked up the suitcases and bunted Carstairs in the rear with one of them.
"Go on. Get moving."
They went down the hall and down the stairs into the lobby. There was not a soul in sight.
Doan put his bags down and hammered vigorously on the desk. "Service! Service here! Mr. Rogan! Edmund!"
No one answered. No one appeared.
"Now imagine that," Doan said to Carstairs. "Obviously I can't be expected to pay my bill if there isn't anyone to pay it to, can I? The answer is no. So I won't pay. That will be a lesson to them to give more attention to their business in the future."
He picked up the suitcases again and negotiated them and Carstairs through the plate glass door. There was a black sedan glittering with chrome and a beautifully high, lustrous polish parked at the curb.
"Ah-ha!" said Doan. He opened one of the rear doors and heaved the bags inside and then walked all around the car twice, rubbing his hands blissfully. "Take a squint at this, kid. We're coming up in the world... Carstairs! Where are you?"
There was a slight typhoon taking place in the thick, neatly trimmed shrubbery that marched precisely along the front of the apartment building. Shrubs heaved back and forth wildly, and branches crackled.
"Carstairs!" Doan shouted. "Oh, you would pick a time like this! Rogan is going to get over being scared and call copper on us or something if we don't get out of here. Hurry up!"
Carstairs' head appeared out of the greenery. He did not look like he was hurrying or even intended to. He blinked at Doan in a fatuous and pleased way. Doan started for him. Carstairs sighed comfortably and came out of the bushes. Doan got him by the collar and dragged him across the walk to the open rear door of the Cadillac.
"Get in there!"
He heaved vigorously, and Carstairs allowed himself to be urged through the door. Doan slammed it with a thump and crawled into the front seat. He started the car and drove off down the street with a viciously triumphant clashing of gears.
He drove over to Rossmore and up Rossmore to where it turns into Vine, and up Vine to Sunset Boulevard. He swung around to the right on Sunset, narrowly missing twenty-five sailors, sixteen soldiers and two marines who were doing sentry duty on the corner in the hopes of seeing a movie star. He drove two blocks farther and pulled up in front of an open air market.
It was really quite a marvelous place. It covered an area half the size of a city block, and you could buy anything in it from lollipops to life insurance. Doan got out of the car and headed for the long and empty meat counter. There was only one butcher behind it, and he looked as though he wished he were somewhere else.
"I'd like a three-pound porterhouse steak," Doan told him.
"So would I," said the butcher.
"I know you've got one hidden out in the icebox," Doan said.
"How do you know?" the butcher asked.
"I'm a Japanese spy. We spies get around."
"Palooey," said the butcher in a disgusted tone. "Now it's jokes I have to put up with. In my financial condition. All right. So suppose I've got a steak in the icebox. So why should I give it to you?"
"That's my car out in front--the big, shiny one. Take a look at what's in the back seat."
The butcher said: "I wouldn't care if..." He paused for a long moment. "Just what is that?"
"A dog."
"It's got awful big teeth for a dog," the butcher said slowly. "And I don't know as I like the way he's lookin' at me."
"The teeth are bigger at closer range," Doan said. "Would you like a demonstration?"
"No," said the butcher quickly. "Now listen, chum. I don't want no trouble with you or that gargoyle, but I can't sell you that steak. It was ordered three weeks ago by an old customer of mine. She's a very, very special customer. She's Susan Sally, the movie gal."
"She doesn't need a steak. She's too fat now."
"Fat?" the butcher echoed, stunned. "Susan Sally? Say listen, she comes in here all the time in nothing but shorts and a bandanna. I mean, short shorts and a bandanna the size of a cocktail napkin. She ain't fat."
"She will be if she eats too many steaks. You wouldn't want that to happen, would you?"
"I should say not," said the butcher.
"Give me the steak and save the risk. Look at my car now."
"Hey!" said the butcher, alarmed. "He can't get through that