Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid Page #3

She didn't even ask me what I wanted,

just made me feel real welcome.

How about you, handsome? Haven't

I seen you somewhere before?

Maybe. I've been somewhere before.

It's nice of you to invite me.

I feel a little like a party crasher.

I like party crashers.

I like classy dames

with bedroom eyes.

You know something? I like you.

I like me too.

When these people leave, maybe...

you and I can have a party of our own.

I... I have to think that over.

She was a fast thinker.

I'm very sorry. You all have to go.

It has been a perfectly hideous party.

- Good night.

- Good night.

Stuffy in here, isn't it?

Suddenly I realised she'd

slipped me a Mickey.

My lips felt like two manhole covers.

My tongue felt like it had hair on it.

My ears started to ring.

I felt like a dog.

Woof!

Woof, Huberman, woof!

Come on. Let's go out dancin'.

You put on your black dress,

and I'll go shave my tongue.

Come on, FX. I'm ready!

Let's go dancing.

Hold it!

Sorry, Dollface.

- How did you get here?

- Your door was open, so I walked in.

- I've been trying to call you all night.

- How did I get here?

- I guess you must have crawled.

- God!

- No, that's OK.

- It's just a little alcohol.

- They don't hurt.

- Don't be a baby.

Get back!

What's up?

Sam Hastings is dead.

Poor rummy. How did he get it?

Fell out of a window reaching

for a bottle of whisky.

He could have been pushed. I'll have

Marlowe check his back for fingerprints.

- Anything else?

- Yes.

I found another note

Daddy wrote to himself.

"NYTAG-216."

I think it's a New York

license plate number.

Not bad, Dollface.

Unless I'm... Agh!

Careful. Let me get

you some alcohol.

No!

It's not N-Y TAG. It's N-Y-T.

New York Times.

So what's "A-G"?

- Standard library talk for August.

- And 216?

Stands for the August 2nd

issue, page one, column six.

Extension 20, please.

Hi. It's me, Rigby.

Sorry, Hot Legs, I've been busy.

You sashay over to your

New York Times file...

Read me what's on page one, column

six of the August 2nd issue...

Maybe I'll wine and dine

you some night soon.

I'll wait.

You'd wine and dine

her for information?

Her? Him.

Yeah... Then read me

the whole article.

"Immer Essen".

Walter Neff's the owner.

Thanks, Hot Legs.

I owe you a big one.

Immer essen.

Immer essen.

That means "always eating".

- What language?

- German.

It's also the name of a

South American cruise ship.

I know! When Sam Hastings and my

sister separated last July...

He took a South American

tour on that ship.

Very interesting.

Right after that tour, the

company canceled its cruises.

Now Sam Hastings is dead.

- I don't see the connection.

- I don't either. That's what bothers me.

Hello?

- Who is it?

- This is Marlowe.

Hello, Mr Marlowe. Would

you hold a moment, please?

- It's Marlowe.

- Good.

Hello, Marlowe. Listen, don't check

out those unsolved murders right now.

Yeah? Why not?

I got something more important. You

ever had any dealings with Walter Neff?

Walter Neff. He runs a South

American cruise-ship company.

Good. Tell me about him.

Cruises supermarkets

looking for blondes?

Good. I'll supply the blonde.

One other thing.

If Walter Neff leaves the country,

I may have to take a little boat ride.

If I do, stay off the booze. These

people we're dealing with are killers.

Well, thanks for telling me.

Have a nice trip.

I may not leave right away,

but thanks anyway. And Marlowe?

- You wearin' a tie?

- Goodbye.

- What was that all about?

- Marlowe knows Neff.

Says he's a pushover

for beautiful blondes.

It means we need a female spy.

Why not use me?

Sorry.

You're not blonde enough.

- I can always dye my hair.

- No dice, Dollface. You're a client.

That's one thing I've learned about

clients. Dead ones don't pay their bills.

Is that all you think of me?

Someone who pays you $10 a day?

That's right, Dollface. To me

you're just a meal ticket.

How could I tell her

that I was lying?

I'd work for nothing just to watch

her hair bounce as she walked...

Smell her creamy skin, cradle

her head on my shoulder.

Feel the slope of her waist,

the curve of her back...

And then gently caress

her two beautiful...

I'm sorry.

I just don't like being

called a meal ticket.

As I started my search for a blonde spy, I

tried to get rid of the image of Juliet...

Storming out of my office

with toothpaste on her shoes.

First on my list was Monica Stillpond,

a bombshell who once told me...

She would do anything for

anybody anywhere at any time.

But muscle gave me

my start in politics.

It was when I was assistant to

old man Zimmerman, the plumber.

- Mr Madvig, you're joking.

- About the plumbing, or the muscle?

I just can't imagine

you as a plumber.

She was in the middle of

a fancy dinner party.

But I couldn't waste time being

polite. I caught her attention.

Coffee will be served in the

living room, Mr Madvig.

One thing about Monica: The words

"I can't" weren't in her vocabulary.

Monica, I want you to

do something for me.

I can't.

I guess she had added them since

the last time I'd seen her.

The next one on my list was Doris

Devermont, an old flame of mine.

With her I'd had the most honest

relationship I'd ever had with a woman.

The only thing I'd lied about was my

name. I'd told her I was Teddy Novak...

So she couldn't track me

down if I got her pregnant.

Doris remembered me, naturally.

How do you do, Mr Novak?

Mr Novak? No hugs, no kisses? We used

to flop into each other's arms, Doris.

Well, don't you think we really ought to

get to know each other all over again?

It's only been five years. You were about

to serve me dinner when I had to leave.

How stupid of me.

You must be famished.

I should have thought of it sooner.

I'll get some coffee and sandwiches.

Coffee and sandwiches.

Now I remembered Doris's

famous stale-bread sandwiches.

She'd buy day-old bread, then toast it

to cover up. I wonder if she's changed.

The bread's none too fresh.

Shall I toast it?

No, thanks. I gave up

stale toast for Lent.

- Lent?

- Nothing.

Same old Doris.

She used to get smoked turkey

so it would keep for months.

When it finally went bad,

she'd feed it to the maid.

I had some smoked turkey. I guess the

cleaning woman had it for her lunch.

Here's some pt.

Cleaning woman.

Cleaning woman.

Cleaning woman!

Cleaning woman! Cleaning woman!

Cleaning woman! Cleaning woman!

Sorry.

I was too embarrassed to ask Doris for a

favour after I'd tried to strangle her...

So I went to the next name

in my little black book.

The blondest one on my list was a rich

society dame named Jimmi Sue Altfeld.

I almost hated to use her - she was so

in love with me, it nearly made me sick.

But business was more important.

I wined her and dined her

at the Plantation Club.

Then I made my move.

Last time we saw each other, I left you

alone sitting at a counter at Schwab's.

- You don't hate me for that, do you?

- Of course I don't.

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