The Shell Scott Sampler Read Online Free Page B

leave when I’d arrived.
    It looked very much as if, with them gone, I was to have reached home, here to be sapped neatly by Agony. Next Grieg’s bleached blonde was to have taken over, thus, like a dragon with halitosis, adding insult to injury. Lomey was handy to record all these reasons for revoking my license. Arrival of the law and reporters would have smeared the three of Grieg’s playmates along with me, I thought—but Grieg undoubtedly had convinced them their sacrifice would be worthwhile. Probably he had agreed to let them stay alive. Only my coming home early had fouled up the plot.
    I explained my suspicions to the redhead and tanned blonde, and the blond lovely exploded with anger, picked up an end table and swatted the tired tiger over the head. She went out cold. It happened so fast I couldn’t have stopped it, but it did fit in with my plans.
    I said, “We’ve got maybe two minutes, girls. Here’s what we do….”
    I guess they had to break the lock to get in. Anyway, they made plenty of racket. I was in the shower singing at the top of my lungs, which is pretty loud, when they came in. In front were two plainclothes detectives from downtown, Flannery and Wilkins. I knew very well that they were here only because they had to be, and given half a chance would be on my side.
    Behind them, in the next room, were a man and a woman, reporters from L.A. newspapers. Grieg had stayed below. Apologetically, Flannery showed me a search warrant.
    â€œWhere are they, Shell?” he asked me.
    â€œThey?” I peered around the shower curtain.
    â€œWell, we heard there was … an orgy going on up here.”
    I laughed. “You did, huh? Heard from whom?”
    â€œGrieg. Victor Grieg.”
    â€œThat slob.”
    Flannery shrugged. “Grieg said he got word all hell was coming off. Somebody’s supposed to’ve phoned him from here—rape, murder, sex, I dunno. Everything. We got to look around, anyway.”
    â€œGo ahead.”
    As the two officers went out, both reporters came into the John. You know how it is with some reporters, nobody has any privacy any place. The gal had a thin body, thin lips, thin brain, a face like those pictures on poison packages, and straggly hair done in a bun. It looked like a bun with a couple hot dogs in it.
    I said, “Ma’am, was there something you wanted to use in here?”
    She frowned and said slowly, “There were supposed to be some naked women…” She sounded disappointed.
    I reached for a towel and wrapped it around me, then pulled the shower curtain about halfway back and stepped out onto the floor. Right toward the female reporter. Keep them off balance, I say. Don’t retreat, attack! She retreated.
    Flannery and Wilkins came out of the bedroom wearing frowns. They hadn’t found anybody. I’d known they wouldn’t. I dripped into the front room and looked out the window. I could see Grieg sitting in his Continental. And then came my best break of the day.
    Around the side of the building staggered the tired tiger, with one hand pressed against the side of her undoubtedly aching skull, and not a stitch on. She saw the white Continental, shook her head, and then loped toward it. She had regained consciousness at precisely the right time.
    â€œWell, look at that, would you?” I said to Flannery.
    He stepped alongside me and looked and his mouth dropped open and his eyes got wide and then glazed over as if somebody had spilled milk in them. He let out a sort of tooting sound. Wilkins took a look and his eyes got about the same as Flannery’s.
    The nude gal was trying to get into Grieg’s car. He was probably trying to push her away, in horror, but it appeared that he might instead have lost control of himself.
    I said to the officers, “Surely that sort of thing is against the law. Do your duty, men.”
    Maybe there were supposed to be two or three other