Posted by Rodney on October 21, 2000 at 01:47:06:
Cast:
Sam Spade....................Humphrey Bogart
Walter Neff..................Fred McMurray
Herman Wisniewski............Peter Lorre
Delilah Daves................Peggy Castle
It was one those days in the city of Angel's, when you could walk on the air. Black letters on the door announced...Neff and Spade, Private Detectives. I pushed open the door. Sam sat tilted back in the chair, brown suit rumpled as usual...feet on the scarred desk top. The desk pad held, in addition to Sam's feet, a telephone, an overflowing ashtray and today's mail.
I flooped down in the chair opposite him.
"What ya doing, Sam?'
He gave me one of those..don't look stupid glances. "I'm opening your fan mail".
"Sam"
"What?"
"Your my friend, Sam. I've got something I need to talk to you about."
"I'm your partner. If you want a friend, buy a dog." Good old warm Sam. He rose and moved to the coffee pot. He poured some in his mug.
"Want a cup?", he said. He knew I would refuse.
I had tried Sam's coffee once.
"No thanks, I'm driving".
Sam dropped back down behind the desk.
"Ok, what is it?", he nodded.
"Delilah Daves is dead".
Sam was...for the first time since I've known him,
speechless. I plunged ahead.
"I killed her...", I glanced at my watch. "About two hours ago".
He regarded me for a few minutes, while he lit a cigarette. "You killed the x-wife of our client?", suprise still in his voice.
We had been hired by Daves Diamond Importers to investigate the theft of a million dollars in uncut diamonds. Gone. Disappeared from the business. Probably an inside job. Delilah was the former wife of Robert Daves, owner of the company. She was just one of the many people we had interviewed regarding the theft. San knew Delilah and I had become rather friendly over the past few months. Sam disapproved. He didn't believe in mixing business with pleasure.
"Go on". Sam stared at me.
"This morning. Delilah called, said she had information on the theft, asked me to come right over.
I rolled over and reached for the phone.
"This is Delilah, Walter. Come over right awat. I know who....", the voice was drowned out by a gun shot.
The line went dead.
Delilah Daves lived in a small colony of two-acre estates in the Hollywood Hills. The gates to 217 Lake Crest Drive were open and I parked my beat-up heap next to her new Cadillac convertible.
The front door opened just as I reached it...and her perfume hit me like a cool breeze. She was wearing a blue halter top and shorts. Her blonde hair caught just above her ear with a bright ribbon, then allowed to cascade down past her shoulders. She fixed me with those sea-green eyes.
"Your...all right", I gushed, happily.
"Please...come in, darling. I'll explain everything.
I followed her into the richly furnished living room. I felt the gun pressed against my back. The man behind me spoke.
"L...Let's not have any trouble..p..please", A whiny voice said. "J..Just hand me your gun...over the left shoulder".
I handed the voice my .45. A hand pushed me further into the living room. Delilah was to my left and she was holding a gun in her hand too. It looked like everyone had a gun but me. I was jealous.
I turned to discover little, mild mannered Herman Wisniewski peering at me through his coke bottle glasses. Herman...the Chief Diamond cutter for Daves Diamond Importers. He looked a little nervous holding the .25 automatic in one hand and my .45 in the other.
Then...Herman looked a little dead...as a gun roared twice, lifting him off his feet.
Poor Herman tried to fly, arms wheeling. He succeeded for a few feet, before running out of fuel and dropping on his back. The tightly spaced twin holes in his shirt, below his spiffy bow tie.
I understood what had happened now. Herman. He couldn't mastermind a day nursery theft. But Delilah.
There was a girl with brains.
Delilah cut to the chase. "When they find you dead and Herman with your bullet in him, I'll tell them how you figured him for the theft. He tried to shoot it out. Neither of you made it. But I'll be able to witness how bravely you went out". The Blonde smiled.
Delilah was tying up some loose ends and doing some house cleaning. Herman and I were going out with the trash.
"How long have you been planning this?", I asked.
I was midly curious.
"Not until a few days ago. You were my insurance policy, Walter. Herman was losing his nerve from the
start. I knew I might have to get rid of him. When you were hired...I knew you'd make the perfect patsy..your
so trusting...so ready to believe everything I told you. Darling...you should never mix business with pleasure", she smirked.
Seems I had heard that last part before. Too bad there's no vaccine against stupidity.
"Why? Why all this? Don't you have enough money"
"Boredom. Bored with living on alimony, cast off like an old shoe. Bored with living in this Mausoleum.
And...bored with you, Walter". Distain in her voice.
It looked like Delilah was into kinky sex. In one move...she was going to screw her x-husband, his company, Herman and me.
"Don't move", she ordered, as she backed up to Herman's body. She took a black leather pouch from his coat pocket.
"He'd just finished cutting the diamonds last night", she extended the pouch for me to see. " A million dollars in untraceable diamonds", she laughed, enjoying herself.
"You always were plan B, darling. "Now..I'm going to make you go away. Because...Walter...you've got to be the most boring person I know", she snarled.
Next...she did exactly what I expected her to do. She tossed the pouch onto the sofa and reached down to pick up Herman's .25. She tossed her .38 at my feet, starting to switch the .25 to her right hand.
I knew what she was going to do, because she needed to put the right bullets in the right bodies.
The split second she tossed the .38, I dipped my hand into the pocket of my coat and drew the Colt .380 with it's safety off.
Herman should have patted me down.
Her scream was simultaneous with the bark of the .380. A small blue-black hole appeared in her bare mid-riff, several inches below her navel. The hole
immediately became clogged with blood. The blonde was thrown back by the impact of the slug. She looked down incredulously at the blood spurting hole.
Delilah tried to raise the .25 into firing position and I shot her again. The sound of breaking glass behind me, as she got her shot off.
My bullet hit her just above the hip bone, about three inches toward her navel. The slug must hit bone inside and angled downward, for when it emerged...it came out through the top of her right buttocks. The force of the slug whirled her around a couple of times, then she fell to the floor, screaming in full voice.
But Delilah never lost her grip on the gun, as she stayed with idea of shooting me...even now, with the two slugs in her. The gun was the only way for her to win and now she tried to raise it, even as her body twisted in agony.
I kicked the .25 across the carpet and straddled her twisting, jerking body. For a brief moment, I stared into her eyes, widened now so the white showed around the green pools of hate and pain.
"Bored? How's this!...for being bored!", I yelled down at her. I put another one low in her belly, four or five inches below her navel. Her shapely hips bouncing on the carpet. Hands grabbing for the crimson hole, scorched in the middle of her blue shorts. Delilah treshed and twisted wildly, sobbing and moaning and cursing me.
The blonde screaming and crying like a crazy woman as I picked up my .45 and headed for the door. When I reached it, I stopped and turned. Herman's sightless eyes seemed to be staring at Delilah"s writhing body. I hoped he was enjoying the show, wherever he was.
I'd seen a lot of people die, but none as hard as Delilah. Judging from the way she was bleeding, I gave her ten minutes, but no more. I walked out...not even bothering to close the door behind me....
"Sounds like a clear case of self-defense", Sam said.
"Except for that last shot. I guess I just snapped over that bored remark. Delilah had such poor manners", I said.
"Walter. Get a grip on yourself. Boring is in the eye of the beholder...And, you can't go around shooting everyone in LA who's ill-mannered. They don't manufacure that much ammunition", Sam grinned.
"Let's close the office. Go to Mexico, South America...Europe...booze, broads and a little fishing", I suggested.
"With what?"
"With this", I spilled the diamonds from the pouch onto the desk.
Sam swallowed hard, staring at the pile of gems.
"You know Walter. This could be the start of a beautiful friendship."
"Sam...if you want a friend, buy a dog".
"Yeah. Well, it would be a male dog. You never know when a Bitch will turn on you", Sam said.
(THE END)