He Won't Need it Now by James Hadley Chase Page A

liked 'em that way.” Sam looked at him in surprise.
     “Watch the road, dimwit,” Duffy said shortly. “You ought to see that dame. When she gets mad, she foams at the mouth.”
     “Yeah?”
     “She tried to knock me off,” Duffy said. “She's screwy. There can't be any other answer.”
     Sam went past the City Hall slowly, then he swung into Park Row and pushed the pedal down again. “She needn't be nuts to want to knock you off,” he said. “Suppose we stop for a drink?”
     Duffy glanced at the time. It was barely nine o'clock.
     “You'll get a drink when we get there,” he said.
      
     The Plaza Wonderland Club was situated on the second floor, over a hardware store. The entrance was down an alley, lit with neon lighting. They parked the car and walked up the alley and went in. At the top of the stairs tickets were being sold for the taxi-dancers. Duffy bought half a dozen, then they pushed aside the bead curtains and went into the hall.
     There was nothing original about the place. It was dirty and shabby. The dance floor was small, and you had to step down to get on to it. Round the floor, tables were crammed together, and at the far end the girls sat behind a pen. Sam looked across the room at them and thought they were a pretty swell bunch.
     There were very few people at the tables. Just a handful. They all looked up as Duffy squeezed himself past the tables and got on to the floor. They watched him cross the floor, with Sam behind him, and select a table against the wall, opposite the entrance. He sat down and Sam took the other chair.
     The band of three were playing swing music without much enthusiasm. They plugged away, staring with vacant eyes into space.
     “You call this a hot joint?” Duffy said.
     “Maybe the depression's hit 'em,” Sam said.
     Duffy made frantic signs to a waiter, who came over to them with a flat-footed shuffle.
     “Let's have a bottle of rum,” Sam said.
     “Yeah.” Duffy thought that a good idea. “Make it a bottle of rum.”
     The waiter went off. Duffy said, “Take a look at this,” he slid the little note-book across the table.
     Sam picked it up and studied it carefully. After a little while he handed it back. “No,” he said, “that don't mean anything to me. There's plenty of money in that list. I'd say at a guess that little lot's worth a million each. They all belong to the hot set, but that's all I get from it.”
     Duffy put the note-book back in his pocket. “Maybe I'll get a line on it later,” he said.
     The waiter brought the rum and set it down on the table with a crisp bang. Sam said, “This joint's changed.”
     The waiter glanced at him. “Buddy,” he said, “it's early yet.”
     Sam turned to Duffy. “See?” he said; “it's early.”
     “Okay, it's early. Let's grab a couple of girls, and show them how it's done.”
     There was no one dancing on the floor. Sam poured himself out a shot of rum and drank it hurriedly. “Heck!” he said, “I believe I'm nervous.”
     Duffy looked at him. “You're kidding yourself, you want to get stewed.”
     Sam got up from his chair and wandered across the room to the pen. He stood looking at each girl carefully, until they began to giggle at him. He found a blonde that pleased him and he began to rush her round the empty floor. Duffy picked his girl from where he was sitting, then he went over and dated her up. She was a chestnut red, with a pert little nose and a big, humorous smile. She had a plump, hard little belly that he could feel against his vest. He thought she was cute.
     Duffy could dance when he liked, and the rum had made him fairly happy. He swung her round in big smooth circles, and she just seemed to float with him. They didn't say a word through the dance, but when