POISON IVY by Peter Cheyney

Author:Peter Cheyney [Cheyney, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
Tags: Peter Cheyney, Lemmy Caution, Poison Ivy, Policier
Publisher: Blu Duaine Press
Published: 1937-08-14T16:00:00+00:00

IX. Show-down for Lemmy

It’s a funny thing but whenever there’s a good chance of my bein’ bumped off I start thinkin’ of all sorts of durn silly things. I’m like that.

Just at this moment I am thinkin’ that Carlotta has got nice ankles. She is standin’ there lookin’ out at one of the portholes that she has opened, smokin’ a cigarette. She is a cool cuss.

I come back to earth again an’ take a peek at Rudy. He is standin’ there lookin’ at me like all the devils in hell. He is grinnin’ like a fiend an’ is he enjoyin’ the situation. I reckon Rudy was a real killer. He didn’t kill because he was scared or because he had to; he was the sorta guy who liked bumpin’ people. He got a kick out of it.

An’ it looked as if I had mine comin’ to me, because it was a cinch that he was goin’ to give me the works, an’ all I wanted to do was just to get at him for one minute so’s to let him have a really good one before he got busy on me. I reckon I’ve seen a few guys bumped off in my time, but I was pretty good an’ burned up about seein’ this San Reima ironed out for nothin’ at all—poor sap.

I put my hands in my pockets an’ nodded my head towards where the body was lyin’.

“O.K. Rudy,” I said, grinnin’ pretty at him, “but there’s just one little thing I’d like to point out to you—something you forgot.”

I take my right hand outa my pocket an’ I point towards the stiff on the floor. Sure as a gun Rudy looks towards it an’ I jump for the dirty so-an’-so.

I made it. I got my fingers round his throat an’ then I let go with my right hand an’ smashed him between the eyes with every bit of weight I got. I hit him twice before the rest of ’em arrived, an’ I had the pleasure of hearin’ him yelp when he started swallowin’ his own teeth.

Then they was on to me. I reckon I’ve been in some rough spots in my time, but what that hell-club did to me was just nobody’s business. If ever a guy got the works it was me. I tell you that these guys just pushed each other outa the way in order to bust me about like nobody ever was, an’ when they was finished with me it looked like all I needed was a nice tombstone with “he did his best” on it.

My left eye was all washed up. Somebody had closed it with a bottle, an’ I reckoned that if all my ribs wasn’t broke through kickin’ it was only because they’d elected to twist ’em instead. My right arm was paralysed from a smash on the nerve with a stool an’ my nose felt like a piece of india rubber that had just been put through a mincin’ machine.

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