Read Online Cargo for the Styx by Louis Trimble - Free Book Online

bottle and climbed down out of the bunk. After a few stomps my legs and feet did what I told them. I said, “Do you mind taking your beer aft? I want to shower off.”
    “Men are so damned modest,” she remarked. She took herself and her beer aft.
    I stripped down and got into my robe. It smelled faintly of Irma just as the bed had. I reached for the telephone. Bonnie had put it back on the shelf. I reminded myself to ask her if she’d called me.
    I dialed Irma’s office number. I got the voice of her secretary, a chubby brunette with a slightly dowdy look. I said, “This is Martin Zane. May I talk to Miss Wilson, please?”
    “Miss Wilson left a message, Mr. Zane.”
    I remembered leaving Irma earlier. I remembered agreeing to meet her at one for lunch. I also remembered agreeing to meet Bonnie at one in my office. My watch said that it was now two o’clock.
    I said, “Okay, let’s have it.”
    The girl’s voice was prim and faintly disapproving. “Miss Wilson asked me to tell you that she was sorry you couldn’t meet her for lunch. She accepted an invitation from Mr. Clift as she has to be there this afternoon to make a final check of the cargo manifest.”
    I said, “If you see her first, tell her I was tied up.”
    I hung up. I dialed another number. I got Jasper Clift on the end of the line. I said, “Is Irma Wilson there? This is Zane.”
    “Miss Wilson? Not yet. I expect her sometime this afternoon.”
    I said, “You didn’t have lunch with her?”
    Clift gave a kind of bark that I decided was a laugh. “Lunch with a dame today? This is the day I sail, Zane. I’m busy.”
    I opened my mouth and closed it again. I took a deep breath. I said, “Okay, thanks.” I hung up. I had begun to sweat all over again. A different kind of sweat this time.
    A shower washed me down a little, but it didn’t make me feel any better. Neither did my fresh clothes. I went into the lounge still struggling into my jacket, my shoelaces flapping.
    Bonnie Minos had her nose in a beer mug, one of my Tyrolean ones. Three empties sat on the floor beside her chair.
    I said, “That’s eleven per cent stuff from Mexico. Better go easy.”
    “I’m used to it,” she said.
    I didn’t have time for more chit chat. I said, “Did you telephone me a little while before you came here?”
    She shook her head. “I went to your office. I waited around a while but you didn’t show up. I started back home. When I passed your moorage I had an idea.”
    I said, “So you stopped to see what you could find?”
    “I couldn’t find anything in the office,” she said. “I thought maybe you kept it here.”
    “Kept what here?”
    “Whatever it is some people seem to want from you.”
    I said, “Are those your goons? Did you sic them onto me to keep me out of your way for a while?”
    “If they were mine, would I have turned you loose, buster?”
    I said, “Maybe they’re Aggie’s boys and you cut me loose to keep him from getting in too deep.”
    “In where too deep?” she demanded. She lifted the beer mug and drained it. “And if they were Aggie’s, I still wouldn’t turn you loose. It isn’t my job to mess up my husband’s business.”
    I said, “What is your job?”
    She hiccupped. I said, “When you cut me free you made some crack about Otho doing a pretty good tie-up job. What makes you think Otho had anything to do with tying me up?”
    She closed one eye and surveyed me with the other. It was slightly glazed. “Who else around here is big enough to do that to you, Zane?”
    I felt as if I was trying to wade through stiff molasses. I said, “We made a date to talk. I’m a little late for it, but let’s talk anyway.”
    She tried to snap her fingers. There was no crack. She frowned and tried again. She shrugged and dropped her hand to her lap. She said, “Speaking of dates, you got a phone call right after I got to your office.”
    I said, “Irma?”
    “A Miss Wilson. Is that Irma?” I nodded. She said,