I'll Get You for This

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THEY had told me that Paradise Palms was a pretty nice spot, but when I saw it, I was knocked for a loop. It was so good I stopped the Buick to gape at it.

The town was built along the semi-circular bay with its miles of golden sand, palm trees and green ocean. The buildings were compact, red roofed with white walls. Tree-lined avenues led into the town from four directions. Flower-beds decorated the sidewalks. Every tropical flower, tree and plant grew in the streets, and the effect was like a dream in Technicolor. The colours hurt my eyes.

After I’d stared at the flowers, I concentrated on the women, driving in big luxury cars or walking along the sidewalks, or even riding bicycles. It was as good as an Earl Carrol show. There wasn’t a woman who hadn’t stripped down to the bare essentials. My eyes hadn’t overeaten themselves like this in years.

As a curtain-raiser for a vacation, it couldn’t have been better. And that’s what I was on: a vacation. Four months of working the gambling joints in New York had been a pretty hard grind. When I had acquired a roll of not less than twenty grand I had promised myself a real vacation with all the trimmings. By the time I’d saved fifteen, I nearly threw it up, but, somehow, I kept on, in spite of the bags under my eyes, a couple of bullet wounds and a flock of opposition. You don’t win twenty grand without making enemies. I made plenty. It got so bad that I was driving around in an armoured car, putting newspapers on the floor around my bed so no one could get at me without waking me, and toting a gun, even in my bath.

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