A wasteland of strangers by Bill Pronzini Page B

over."
    "You want me to tell him you're on the way?" "No. Not unless he tries to leave again before I arrive." "Anything you say, Mrs. Carey." Anything for twenty dollars; that was what I'd paid him earlier to keep an eye out and make the call. I hung up without saying good-bye and hurried out to the BMW.
    The distance from my house across the Northlake Cutoff to Harry Richmond's resort is a little better than five miles; I drove too fast and was there in under ten minutes. Richmond was on the office stoop, waiting. He came down the steps to meet me as I stepped out of the car.
    "Still here," he said.
    "Which cabin?"
    He didn't answer immediately. Leer on his fat lips and his eyes fondling my breasts. His tongue appeared like a pink slug wiggling out of a hole, flicking from side to side as if he were imagining my nipples and how they would taste. Imagine was all he would ever do. A sleaze-ball, Mr. Richmond. Soft-bellied, dirty-minded, and money-grubbing. The Hunger wanted nothing to do with men like him, thank God.
    "I asked you which cabin, please."
    "Six. His car's parked in front. Have fun, now."
    I took my eyes off him. The only way to deal with the Harry Rich-monds of the world is to deny their existence whenever possible—and let them know you're doing it. I detoured around him and along the side of the office building into the central courtyard. I could feel him watching me, the crawl of his gaze on my buttocks; the Hunger and I pretended his eyes were hands and that the hands belonged to John Faith.
    Faith's mode of transportation suited him perfectly: battered and scarred, powerful, a ride that would be fast and exciting and not a little dangerous. The comparison put a smile on my face as I stepped onto the tiny porch. But I wiped it off before I knocked; I wanted him to see a different Storm Carey this afternoon, serious and sober and just a touch contrite.
    He was surprised when he opened the door, but it lasted for only a second or two. Then his expression reshaped into a faint upturning of his lips, lopsided and sardonic. "Well, well," he said. "Storm, isn't it?"
    He seemed even bigger in the daylight. Bigger and uglier, with those pale eyes and facial scars. His shirt was off; hair grew in thick tufts on his chest, black flecked with gray, and underneath it muscles and sinews rippled, flowed, like a deadly undertow beneath a calm surface. Frightening and compelling at the same time. Touch him and you might be hurt, but that only made you want to touch him more.
    The mouth, the nibbling lips began to move again inside me. "Yes. Storm Carey."
    "What do you want, Mrs. Carey?"
    "I told you last night, I'm not married."
    "So you did."
    "Do you mind if I come in?"
    "Pretty small, these cabins. Not much inside except a bed, and I don't feel much like lying down."
    "That isn't why I'm here," I said.
    "No?"
    "No. I came to apologize. I shouldn't have come on to you the way I did. I'm not usually so brazen."
    "Only when you drink too much, is that it?"
    "I had too many martinis, yes. There are reasons, but I won't bore you with them. The point is, I'm sober today. No gin on my breath, no Paris Nights perfume. Just me."
    "Just you. So why're you here?"
    "I came to apologize, as I said."
    "Why bother? Two strangers in a bar, that's all."
    "I didn't want to leave you with the wrong impression."
    "That matters to you? What I think?"
    "Yes. I really wasn't slumming last night. And I wasn't after a quick lay with the first man who came along."
    "Right. But you find big men exciting."
    "Not all big men. The other thing I told you is true, too: I like your face."
    "That's what booze does to you. Gives you hallucinations."
    "I still like it. Cold sober and in broad daylight."
    "Sure you do." The words were skeptical, but the pale eyes had softened: He was looking at me in a new way. The way most men look at me, the way the Hunger wanted the chosen ones to look. Not quite convinced yet, holding back, but seeing me as a desirable