Hamilton, Donald - Novel 01 by Date, Darkness (v1.1) Page B

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stirring things up, baby. Do you know what she did? She tried to blackmail me.
Can you picture that? Trying to blackmail me after we'd kept her for three
years. Talk about biting the hand that feeds you. Hell, I'd almost got to
thinking of her like my own daughter. But you can't tell about these
foreigners. I remember a guy Lalevy sent over
once...."
          Branch listened and the story led to a
dirty joke about a colored washerwoman which led in turn to a long, involved,
and bitter anecdote about the O.P.A. At last the pink-faced man sat back
comfortably and lit a cigar.
          "As a matter of fact,
Lieutenant," he said casually, "as a matter of fact, when I checked
back, I found she did have a little money coming to her.
          "Oh?" said Branch.
          Haskell nodded. " Lalevy's account was in a hell of a shape, naturally, ever since he was killed we've
been trying to... Well, after she'd gone I began to wonder if one of the clerks
maybe hadn't made a mistake, and sure enough, he had." He laughed
uncomfortably. "It I puts me in a hell of a spot,
Lieutenant. But she didn't have to call me a crook. She didn't have to threaten
me. If she'd acted sensibly-Hell, anybody can make a mistake and the way the
thing was handled it's no wonder. Well, I don't like to admit I'm wrong,
Lieutenant, I guess none of us do, and I still say she had no right to talk to
me like she did, but...." Be took a plain envelope from his breast packet
and passed it across the table. Branch pulled out the flap and looked at the
bills. My God, he thought.
          "It's all there, Haskell said . " You can count it if you like. Thirty-seven
hundred and fourteen dollars." He laughed. "I gave her a break
on the cents."
          After a moment Branch said, holding the
envelope, "Well, what the hell am I supposed to do with it?"
          "Give it to her," the stout man
said. "Tell her I said it was a mistake, it was all a mistake."
          Branch said quickly, "You give it to
her," and held out the envelope.
          Suddenly Mr. Haskell's pink face had a
very unpleasant look. "Listen," he said, "If I never see that
flat-faced bitch again, it's too soon."
            Branch watched him rise and glance at his
watch.
          "Think I'll try to catch the three
o'clock bus," the stout man said, and then sharply, "Don't try to kid
me, Lieutenant. Sellers told me all about you. Well, I wish you luck. You'll
need it with that tart."
          Branch watched him walk way with the
slightly rolling gait of a very young child, or a drunk, or a fat man.
Everybody gives me money, Branch thought, thirty-seven hundred dollars. My God. He wished the man had not called Jeannette Duval a
tart. Bitch was merely bad-tempered, but tart sounded knowing and cheap.
          He went upstairs and, locking his door,
pulled the suitcase out of the wardrobe and put the envelope inside a
drawstring bag containing a pair of high-heeled black suede pumps.
     
     

9
     
    CONSTANCE
BELLAMANN came into the dining room and he watched her hesitate inside the
doorway, wearing again the short high-necked brown print dress, so that at a
distance she looked about fifteen years old. She saw him and came towards him
between the busy table and he rose as she stopped beside him.
          "Hello," she said, smiling up at
him.
          "Hello," he said, and he heard
himself ask her if would care to join him; and he seated her and returned to
his chair. She spread a napkin in her lap and looked about the room, smiling a
little, the haphazard lipstick very bright in her pale face. Her short brown
hair on either side, held back from her face with the kind of narrow silver
clips the girls had been wearing the last year of the war.
          "It seemed silly to pretend I didn't
see you," she said, looking at him suddenly.
          He could not think of anything to say.
Last night seemed a long time ago, but it was still an uncomfortable