enough to blind any man. And you never saw her unless the act was in operation. I did, once. That last time. If you can say that a woman, just by her attitude, can turn a perfectly ordinary room into a sort of jungle, then Laura could do it. If and when this Haussmann is found, I think we’ll find him to be a sort of male Laura.”
The steak seemed to have lost some of its flavor. “How about Laura being the dupe of Haussmann?”
“Maybe when Laura was twelve or thirteen she was somebody’s dupe, Dil. But not since that time, and not for long then.”
“Did my—other friends all feel the same way?”
“Maybe not as strongly, but just about the same way.”
“Couldn’t you have stopped me?”
“With a detachment of Marines, or a bullet in the head. Perhaps. Look, Dil. Anything any of us said to you would have been like dropping a match in the gas tank. You were, as we old hillbillies call it, sot in your ways. We could hope it would blow over. But it didn’t.”
“A funny thing,” I said. I watched the candle waver as my breath touched it. “I can’t be sorry I married her. In some funny way it means growing up. Entering man’s estate or something. New set of values. There’s still angerleft, but frankly, Jill, not a hell of a lot of sorrow. More sorrow for a girl who sold dresses.”
“She was part of it all. She had to be part of it all. Paul’s apartment and everything. Who was she with, Dil? Whose team was she on?”
“I can tell you that much, I guess. Mr. Stalin’s team.”
I watched her, expecting to see a slight bulge in the eye department, a look of shocked incredulity. Instead she looked as though she had suddenly put on a mask. A mask that looked like Jill Townsend, but was as dead and expressionless as a clever device made of rubber and plastic.
“No reaction?” I asked.
“Don’t do anything—silly tonight, Dil. Can I come with you?”
“No.”
“Take the key I sent you. You can get back in here. I may not be home.”
“Where will you be?”
“Oh, investigating. That’s a good couch there, if you want to use it. Comfortable. And you may need to stay out of touch for a while.”
“Why?”
“Barney Zeck confides in me. He says a lot of people are annoyed with you, Dil. They think you’ll be more predictable behind bars. And if they give Captain Paris his head, he thinks he can make the killing of that girl stick.”
I stared at her. “Me? He thinks I—”
“I make my guests help with the dishes, pal. Bring out all you can carry.”
It was full night by the time we were done. A bit after nine. She walked me slowly to the door. She put her fingertips on my arm. “You will be careful, Dil?”
“Shy as a mouse.”
She went onto tiptoe to kiss me on the cheek. Her lips were cool. “The best of luck,” she whispered.
Zeck had said that the little affair would take place somewhere within a two-block radius of the Café Lafitte. That sounded like a small area. It figures out to sixteensquare blocks of the Quarter. From Governor Nicholls Street four blocks south to St. Ann. From Burgundy Street four blocks east to Chartres Street. Each block has four sides. Sixty-four streets one block long. The area included everything from very fancy private homes to sodden, murky little bars. It is not a brightly lighted area. The life and color were much farther south, toward Canal. That early, the people were taking advantage of the illusive coolness of the night air. The coolness was largely a delusion. Slow voices were resonant on the galleries. Groups sat on the steps off the banquettes, and fans waved slowly in front of pallid faces. Later, when that part of the city slept, I knew that my heels would make sharp echoes in the deserted streets. I avoided walking directly under the street lamps. When I was forced to do so, I kept my head lowered.
I saw a likely chance sitting on a low step in a doorway. Her blonde hair had a greenish glint. She wore a sheer blouse, a tight
The steak seemed to have lost some of its flavor. “How about Laura being the dupe of Haussmann?”
“Maybe when Laura was twelve or thirteen she was somebody’s dupe, Dil. But not since that time, and not for long then.”
“Did my—other friends all feel the same way?”
“Maybe not as strongly, but just about the same way.”
“Couldn’t you have stopped me?”
“With a detachment of Marines, or a bullet in the head. Perhaps. Look, Dil. Anything any of us said to you would have been like dropping a match in the gas tank. You were, as we old hillbillies call it, sot in your ways. We could hope it would blow over. But it didn’t.”
“A funny thing,” I said. I watched the candle waver as my breath touched it. “I can’t be sorry I married her. In some funny way it means growing up. Entering man’s estate or something. New set of values. There’s still angerleft, but frankly, Jill, not a hell of a lot of sorrow. More sorrow for a girl who sold dresses.”
“She was part of it all. She had to be part of it all. Paul’s apartment and everything. Who was she with, Dil? Whose team was she on?”
“I can tell you that much, I guess. Mr. Stalin’s team.”
I watched her, expecting to see a slight bulge in the eye department, a look of shocked incredulity. Instead she looked as though she had suddenly put on a mask. A mask that looked like Jill Townsend, but was as dead and expressionless as a clever device made of rubber and plastic.
“No reaction?” I asked.
“Don’t do anything—silly tonight, Dil. Can I come with you?”
“No.”
“Take the key I sent you. You can get back in here. I may not be home.”
“Where will you be?”
“Oh, investigating. That’s a good couch there, if you want to use it. Comfortable. And you may need to stay out of touch for a while.”
“Why?”
“Barney Zeck confides in me. He says a lot of people are annoyed with you, Dil. They think you’ll be more predictable behind bars. And if they give Captain Paris his head, he thinks he can make the killing of that girl stick.”
I stared at her. “Me? He thinks I—”
“I make my guests help with the dishes, pal. Bring out all you can carry.”
It was full night by the time we were done. A bit after nine. She walked me slowly to the door. She put her fingertips on my arm. “You will be careful, Dil?”
“Shy as a mouse.”
She went onto tiptoe to kiss me on the cheek. Her lips were cool. “The best of luck,” she whispered.
Zeck had said that the little affair would take place somewhere within a two-block radius of the Café Lafitte. That sounded like a small area. It figures out to sixteensquare blocks of the Quarter. From Governor Nicholls Street four blocks south to St. Ann. From Burgundy Street four blocks east to Chartres Street. Each block has four sides. Sixty-four streets one block long. The area included everything from very fancy private homes to sodden, murky little bars. It is not a brightly lighted area. The life and color were much farther south, toward Canal. That early, the people were taking advantage of the illusive coolness of the night air. The coolness was largely a delusion. Slow voices were resonant on the galleries. Groups sat on the steps off the banquettes, and fans waved slowly in front of pallid faces. Later, when that part of the city slept, I knew that my heels would make sharp echoes in the deserted streets. I avoided walking directly under the street lamps. When I was forced to do so, I kept my head lowered.
I saw a likely chance sitting on a low step in a doorway. Her blonde hair had a greenish glint. She wore a sheer blouse, a tight
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