of cigarette. I identified the next move as her unlatching the door, probably to leave it ajar for whoever had the word that things were now okay in 109. The edge of the bed had caught me across the lower belly. My toes rested on the rug.
"Come on!" she whispered. "Come on, Rick darling."
Make it six or seven minutes from phone call to arrival. Male voice, after the door was gently closed. "Everything okay, honey?"
"No problems." ,
"Nice work. I hated the idea of you coming to his room. I was afraid maybe he'd decide he didn't want a drink, and then he's such a big, rough-looking son of a bitch, I was afraid--"
"Just like I hate the idea of your sleeping with your dear wife Janice every damned night, darling?" Her voice was bitter.
"And you know why it has to be that way."
"Do I?"
"No time to open the same damned old can of worms, Penny. Let's see if we're going to do any good."
He took me by the belt and pulled me back off the bed. I let myself tumble, completely slack. I ended up on my side, knees bent, cheek against the bristle of the rug. He pulled at my shoulder and I rolled slowly onto my back. He rolled me another half turn, face down, and I felt him work the wallet out of my hip pocket, heard the distinctive sound as he sat on the bed. Sizable, I guessed. Young voice. Physically powerful.
"Anything?" she asked.
"Not in this. Pockets of his jacket?"
"Just this stuff. Nothing."
"I better check the side pockets of his pants."
"Would there be anything in... in the lining of anything, or in his shoes?"
"I don't know. I'll check it if we draw a blank. The thing that bothers me is that this son of a bitch doesn't have enough on him."
"What do you mean, dear?"
"The average guy has pieces of paper on him. Notebook, notes, addresses, letters, junk like that. McGee here has got car rental papers, a plane ticket to Lauderdale, keys, drivers license, and a half dozen credit cards and... a little over eight hundred in cash. Here. Take these two fifties."
"I don't want the money!"
"We want him to think he had a ball. Here, dammit!"
"All right. But I can't see why he'd--"
"Win, lose, or draw, we rumple the hell out of that bed, rub lipstick on the pillow, squirt some of your perfume on him, undress him, and leave him in the bed. And dump the rest of that bottle into the john."
"Okay. But you know, he didn't seem like somebody who'd--"
"For chrissake, Penny!"
"All right. I'm sorry."
"We knew it was a big man. We know he was from out of town. We know he went to see Pike."
He checked the other pockets. Then the girl asked about the shirt pocket. He rolled me onto my back again. She was standing close. I opened my eyes just far enough to make out the shape and distance of his head as he bent over me. I hit him solidly in the side of the throat with my right fist, rolling my body to the left as I did so to give it more leverage, and then swung my legs in a wide arc at floor level. I clipped her right at the ankles and she landed flat on her back with a very large thud for a girl that size. Her friend had rolled over onto his back and back up onto his knees. He got up just as I did. He was making gagging, strangling sounds. Eyes bulged. Mouth hung open. Sandy-blond with a lot of neck, shoulders, and jaw. Look of the college lineman six years later, twenty pounds heavier, and a lot softer.
But as he got his back against the wall, he pulled a blue-black and very efficient-looking revolver out of somewhere and aimed it at my middle. I stopped very suddenly and took a cautious step backward, and raised my arms, and said, "Easy now. Easy does it, friend."
He coughed and gagged and massaged his throat. He spoke in a rasping, traumatic whisper. "Back up and sit on the edge of the bed, smartass. And hold the back of your neck
"Come on!" she whispered. "Come on, Rick darling."
Make it six or seven minutes from phone call to arrival. Male voice, after the door was gently closed. "Everything okay, honey?"
"No problems." ,
"Nice work. I hated the idea of you coming to his room. I was afraid maybe he'd decide he didn't want a drink, and then he's such a big, rough-looking son of a bitch, I was afraid--"
"Just like I hate the idea of your sleeping with your dear wife Janice every damned night, darling?" Her voice was bitter.
"And you know why it has to be that way."
"Do I?"
"No time to open the same damned old can of worms, Penny. Let's see if we're going to do any good."
He took me by the belt and pulled me back off the bed. I let myself tumble, completely slack. I ended up on my side, knees bent, cheek against the bristle of the rug. He pulled at my shoulder and I rolled slowly onto my back. He rolled me another half turn, face down, and I felt him work the wallet out of my hip pocket, heard the distinctive sound as he sat on the bed. Sizable, I guessed. Young voice. Physically powerful.
"Anything?" she asked.
"Not in this. Pockets of his jacket?"
"Just this stuff. Nothing."
"I better check the side pockets of his pants."
"Would there be anything in... in the lining of anything, or in his shoes?"
"I don't know. I'll check it if we draw a blank. The thing that bothers me is that this son of a bitch doesn't have enough on him."
"What do you mean, dear?"
"The average guy has pieces of paper on him. Notebook, notes, addresses, letters, junk like that. McGee here has got car rental papers, a plane ticket to Lauderdale, keys, drivers license, and a half dozen credit cards and... a little over eight hundred in cash. Here. Take these two fifties."
"I don't want the money!"
"We want him to think he had a ball. Here, dammit!"
"All right. But I can't see why he'd--"
"Win, lose, or draw, we rumple the hell out of that bed, rub lipstick on the pillow, squirt some of your perfume on him, undress him, and leave him in the bed. And dump the rest of that bottle into the john."
"Okay. But you know, he didn't seem like somebody who'd--"
"For chrissake, Penny!"
"All right. I'm sorry."
"We knew it was a big man. We know he was from out of town. We know he went to see Pike."
He checked the other pockets. Then the girl asked about the shirt pocket. He rolled me onto my back again. She was standing close. I opened my eyes just far enough to make out the shape and distance of his head as he bent over me. I hit him solidly in the side of the throat with my right fist, rolling my body to the left as I did so to give it more leverage, and then swung my legs in a wide arc at floor level. I clipped her right at the ankles and she landed flat on her back with a very large thud for a girl that size. Her friend had rolled over onto his back and back up onto his knees. He got up just as I did. He was making gagging, strangling sounds. Eyes bulged. Mouth hung open. Sandy-blond with a lot of neck, shoulders, and jaw. Look of the college lineman six years later, twenty pounds heavier, and a lot softer.
But as he got his back against the wall, he pulled a blue-black and very efficient-looking revolver out of somewhere and aimed it at my middle. I stopped very suddenly and took a cautious step backward, and raised my arms, and said, "Easy now. Easy does it, friend."
He coughed and gagged and massaged his throat. He spoke in a rasping, traumatic whisper. "Back up and sit on the edge of the bed, smartass. And hold the back of your neck
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