Robert Bloch - Michael Shayne Mystery Magazine. Vol. 1, No. 1. September 1956

She put it away, but it had given her an idea. If she was unable to get in touch with Danny, maybe she could sell it for a hundred — or even fifty. That would be enough to get her out of town till the mess blew over and they caught Peter’s killer. She could get a job waiting tables or something, maybe in Boston or Philly or somewhere. The thought made her feel better. That way, she’d be in the clear until something broke and she could claim her own things and the money in her bank account. She asked Charlie to bring her a sloe-gin. The beer and chili were giving her heartburn.

“On me,” said a pleasant, out-of-town voice from behind her. She saw Mike standing there, in the mirror. She said hello and smiled, and he smiled back and said, “Lordie, isn’t it hot!” And then, “Let’s see that little elephant. I didn’t know they made them in jade.”

She got it out of the bag again and said, “Want to buy it? Like everything else around here, it’s for sale.”

He made a clicking sound with his tongue against his front teeth. “So cynical so early?” he asked with mock reproof.

“Maybe it’s the weather — thanks,” she said, picking up the drink and sipping it. “I don’t really want to sell it yet, but maybe I’ll have to. I bought it as a present for a friend who isn’t a friend anymore.” In a way, that was no more than the truth, she thought, since Peter certainly wasn’t anything anymore. She added, “It cost a hundred and ninety bucks at—” she named the store on East Sixtieth Street where she had bought it, the only import shop in New York that carried green jade elephants.

“Why not take it back and collect your money there?” he asked.

She couldn’t tell him she didn’t dare. She said, “I don’t want to go anywhere that reminds me of this — friend.”

He chuckled. “I didn’t know you were a romantic,” he told her over the rim of his own glass. Once again she noticed his even, white teeth with approval.

“You’d be surprised,” she said.

“I like surprises,” he told her.

They laughed and, after a while, he bought her another drink. When she made a move to pay for this one, he shook his head and said, “Expense account. Let’s live it up a little.”

It was while they were on it that Wanda decided to take the plunge. She said, “Mike, I want you to dome a favor. You’ve done me a lot already, but this isn’t much except it’s important to me.”

For a moment, his eyes were calculating. Then he was smiling again. “Sure,” he said, “anything I can do.”

She told him, “A friend of mine is in a jam, and she can’t get hold of the guy to tell him.” She gave him instructions to call one of Danny’s cronies, gave him the phone number, added, “Tell him Wanda’s friend wants to see him tonight at this hotel. Give him my room number, so I can get Wanda straightened out.”

His face fell. He said, “If this is an assignation, I was rather hoping for a date with you myself. I had a lot of fun with you last night. I’m having a good time now.”

“If you want to keep on having it,” she told him with all the promise she could muster, “make that call like I asked you to.”

He said, “Sure thing, Carla,” and went back into the booth.

He came out four minutes later and said, “All done. Joe says he’ll pass the word for your friend,” By the way he said your friend, Wanda knew she hadn’t fooled him with her subterfuge. For some reason she was glad she hadn’t. She didn’t want Mike to be dumb. Hey! she thought and took a quick rein on herself. Why should she care if Mike was dumb or not, unless she was beginning to like him. She wondered if it was just the drinks or something else. This was no time to be getting tangled up with anyone new — or was it? The matter, she decided, was one that required thought. She allowed Mike to buy her a third sloe-gin.

He was nice. He told her about Cincinnati and how he hated, yet was fascinated, by New York. “Every time I come here I can’t wait to get back home,” he said. “Yet, every time I’m home, I can’t wait to get back to New York. Crazy, isn’t it?”

“Real crazy,” she replied.

He said, “Maybe I will buy that elephant. It’s pretty, kind of, and I ought to have something for a souvenir.”

“To take home to your wife?” she asked him and was startled by the sharpness of her voice. What did she care if this guy was married?

“I had a wife,” he told her, “but she died four years ago.”

She laid a hand over his and looked into his eyes, which were brown. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m awfully sorry.” And she was sorry, which disturbed her almost as much as the relief she felt inside that he was not married.

“Thanks,” he told her. “There’s no need to be upset, though I appreciate it. It happened too long ago.” He looked at his watch, added, “Dammit, I’ve got to run. Have another on me. Then lay off till this evening. If there’s any more drinking, let’s do it together.”

“Okay, honey,” she said. “If I’m not here, I’ll be upstairs.”

She watched him leave and wished she hadn’t had him make the call that would bring Danny. Mike was no Peter, who would take Danny as a joke. Life was funny, she thought. One minute you were nowhere, with nobody, the next minute you had too much. She had her drink and went back upstairs. She only had a little over ten dollars now, but she wasn’t scared anymore — not with Danny coming and Mike so ready to help.

She made her bed this time and smartened up the dismal room as best she could and wished she had some flowers. She got out the green jade elephant and put it back on the table — and thought, not about Peter Corell, but about Michael Byrne. After a while, she took another shower. This time, though the weather was as sticky as ever, she emerged feeling clean. She was living again.

Mike got back a little after seven. He had some carnations with him — the cherry-colored kind with frilly white edges — and some ferns. He even managed to arrange them in a water tumbler so they looked pretty. Then he said, “I brought something else.” He produced a small bottle of sloe-gin and a half-pint of whiskey. “Not a hell of a lot,” he said.

“But just enough, Mike, just enough.” She was suddenly in his arms. Just as she had known he would be, he was both strong and gentle.

He put her away, laughing, and said, “This time, I know I’m going to like New York.” Then he went back to his room for an extra glass.

Later, he said, “Carla, you’re in some kind of trouble. I wish you’d let me help you.”

“You have, Mike, you have,” she told him, and then she was in his arms again, laughing and crying at the same time.

He said, “What about that call you had me make, sweet? Have you seen your friend yet?”

That brought her out of it. She shook her head, dumb with misery. The thought — all these days, you’ve been dying to see Danny. Now he’s coming and you wish he was dead — flashed through her head. Still, she owed Danny a lot, especially now. She tried to frame a sentence, but Mike said it for her. “You want, I’ll take off and wait till you’re finished.”

“You’re too damned good to be real, Mike,” she whispered. “It may be a long wait.”

There was a tightness to his mouth as he replied, “One thing I’ve got, sweet, is patience. I’ll wait.”

It was a long wait — from a little after nine, when he left, till almost midnight. Wanda sat on the bed, smoking one cigarette after another, not daring to drink. Not that Danny would mind — he’d seen her soused often enough — but she knew she needed her wits about her. Danny was the jealous type, and she didn’t dare risk blabbing to him about Mike when he asked her how things were going.