James Chase: There’s a Hippie on the Highway

Lepski had been inflicted with this routine so often he let it go in one ear and out the other, but although he was dead to the monologue, he was aware that time was passing.

Finally, having cunningly suggested she should wear a smart black dress, saying she would look a knockout in it and being told (as he knew he would be told) that he must be crazy to imagine she would go to a beach restaurant in a black dress, she selected a white and red number which he had wanted her to wear anyway, but knew if he had suggested it, it would cause yet another argument.

He had finally escaped from the bedroom, made himself a double whisky and soda and was now waiting while she completed her dressing.

A little after 19.15 she appeared on the terrace and Lepski regarded her. She looked so nice, so immaculate and so pretty that he started to his feet with that well-known gleam in his eyes that wives quickly recognise.

‘Don’t be disgusting!’ she said sharply. ‘Lepski! Don’t you dare touch me!’

Lepski realised this wasn’t the time so he leered at her.

‘Mrs. Lepski, we have a date when we get home,’ he said. ‘The poet who said something stirred in the forest must have been thinking of you.’

Carroll stifled a giggle, then looked severe.

‘Don’t be so coarse. Well... do I look all right?’

‘Marvellous, gorgeous, scrumptious! Let’s go!’

As he started towards the car, Carroll said, ‘Wait a moment!’

Lepski paused and began humming under his breath. He regarded her, forced a smile, then asked with heavy sarcasm, What is it now? A ladder in your stocking? Have you bust a strap? Forgotten your handbag? No handkerchief? Got your girdle twisted? What is it this time?’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous. I’m looking at you. You’re not going out with me looking like that!’

Lepski gaped at her.

‘Me? What’s the matter with me? Clean shirt... pants pressed... beautifully shaved. Let me tell you, Mrs. Lepski, there’s not a girl in this City who wouldn’t be proud to be seen with me.’

‘If you imagine I’m going out with you when you are carrying a gun, you’re mistaken! Anyone who isn’t blind can see that awful holster through your coat. Do you imagine I want to be mistaken for a cop’s wife?’

Lepski ran his hand over his face. ‘But aren’t you a cop’s wife?’ he asked, his voice a little shrill.

‘There’s no need to advertise the fact. Lepski, park that gun!’

Lepski loosened his tie, made a noise like a bee in a bottle, longed to put his foot through the TV screen, and only with a tremendous effort, restrained himself from tearing at his hair.

‘Listen, honey, it’s regulations,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I have to wear a gun. Pretend to be blind! Even pretend I’m a cop! Let’s go!’

‘I’m not going to a high-class restaurant with you if you are wearing that gun!’

He recognised from the tone of her voice that this was final. He knew the argument could last for the next two hours and still get him nowhere. He was hungry for a good, free meal, so he took off the holster and threw the gun and the holster with some violence on the settee.

‘There’s no need to show off,’ Carroll said quietly. ‘I don’t mind a little temper... that is manly, but please don’t be childish.’

Lepski made a noise like a distracted goat.

‘Do we go or don’t we?’ he snarled.

Carroll regarded him with astonishment.

‘I’m ready and waiting. I’m not holding us up, it’s you.’

With the veins in his neck like steel cables taking a strain, Lepski stamped towards his car.

On Saturday night, a big crowd always descended on the Dominico restaurant, and this night was no exception. The staff was at full stretch. Solo had asked Harry to help in the bar. Nina had dropped her usual role of circulating and charming the businessmen. She too was ferrying drinks and taking orders.

Manuel moved quickly around the restaurant, conducting people, settling them, leaving them with menus, before darting back to the entrance where other people were waiting impatiently to be taken to their tables. As he arrived at the entrance for the fifteenth time, he pulled up short as if he had walked into a brick wall.

The sight of Tom Lepski with a tall, dark girl Manuel recognized as Lepski’s wife came as a shock and an unpleasant surprise.

‘Mr. Lepski!’ He showed his teeth in a wide, false smile. ‘This is indeed my pleasure!’

‘Solo said for us to come... so here we are,’ Lepski said, a little nonplussed to find so many people arriving.

‘Of course.’ Manuel always kept three tables in reserve for just such an emergency. ‘Delighted... this way, please.’ He escorted them to a corner table, settled them, snapped his fingers at his assistant, showed his teeth and raced back to the entrance.

As soon as the crowd began to slacken, Manuel rushed to the kitchen to warn Solo that Lepski had arrived. Working under pressure, Solo grimaced, then waved Manuel away.

‘Let him have everything the best all on the house.’

As Manuel returned to the restaurant he saw Harry coming from the bar, carrying a tray of drinks.

‘Number four table, in the corner,’ Manuel said. ‘Get their drink order... it’s on the house.’

It wasn’t until Harry reached the table that he realised who he was about to serve.

‘Hello, Mitchell,’ Lepski said, giving Harry his cop stare. ‘Remember me?’

‘Mr. Lepski,’ Harry said, his face wooden.

‘That’s right. How are you making out here?’

Harry stared at him for a brief moment, then turned to Carroll.

‘What would you like to drink?’

Carroll felt a slight stirring of her blood. She thought this tall, powerfully built man was just the sexiest looking male she had ever seen.

‘Could I have a Tom Collins, please?’ she asked with a smile Lepski hadn’t seen since they were married.

‘I’ll have a double Scotch on the rocks,’ he snapped, glaring at Carroll.

‘Isn’t that excessive, Tom?’ Carroll asked, aware that she had prodded alive a jealousy she had thought long since dead. ‘After all, you were drinking before we left home.’ She looked up at Harry. ‘Please bring my husband a small Scotch with plenty of Whiterock.’

Harry went away.

‘Look, honey, I know my goddamn capacity,’ Lepski said heatedly. ‘Would you please...’

‘I just don’t want you to get drunk.’

Lepski made a hissing noise that would have frightened a snake.

‘You stay sober if you want to, I’m going to please myself!’

While they were arguing, Harry, in the bar, told Randy that Lepski was in the restaurant. Randy nearly dropped the cocktail shaker he was manipulating.

‘What’s he doing here?’ he asked breathlessly.

‘Getting a free meal and probably taking a look around. Relax, Randy. A Tom Collins: double gin, and a double Scotch on the rocks.’

Randy made the drinks.

‘He saw you with Baldy’s suitcase, Harry,’ he said as he placed the drinks on Harry’s tray. ‘Do you think...?’

‘Take it easy. He can’t prove anything. He has no witnesses.’ Harry picked up the tray. ‘Give yourself a drink.’ He left the bar.

As he reached Lepski’s table, Manuel was taking the order.

Harry placed the drinks. Seeing what he had been given, Lepski looked up at Harry and winked.

Manuel was being expansive.

‘Solo would like you to try his speciality, Mrs. Lepski,’ he said, leaning over Carroll and showing her his teeth. ‘Casserole of duck with green peppers. I suggest fried oysters on shrimp toast to begin. How does that sound?’

Carroll was entranced.

‘Don’t tell me... just bring it to me,’ she said.

Manuel looked at Lepski.