Jay Carroll - Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 1, No. 4, August 1957 (British Edition)

An old lady with a shopping bag, crammed with groceries, sat down beside him. She smelled of stale sweat and garlic, and he turned his head away, thinking that, when he had a car, he wouldn’t have to be riding in the subway, and there were lots better beaches than Reverse you could make if you were driving...

He had a quick swim, and then he went across the street to Jerry’s Hot Dog Stand to get a frank. He was standing on the sidewalk, just in front of the stand, finishing a coke, when the blue Packard convertible with the top down came lazily along the road. He regarded it enviously, admiring its sleek lines, the glitter of the chrome against smooth paint.

The convertible came abreast of the stand and seemed to hesitate. Johnny Martin saw the girl behind the wheel, then — the fluff of blonde hair, the red lips, the smooth tanned skin across high cheekbones. Class , he thought, real class! He felt sudden excitement inside him.

He stepped to the edge of the sidewalk. The girl had brought the convertible to a halt. Behind her, a string of cars began backing up. A horn blew irritably. She glanced at the stand, wistfully.

Johnny said, “If you want something, I’ll get it. You can go around the block and pick it up when you get back.”

“Oh... thanks,” she said. “I’m so thirsty. I’d love a coke!”

“Roger,” he said, liking the sound of her voice.

She smiled gratefully. The convertible began moving again. Johnny bought another coke and waited with it at the edge of the sidewalk, wondering if he’d ever see her again. After a few minutes, he spotted the blue convertible heading toward him in the string of traffic, and he felt his hand begin to tremble, so that he spilled a little of the coke over the rim of the paper cup. When the convertible came up to him, he opened the door and slid in on the tan leather seat.

“I didn’t expect that,” she said, watching the car ahead.

“I come with the coke,” he told her.

She laughed. It was a light, happy sound. “All for a dime?”

“Not even a dime,” he told her. “You get this one on credit.”

She drove him around the block. She didn’t say any more. He watched her, liking the intentness of her as she drove the big car through the traffic. He could hear the shouts of the bathers on the beach, the roar of the roller coaster in the distance.

When she got to the stand again, she slowed, “This is where you came in,” she said.

He reached for the handle of the door, feeling a sinking in his stomach. “A good feature, I like to see twice,” he told her.

She hesitated, but only for a moment. “All right,” she said. “But this is the last show.”

But it wasn’t. Suddenly a parked car pulled out in front of them. Johnny told her to drive into the vacant space, and she did. Cutting the motor, she swung around to face him. Her blue eyes studied him, in amused appraisal.

She must have liked what she found, Johnny thought, because she asked suddenly, “How’s the water?”

“Cool — but good.”

“I’d like to try it. But the beach is so crowded.”

“There’s a place up the road a ways — a little sandy cove. It belongs to a cottage, but the people don’t come until August. You’d like it.”

“Do you come with it?”

“I guess so. Don’t you like that?”

“It might not be a good idea. I don’t know anything about you.”

He ran a hand over his chin. “I could give you a reference,” he said, “but I’d want some from you too. After all, these days a fellow has to be careful who he goes out with.”

She tossed her head and laughed lightly. He liked the way the sun caught her yellow hair, making it shine.

“You win,” she said, “No references.”

He went across the street and came back with his levis and T-shirt rolled up in his towel. He wasn’t sure she would be waiting for him — but she was. He remembered the face he had looked at in the old mirror, and he guessed he knew why. His eye ran over the sleek lines of the convertible again — over the girl. He slipped in beside her, excitement making his blood hot.

“Take your next left,” he directed. “Incidentally, I’m Johnny.”

“Thanks for the formal introduction. I’m Lois.”

He leaned back against the leather, his eyes squinting into the sun, while the breeze rippled over his body. He thought, maybe he wasn’t going to need Rusty, at that. Maybe he could work something out for himself. This girl was class. And the wagon was worth plenty. He’d play it slow and close. When the time came, he’d know what to do...

Lois stood up suddenly and began to brush the sand from her long, slender legs. “It’s late, Johnny. I have to go.”

He looked up at her, noting the full curve of her breasts against the smooth gleam of her white bathing suit, the slimness of her waist, the lithe contours of her hips.

“It can’t even be six,” he said lazily.

“It’s after that.”

He had not touched her. He had wanted to, desperately — especially after they had come in from the water and had stretched out so close to each other on the sand. He got up slowly. She was putting on slacks over her suit.

“Lois, does it have to end now?”

Her eyes fastened on him. Wrinkles formed across her forehead. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “I think it had better.”

“I don’t have much money. But we could go out sometime. I’d like to dance with you.”

She seemed suddenly serious.

“Most young writers don’t have much money — unless they’re lucky. But that doesn’t matter.”

He had almost forgotten telling her he was a writer. It had seemed like an occupation to intrigue her. Now he said, “What does matter, then?”

She turned away. She had picked up her blouse and was buttoning it. “I don’t trust you entirely. I don’t understand it exactly. But I’m afraid.”

“There’s no reason for that.”

It was odd she had said what she did. Johnny felt a small, cold finger working along his spine. “So let’s leave it this way — a pleasant afternoon on the beach.”

He went over to her. Took her shoulders and swung her around. She tilted her face up, her lips parted a little, and he bent down and crushed her to him. There was sudden fire in him, like nothing he had ever known, and he felt her body straining against his, her lips hot and eager. He thought, hating himself for it at that moment, that she would see him again. Then, abruptly, she broke away.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’d really better go. Can you get back wherever you have to go?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“I shan’t.” It was cool, ladylike, brutal. “Good-bye, Johnny.”

He watched her walk rapidly away from him, to where the blue convertible was parked, leaving her towel still on the beach. He thought, she could at least have given him a lift back to Revere.

In sudden anger, he turned away, sprinting down the beach toward the sea. The water splashed up over him as he ran in, cold against his burning body. He swam out with long, fierce strokes, until fatigue sapped his anger. Then he came in, dried himself and put on his levis and T-shirt.

He noticed then, that in her haste to get away, Lois had left her wallet lying in the sand beside her towel. He opened it, ruffled quickly through the impressive number of bills, found her driving licence. He put it in his hip pocket, smiling thinly.

He could find Lois, now. He would find her and make her pay for leaving him here like this — for running away when he kissed her. He walked slowly through the sand to the road, to thumb a ride back to Revere where he could get the subway.

The juke box was blaring out a souped-up version of Temptation . Johnny Martin filled his glass from one of the opened bottles of beer on the table. His mouth tasted ratty from too many cigarettes and too much beer. He realised he was a little drunk. His head was fuzzy, and, when he touched his chin, it felt as if someone else was touching him.