Max Collins - Quarry's ex

No answer.

So he wasn’t back yet.

Or he was dead in there, having fallen for some trap that Varnos set.

Back in my room, I was frustrated, kicking things, since I wasn’t limber enough to kick myself. Maybe I could figure out a way to scam a room key off the girl at the desk. Maybe it would be that nice kid Tina down there again tonight.

I went out onto the balcony into a balmy desert breeze, to think about it, to come up with some way to con Stockwell’s room key out of whoever was on duty. I leaned against the railing, then backed off, remembering how Varnos liked to make balconies go bye-bye.

That was when I noticed the lovely woman in the bikini swimming below, a silhouette again in the under-lit pool.

I wore my sport coat down there. The night wasn’t cool enough to warrant it-the whisper of wind carried warmth-but I was taking the nine millimeter with me, in my waistband, and I didn’t want it showing.

She was swimming lengths, her long dark hair streaming free, her bikini tonight a red skimpy thing. I pulled up a deck chair and sat near the shallow end. Again it was past legal pool hours and we had no company. Few lights were on in the windows facing the courtyard-this was Friday night in Boot Heel. Nobody was in their hotel room.

She stood in the shallow to catch her breath, water lapping at her hips, the light from the pool’s floor highlighting the edges of her, but most of her in shadow. Then she noticed me and looked up. Eyes wide, the whites popping out of the darkness.

“Jack,” she said.

“You suggested we talk. We probably should.”

She pushed through the water, and it sloshed gently around her tan body. She leaned against the edge of the pool, just a tiny bit out of breath, face beautifully pearled. “Water’s nice, Jack. Cool but not cold. You still like to swim?”

“Yeah. But no beaches near where I live.”

“Where do you live?”

“Where it gets cold.”

She didn’t press for more. She gestured to the expanse of water. “Care to join me?”

“I already swam today.”

She smiled. “Don’t pout. Go on up and get your trunks and come back down.”

I stood. I unbuttoned the sport coat and took the gun out of my waistband. Her eyes grew large and she seemed to be trying to decide whether to be afraid or not. I wasn’t leveling it at her, but it was there.

“What are you doing, Jack?”

“Making a point.”

Part of me wanted her to think I’d come to kill her. The rest just wanted her to understand that she was in the middle of something serious. Really, deadly serious.

“Your husband is in trouble,” I said, “and I’m helping him.”

“Because of me?”

“For money.”

“Are you some kind of…security person now? Rent-a-cop? Bodyguard?”

“There’s no word for it. But it’s life or death.” I put the nine mil back in my waistband and buttoned the sport coat over it. “Still want me to join you?”

“Yes.”

“I show you a gun and you still want me to go get my swimsuit?”

“You had your chance to kill me, Jack, a long time ago.”

So I went up and got my suit.

We swam together, not racing, just doing lengths, easy, gliding freestyle under the sky with its slightly more generous slice of moon tonight and enough stars to matter.

In the shallow end, we sat on the edge of the pool together, dripping.

“That was pretty melodramatic,” she said. When I said nothing, she prompted me: “Before? The gun?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Why are you here?”

“There have been threats against your husband’s life. I’m looking into it.”

“So I was right about what you are.”

“Joni, what I do is way off the radar. Nothing near legal, understand?”

“More melodrama, Jack?”

“No. It’s real and it’s rough. That’s part of why I waved that gun at you.”

“You didn’t wave it at me. You pointed it down. I wasn’t scared.”

“Really? Because the other part of why I waved it was to scare you.”

“To get back at me?”

Yes.

“No,” I said. “Just warning you about what you’re in the middle of. Watch yourself. Don’t trust anybody you don’t know. And maybe some you do know.”

“Should I trust you?”

“Sure. Joni, we really do need to talk. I need to ask you some things.”

“All right. Give me a second.” She got up and dripped over and got her towel and dried her hair and face off a little. Then she trotted back and sat next to me, feet and most of her legs in the water. Like mine were.

I asked, “Is there anybody you can think of who’d want your husband dead?”

Her response was immediate and damn near casual: “Sure. You know who Lou Licata is?”

“I know who he is.”

“Well, that bimbo Tiffany is Licata’s girlfriend. Never mind that the Godfather has a wife and four kids, Miss Goodwin is his property.” She shrugged. “And Art was fucking her for a while. How’s that for stupid? Fucking a mob boss’ mistress.”

“It’s not smart. How did that make you feel?”

“It didn’t. Art’s fooled around before. He’ll fool around again.”

“And you don’t mind?”

“No. I was his ‘this year’s model’ a long, long time ago. Enough of one to get a wedding ring out of him. Any love or passion is long gone. We’re still friendly. We like each other. Let me answer the question in your eyes, Jack-yes we still have sex. Once or twice a month.”

“You’re okay with this.”

“Fine with it. Jack, you know what kind of background I come from. Now I live in the Hollywood Hills. In a house that’s damn near a mansion. With a pool bigger than this.”

“Your husband isn’t exactly the hottest ticket in Tinsel Town.”

“No. Some would say he’s on the way down. But on the way up, he made a lot of money, and invested well. He likes to work, so he takes gigs wherever he can-TV mostly. And that pays just fine. Me, I’ve had a good career, too, but I’m almost over the hill. Thirty-six, Jack. Two, three more years, I’m an unemployable hag in Hollywood terms. Meantime, it’s a comfortable life. And will continue to be.”

“I’m happy for you.”

“And this silly picture we’re making? The first Hard Wheels was enough of a minor success to put Art back on the map, at least as a genre filmmaker.”

“What does that mean, genre filmmaker?”

“Action stuff. Sex and violence. Horror. Sci-fi. He’ll keep working. And he’ll use me in his movies, and he’ll never leave me for anybody, because he’s not looking for a new wife, just an occasional starlet to bang. Don’t you dare look at me like you feel sorry for me, Jack. I am happy. I have everything I want.”

Which of us was she trying to convince?

“Joni…none of my business, but…how the hell did you become an actress, anyway?”

“Oh, it was Art. Art my husband, not art the pursuit of which. He discovered me. I was working at Disneyland… not in one of those fucking suits! You should see them pour the sweat out of those things at the end of the day…I was a waitress in a German-theme joint and I guess he liked the way I looked in a peasant blouse. Gave me a screen test.”

“And you passed the audition.”

She was kicking in the water. “You ever think about me, Jack?”

I didn’t lie. “Sometimes.”

“I loved you in my way, Jack. I didn’t want you to die over there. I really didn’t want any of you boys to die.”

“All three of us?”

She shook her head, smirking humorlessly. “So I married three times. And got the benefits. If you feel like looking at me like you feel sorry for me, do it because of that. Do it because my life was such a hopeless dead-end that the best I could come up with was to go after a serviceman’s crappy monthly check.”