Ричард Деминг - She’ll Hate Me Tomorrow

Jerrel Tobin grinned back at him. “Truth is, I was only being polite, Clancy. Mattie really does need an evening out.”

“Then get going. And have a good time.”

“We plan to.” He offered his plump wife his arm and escorted her down the steps to the ancient Plymouth parked next to the chicken house.

Ross stood watching until the engine sputtered to life and the car drove out of the yard. Then he returned to the front room.

As he entered the room, Stella came over and put her arms about his neck. “Did you mean that about coming just to see me?” she asked.

He kissed the end of her nose. “Sure. I want you to listen in while I phone another woman.”

Removing her arms from about his neck, she stepped back and frowned at him. “What?”

“Is there an extension to the kitchen phone anywhere in the house?”

She regarded him with a puzzled frown. “Upstairs in the Tobins’ bedroom.”

“Run upstairs and get on it.”

“You want me to listen in while you phone somebody?”

“Uh-huh.” Taking her arm, he faced her toward the stairs and lightly slapped the seat of her pants. “Scoot.”

She jumped slightly at the intimate slap, though it wasn’t hard enough to sting. Then she obediently ran up the stairs. Ross strolled into the kitchen, lifted the wall phone from its bracket, waited until he heard a click and said, “You on?”

“Yes, Clancy.”

“I want you to listen to this woman’s voice,” Ross said. “Don’t say anything and don’t breathe into the phone, because I don’t want her to know anyone’s listening. See if you can recall ever having heard her voice before.”

“Where would I have heard it?” Stella asked.

“I don’t want to prompt you. If I told you where I thought you might have heard her before, it might prejudice your judgment. Just listen.”

“All right,” Stella agreed.

Fishing from his pocket the piece of paper on which he had written the phone number of Christine’s cottage, Ross dialed CA 3-2601.

The phone rang five times before Christine’s voice said, “Hello.”

“I was about ready to hang up,” Ross said. “I thought you were out.”

“You caught me just as I was getting ready to step into the tub,” she said with a laugh. “I haven’t a stitch on.”

Conscious of Stella listening on the other phone, Ross decided to make no comment on this. “I’ve forgotten what brand of bourbon you drink,” he said. “Thought I’d better call to find out.”

“Any hundred-proof bonded,” she told him. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Okay. See you later on.”

“Wish you were here now,” she said. “You could—”

“Oh, by the way,” he interrupted, sure she was going to perpetrate the ancient cliché that he could wash her back. “How’s your supply of soda?”

“I don’t have one. I never drink it.”

“I’ll bring some along,” he said, and hung up before she could say any more.

Walking upstairs, he poked his head into an empty bedroom, then looked into another and found Stella seated on the bed, still holding the phone in her hand. She was staring off into space and her face was pale. Ross’ appearance in the doorway jolted her back to reality and she hung up the phone.

“I take it you recognized the voice,” he said.

“I’ll never forget it,” she said fervently. “It was that woman.”

“What woman?”

“The one who phoned me in Chicago to find out if I knew the contents of Carl Vegas’ affidavit.”

“I thought so,” Ross said with satisfaction. “You’re sure?”

“There isn’t the slightest doubt in my mind. Who is she?”

“Remember the brunette I drove home the other night? The one you said was beautiful, but must have lived a hard life?”

Stella looked at him in astonishment.

“Whitey Cord is playing all the angles at once,” Ross said. “He told Bix Lawson that if he didn’t deliver you, he’d come after you himself. Then he decided to make it easier to get to you — in case Bix failed — by removing me from the picture. So he sent his girl friend into town to lure me into a trap. She’s using the name Mrs. Christine Franklin, but her real name’s Vanita Bell and her real hair color is red.”

“Reddish-gray, probably,” Stella sniffed. “I knew she had dyed hair the minute I saw her, but I was too polite to mention it. I was afraid you’d think I was jealous.”

“You?” he said. “Perish the thought.”

“How did you ever find her out?”

“I have a suspicious nature, plus a pretty good Chicago contact.” Glancing at his watch, he saw it was past three-thirty. “I have a few preparations to make before my date, and it’s only a little over five hours off. I’d better run.”

Coming to her feet, Stella said in alarm, “What do you mean, your date? You said it was a trap.”

“It ceased being a trap the moment I figured it out,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”

Walking over to him, she laid her hands on his shoulders and looked up into his face. “Please, Clancy, why don’t you just put me on a bus and let me run? You’ll end up getting yourself killed over me.”

“There’s something you don’t seem to understand,” he said, dropping his hands lightly onto her hips. “This is more than just protection of a girl I happen to like very much. Maybe in your case I’d stick my neck out for no other reason than that I liked you very much. But I couldn’t back off even if I didn’t like you at all. They’re trying to push me.”

“Do you have to be that inflexible?”

“Yes, I do. I’m the only independent operator in a system controlled from top to bottom by Bix Lawson. I have to stay that way because I couldn’t possibly take orders from Bix. And the only way to maintain my independence is never to give an inch. If, just once, I ever backed off from anybody, for any reason at all, the vultures would swarm all over me. For my own sake, not just yours, I couldn’t either turn you over to Cord or let you run, even if I wanted to.”

She said, “Your theory that the way to be let alone is to stand like a rock doesn’t seem to be working this time. Everybody’s after you.”

“Bix Lawson doesn’t want to be. He’s merely submitted to pressure from the Syndicate. He’s caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. And I think he’s beginning to suspect he chose the devil.”

She slid her arms about his neck. “I’m afraid you’ll be killed.”

“I’m not,” he said, bending his head to kiss her.

He meant it to be a companionable good-bye kiss, but her wide-open lips met his and suddenly she strained against him. Involuntarily his arms slid about her waist. Then, as her little pointed tongue sought his and her body began writhing against him, the fire in her began to transmit itself to him. All at once he crushed her savagely in his arms.

Eventually he had to come up for air. He started to lead her toward the bed.

“Not here,” she said unsteadily. “That’s their bed.”

Taking his hand, she led him out into the hallway and into the first room into which he had glanced. They were barely inside the room when she released his hand and quickly began to unbutton her outsize flannel shirt.

They made a race of it and she won. She was lying naked on the bed waiting for him before he tossed the last of his clothing aside.

Her eyes began to get big and round as he approached her. She started to tremble as he dropped beside her and took her into his arms.

“It’s always like the first time,” she whispered against his lips. “I’ll never get used to your touching me without shaking like a schoolgirl.”

Her arms slid about his neck and he could feel the plump firmness of her bosom thrusting against his bare chest as she pressed herself against him. He kissed the base of her throat and she pushed his head downward to mother his face between her breasts. He could hear the quickening of her heartbeat.