Donald Hamilton: The Shadowers

She hesitated and glanced down. Her smile wavered terribly as she saw the little knife in my hand, open, concealed from everyone else by our bodies and the overhang of the bar. The barman put my Martini in front of me, picked up his money and went away, noticing nothing. I reached for the drink left-handed. The kid was still smiling fixedly at the knife.

"Look up at me and laugh now," I said over the rim of the glass. She looked up at me and laughed. Well, you could call it a laugh. "It's four inches long in the blade," I said. "It's very sharp. Take a drink and laugh." She took a drink and laughed. "Did you ever see anybody who'd been opened with a knife?" I asked. "It's very messy, doll. Somebody'll get me, sure, if you yell for help, but they'll be too late. You'll be sitting there holding your guts in place with those nice white gloves, feeling your life run out between your fingers, warm and wet and red. Like, you know, blood."

I was laying it on thick, real colorful stuff. The circular bar was still turning slowly. All around us people were talking and laughing. The kid touched her lips with the tip of her tongue.

"What… what do you want?"

"Look toward the john again and laugh. You're going to ditch your boy friend now and go with me. We're old friends, remember. Don't forget your purse. Pick it up now." She picked it up mechanically. I said, "The barman is coming this way. Give him the message. Say he's to tell the gentleman that you had to leave but you'll call him in the morning. First take my arm fondly and wink at me as you say it. Now."

It worked. It had happened too quickly for her to think up any tricks, and the barman dealt with drunks and oddballs all night long. He wasn't looking for nuances. Then we were moving out of there, chattering brightly- at least I was chattering brightly-while the slim girl in pink clung to my arm desperately and smiled and smiled with panic in her big dark eyes.

The bald man at the corner table didn't look at us once, all the way to the door. Neither did anyone else except perhaps Olivia Mariassy, and she'd naturally have some masochistic interest in watching the man who'd repulsed her awkward attempt at conversation leaving with a younger and prettier girl.

IT WAS a long way through the lobby to the street door, and my patter had lost a good deal of its spontaneous wit and sparkling originality by the time I got her out on the sidewalk. Then we were walking away from the hotel. It was the old part of New Orleans, with one-way streets barely wide enough for a horse and carriage, and sidewalks barely wide enough for a crinoline. The alley I found was even narrower, just a crack between two tall buildings.

Where I stopped her at last, the night sky was a distant violet-gray strip above us, and the lighted street was a narrow slice of life and hope left far behind, or so it must have seemed to her. When we stopped, she put her back to a blank wall defensively. Her dim face, framed by the midnight-black hair, looked as white as her long gloves.

"What do you think is going to happen to you, doll?" I asked.

She shook her head minutely. "Don't!" she whispered. "Whatever lousy thing you're going to do to me, do it. Get it over with. Don't tease me. That's dirty."

"I'm not teasing you," I said. "I just want you to know what's going to happen next so you won't go off half-cocked. As soon as I finish talking I'm going to put this knife in your hand. Then, while you're holding the knife, I'm going to kiss you for being a sweet kid and helping me out of a tough spot. Are you ready?"

She stared up at me, startled and confused. Well, that was what I was working for. Now that I'd used her, I had to keep her from telling the police all about it. Being hauled off to jail is one of the things we're not supposed to let happen to us. On the spur of the moment, the romantic mystery-man approach seemed the best bet for silence, short of killing her, which was neither necessary nor desirable.

She licked her lips. "But-"

"Conversation is not required," I said. "Hold out your hand."

I had to reach down and find it and close her fingers about the handle of the knife. I guided the point toward my chest.

"No," I said, "a little to my left, doll. It's tough work shoving a knife through a man's breastbone. That's better. Now make up your mind. All you have to do is push; it'll go in smooth and easy. You'll be surprised how little effort it takes to kill a man. Here comes the kiss."

Moving very deliberately, the way you'd reach for a frightened bird, I took her face in my hands and bent down briefly. Her face was cold and her lips were cold. I felt the knife move very slightly against me, but it never penetrated my coat. I stepped back. She let her hand fall to her side. After a moment I heard a shaky little laugh.

"Mister," she breathed. "Mister, I…" She stopped.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Antoinette," she whispered. "Antoinette Vail."

"Toni?"

"My friends call me Toni," she said. Her voice was coming in stronger now. "I'll let you know when you qualify. In the meantime… In the meantime, I think Miss Vail sounds very nice, don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said.

We stood for a little while facing each other like that, hearing the sounds of the city all around us; but nothing moved in the dark, narrow alley where we were. She glanced down at the knife in her hand, and looked at me again.

"You scared me," she murmured. "You really scared me! I really thought you… Here, take it!" I took the knife, closed it, and dropped it into my pocket. She was watching me steadily. "What happens if I run?" she asked.

"In here?" I said. "Dark as it is, you'll probably fall over something and ruin your stockings. You'd better walk carefully until you get out where there's some light. If you want to leave."

"If?" she breathed. "If? Are you crazy or something? Do you think I-" She stopped.

"Aren't you a wee bit curious? Aren't you intrigued? I must be losing my grip," I said. "Well, then, didn't you have some plans for tonight that I've just shot to hell? Wouldn't you like to have dinner on me-anywhere, any price.-and listen to a lot of lies about why I had to do what I did? I'm a fascinating liar, Miss Vail."

"That, I'll believe," she said tartly. "You fascinated me, you and that wicked-looking little slicker. Is your name really Corcoran like you said in there?"

"Hell, no," I said. "It isn't Paul, either. But what do you care? Paul will do for one evening, won't it?"

She said, "I'm not a tramp, Paul. I mean, if that's what you have in mind…"

I said, "Miss Vail, sex is certainly important to me, and you're a lovely girl, but I generally manage to satisfy my requirements without kidnapping young ladies at the point of a knife."

She hesitated, and said with a kind of compulsive honesty, "Of course, I'm not exactly a sheltered virgin, either. You've probably guessed that."

I said, "It's a fascinating subject, but it could be pursued in a warmer place. Did you have a wrap?"

"Yes. It was checked. It isn't the kind of coat you want to flash in a high-class bar. My date will probably take it home with him. God knows what kind of a story I'll have to tell to get it back. He's the jealous type." She hugged herself, shivering. "It is kind of chilly. You said anywhere?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And any price?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She hesitated again. Then she laughed and took my arm. "Well, you asked for it. Antoine's is only a couple of blocks…

I'd had a hunch it would be Antoine's if she could take her pick. I guess it usually is in New Orleans, although there are supposed to be some newer places with equally good food and atmosphere. Actually, the atmosphere at Antoine's isn't really plush, for all the reputation the place has got. The customers are well-dressed, the waiters know their business and look it, but the dining room itself seems kind of bare and disappointing to anybody who arrives expecting to wallow in the lap of old-fashioned southern luxury. You're supposed to go there to eat, I guess, not to appraise the furnishings.