John Lutz - In for the Kill

Interested? He gave her a shy smile. "I try."

"Not enough men do."

"Amen," Marilyn said.

He kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Night." He smiled and backed away.

"Night, Joe."

He assured Ella it had been a pleasure meeting her, then deftly touched the brim of his Glenn Ford hat before turning and making his way down the sidewalk.

Near the corner, he glanced back and saw the two women entering the building.

For a second he considered following them inside, then he told himself that wouldn't be right. That wasn't part of the game.

Maybe someday he'd make it part. Two victims in the same tub. Mix and match. Wouldn't Quinn be confused.

He laughed out loud, then noticed several people on the street staring at him and immediately arranged his features in a solemn expression.

Laughing on the inside, though.

"Your daughter is living with you?" Fedderman seemed unable to comprehend this.

"Temporarily," Quinn told him.

They were in their office, drinking morning coffee from their initialed mugs. Quinn was seated behind his desk. Pearl and Fedderman were perched on theirs. The coffee was aromatic this morning, strong and slightly bitter. From the dental clinic next door, seeping faintly through the wall, came the faint but unmistakable shrill sound of drilling.

"Lauri," Pearl said thoughtfully. They'd never met, but he'd told Pearl about Lauri, not all of it good. "She'd be eighteen now, right?"

Quinn took a sip of coffee, noticing that his hand was shaking. The Lauri factor? "Eighteen," he confirmed. "Graduated from high school. She's in New York looking for a job."

"What kinda job?" Fedderman asked.

"She isn't sure."

The drilling next door paused, then resumed louder and shriller.

"She on the outs with mom and stepdad?"

"Only mildly. She mostly just wanted to head out on her own. You know kids."

Fedderman did. He had two of his own, grown and gone. Pearl didn't know kids.

"Lauri must be a young woman now," she said, then looked at Quinn. "She could have struck out on her own in any direction, you know."

"Meaning?"

Pearl smiled. "She wanted to be with you. She missed you."

"She wouldn't say so."

"Of course not. But that's why she's here."

"Maybe partly," Quinn said.

Fedderman looked thoughtful. Pearl was grinning.

Quinn said, "Let's think about murder."

But by that evening, when he entered the apartment a little after six and saw how excited Lauri was, all thoughts of the Butcher murders case fled his mind, something just a few days ago he would have thought impossible.

"Got a job!" she practically yelled, bouncing around the living room. "Doesn't pay much, but it pays. Starts tomorrow." She sat down on the sofa, sprang out of it, stalked to the window, hitched up her low-riding jeans. Her smile hit him in the heart.

"Doing what?" he asked.

"Waiting tables, mostly. Bussing them sometimes. Helping out in the kitchen. Cleaning up after closing. That kinda stuff."

"This would be at a restaurant?"

"Sure is. Down in the Village, on Fourteenth Street. The Hungry U."

Quinn had never heard of the place but thought he'd better not say so.

"They serve Pakistani food. And there's live music there sometimes at night. Not open for breakfast, so I can sleep late."

"Very important." Fourteenth Street in the Village. He made up his mind to check out the Hungry U tomorrow.

"I go in at eleven," Lauri said. "Help get set up for lunch."

"What about dinner?"

"I told you, Dad. I just-"

He grinned. "I mean us. This evening. We should celebrate."

She gave him another smile that cleaved his heart. "You know, we really oughta!"

"So what are you in the mood for? Pakistani?"

She paused, thinking. "I wouldn't know."

"I guess you're gonna find out," Quinn said. "You'll learn fast."

"Pizza! I noticed a place down the street, right near the corner. Looked neat."

He knew the restaurant. About a year ago, he and Pearl thought they might have gotten food poisoning there.

"Sounds great!" somebody else said.

No, it had been his voice. Some girl-woman-had him by the arm. He was headed for the door.

He played it cautiously, waiting almost a week before phoning Marilyn, then dropping by her apartment.

He wore well-pressed black slacks and a gray pullover golf shirt; not very Rough Country, but he had on the faux-battered semi-cowboy hat with its artfully curved brim.

When she opened the door, smiling out at him, she was a surprise.

"Your hair," he said.

"You noticed."

"Hard not to. You're blond." She was also barefoot and wearing a pink silk robe, though he'd called fifteen minutes ago to let her know he was in the neighborhood and would soon be at her door.

"You don't like it?" Her smile threatened to fade as her right hand floated up to touch her newly colored hair.

He instantly slipped into pleased mode. After all, what did it matter? "I do like it. You just surprised me."

She did a neat pirouette, flashing bare calf and ankle beneath the robe, and the smile was back at full radiance. The abrupt turn had stirred the air and left it perfumed with the scent of roses. "The new and improved Marilyn Nelson."

"I like you blond, Marilyn, but it'll take a little getting used to. And there's no way to improve on the basic you."

You with the dark roots.

"Come in, Joe. I didn't mean to leave you standing in the hall."

When he entered, she seemed to notice for the first time the box beneath his arm.

"You've brought something," she said, using a lilting tone to demonstrate her pleasure.

"For later, actually."

"It's too big a box for wine. Flowers?"

"It'll be a surprise." He touched her robe with his free hand. The material was so soft and smooth it felt almost like flesh. Definitely more Frederick's of Hollywood than Rough Country. "Did I interrupt you getting dressed?"

"No. Getting undressed." She gave him a look impossible to misinterpret: Marilyn coming around. He could guess what wasn't beneath the robe.

"I was about to take a shower," she said. Her smile went from shy to conspiratorial. "Maybe you'd like to join me."

"No, thanks."

Just as her features began to register surprise and embarrassment, he kissed her forehead. Then he pulled her close and kissed her mouth, feeling her immediately respond with her tongue. Her breath was sweet and warm. Heat emanated from beneath the robe. Marilyn was ready.

When they separated, he saw her breasts rising and falling beneath the taut material of the robe. She bit her lower lip, trying not to breathe so noisily.

"I was going to suggest a bath," he explained, standing close and smiling down at her.

She thought for a second. "Sounds wonderful, but maybe kind of cramped."

"We'll work something out." He kissed her again.

"Promise no bruises?" she asked, gazing at him with eyes that told him she was his.

Promise them anything… "You can trust me."

Her gaze remained locked with his as she unfastened the sash about her waist. With the slightest whisper, the delicate silk robe dropped to puddle at her feet.

On the way to the bathroom, he stepped on it.

Quinn didn't want to embarrass Lauri, so he'd waited for her night off before visiting the Hungry U.

It was one of those Village restaurants that tried too hard for bohemian decor, as if the owners were still in the thrall of Kerouac and Ginsberg. There was a small bar near the door, and beyond it round tables surrounded by mismatched chairs. The walls were different colors. On the blue wall was a doorway with beads hanging in it rather than a door. On the mauve wall was an arch, also beaded, that apparently led to another room with more tables. Each of the walls had movie posters mounted on them advertising films that had been set in Hollywood's idea of exotic places. Sidney Green-street, wearing a fez, smiled jovially behind a pointed gun. Peter Lorre sweated profusely in a desert setting. There was Bogie, suave in a white dinner jacket. Lauren Bacall wore a silky evening gown. Quinn knew most of the films had been shot in and around Los Angeles.