Ed Lacy - Blonde Bait

“Only an idiot talks back to a .45.”

Waving the gun at me like a pointer he told me to lean over the bar with my hands out. I did it, watching him in the bar mirror, expecting to have my head split open any second. All he did was give me a fast frisk, then he asked, “All right, what you want, her coat?”

“Okay if I stand up?”

“Go ahead. Only remember—no matter how tough you think you are—I have the difference in my hand. And don't try coming too close to me. Whatcha want?”

I dropped the three tens on the bar. “The hat check girl was sure my girl ran out of here. But I-have an idea she must have doubled back. There's a service alley outside, where does that lead to?”

“The kitchen. Be impossible for her to have returned there without being seen.”

“How about upstairs?” Rose might have returned and gone home with the cook. She was desperate enough.

“You blind? This is a one-story building. No way of reaching the roof from the outside.”

“How about the cellar?”

“There's a door from the outside but she'd have to be able to pick a tough lock. We'll look. Walk ahead of me. I'll steer you.”

The cellar was a clean, well lighted place with neat stacks of liquor cases and other supplies. I called out, “Rose, this is Mickey.” The sound echoed back sadly and faded into the plain silence. I nodded at a locked door in one corner.

“The oil burner. She couldn't be in there.”

I asked, “Can we look?”

He walked me over and unlocked the door. There were only a couple of big tanks and the burner. We went back upstairs and through the kitchen, looked in the refrigerator room. Standing in the center of the dance floor I called Rose's name again and didn't even get the weary echo.

He asked, “That about ends the tour. Satisfied?”

“Let's stop horsing around: where is she?”

“Jack, the first thing I do when I report is check the place. We do find a drunk sleeping around now and then. She isn't here. I would have called the police if she had been. I don't take a chance with female drunks.”

“When I first came in you said something about if she was here. Sounded to me like you knew she was here.”

“Mister, I had to know the play in case she returned while you were here. I don't stand still for a guy walloping a dame but I ain't going to risk my life over it either. You want her coat, take it. Hanging over there. Let me get back to my work. I have to finish by morning.”

“Forget the coat.” I headed for the main door. We passed two doors cleverly marked STAGS and MARES. “Let's look in here.”

“If it will make you happy, but be careful, the floors are slippery. I've already hosed down the toilets so...”

“You did what?”

He gave me a cautious look. “Hosed down the toilets. I always start with them. You want to make sure, let's go.”

“No, it's okay. I guess she'll get in touch with me. Sorry I bothered you.” I tried not to walk too fast toward the door.

“Jack, you'd better get a decent night's sleep,” he said, unlocking the door with his left hand.

“Yeah. You know how it is, I just met her and thought we'd... you know.”

“I don't know, I'm happily married.”

“Lucky you,” I said, rushing out. He locked the door, waved his gun at me, and went back to work.

I walked toward the center of town, hunting for a phone. Even though as a detective I was a good sailor, I felt cocky again, for I knew where she was. In fact Rose'd told me where she was going. Although I'd made a mistake back there, calling her name—after I'd told the Fed she was “Jane,” still, that didn't matter now.

As Rose stood up at the table she'd said, “I'm going to the head.” Rose had been on boats enough to call the john a head.

I'd been sitting around like a dummy while Rose had somehow gone back to Asbury Park and the Sea Princess... the only place she could go to.

VII

I couldn't find an all-night restaurant so I headed back for the hotel area and walked into the phone booth in the lobby of a large hotel. It was a few minutes after four and I had to tell the operator to keep ringing before I awoke anybody in the boat house. I answered a sleepy, “Hello?” with, “This is Whalen off the Sea Princess. Has my wife gone on board yet?”

“Nope.”

“You sure?”

“Mr. Whalen, I didn't get to sleep until two because I was watching the late late show. No way she could have got on the dock without me opening the gate.”

“When she comes, tell her I called and that I'll phone again.” I hung up and sat in the booth for a moment, started a cigar working. Now I didn't know what to think.

I'd always seen in the movies how a guy made sure his call couldn't be traced by making a second one. That worked—in all the movies. The Sea Princess was our ace in our sleeve and I had to cover any tracks leading to her... There was a middle aged man with a real pot belly and detective written over his wide face watching me.

I opened the booth door and for a moment we both stared at each other, then I asked, “Something on your mind?”

“You.” He had a mild voice and his hands were in sight. I wondered if this tub of old lard actually thought he could take me. “Kind of late to walk in, camp in the booth.”

Of course he was the house dick. Still, even if I had the face of a goon I was dressed respectably. Also I had to make that cover-up call. I pointed up at the sign over the booth. “It says public phone and doesn't list any hours.”

“So it does.”

“I'm going to make another call.”

“I'm not stopping you, merely standing here.”

I shut the door. All the change I had was three quarters. I put one in the phone, asked information for the number of the hotel desk. I dialed that and told the clerk to give me the house man and make it snappy. Using two-bits for a dime call made me feel very wealthy, for some reason. The desk clerk asked, “Who is calling, please?”

“The police!” I snapped.

My watching buddy took a wave from the desk and as he waddled over, I hung up and walked out. I could suddenly understand all of Rose's fears: a house dick comes over to eye a guy making a phone call in the middle of the night... a guy with a face like mine... and I became jittery. It was a normal move for the house man. Or was it?

I sat on a boardwalk bench and finished my cigar, watching the stars and the waves breaking on the beach —longing to be out there with Rose on the Sea Princess again, away from all this mess.

I went back to our hotel and with a little smirk the desk clerk informed me Mrs. Anderson hadn't called. I took the key and went up to our room. Opening the door, I saw the place was a wreck. The mattress had been cut open, suitcases turned upside down, drawers out. Like a prize fool I walked straight into the room and heard the swish sound of a blackjack cutting air a split second before the ceiling fell on me. As a curtain of darkness came over my eyes I thought I saw a pair of legs making for the door—one leg limping a bit.

I came to with my head throbbing like a bad motor. The top of my noggin was puffed and touching it made me scream. My side was on fire, too. The bastard had kicked me. It took a long moment to get the room in focus. I made it to my feet and staggered over to the bed, my knees shaking so it reminded me of my wrestling days and the hammy way I'd go rubber-legged. I sat very still for a long time, waiting for my head to land, praying I didn't have a concussion. I went through my pockets. My wallet and the dough was still there.

Going to the bathroom I ran cold water over my wrists. I touched my head tenderly. No blood. I opened my shirt. My left side was an angry red but the ribs seemed okay. I urinated and except for a small pain in my kidney, things were in working order. I held a towel full of cold water to my face and head. My wrist watch said a half hour had passed, but most of that had been sitting on the bed.