Ed Lacy - Blonde Bait

“Yeah, that's good,” I said with a foolish grin. Since she was talking English I gave up my bastard French. That I'd ever made any sort of impression on Hal was news to me. “I hate to—that is, I'm in a hurry, so...”

Her eyes took in my torn shoe, my ripped clothing and she asked calmly, “What happened to you?”

Her calmness did it, helped me type her. Colette was one of those take-charge babes, the sweet and very efficient gal who can do everything. That kind would drive me to drink, but I suppose if you only saw her one week out of five, or whatever Hal's schedule was, it wasn't too bad. I said, “The question is, what hasn't happened to me. I've been in a series of accidents ever since I hit New York this morning. I'm the original accident-prone slob. I won't even bother telling you about them, you'd only think me a liar. The main point is, I lost my wallet and every cent I had. Can you lend me about ten bucks? I'll return it by mail in a few days.”

“Of course. But take off your coat and rest. You look tired. I shall fix you some food.”

“That would be great, but I'm in a big rush. I have to make a phone call right away, so if you'll give me the money...”

“Use our phone,” she said, pointing to it.

“No, I think it best not to.”

“Ah, so it is like that.” She looked at me with renewed interest, as if I was another problem for her to solve.

“Nope, it isn't anything crooked. The real trouble is I don't know what it's all about. If you'll let me have the money, I'll be on my high horse.”

“You can't go out like this. Your shoes. I think you wear about the same size as Hal. At least come and see if a pair of his will fit you.”

The little girl opened the bathroom door wearing a pink robe. Colette said, “You are to watch TV in your room and not to disturb us. Tell Francois. Both are to stay in your room.”

The kid nodded without saying a word and marched off. Colette told me, “Please excuse the state of our house. With my painting and the children, I have little time for household work.”

“All those paintings on the wall yours?”

“But of course. You like them?”

“Sure.”

“The house is a mess. We are fixing the chairs.”

“I didn't know Hal was so handy with wood,” I said, following her into the bedroom.

She laughed. “He is all thumbs. I do that myself. So much to do. We couldn't have two boys or two girls. Soon we will need an extra room and rents are terrible. Maybe when we move, I shall be able to have a studio of my own. Here, sit on the bed and try these on.”

The bedroom was more of this modern furniture that looked as if it would stick you any second. I sat on a hassock and opened my coat. I suppose we both wore startled expressions. She was staring at the blood on my neck and I was staring at a framed photo of several teenage boys and girls, all wearing armbands and holding machine guns. The pig-tailed gal with the burp gun cradled in her arms was Colette.

She dropped a pair of Hal's shoes she'd taken from the closet and came running over. “You are hurt!”

“Hit my head in falling,” I said, still staring at the wall photo. “Were those real guns?”

“We must...” She turned and followed my eyes to the picture. “Oh, that, I was with the Maquis—the French underground—during the war. Off with your coat. And your shirt.”

“Don't bother. It's merely a bruise.”

“Nonsense. I will fix it. I teach First-Aid to the mothers at the school. Undress!”

I peeled off my things, stripped down to my pants at her urging. She said, “You are also big and strong, like my man. Wait, I will get the boy from the bathroom. You are certain you do not need a doctor?”

“No.”

“One second, then.”

She dashed out of the bedroom and I went over and examined the picture. You got the feeling this wasn't any posed shot: these kids had used the guns.

Colette called to me and I passed the boy, now in a neat blue robe, and he asked, “Do you have to take a bath every night, too?”

I winked and he said, “You can float my atomic submarine, if you like.”

Colette had me bending over the tub while she expertly cleaned the bump on my head, even shaving some of the hair away. Then I sat on the John as she took off my shoes and socks, taped the blisters my torn shoe had caused. All this attention was embarrassing.

While I washed, Colette brought in shoes, socks, an old car coat, a heavy shirt, and a pair of slacks. Even the shoes fitted and when I dressed I looked my old self. I topped things by using Hal's razor for a fast shave. When I stepped out of the bathroom she clapped her hands. “You look like the new man! Here is some brandy and I will make supper...”

“I have to leave, make that call,” I said, sipping the brandy slowly. It was rich and smooth.

“I forget, here is money. Enough?” She pulled four five dollar bills from her pants pocket.

“Swell. I will send the money and the clothes...”

“It is of no matter. Are you sure you are not in real trouble? You can sleep on the couch for a few days if you like, wait until Hal comes home.”

The brandy was a tonic and I felt almost good again. “No. And thanks—for everything. I'm not in real trouble. I became a busybody, involved in trying to find a sour ball, it seems.” I suppose what really made me feel so good was the twenty bucks. There wasn't anything to stop me from reaching Rose. I was done, forever, playing detective. I could even joke about it now.

“Comment?”

“A kind of inside joke. I wanted to find a clown named Sowor. A German. Sounds like sauerkraut. But it turned out he's dead. Really a crazy story—there's some Oriental chick, Me-Lucy-ah, also in...”

“She is a girl?”

“Sure, sort of a pidgin-English babe. You know, Me-Tarzan? In her case she must be a hot number, you say Me-Lucy and add a sigh.”

“How do you spell it?”

“Come on, Colette, I can barely say it. Why?”

“The dead man, how do you spell his name?” There was a new eagerness in her voice.

“My trouble started when I asked for a Willy Sowor. S-o-w-o-r. Why are you interested?”

“He was a friend of yours?”

“I never saw him in my life. I only wanted to ask if he could tell me anything about a guy called Fedor, who...” I'd been feeling so good I'd let my big mouth run away with me, again. I stared at Colette, full of suspicions.

“Mickey, don't you know what Melouza is?”

“Some gal who... You know?” My guts began to tighten. Would I ever get out of this endless trap I'd walked into?

Her big eyes were bright with excitement as she nodded. “You're pronouncing it correctly, but it is not a woman. It is—or was—a village in the mountains of Algeria. A terrible crime took place there.”

“A village? What crime?”

“Mass murder. Every man, woman, and child in the village was deliberately hacked to pieces. Mickey, how can you be involved in this?”

“Involved? I didn't know it was a town until now. And I can't wait to forget it. Look, I hate to cut this short, but I have to go. Where's the nearest public phone booth?”

“Go to your left on leaving the house. Turn at the corner and you will see a newspaper store. Can't you use our phone?”

I shook my head. “Thanks again for everything and tell...”

“Mickey, make your call and then return here. I must make you something to eat. I'm a fine cook. I will also give sandwiches to take with you.”

“I can't...”

“I insist! I will be insulted if you do not at least try my cooking. What's another half hour or so? Don't be rude.”

“Well, let me make this call and see... er... what's doing.” I walked to the door and she grabbed an old cap from the closet and said, “Wear this to protect your wound. Please come back. It isn't the food alone. There is something important I must discuss with you, about Hal.”