Then she said: “You might as well kiss me. I’ve been kissed before I met Every, and I’ll be kissed after he finds the grave he’s headed for. There’s no reason we should think of him.”
I kissed her. And for the moment, I know she wasn’t thinking of Every.
She sighed, as we drew apart again. She said: “You’re all right, Mortimer Jones. You’re the first man I’ve wanted to kiss in a long, long time. Maybe I ought to tell you about this.”
“You don’t need to,” I said. “Every wanted you to go, didn’t he? He sent you?”
“That’s right. He wanted me to find out who you were working for.”
“Do you want to know?”
“I don’t give a damn, personally,” she said. “And if Val wants to know, he can ask you himself.”
I didn’t kiss her again, though it was a struggle. We sat quietly listening to the radio and smoking, and about one o’clock we started back to town. We took our time, going back, and it was about two when I pulled the Dusy up in front of her apartment building.
It was a tall building, set back on a wide, deep lawn. Up around the seventh floor, there was a light burning in one of the apartments.
“That’s mine,” she said, “the one where the light is burning.”
“You leave it on?” I asked.
“No,” she said, “I didn’t.”
“Must be the maid,” I said.
“No.” She was getting out of the car, before I could get out to open the door. “No. It’s not the maid. She comes in by the day.”
“Look,” I said. “You think—”
“There’s nothing wrong, Mr. Jones,” she said. “Nothing at all. Goodnight — and thanks. Thanks for the lovely evening.” Then she was going up the walk, between the shrubs that bordered the lawn.
It was bright the next morning. The sun, undimmed by clouds, ran the mercury up into the eighties. It felt like summer again.
Even Mac looked chipper this morning, when I ordered ham and eggs. “This is more like it,” Mac said. “This is a day I might close up and take a drive out in the country.”
I knew he wouldn’t. He worked all the time, early and late. He would probably die with more hay in the bank than I’d ever seen. With no one to leave it to.
I finished my coffee, ground out my cigarette, and left. Sunshine flooded the street, and the kid was there, again, with the football. He still didn’t have it.
I went out there. “Look,” I said, “it’s like this.”
I took the ball from him, and took just one step, and put my foot into it. I could feel it was going to be all right, I could feel the solid impact of it. It went soaring, high into the cloudless sky, and dropped way down the block.
“See?” I said. “You’ve got to get behind the ball. You’ve got to get the feel of it.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Thanks a lot, Mr. Jones.”
I felt pretty good. If the detective business fell off, maybe I could sign up with the Packers or the Bears. Or some college.
I walked back to the curb before I noticed the car that was parked directly in front of my office. It was a Mercury club convertible, a trim and sleek piece of fine merchandise.
There was a man behind the wheel. A neat little, round little man with stone-gray eyes. The window was down on his side, and he was looking at me.
I walked over there. “Quite a punt, wasn’t it?” I asked him.
“You’re cute,” he said evenly. “You’re quite a comedian.”
“How’s Every this morning?” I asked. “You two haven’t been squabbling, have you?”
“Some day,” he said, “I might put a hole in you. Just to see what comes out.”
“You’d better get more gun, if you do,” I said. “A guy with a twenty-two needs a lot of luck.” I was feeling rough after that punt.
He was getting out of the car, now, on the curb side. We went up the steps together, Stone-eyes in front. I didn’t want him behind me, even packing a .22.
Up there, he sat in the leatherette chair and I sat in my swivel chair. He looked at me gravely, rubbing his upper lip with the inner edges of his lower teeth, looking undecided. Then he said: “We got the papers last night, and we got them this morning. There was nothing in none of them about a twenty-two.”
“What caliber did it mention?” I asked.
“It didn’t mention any, none of the papers mentioned any.”
“So?”
“The boss is unhappy. We’re not as chummy as we were. I’d hate to think you’d lied about that. We’ll find out, understand. The boss has got contacts. He don’t have to read the papers. But I keep remembering you said that at the wrong time.”
“I was in a pretty hot spot,” I said. “I wasn’t worried about anybody but me at the time. I can’t think of any reason I should worry about you.”
His face hardened faintly. “When they figure out the hour it happened, the boss will be checking me against that, too. It might be rough, after that.”
I wondered why he was telling me all this, so I asked him.
“Because I figured maybe you were a little smarter this morning. I figured if you’d tell me who you’re working for, I could get things straightened out before the boss got any hotter. I could sort of wrap this up, and hand it to him.”
I shook my head. “No soap. Judy tried to get that out of me, last night, and missed. You haven’t got even half her charms.”
“No,” he said, “maybe not. But I’ve got a gun.”
He wasn’t lying about that. For it was in his hand, now. It was leveled toward a spot I estimated as right between my eyes. I didn’t flinch, or move my head.
I said: “That would be dumb. The kid saw you come in with me. The cops have been watching this place since yesterday morning. All kinds of people may have seen you come up here.”
He smiled a strange smile. “You wouldn’t be afraid of a twenty-two, would you, Mr. Jones?”
I had no answer to that.
It was then the phone rang. I started to reach for it, but Stone-eyes shook his head. He kept the gun trained on me, as he went over and lifted the receiver.
“Hello,” he said, “yes, this is Mr. Jones.”
Then he smiled, a happy smile. “Of course, Miss Townsbury,” he said. “I’ll be out there right away.”
He pronged the receiver. “Townsbury,” he said. “That’s the dame that runs the cure, isn’t it? That’s the old hag who cures the lushes.”
“I don’t know the name,” I said. “It must be a wrong number.”
“Sure,” he said. “Of course. We’ll probably meet again, shamus.”
I nodded. “I hope so. I certainly hope so.”
He stopped at the door. “You scare me,” he said, smiling. “You scare the hell out of me.” Then he was gone, and I heard his small feet, his light tread on the steps.
I phoned Miss Townsbury immediately, and told her what had happened. There was no answer from her for a few seconds. Then: “Perhaps you’d better run right out here. There are some things I had better explain to you.”
I agreed that might be a good idea.
Chapter Four
Knit One, Kill One
There were no guests on the front lawn this morning, but I heard the sound of laughter from the rear of the house.
The Mercedes town car was near the entrance, and the tall dark chauffeur was dusting it leisurely. He nodded at me as I got out of the car.
“Miss Townsbury around?” I asked.
“In that same room. You can go right in.”
The front door was open. I went through, and down the dim hall to the pastel green room.
Knitting, again. “Close the door, Mr. Jones,” she said.
I closed the door and came over to sit in a frail-looking rocker.