We held each other, and I played with Lorna's big, soft breasts. She held me there, wanting to play mother, but I had other ideas. I kissed my way down her stomach toward the scar tissue that covered her pelvis. Lorna pulled away from me. "No, not there," she said, "next you'll be telling me how you love me for it, and how you love my bad leg. Please, Freddy, not that."
"I just want to see it, sweetheart."
"Why?!"
"Because it's part of you."
Lorna twisted in the darkness. "That's easy for you to say, because you're perfect. When I was a girl, all the boys who wanted to play with my big tits tried to get at them through my leg. It was very ugly. My leg is ugly and my stomach is ugly and I've got no uterus, so I can't have children."
"And?"
"And I used to cover my stomach with a towel when I slept with men so they couldn't touch me there. If there was a way I could have covered my leg I would have done that, too." Lorna started to cry. I kissed away her tears and bit at her neck until she started to laugh.
"Is it Freddy and Lorna now?" I whispered.
"If you want it to be," Lorna said.
"I do."
I got up from the bed and went into the living room. I found the phone and called Mike Breuning at his home. I told him not to pick me up in the morning, that I would meet everyone on Sunset and Horn at the specified time. He gave me an "Oh, you kid" chuckle and hung up.
I went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. I found a bag of ice in the freezer compartment and extracted a half-dozen cubes. I walked back to the bedroom. Lorna was lying on her stomach, very still. I approached the bed and dropped the ice cubes onto her shoulders. Lorna shrieked and threw herself backwards.
I leaped onto her, burying my head in the dead flesh of her abdomen. "I love you," I said. "I love you, Lorna, I love you, I love you."
Lorna squirmed and twisted to extricate herself. Her dead leg flopped uselessly in her efforts. I grabbed it and encircled it tightly with both my arms. "I love you, Lorna. I love you, Lorna. I love you. I love you."
Gradually, Lorna relinquished her fight and began to sob softly. "Oh, Freddy. Oh, Freddy. Oh, Freddy." Then she pressed both her hands to the back of my head and held me strongly to that part of herself she hated so terribly.
* * *
Morning and dark reality came too quickly.
Lorna had dozed off, nuzzled into my shoulder, but I had remained awake, savoring the feel of her next to me, but unable to stop thinking of Eddie Engels and Dudley Smith and shotguns and justice and my career in the new light of the woman I loved.
At four-thirty by the luminous dial of Lorna's bedside alarm clock I gently slid out of her embrace, kissed her neck and went into the living room to dress.
When I put on my shoulder holster and fingered my leather encased .38 service revolver I went chilly all over. Justice, I kept thinking as I drove up to the Sunset Strip, justice. Justice, not wonder. Not this time.
I barely had time to get coffee before meeting the others at Sunset and Horn.
Mike Breuning was already there, parked directly in front of the entranceway to Engels's courtyard. He waved at me as I parked across the street. I walked over and we shook hands through the driver's side window. Mike's badge was pinned to the lapel of his coat, and there was a pump shotgun beside him on the seat.
"Morning, Fred," he said, "nice day for it."
"Yeah. Where are Dudley and Dick?"
"They're taking a walk around the block. Engels is alone; Dick tailed him all night. I'm glad for that."
"So am I."
"Are you a little nervous?"
"Maybe a little."
"Well, don't be. Dudley has this thing all worked out." Breuning craned his head out the window. "Here they come now," he said. "Pin your badge to your coat."
I did, as Dudley Smith and Dick Carlisle crossed the street in our direction.
"Freddy, lad," Dudley hailed. "Top of the morning!"
"Good morning, skipper, good morning, Dick," I said.
"Underhill," Carlisle said, blank-faced.
"Well, lad, are you ready?"
"Yes."
"All right, then. Grand. Mike?"
"Ready, Dudley."
"Dick?"
"Ready, boss."
Dudley reached into the backseat of Breuning's car and handed Carlisle a double-barreled 12-gauge. Mike squeezed out his passenger door holding the Ithaca pump. I unholstered my service revolver and Dudley pulled out a .45 automatic from his waistband.
"Now, gentlemen," he said.
We walked rapidly into the courtyard, our weapons pointing to the ground. My heart was beating very fast and I kept stealing sidelong glances at Dudley. His tiny brown eyes were glazed over with something that went far beyond acting. This was the real Dudley Smith.
As we came to Engels's front door I whispered to him, "Let me go in first. I've been here before; I know where the bedroom is."
Dudley nodded assent and motioned Breuning and me to the front. "Kick it in," he hissed.
Mike raised his shotgun to chest level and I held my .38 above my head as we raised right feet in unison and simultaneously kicked the smooth surface. The lock gave way and the door burst inward. I ran straight for the bedroom, my gun in front of me, Smith, Breuning and Carlisle close behind. The bedroom door was open, and in the darkness I could glimpse a shape on the bed.
I flicked on the overhead light, and just as Eddie Engels stirred to life I placed the muzzle of my gun at his temple and whispered, "Police officers! Don't make a move or you're dead."
Engels, his eyes wide with terror, started to scream. Dick Carlisle jumped from behind me onto the bed and twisted his head into his pillow and started to strangle him with it. Breuning was right behind, stripping off the blue silk sheets and yanking Engels's hands behind his back.
"Goddamnit, Freddy, think! Sit on his legs!" Dudley shouted.
I threw myself onto the twisting form and put all my weight on the lower half of Engels's body as Mike managed to apply his handcuffs. Carlisle was still twisting the pillow-encased head of Eddie Engels.
"Stop it, Dick," Dudley screamed, "or you'll kill him!"
Carlisle let go and Engels went inert. We all got off the bed and looked at one another in shock. Dudley had gone red-faced in anger. He bent over and ripped open Engels's purple silk pajama top, placed an ear to his chest and started to laugh. "Ha-ha-ha! He's still alive, lads, thanks to old Dudley. He'll be all right. Let's get him the hell out of here. Now."
Carlisle lifted Engels up, and I slung him over my shoulder. He didn't seem to weigh much. I carried him through the dark apartment and out the door, my three colleagues forming a cordon around me. Covering our tracks, we carefully shut the door behind us. I ran toward my car, the unconscious killer bumping up and down on my back. My heart was beating faster than a trip-hammer and my eyes kept darting in all directions, looking for witnesses to the kidnapping. Dudley threw open the car door and I tossed Engels in a heap into the backseat. He came awake with a stifled scream and Dudley slammed him in the jaw with the butt end of his .45
"Get in back with him, lad," he whispered. I did, pushing Engels headfirst onto the floorboards. Dick Carlisle got in the driver's seat and hit the ignition. Dudley got in the passenger side and said very calmly: "You know where to go, Dick. Freddy, keep handsome Eddie out of sight. Lift his head up so he can breathe. Ahhh, yes. Grand." He reached an arm out the window and gave Mike Breuning the thumbs-up sign. "Gardena, lads," he said.
We took surface streets to the Hollywood Freeway. Mike was right behind us all the way. Dudley and Carlisle talked nonchalantly of major league baseball. I stared at the bloody swollen face of Eddie Engels and inexplicably thought of Lorna.