“I’ll have a screwdriver,” I said, loudly emphasizing the first part of the word. “Won’t you have one with me?” I giggled my head off for a few seconds, then draped my arm around his neck, cuddled up to his side and started whispering in his ear again, trying to give all onlookers the impression that I was offering him my body for the night and quoting my price. “They’re on to you, Dan,” I hissed. “ Corona knows who you are and why you’re here. He’s going to talk to Costello about having you bumped off. Maybe tonight! You’ve got to get out of here. Now!”
Dan yanked his head away from mine and stared deep into my eyes for a few tense, probing seconds. Then he grabbed me around the waist and pulled me so tight to his chest that my feet left the floor. “Message received,” he said, breathing his words directly into my ear. “Thanks for the tip. Now hold on to your wig, Blondie. It’s time for act two.”
He let go of my waist and my feet dropped back to the carpet. Then he stood up from the bar stool, grabbed my shoulder with one hand, shoved me out to arm’s length and-looking so forceful and hot I thought my flesh would melt right off my bones-whipped out his badge.
“You’re under arrest,” he said to me, speaking loud enough for everyone at the bar to hear. Then he turned toward the excited eavesdroppers and-holding his badge high in the air for them to see-made the following announcement: “I’m an officer of the NYPD. This woman just offered me sex for money. I have placed her under arrest for solicitation, and I’m taking her into custody now. You are all witnesses to this fact.”
Dan stuck his badge back in his pocket and-still gripping me by the shoulder-plucked the burning cigarette out of my hand and dropped it in his drink. “Don’t give me any trouble, sister,” he bellowed, “or I’ll clap on the cuffs.” Then he lowered his angry grip to my elbow and led me-breathless, stunned, and limp as a rag doll-out to the lobby.
ABBY WAS WAITING AT THE DOOR WITH OUR coats. When she saw that Dan was with me, her face lit up like the sun. She didn’t say anything, but her relief was dangerously conspicuous. She gave a little whoop and started to run toward us.
“Hold it right there, miss!” Dan shouted across the lobby, sticking his hand up like a stop sign, then quickly retrieving his hat and coat from the checkroom. “I’m an officer of the law, and this woman is under arrest. I’m taking her to the station house now. Please clear the exit and vacate the premises immediately!”
Abby caught on quick. She spun around and sprang through the door like a virgin on the run from the Cossacks.
“Hang your head and don’t look back,” Dan said to me, putting on his hat and flinging his trench coat around my shoulders. He grabbed hold of my arm again and propelled me across the lobby floor. “Just keep your mouth shut and keep walking.”
I followed his orders, and within several suspenseful seconds we were out on the sidewalk, sweeping past the doorman and the photographers and the new herd of people clamoring for admittance, heading for Fifth Avenue in a big fat hurry. We met up with Abby at the corner.
“Keep walking,” Dan said to both of us, still gripping my arm so hard it hurt. (Did he think I would try to escape?) “My car’s right down the street.”
Abby fell into step with us, and we made it to the car without incident. Once we were seated inside and zooming down Fifth, however, all hell broke lose.
“Whooooeee!” Abby squealed at the top of her lungs. “What a gas that was! Scary and sexy at the same time! I never had so much fun in my whole freaking life! Let’s go back and do it again!” She was bouncing up and down on the back seat like a teenybopper at a Pat Boone concert.
“For Christ’s sake, Abby!” I shrieked, feeling as though my brain would burst. “How can you say such things?!” I spun around to glare at her over the backrest of the front seat. “Don’t you realize the danger we were in?” I cried.” Dan could have been killed, and-”
“We all could have been killed!” Dan roared, pounding his fist on the steering wheel and stomping on the gas pedal. He was speeding downtown in a fury, honking the horn repeatedly, screeching and swerving through traffic like a madman. (Did he think we were being followed?) “You’re both criminally insane!” he howled. “I ought to arrest you for real and lock you up for life!” The undercover car we were in had no siren, otherwise it would have been howling, too.
Cowed by Dan’s ferocious anger and wild speed, I turned around to face the windshield, holding on to the edge of my seat like a drowning woman clinging to a life raft. Now I was just as afraid of being killed in an automobile accident-or at the hands of my menacing, out-of-control boyfriend-as I was of being silenced by a sadistic murderer.
The lights of the city streaked by as Dan rocketed south- past the RCA Building and Rockefeller Center and the New York Public Library-giving us a whiplash tour of midtown Manhattan. Racing through more than a few red lights, and still honking to clear a path through the traffic, he kept his jaw clenched tight and his demon eyes fixed on the road ahead. Careening past the Empire State Building, Dan hooked a hard right on 34th Street, tore past Macy’s, then swung left on Seventh Avenue, whizzing by the enormous stone structure of Pennsylvania Station-with its marble columns and colossal stone eagles-like a cab driver out of hell. I wished I could jump out of the car and hop a train to New Jersey.
When we reached the Village, we were all still in one piece. (Physically, I mean. I had lost my sanity somewhere along the way, but I don’t think it showed.) Dan hung a left on Bleecker, shot down the narrow street, and brought the car to a screeching halt at the curb across from our building.
“Get out,” he said, still staring straight ahead with his jaw in knots. It was an order, not a suggestion.
I couldn’t move. My body was locked in position and my fingers were frozen-clawlike-to the edge of the seat.
Abby, on the other hand, hopped out of the car and flounced gaily across the street. “Good night, all!” she shouted, turning to wave at us through the car window. “Jimmy’s here!” She gestured toward the shadowy figure sitting on the stoop, then-tucking my (or, rather, her) chinchilla jacket under one arm and grinning like a darn fool-reached out and pulled the bearded Birmingham to his feet. Otto was hanging on to Jimmy’s arm for dear life. (I knew how the little dog felt.) “We’re going upstairs now, okay?” Abby called out. “I’ll catch you later!” She blew me a kiss and unlocked the front door. Then the Three Musketeers disappeared in the stairwell.
Dan and I sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity but was probably just a millisecond. Finally, he spoke. “I said get out,” he growled. “Go upstairs and lock yourself in. Don’t open the door to anybody.”
“Aren’t you coming with me?” I was in a real panic now. Dan looked so mad I felt that if he left, he’d never come back.
“No. I have some unfinished business to attend to.” His profile was set in stone, but in the yellowish light from the street lamp, I could see that a vein in his temple was throbbing.
“But you’ve got to let me explain!” I cried.
“What’s to explain?” He turned and aimed his merciless black gaze at me. “The writing’s on the goddamn wall. You broke your promise to me again. You’re working on another unsolved murder story, and you’re in a shitload of danger because of it. That’s all I need to know.”