He stood outside the car for a long time, listening. Shaymen’s breath whistled once and stopped. Again Christy listened. He turned Shaymen’s pockets inside out, emptied the wallet, threw it aside. He smudged his hands around the wheel and over the door handles.
Death of one Mr. Brown — commercial traveler.
Back in the hotel dining room Christy ate a large steak. He went to his room and napped until eleven. At half-past twelve, moving through the darkness like a shadow, he pulled up the flagstone, found the roll of bills in oilcloth under the packed dirt, dropped the stone back and melted off into the shadows. He was in the hotel a little after one.
He paused at the foot of the stairs leading up to the third floor. The damn fool nearby was still typing furiously. Christy felt a thick tiredness inside himself. He turned to his own room, lay heavy in the darkness, the last chocolate melting on his tongue as he fell asleep.
Chapter Five
Lorelei and the Newshawk
At seven o’clock Lane Sanson went down to the parking lot behind the hotel. He looked behind the sun visor on his side of the car. Nothing. He walked into the lobby and inquired at the desk for Miss Saybree’s room number.
This was something to do quickly, to get out of the way. He had been up at six to read the manuscript. There were crudities in it, he knew. But there were also places in it that had the deep tone of a great bell.
In it was something of the flavor of Mexico, the preoccupation with death, the sun and the dust and the ancient faces. The patience and the hopelessness. He wanted Sandy to read it. He wanted to watch her face while she read it because it was not only confession and acknowledgement, it was hope and promise.
But Sandy was forever gone. And everything he read, saw, did, touched, heard for the rest of his life would be but half an experience because it was unshared by the only one who had ever counted and would ever count.
Sandy was so much on the surface of his mind that when the tall girl with the blonde hair opened the room door and stared at him with an odd mixture of surprise and relief, he couldn’t think for a moment who she was and why he stood there.
It was not easier to remember while looking at her. There was a deep illness of the soul in her black eyes. But in the wide soft mouth, faintly sullen, there was a hard, demanding savagery that made the impact of her as frank as a quick word said in the moving darkness.
“I have a message for you.”
“Come in,” she said. She pushed the door shut behind him. He knew at once that it was a singer’s voice.
He smiled. “I know this sounds silly. Maybe it won’t sound as silly to you.”
“What is it?”
“Charlie says you might like to buy my car. He recommends it. You can send him a payment through the other channel. No payment, no more favors.”
“Sit down, please,” she said.
He sat in the wicker chair. She went over and stood by the windows, her back to him. “Where is your car?” she asked without turning.
“Behind the hotel. In the lot. I got it last night. I was supposed to look at it this morning. If there was a present for me behind the visor, I was to go on my way. But there wasn’t. So I suppose that whatever Charlie is selling you is still in the car someplace.”
“You don’t know what he’s selling me?”
“I don’t think I want to know.”
“Then you’re smart.”
“I didn’t expect anybody like you on the other end of this deal.”
She spun around. He noticed for the first time that the left side of her mouth was swollen. Tears squeezed out of her eyes. “Shut up! Please shut up! I’m trying to think.”
“Pardon me,” he said indignantly. He added, “By the way, Charlie is very dead.”
“What!”
“Oh yes. And from the protective attitude of the police guarding his body, I rather imagine they shot him down. That was yesterday, early in the afternoon. Got him in the back of the head from all appearances.”
The quick look of interest faded from her face. She stared at him. “You don’t owe me a thing. Not a damn thing, do you?”
“Not that I can think of at the moment. Why?”
“Skip it. You don’t want in on this. You look decent. You know what that means? A mark. That’s Christy’s word for people like you.” Her tone hinted of hysteria.
“A babe in the wood?” he asked gently.
“Exactly.” She looked hard at him for a long moment and then came toward him. Her face had a frozen look and she walked in a way that showed off the lines of the long, lovely body. She stopped inches from the arm of the wicker chair. She said with calculated throatiness, “But if you could help me...”
He looked her up and down very closely, very coldly. “Darling, if you’re in trouble — I’ll try to help. Just because marks are like that.”
She sat down, her face in her hands. He realized that she was crying silently. He went over and put his arm around her.
“Okay,” he whispered. “I’m a recruit. Attired in my shining armor, I’m riding to the rescue.”
She laughed through her tears. “You fool!”
“Spill it.”
The door swung open. Lane looked up and saw a remarkably unappealing man. He had a body like an ape, rimless glasses and a white, oddly distorted face. The girl looked up at him and Lane felt the sudden rigidity of great fear in her.
The stranger planted his feet. “Friend of yours, Diana?” he asked mildly.
“That’s right.”
“How’d he get in?”
“I phoned the desk last night when I got hungry. They brought up another key.”
Lane kept his arm around the girl’s shoulders. It was petty defiance. The stranger acted a bit uncertain.
The stranger jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door. “Out,” he said.
The girl spoke quickly. “Oh, Christy can get away with little gestures like that.” She laughed nervously. “He used to be a strong man in a circus, you know. He’s never gotten over it. Once he gets his hands on you, brother, you’re all through.”
Lane got the impression that the girl was warning him and yet trying to tell him something. He stood up and said mildly, “Well then, it looks like I better shove off. By the way, Diana. That little matter we were just talking about. I haven’t changed my mind. But I ought to know if your friend here is it.”
“What the hell is this?” Christy demanded.
“He’s it,” Diana said quickly, “but I’ve changed my mind. Please don’t.”
Lane hesitated. Diana stood up, too. Christy pushed between them and shoved Diana away from him so brutally that she staggered and nearly fell. She looked with white face, tearing, meaningful eyes, at Lane.
“Now get out, mister. Real fast,” Christy said.
Lane smiled broadly and said, “Let me get my cigarettes, if you don’t mind.” He had seen cigarettes on the bureau. He stepped quickly around Christy and went to the bureau. His back was to Christy. Instead of picking up the cigarettes, he picked up the heavy glass tumbler. He glanced in the mirror and saw that Christy was looking at the girl.
He spun with the tumbler in his hand, his right arm coming up and over. He threw it at the side of Christy’s head. It hit with a solid and sickening thud. The tumbler fell to the rug, bounced and rolled away. Christy stood, his eyes filled with an inward bemused expression. Lane reached him in two steps. Christy was shaking his head slowly.
Lane hit him in the jaw with all his strength. Christy rocked but he didn’t go down. He reached his hands slowly toward Lane. As Lane moved to the side to avoid them, he saw the girl standing off to the side, her hands clenched.