Duffy pushed his hat to the back of his head. “Yeah, I guess it's right up my street. What you want for her, Ross?”
Ross scratched his bald head. “What you got, buddy?” he asked. “You done things for me in the past...”
Duffy said, “I'll give you thirty bucks a week for her.”
Ross shook his head. “Too much,” he said. “I'll take twenty.”
Duffy took forty dollars from his pocket-book and handed them over. “I'll take her for a couple of weeks,” he said. “Fill her up, will you?”
Ross pushed the money into his trouser pocket. “She's ready to go.”
Duffy opened the door and got in. “I'll be seeing you, pal,” he said.
Ross put his fat face through the window frame. “Take it easy with the cannons,” he said anxiously. “They ain't registered, but take it easy all the same.”
Duffy nodded at him and engaged the clutch. The Buick rolled out into the street. Duffy drove to his bank, cashed a cheque for a thousand dollars, checked his deposit and went back to the car again. With the thousand on him, and three thousand in the bank, he could last a little while, he thought.
Olga was waiting for him at “Stud's Parlour", a quiet little bar just off East 154th Street. When he drove up, she ran out and he pushed open the off door for her. She got in, and he had to lean over her to slam the door shut. “That's stiff,” she said.
“It's steel,” he grinned, pulling away from the kerb. “"This tub's from Chi. They know how to build 'em there.”
She was silent for half a block, then she said, “You expecting trouble?”
“Trouble'll blow up sooner or later in a racket like this. I like to be prepared for it.” He pushed the Buick past a big truck, then he said, “You ain't going to get scared?”
She shook her head. “I don't scare easily.” She put her neat gloved hand to her throat. She was wearing a high-neck blouse. “Your friends were swell,” she said as an afterthought.
Duffy nodded. “I'm a heel all right,” he said. “I told Alice I was seeing you on the train for your home.”
Olga said, “You couldn't let them in on this?”
Duffy shook his head. “They've got each other. They don't give a damn for money; why should they? It's punks like you and me that ain't got anchors that think money's the tops.”
She shot a quick glance at him. “You're not feeling sore?” she ventured.
Duffy shook his head again. “No, not sore. I've started this, so I'm finishing it. If I don't get away with it, it don't matter. If I do, well, I'll spend what I get, and think I'm having a swell time.”
She said in a low voice, “And me?”
Duffy put his hand on her knee. “You're okay, baby, you'll get what you want.”
He pulled up outside his apartment. “Come on in and see how you like your new home.”
They went upstairs, and she stood waiting for him to open the door. Inside the small apartment they stood and looked at each other, then she turned her head quickly and walked over to the window. “I like this,” she said. “It's nice, isn't it?”
Duffy threw his hat on the chair and brought out a bottle of rum. “You like Bacardi?” he said.
“Yes, but it's early yet, isn't it?”
Duffy took two glasses and poured out the rum. He went over to her and put the glass in her hand. “To you and to me and to dough,” he said.
The Bacardi went down smooth, leaving a hot ball of fire burning inside them.
“Take your hat off, honey,” he said, “this is your home now.”
She said, “Is that the bedroom over there?”
“That's it. Go ahead and have a look.” He was surprised to find his hands were trembling. He watched her walk slowly across the room and into the bedroom. Her long legs and flat hips had a lazy movement, but there was an electric tension that radiated from her.
He followed her and stood just behind her, looking at her in the mirror. She raised her eyes, studied his face, then she turned quickly.
He put his hands on her hips and drew her to him. “You're swell,” he said. “I've known you twenty-four hours, but it seems a lifetime. I bet you're bad. I bet you've loved, but I don't care.”
She said, “I've been all that and more.” She took his hands in hers, held them for a moment, then pushed them away from her. She went over to the bed and sat down.
Duffy shifted away from the mirror and leant over the back of the bed. “We've got to get together,” he said. “Tell me about yourself.”
She turned her head and looked at him. “Isn't it unwise?” she said.
Duffy shook his head. “I want to know,” he said.
“I was born in a small Montana town.” Her voice was flat and expressionless. “Living there was like living in a morgue. Nothing ever happened. The sun shone, the dust collected on the dry roads, carts came and went, nothing ever happened. I used to get fan magazines and read about Hollywood. Millions of other girls have done the same. I thought if I got to Hollywood, I'd get a break. I dreamed Hollywood, lived Hollywood, and I guess I even slept Hollywood. Well, one day I took my chance. I waited until my Pa had gone into the fields, then I took all his money—it wasn't much—and I blew. I never got to Hollywood. My dough gave out when I hit Oakland. I got a job as a hostess in a dance hall there.”
Duffy came round and sat on the bed close beside her.
“I had to be nice to the men at the bar. Talk to them, kid them along, and get them to buy drinks. They paid me commission on the drinks. It didn't last long. The boss called on me one night, and then I hadn't anything to take care of after he had been over me. Well, you know how it is, once on the slide, you can't stop.”
Duffy said, “How long ago was this?”
“About eight years. I was seventeen then. I ran into a guy named Vernor. How that guy kidded me! He certainly could paint a picture. He showed me how I could make money so fast that I'd get dizzy. Pretty clothes, motor-cars, jewellery, and all the rest of it. Just by selling myself three or four times a night. I fell for it. What did it matter, so long as I could get enough dough to get out of the game in a year or so?
“He got me into a house in Watsonville, one of the northern Californian towns, and once I was there I knew what a sucker I'd been. I just couldn't get away. They never gave me any money. They kept my clothes from me. They threatened me with the police; in fact, they had me.”
Duffy grunted, “A sweet life you've had.”
She was silent for a moment, then she went on. “I didn't see a white man for three years. Filipinos, Hindus and Chinks, yes, but no white man.”
Duffy moved restlessly. He didn't like this.
“Just when I was giving up, along came Cattley. Can you imagine that? Cattley came into my room, and I was expecting another of those fierce little brown men. Cattley fell for me, and I gave him everything I had. He thought I could be useful to him, so he got me out of the place and set me up in that little house.”