Gomez had smashed his cesta. Scowling, he signalled time out, and went over to a Negro attendant who strapped a new basket on his hand.
I looked around to make sure no one was paying us any attention. No one was. I made my hand into a fist and slugged Miss Spence just above her hip bone. She rocked, and breath whistled through her nose.
"Maybe you like tough guys better?" I said, smiling at her.
She didn't look at me, but her nose was pinched and her eyes like holes in a mask. She gathered up her junk off the balcony wall and stood up.
"Show me the moon," she said in a brittle hard voice, and pushed past the spectators to the gangway.
I followed her out, accompanied by a storm of cheering. I guessed Gomez had taken the final tan to, and I'd launched Miss Spence just in time.
The dignified doorman signalled for her car as soon as he saw her coining. By the time we had reached the revolving doors the black and chromium Cadillac was lined up, waiting.
The doorman gave me a hard look as he handed Miss Spence into the car. She left the driving
seat vacant, and I slid under the wheel. We drifted away with the smoothness of a falling leaf, and with less noise.
I drove fast to Lancing Avenue. She didn't say anything during the drive, and she sat stiff and straight, looking at the road ahead, her big white teeth gnawing her underlip.
I stopped outside the big apartment block, opened the door and got out. She got out too. We walked across the lobby, and as I passed the hall porter I winked at him. He stared back as if he was seeing a mirage.
We rode up to the fourth floor in an automatic elevator, and walked along the broad corridor to apartment 466. We didn't speak or look at each other. The atmosphere was loaded with an off-key excitement.
She unlocked the door and we went into a big room full of apricot and chromium furniture. I shut the door, tossed my hat on a chair and faced her.
She looked at me from the fireplace. Her disdainful expression was still hooked to her face, but her eyes were expectant, bright.
"Come here," she said, almost thickly.
I crossed the room and put my hands on her hip-bones. I smiled at her.
"Hold me close, you beast," she said.
I put my arms around her loosely at first. Her hair had a harsh feeling against my face. I tightened my arms and pulled her against me. Her mouth felt hard against mine, but after a while her lips opened. She was shivering.
"Tough guy," she said softly, her breath going into my mouth.
"What was Herrick to you?" I asked.
Her body stiffened in my arms and her breath made a harsh sound. Her head pulled back until her eyes, wide open, were staring at me.
"Who are you?" she asked, in a soft dull voice.
"Chester Cain," I said.
Her face fell to pieces. She pushed away, white, her eyes vacant, blank. I let her go
"Who?"
"Chester Cain."
Slowly she got herself m hand. Her eyes roved around the room, lit on the telephone, lingered, then came back to me.
"Sit down," I said. "I want to talk to you."
She wandered towards the telephone. A gentle hissing sound came from between her tightlylocked teeth.
"I don't want to talk to you." she managed to jerk out, in grabbed it. She struck at me with her nails. I let go of the telephone and grabbed her wrist, twisting it. She was surprisingly strong. We swayed, and she tried to claw me with her free hand. I ducked my head, and she missed. I expected her to scream, but she didn't, she fought silently, panting a little, her eyes glowing, her mouth working.
We scuffed up the rugs, and did a lot of tramping and shuffling, but I worked her over to the divan and then trapped her ankle and pushed.
She hit the divan and bounced up, but I flung her down again. She kicked me on the shin, gave me a punch in the face and tried to bite my jugular. I cursed her gently and went into a clinch with her. She writhed, twisted and scratched. We were both panting. She butted me in the eye with the top of her head.
I said, "The hell with this," flung her off and stood back. I pulled my gun on her. "Let's skip it," I went on, "or I'll blow a hole in you."
She glared up at me, her eyes savage, but the gun seemed to cool her.
"Stay put, sister," I said, drawing up a chair. I sat down.
She looked me over, and then flopped back on the divan. I'd torn her shirt and a shoulder peeped through. It was a nice shoulder, white and firm.
"You think I killed Herrick," I said, "but I didn't."
She continued to eye me savagely, and said nothing.
"Killeano's mob killed him, and tried to pin it on me," I went on.
"You killed him all right," she said, and added some fancy names. Her language would have turned a stevedore pale.
"Use your head," I said. "I've just arrived here. I never saw Herrick before until I met him in the Casino for a couple of minutes. He asked me to get out of town because he thought I'd cause trouble, and Killeano made that the excuse for killing him and framing me. Can't you see how simple it is? Why should I want to kill Herrick? Think, Tutz, work on it. If you were Killeano and you wanted Herrick out of the way, wouldn't you spring the killing when a guy with my reputation blows into town? It was a gift."
She looked doubtful.
"Killeano wanted him out of the way all right," she muttered. "It could be, but I don't believe it."
I told her the story, how Speratza had invited me to the
Casino, how Miss Wonderly had been detailed to look after me, how I'd seen Flaggerty watching us, and the whole works. She sat watching me, and the angry bitterness seeped out of her eyes.
"All right," she said, shrugging. "I'm the sucker, so you didn't kill him."
"I didn't kill him," I said. "But I'm in a jam. You can help me out."
She raised her eyebrows. "Why should I?"
"Suppose you tell me," I said, smiling at her. "What was Herrick to you?"
She swung off the divan and went over to the big cocktail cabinet.
"I'm keeping out of this," she said, taking out two glasses and pouring whisky. She came over and handed me one, looked down at me, and smiled coldly. "You're tough, all right," she said. "I feel like I've been fed through a mangle."
I pulled her down on my lap. She was a big armful, but I handled her.
"Let's be friends," I said. "You liked Herrick, didn't you?"
She pushed away from me and stood up.
"Cut that stuff right out," she said. "I'm not quite a sap."
I drank some whisky, lit a cigarette and shrugged.
"I could beat it out of you," I said, giving her the cold eye.
"Try," she said, sitting on the divan.
"I've got a better idea," I said. "I'll have a talk with your pal Gomez. He'll be interested to know you sexed me up to this room."
That threw a scare into her.
"You dare!" she snapped, jumping to her feet.
"Come on, be nice."