Lady Killer

Hawes wrapped the towel around his middle.

'You got a good build,' Regan said. 'Ever do any boxing?'

'A little.'

'Where?'

'In the navy.'

'Any good?'

'Fair.'

'Take a punch.' Regan said.

'What?'

'Throw a punch at me.'

'What for?'

'Go ahead, go ahead.'

'I'm in a hurry,' Hawes said.

'Just take a swing. I want to see something.' Regan put up his hands in a fighting stance.

Hawes shrugged, feinted with his left, and then crossed a right at Regan's jaw, pulling the punch just before it hammered home.

'Why'd you pull it?' Regan demanded.

'I didn't want to knock your head off.'

'Who taught you that feint?'

'A lieutenant j.g. named Bohan.'

'He taught you good. I manage a couple of fighters on the side. You ever think of going into the ring?'

'Never.'

'Think about it. This country could use a heavyweight champ.'

'I'll think about it,'Hawes said.

'You'd make a hell of a lot more than the city pays you, you can bet your ass on that. Even doing tankers, you'd make a hell of a lot more.'

'Well, I'll think about it,' Hawes said. 'Where's Donner?'

'Down the hall. Listen, take my card. You ever decide to take a whack at it, give me a ring. Who knows? Maybe we got another Dempsey here, huh?'

'Sure,' Hawes said. He took the card Regan offered him, and then looked down at the towel. 'Where do I put the card?' he asked.

'Oh. Oh, yeah. Well, give it to me. I'll catch you on the way out. Donner's right down the hall. Room Four. You can't miss it. There's enough steam in there to move the Queen Mary.'

Hawes started down the corridor. He passed a thin man who looked at him suspiciously. The man was naked, and his suspicion was bred by the towel Hawes wore. Hawes passed the man guiltily, feeling very much like a photographer in a nudist colony. He found Room Four, opened the door, and was hit in the face by a blast of heat that almost sent him reeling back down the corridor. He tried to see through the layers of shifting steam in'the room, but it was impossible.

'Donner?' he called.

'Here, man,' a voice answered.

'Where?'

'Over here, man. Sittin'. Who is it?'

'My name's Cotton Hawes. I work on Hal Willis's squad. He told me to contact you.'

'Oh, yeah. Come on in, man, come on in,' the bodiless voice said. 'Close the door. You're lettin' steam out and draughts in.'

Hawes closed the door. If he had ever wondered how a loaf of bread feels when the oven door seals it in, he now knew. He worked his way across the room. The heat was suffocating. He tried to suck air into his lungs, found only heat passing into his throat. A figure suddenly materialized in the shifting hot fog.

'Donner?' Hawes asked.

'Ain't nobody here but us chickens, boss,' Donner answered, and Hawes grinned despite the heat.

Fats was truly fat in the plural. He was city-wide, he was state-wide, he was continental. Like a giant, quivering bowl of white flesh, he sat on the marble bench against the wall, languishing in the fetid air, a towel draped across his crotch. Each time he breathed, layers of fat shook and trembled.

'You're a cop, ain't you?' he asked Hawes.

'Sure.'

'You said Willis's squad, but that coulda meant like other things. Willis gave me the nod, huh?'

'Yes,' Hawes said.

'Good man, Willis. I saw him dump a guy who musta weighed four hundred pounds right on his ass. Judo. He's a judo expert. You reach for him and push-pull-click-click! your arm's in a plaster cast. Man, we in danger.' Donner chuckled. When he chuckled, everything he owned chuckled with him. The motion was making Hawes a little seasick.

'So what do you want to know?' Donner asked.

'Know anybody called The Lady?' Hawes said, figuring it was best to come straight to the point before he collapsed of heat prostration.

'The Lady,' Donner said. 'Fancy handle. She in the rackets?'

'Maybe.'

'I knew a dame called The Lady Bird in St Louis. She was a stoolie. Damn good one, too. So they called her The Lady Bird. Pigeon, bird, you dig?'

'I dig,' Hawes said.

'She knew everything, but everything, man, everything! You know how she got the dope?'

'I can imagine,' Hawes said.

'Well, it don't take much imagination. That's exactly how she got it. She could get information from the Sphinx, I swear to God. Right in the middle of the desert, she'd—'

'She's not in this city, is she?'

'No. She's dead. She got information from a guy it was very unhealthy to get information from. An occupational hazard. Bam! No more Lady Bird.'

'He killed her because she stooled on him?'

'That, and also one other thing. Like it seems she also gave him the clap. This guy was a very clean fellow, personal habits, I mean. He didn't appreciate what she give him. Bam! No more Lady Bird.' Donner thought for a moment. 'Come to think of it, she wasn't such a lady, huh?'

'I guess not. What about the lady we want?'

'You got a hint?'

'She's going to be killed tonight.'

'Yeah? Who's gonna kill her?'

'That's what we're trying to find out.'

'Mmm. A tough nut, huh?'

'Yeah. Listen, do you think we could step outside and talk there?'

'What's the matter? You got a chill? I can ask them to turn up the—'

'No, no, no,' Hawes said hastily.

'The Lady, huh?' Donner asked, thinking. 'The Lady.'

'Yes.'

It seemed to be getting hotter. While Donner sat and thought, the temperature in the room seemed to mount steadily. Each second of thought seemed to bring a corresponding second of increased heat. Hawes was gulping in air through his mouth, gasping for breath. He wanted to take off the towel, wanted to take off his skin and hang it on a peg. He wanted a glass of ice-cold water. He wanted a glass of cool water. He would accept a glass of lukewarm water. He'd settle for hot water, which, he was certain, would be cooler than the temperature of the room. Sweating from every pore, he sat while Donner thought. The seconds ticked by. The perspiration trickled down his face, poured from his wide shoulders, streamed down his backbone.

'There was a coloured dancer at the old Black and White Club,' Donner said.

'She around now?'

'No, she does a strip in Miami. They called her The Lady. She did a very delicate strip. For those who got the Shy Young Thing Fetish combined with the Coloured Fetish. She was a big hit. But she's in Miami now.'

'Who's here?'

'I'm trying to think,' Donner said.

'Can you think a little faster?'

'I'm thinking, I'm thinking,' Donner said. 'There was a pusher called The Lady. But I think she went to New York. That's where all the junkie money is these days. Yeah, she's in New York.'

'Well, who's here?' Hawes asked irritably, wiping his sweaty face with a sweaty hand.

'Hey, I know,' Donner said.

'Who?'

'The Lady. A new hooker on Whore Street. You familiar?'

'Vaguely.'

'She works for Mama Ida. You know the place?'

'No.'

'The boys on the squad will. Look her up. The Lady. At Mama Ida's.'

'Do you know her?' Hawes asked.

'The Lady? Only professionally.'

'Whose profession? Yours or hers?'

'Mine. I got some info from her a couple of weeks back: Jesus, I shoulda thought of her right away. Only I never call her The Lady. That's for the trade. Her real name is Marcia. She's a peacheroo.'

'Tell me about her.'

'Not much to tell. You want the straight story, or the story on the Street? I mean, you want to know about Marcia—or about The Lady?'

'Both.'

'Okay. Here's the way Mama Ida tells it. She's parlayed this thing into a fortune, believe me. Anybody comes down to the Street, they look for Mama Ida's joint. And once they find it, they're itching to tackle The Lady.'