Lady Killer

'How old do you think I am?' she asked him.

'Sixty,' he answered flatly.

Ida laughed. 'You bastard,' she said. 'I'm only forty-five. Come around some afternoon.'

'Thanks.'

'Sixty,' she scoffed. 'I'll show you sixty.'

Upstairs, a door opened and closed. There were footsteps in the hallway. Ida looked up.

'She's finished,' she said.

A man came down the steps. He looked sheepishly into the parlour, and then went out the front door.

'Come on,' Ida said. She watched Hawes as he stood up. 'A big one,' she said, almost to herself, and then she led the detectives on to the stairway. 'I really ought to charge you for her time.'

'We can always take her to the squad-room,' Carella said.

'I'm joking, Carella,' Ida answered. 'Don't you know when I'm joking? What's your first name, Hawes?'

'Cotton.'

'Doesn't your friend know when I'm joking, Cotton?' She paused on the steps and looked down at Hawes. 'Are those sixty-year-old legs?' she asked.

'Seventy,' Hawes answered, and Carella burst out laughing.

'You bastard,' Ida said, but she could not suppress the chuckle that came to her throat. They passed into the upstairs corridor. In one of the rooms, a girl in a kimono was sitting on the edge of her bed, polishing her nails. The other doors along the corridor were closed. Ida went to one of the closed doors and knocked on it.

A soft voice answered, 'Si? Who ees it?'

'Ida. Open up.'

'One minute, per piacere.'

Ida pulled a face and waited. The door opened. The girl standing in the doorframe was at least thirty-two years old. Black hair framed a tranquil face with deep-set brown eyes. There was sadness on the face and around the edges of the mouth. There was nobility in the way the girl held her head, in the way she kept her shoulders pulled back, one hand clutched daintily, protectively, to the neck of the kimono, holding it closed over the thrust of her breasts. There was fear in her eyes, as if she dreaded what was coming next.

'Si?' she said.

'Some gentlemen to see you,' Ida said.

She looked to Ida plaintively. 'Again?' she said. 'Please, signora, not again. I beg you. I am so—'

'Knock it off, Marcia,' Ida said. 'They're cops.'

The fear left Marcia's eyes. The hand dropped from the neck of the kimono. The kimono fell open, revealing the first rise of her breasts. All nobility left her face and her carriage. There were hard lines about her eyes and her mouth.

'What's the beef?' she asked.

'None,' Carella said. 'We want to talk to you.'

'You sure that's all?'

'That's all'

'Some cops come in here and expect—'

'Can it,' Hawes said. 'We want to talk.'

'In here? Or downstairs?'

'Call your own shot.'

'Here,' she said. She stepped back. Carella and Hawes entered the room.

'You need me?' Ida asked.

'No.'

'I'll be downstairs. Want a drink before you leave, Cotton?'

'No, thanks,' Hawes said.

'What's the matter? You don't like me?' She cocked her head saucily. 'I could show you a few things.'

'I love you,' Hawes said, grinning, and Carella looked at him in surprise. 'I'm just afraid the exertion would kill you.'

Mama Ida burst out laughing. 'You bastard,' she said, and she went out of the room. In the hallway he heard her mumble chucklingly, 'The exertion would kill me!'

Marcia sat, crossing her legs in a most unladylike manner.

'Okay, what is it?' she asked.

'You been working here long?' Carella said.

'About six months.'

'Get along?'

'I get along fine,'

'Have any trouble since you've been here?'

'What do you mean?'

'Any arguments? Fights?'

'The usual. There's twelve girls here. Somebody's always yelling about using somebody else's bobby pins. You know how it is.'

'How about anything serious?'

'Hair pulling? Like that?'

'No. I try to steer clear of the other girls. I get more money than they do, so they don't like it. I'm not looking for trouble. This is a cushy spot. Best I ever had it. Hell, I'm star of the show here.' She pulled the kimono up over her knees. 'Hot, ain't it?' she asked.

'Yes,' Carella said. 'Did you ever have any trouble with one of your customers?'

Marcia began flapping the kimono about her legs, using it as a fan. 'What's this all about?' she asked.

'Did you?'

'Trouble with the customers? I don't know. Who the hell remembers? What's this all about?'

'We're trying to figure out whether or not somebody wants to kill you,' Hawes said.

Marcia stopped fanning her legs with the kimono. The silk dropped from her fingers. 'Come again,' she said.

'You heard it the first time.'

'Kill me? That's crazy. Who'd want to kill me?' She paused, then proudly added, 'I'm a good lay.'

'And you never had any trouble with a customer?'

'What kind of trouble could I—' She stopped. Her face went pensive. For a moment it took on the quiet nobility of her role as The Lady. When she spoke, the moment was gone. 'You think it could be him?' she asked.

'What do you mean?'

'You're sure somebody wants to kill me? How do you know?'

'We don't know. We're guessing.'

'Well, there was this guy…' She stopped. 'Naw, he was just talking.'

'Who?'

'Some jerk. A sailor. He kept trying to place me all the while he was here. Finally, he done it. Remembered me from New London. I was working there during the war. The submarine base, you know. Good pickings. He remembered me and claimed he got cheated, wanted his money back. Said I wasn't no Italian count's daughter, I was just a plain phony. I admitted I come from Scranton, but I told him he got what he paid for, and if he didn't like it, he could take a flying leap. He told me he'd come back. He said when he came back, he'd kill me.'

'When was this?'

'About a month ago, I guess.'

'Do you remember his name?'

'Yeah. I don't usually, except this guy raised a fuss. They all tell me their names, you know. First thing. Right off the bat. I'm Charlie, I'm Frank, I'm Ned. You'll remember me, won't you, honey? Remember them! Jesus! I have a hard enough time trying to forget some of them.'

'But you remember this sailor, do you?'

'Sure. He said he was gonna kill me. Wouldn't you remember? Besides, he had a goofy name.'

'What was it?'

'Mickey.'

'Mickey what?'

'That's what I asked him. I said, "What is it? Mickey Mouse?" It wasn't Mickey Mouse at all.'

'What was it?'

'Mickey Carmichael. I can remember him saying it. Mickey Carmichael. Firecontrolman Second Class. That's just thew ay he said it. As if he was saying, "His Majesty, the king of England." A nut. A real nut.'

'Did he say where he was based?'

'He was on a ship. This was his first liberty in the city.'

'Which ship?'

'I don't know. He called it a tin can. That's a battleship, ain't it?'

'That's a destroyer,' Hawes said. 'What else did he say about the ship?'

'Nothing. Except he was glad to be off it. Wait a minute. A strike? Something about a strike?'

'A striker?' Carella asked. He turned to Hawes. 'That's a Navy term, isn't it?'

'Yes, but I don't see how it would apply to a noncommissioned officer. He did say Firecontrolman Second Class, didn't he? He didn't say Seaman Second? Firecontrolman striker?'

'No, no, he was a sergeant or something. He had red stripes on his sleeve.'

'Two red stripes?'

'Yeah.'

'He was a second-class petty officer,' Hawes said. 'She's right, Steve.' He turned to the girl. 'But he said something about a strike?'