“You’re a nice guy, Harv. You’re gonna stay that way ain’t you?”
Harvey Dunn led them to a table by the bandstand, marked “Reserve.” He put the reservation in his pocket.
Carl smiled. His left eye twitched. “You’ll come back, won’t you Harv?”
“Yes, Carl.”
“But not alone?”
Harvey Dunn shook his head and smiled.
In a few minutes Cathy Rain was introduced. The hard spotlight was reflected in her blond hair. She wore a black strapless that was tight in the right places.
Carl smiled and lit another cigar. Rocco licked his lips. Frank scowled and began cutting his nails with a penknife.
The blond girl began with a rhythmic, finger snapping version of “Old Black Magic” and then when the lights dimmed she softly sang the lyrics to “Willow Weep for Me.” She ended the set with “The Man I love.”
Rocco stared at her hungrily.
When Harvey Dunn introduced her, the three men rose in unison. She smiled graciously and sat down. The three men sat down. Carl looked hard at Harvey Dunn and the tall man disappeared.
Cathy would accept nothing stronger than a coke.
“You sing real nice,” said Rocco.
Cathy smiled. “Thanks. This is my first job.”
“Yeah, you’re real good,” said Frank. He was no longer cutting his nails.
The smile stayed on the girl’s face but she was nervous.
Carl leaned forward confidentially. “The boys and I thought maybe after you’re done tonight we could all have dinner together.”
Rocco and Frank nodded.
“I’m flattered. Really I am,” she said. “But I’m afraid it’s impossible.”
“It’s okay,” said Rocco. “We talked to your boss. It’s all right with him.”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Listen baby,” said Carl. “These are my friends. They asked for you. Nobody, not even a cute chick says no to Carl Rieger.”
Cathy stood up. “You’re a big man, Mr. Rieger. But the answer is still no. It would ruin my career to be seen with you or you’re hoodlum friends.”
Rocco pounded the table with his fist. “Hoodlums! God-damn you. You ain’t so hot you cheap floozy!”
But Cathy Rain turned on her heel and walked away. Everyone in the club was watching them.
“Who the hell is she? Calling us hoods.”
“Forget it,” said Frank.
“Not me,” said Rocco. He laughed harshly. “I’m going to defrost that iceberg.”
Cathy Rain said goodnight to the man at the door and stepped out into the hot August night. The air was full of the smell of exhaust fumes but now the streets were silent. She had changed her gown for a white summer dress that she wore without any jacket.
She walked around the corner and up the block toward the taxi stand. Her high heels echoed down the street. She passed a parked sedan with its motor idling. Then there were footsteps behind her and she was not alone.
Cathy walked faster, afraid to turn around. The footsteps were still there. She started to run and then suddenly an arm hooked her throat and a rough hand pushed a sweet smelling rag over her nose and mouth. The fumes from the cloth burned her nostrils bringing tears to her eyes as she kicked and flung her arms wildly but the fumes were stifling. Her eyelids fluttered as a numbness swept over her. She felt herself lifted into the air.
“Git the dam door open,” someone said.
The voice seemed to come from a long way off but it sounded faintly familiar. Then a dark cloud pushed all the breath out of her. She was conscious of being flung on the cushions, and inhaling deeply, she passed out.
Carl drove the car. Frank sat beside him and Rocco sat in the back seat with the unconscious girl.
Frank said angrily, “What a dumb stunt. They give cyanide for jobs like this in California.”
“Shut up. Drive where it’s quiet, Carl. Up in the hills.”
Carl nodded and soon they were on the winding roads in the Santa Monica Mountains.
The girl moaned. Rocco watched the dark outline of her face and fingered the yellow hair.
“Hey! I’ll bet she ain’t no real blond.”
The men in the front seat said nothing. Rocco chuckled to himself and played with her hair.
It was a long drive into the mountains and by the time they reached their destination Cathy had come to. She was sick and Rocco held her arms behind her while she vomited in the bushes.
“Let me go,” she begged.
Rocco laughed and released her. Cathy tried to run and he tripped her. He yanked her to her feet by her hair and when she whimpered he hit her in the stomach.
“You ain’t so high and mighty now,” Rocco said. Someone else hit her again in the stomach and then they dragged her back to the car.
“We’ll use the back seat,” said Carl. Rocco and Frank nodded. The full realization of what they were going to do finally struck her and she began to scream. But the smell of chloroform filled the back of the car and when the rag was taken away Cathy was still.
Rocco grinned and began to undress her.
The motel was plastered with pink stucco. It was very long and low and the cleaning girl did not reach number twenty-six until after her lunch break. She stuffed a half-eaten candy bar in her pocket, knocked on the door twice, and when there was no answer she let herself in with a passkey.
The rooms were still dark. She opened the Venetian blinds in the living room and began dusting the furniture with an oiled rag, transferring the dust from one spot to another. After a minute she stopped and wiped her nose. There was a nasty odor in the air. She stuck her nose up in the air like a bird dog and sniffed her way to the bathroom.
For the first time she noticed that the light above the mirror was on, burning weakly. There was a shaving brush, stiff with congealed soap and a razor on the rim of the wash basin. The frosted glass door to the shower was closed.
She coughed. The smell turned her stomach. She started to leave and then curiosity got the best of her.
She opened the shower door.
A patrolman heard the girl’s screams. When he reached number twenty-six he found the girl sitting in the doorway giggling hysterically. When the girl saw him she started to cry.
“There’s a dead man in there,” she sobbed.
The patrolman was young and new to being a cop. It made him gag.
The man was squatting in the shower stall. He was fat and hairy chested and his flabby throat had been punctured like a sieve. The blood had flowed over the body and mingled with the water on the tile. The young patrolman had never seen so much blood. The corpse looked like an over-ripe tomato that had burst its skin.
The patrolman used the phone in the motel office to call his station. Two plain clothes detectives were followed by the homicide department. Flash bulbs popped and finger prints were dusted as the assistant coroner officially announced that the man was dead from wounds inflicted by a sharp instrument such as an ice pick. Off the record he commented that someone had done a hell of a thorough fob.
An assistant D.A. appeared when the police learned the identity of the murdered man. He had registered as Richard Carter.
The police in several states knew him as Rocco Cavoli.
Mrs. Maule was a widow. It left her with a great deal of free time and nothing to do but gossip, stroke the fur of her cat, or go to the movies. Tonight she had seen a musical and she nervously hummed the tunes from it as she hurried home along the deserted street. The night was sultry and she carried her coat over her arm.
She felt much better when she had unlocked her door and switched on the lights. She turned on the fan and went into the kitchen to make coffee. While she waited for the coffee to percolate she put away the dishes she had left on the sink to drain.