“Well, this shouldn’t take too long. If our man spots us, he may make his play fairly soon. In the meantime, we’ll just have to go along with it. Have you seen the new Hitchcock movie?”
“What?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“I thought we’d go see it after dinner.”
“Why?”
“Got to stay together.” Kling paused. “I could suggest a long walk as an alternative, but it might be pretty chilly by tonight.”
“I could suggest your going directly home after dinner,” Cindy said. “As an alternative, you understand. Because to tell the truth, Mr. Kling, I’m pretty damned tired by the end of a working day. In fact, on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, I barely have time to grab a hamburger before I run over to the school. I’m not a rah-rah party girl. I think you ought to understand that.”
“Lieutenant’s orders,” Kling said.
“Yeah, well, tell him to go see the new Hitchcock movie. I’ll have dinner with you, if you insist, but right after that I’m going to bed.” Cindy paused. “And I’m not suggesting that as an alternative.”
“I didn’t think you were.”
“Just so we know where we stand.”
“I know exactly where we stand,” Kling said. “There are a lot of people in this city, Miss Forrest, and one of them is the guy who’s after you. I don’t know how long it’ll take to smoke him out, I don’t know when or where he’ll spot us. But I do know he’s not going to see us together if you’re safe and cozy in your little bed and I’m safe and cozy in mine.” Kling took a deep breath. “So what we’re going to do, Miss Forrest, is have dinner together tonight, and then see the Hitchcock movie. And then we’ll go for coffee and something afterward, and then I’ll take you home. Tomorrow’s Saturday, so we can plan on a nice long day together. Sunday, too. On Monday—”
“Oh God,” Cindy said.
“You said it,” Kling answered. “Cheer up, here comes your lasagna.”
He had followed them to the restaurant and the movie theater, and now he stood in the doorway across from her house, waiting for her to come home. It was a cold night, and he stood huddled deep in the shadows, his coat collar pulled high on the back of his neck, his hands thrust into his coat pockets, his hat low on his forehead.
It was ten minutes past twelve, and they had left the movie theater at eleven forty-five, but he knew they would be coming straight home. He had been watching the girl long enough now to know a few things about her, and one of those things was that she didn’t sleep around much. Last month sometime, she had shacked up with a guy on Banning Street, just for the night, and the next morning after she left the apartment he had gone up to the guy and had worked him over with a pair of brass knuckles, leaving him crying like a baby on the kitchen floor. He had warned the guy against calling the police, and he had also told him he should never go near Cindy Forrest again, never try to see her again, never even try to call her again. The guy had held his broken mouth together with one bloody hand, and nodded his head, and begged not to be hit again — that was one guy who wouldn’t be bothering her anymore. So he knew she didn’t sleep around too much, and besides he knew she wouldn’t be going anyplace but straight home with this blond guy because this blond guy was a cop.
He had got the fuzz smell from him almost the minute he first saw him, early this afternoon when he came to the office to take her to lunch. He knew the look of fuzz and the smell of fuzz, and he realized right off that the very smart bulls of this wonderful city were setting a trap for him, and that he was supposed to fall right into it — here I am, fuzz, take me.
Like fun.
He had stayed far away from the restaurant where they had lunch, getting the fuzz stink sharp and clear in his nostrils and knowing something was up, but not knowing what kind of trap was being set for him, and wanting to make damn sure before he made another move. The blond guy walked like a cop, that was an unmistakable cop walk. And also he had a sneaky way of making the scene, his head turned in one direction while he was really casing the opposite direction, a very nice fuzz trick that known criminals sometimes utilized, but that mostly cops from here to Detroit and back again were very familiar with. Well, he had known cops all across this fine little country of America, he had busted more cops’ head than he could count on all his fingers and toes. He wouldn’t mind busting another, just for the fun of it, but not until he knew what the trap was. The one thing he wasn’t going to do was walk into no trap.
In the wintertime, or like now when it was getting kind of chilly and a guy had to wear a coat, you could always tell when he was heeled because if he was wearing a shoulder harness, the button between the top one and the third one was always left unbuttoned. If he was wearing the holster clipped to his belt, then a button was left undone just above the waist, so the right hand could reach in and draw — that was the first concrete tip-off that Blondie was a cop. He was a cop, and he wore his gun clipped to his belt. Watching him from outside the plate-glass window of the second restaurant later that day, there had been the Hash of Blondie’s tin when he went to pay his check, opening his wallet, with the shield catching light for just a second. That was the second concrete fact, and a smart man don’t need more than one or two facts to piece together a story, not when the fuzz smell is all over the place to begin with.
The only thing he didn’t know now was what the trap was, and whether or not he should accommodate Blondie by walking into it and maybe beating him up. He thought it would be better to work on the girl, though. It was time the girl learned what she could do and couldn’t do, there was no sense putting it off. The girl had to know that she couldn’t go sleeping around with no guys on Banning Street, or for that matter anyplace in the city. And she also had to know she couldn’t play along with the cops on whatever trap they were cooking up. She had to know it now, and once and for all, because he wasn’t planning on staying in the shadows for long. The girl had to know she was his meal and his alone.
He guessed he’d beat her up tonight.
He looked at his watch again. It was fifteen minutes past twelve, and he began to wonder what was keeping them. Maybe he should have stuck with them when they came out of the movie house, instead of rushing right over here. Still, if Blondie—
A car was turning into the street.
He pulled back into the shadows and waited. The car came up the street slowly. Come on, Blondie, he thought, you ain’t being followed, there’s no reason to drive so slow. He grinned in the darkness. The car pulled to the curb. Blondie got out and walked around to the other side, holding open the door for the girl, and then walking her up the front steps. The building was a gray four-story job, and the girl lived on the top floor rear. The name on the bell read “C. Forrest,” that was the first thing he’d found out about her, almost two months ago. A little while after that, he’d broken open the lock on her mailbox and found two letters addressed to Miss Cynthia Forrest — it was a good thing she wasn’t married, because if she was, her husband would have been in for one hell of a time — and another letter addressed to Miss Cindy Forrest, this one from a guy over in Thailand, serving with the Peace Corps. The guy was lucky he was over in Thailand, or he’d have had a visitor requesting him to stop writing letters to little Sweet-pants.
Blondie was unlocking the inner vestibule door for her now. The girl said good night — he could hear her voice clear across the street — and Blondie gave her the keys and said something with his back turned, which couldn’t be heard. Then the door closed behind her, and Blondie came down the steps, walking with a funny fuzz walk, like a boxer moving toward the ring where a pushover sparring partner was waiting, and keeping his head ducked, though this was a cop trick and those eyes were most likely flashing up and down the street in either direction even though the head was ducked and didn’t seem to be turning. Blondie got into the car — the engine was still running — put it into gear, and drove off.