The phone rang again. I picked it up and said, "Yeah?"
"Petroni?" It wasn't at all the voice I'd expected to hear. "Jim?"
"Yeah," I said.
"Jim, this is Teddy. Teddy Michaelis."
"Yeah," I said.
"I-I'm down in the lobby. Can I come up?"
"You can try," I said. "If you make it, the door will be unlocked. Turn the knob and you might even be able to fight your way into the room. I'll be plugging for you all the way."
I hung up, rose, fixed the lock, and heaved my discarded clothes into the bathroom. I combed my hair and put on slippers and a dressing gown that a Chicago tart might have found irresistible if she were drunk and not wearing her contact lenses. Mac had really gone all out to costume me for the part. It shouldn't have bothered me. After all, I'd worn a Nazi uniform a couple of times in the line of duty, and sung the Horst Wessel in guttural German, and said nasty things about Jews. Being a Grade B gangster was a breeze.
I heard the rapping of high heels outside and turned to face the door. Teddy slipped into the room, eased the door closed, and leaned against it, breathless, clutching a small blue satin purse to her bosom. I noticed the purse first. It seemed to contain something considerably bulkier than it had been designed for.
"Well," I said, "what's this all about?" Then I looked at her more sharply. "What the hell happened to you?"
It was a bad night for fashion. The long white gloves were gone, and the shiny blue dress had got a drink spilled down the front. The extravagant bubble skirt was crushed as if she'd been sleeping in it, making love in it, or at least lying down in it very carelessly, perhaps crying. Her small face seemed to bear out the last hypothesis. It had the unbecoming blotched look that follows an emotional crisis accompanied by tears.
"What's the pitch, bitch?" I demanded. "Who broke your doll?"
She looked at me for a moment, and made a sniffing noise. "Here," she said, shoving the purse at me. "Here, take it!"
I glanced at her, took the purse, and opened it cautiously. It was stuffed full of money.
"Go on!" she gasped. "T-take it. It's all there, the rest of your d-dirty five thousand dollars. Take it and go. Go away. Go far, far away. I-I'd tell you to go to hell, but I wouldn't wish you on anybody, not even the d-devil himself!"
She sniffed again, loudly. The phone rang. I picked it up. A deeper voice than the kid's, but still female and familiar, started to speak in my ear.
I said, "I'm busy. Call back in half an hour."
"But-"
"You heard me. Call back."
"Well, really! I must say!"
I hung up on my dark goddess with her well-reallys and her I-must-says. It would do the haughty Mrs. Rosten good, from Lash Petroni's viewpoint, and maybe even from Matt Helm's, to stew a little longer. The fact that she'd called at all meant that I'd won something, although I still wasn't quite sure what. I turned back to the kid, took a clean handkerchief from my pocket and placed it in her hand.
"Blow your nose and tell Papa Petroni all about it."
She looked at my handkerchief and threw it on the floor and ran the back of her hand and forearm back and forth under her nose, defiantly. I guess the unladylike gesture was supposed to shock me.
"All right," I said. "If you spurn my hanky, have a drink instead-and don't tell me you won't touch my lousy liquor. That's enough temperament for tonight. I read your message loud and clear: you don't like me any more."
"I hate you! I don't know how I could have-"
"Skip it," I said. I pocketed the money and gave her little purse back. "Now go into the bathroom and wash your face. Other cosmetic and sartorial improvements may occur to you, once you look in the mirror. One might even say the field is wide open."
"I won't-"
"Go on," I said, swinging her around and giving her a slap behind. She started indignantly.
"Don't touch me!"
"Don't worry, I'm not contagious."
She glared at me over her shoulder. "Oh, yes, you are! If it hadn't been for you, I'd never have dreamed of-"
The phone rang again. It was my busy night. If it kept up like this, I'd have to hire a secretary. I closed the bathroom door on Teddy's rumpled, rebellious little figure, and crossed the room. This time it was the male half of the Rosten duo on the line. It sounded as if he were calling from a bar or all-night restaurant; there was jukebox music in the background.
"Petroni, I have to talk to you-"
"In the morning," I said.
"But I must know what went wrong-"
"In the morning," I said. "I'll get in touch."
I hung up on Louis and made the drinks, trying not to feel too pleased with myself. I might not know any more than I had before, but at least I had them all buzzing like angry bees. The kid came out of the bathroom looking subdued and, except for her stained dress, almost respectable. I put a glass into her hand.
"Who was on the phone?" she asked.
"None of your damn business," I said. "Don't get nosy."
She flushed. "You don't have to be rude!"
I said, "Easy, Teddy. I never told you the devil didn't deserve you. 1 figure I've still got some change coming, as far as rudeness is concerned."
She looked up at me and drew a long, ragged breath. Her eyes were big and shiny in her tiny face. "I-I don't understand you, Jim. I don't understand myself. I know you're a dreadful person, and I tell myself I hate and despise you, and then I come here and-,--and you're almost human in your funny, overbearing way, and I-oh, I don't know what I'm trying to say!" She gulped at her drink, and looked up again. "What happened? What went wrong with your plans?"
"What makes you think something went wrong?"
"Well, Mrs. Rosten-she escaped, didn't she? She came home a mess, but alive and hopping mad." Before I could offer an excuse or explanation, Teddy shook her head quickly. "Never mind. I don't want to know anything about it. I don't care, just so she's alive. Why-why, I might be a murderess now!" She glanced at me. "It's all right, isn't it? You have your money, all of it. I don't mind. I must have been insane! I deserve-I don't mind about the money. But you will go away, won't you-and forget I ever asked you to- It was horrible," she breathed. "Simply horrible!"
"What was horrible?"
"All that waiting at the house, making conversation, trying to act natural, not knowing how we'd hear. I thought I'd throw up when the telephone rang, honest! And then hearing her car come up the drive like a maniac was at the wheel, or somebody who'd been-terribly hurt and was trying to get home before-before she-passed out or died." The childish blue eyes looked up at me, remembering. "And the car screeched to a halt outside, and we heard her get out and stumble up the steps-and I remembered what you'd said about-about smashed faces and ripped out fingernails. I thought I'd die, watching that door, waiting to see what-I wouldn't go through another minute like that for a million dollars!"
I said, "You hate Mrs. Rosten. She's responsible for your daddy's death. Remember?"
Teddy didn't seem to hear. "And then she was standing there like that, like a-a tattered ghost, like something that had clawed its way out of a damp grave, and I knew if she saw my face she'd know, and I managed to spill my drink-" Her voice trailed off.