“In a strip-tease joint. La Porte Rose. It’s on the rue Bivouac Napoléon. At the bar with a big Yugoslav or something in a gabardine suit. I’ve seen him around. He’s a pimp. He’s done time.”
“Oh, Christ. Was she drunk?”
“Looping,” Pinky said. “I offered to take her back to Antibes with me but she said, This gentleman here will drive me home when we are ready.”
“Wait here,” Thomas said. He went down into the saloon and along the aft gangway, passing the cabins where Gretchen and Enid slept. There was no sound from either cabin. He opened the door to the master cabin in the stern. There was a light on in the gangway all night, in case Enid wanted to go to the bathroom. When Thomas opened the main cabin door, just enough to look in, he saw Rudolph sleeping in pajamas, in the big bed. Alone.
Thomas closed the door gently and went back up to Pinky. “You saw her,” he said.
“What’re you going to do?” Pinky asked.
“Go and get her,” Thomas said.
“Do you want me to come with you? It’s a rough crowd.”
Thomas shook his head. Pinky sober was no help. Drunk he’d be worthless. “Thanks. You go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” Pinky started to remonstrate, but Thomas said, “Go ahead, go ahead,” and pushed him gently toward the gangplank. He watched Pinky walk unsteadily along the quay, going in and out of shadow, toward where the Vega was berthed. He felt his pockets. He had some loose change in his wallet. Then he went down to his own cabin, stepping carefully past the cabin that Dwyer and Wesley shared. He woke up Kate with a slight tap on her shoulder.
“Keep it low,” he said. “I don’t want to wake up the whole ship.” Then he told her Pinky’s news. “I’ve got to go get her,” he said.
“Alone?”
“The fewer the better,” he said. “I’ll bring her back and put her in her husband’s bed and tomorrow he can say his wife has a headache and is staying in bed for a day or so and nobody’ll catch on to anything. I don’t want Wesley or Bunny to see the lady drunk.” He also didn’t want Wesley or Dwyer to be around if there was going to be any trouble.
“I’ll go with you,” Kate said. She started to get up. He pushed her down.
“I don’t want her to know that you’ve seen her drunk with a pimp either. We’ve got to live the rest of our lives as friends.”
“You’ll be careful, won’t you?”
“Of course, I’ll be careful,” he said. He kissed her. “Sleep well, darling.”
Any other woman would have made a fuss, he thought as he went up on deck. Not Kate. He put on the espadrilles he always left at the gangplank and went down to the quay. He was lucky. Just as he was going through the archway a taxi drove up and let off a couple in evening clothes. He got into the taxi and said, “La rue Bivouac Napoléon, Cannes.”
She wasn’t at the bar when he went into La Porte Rose. And there was no Yugoslav in a gabardine suit, either. There were two or three men standing at the bar, watching the show, and a couple of hookers. There were some single men at tables and three men whose looks he didn’t like, sitting with one of the performers at a table near the entrance. Two elderly American couples sat at a table on the edge of the dance floor. An act was just beginning. The band was playing loudly and a red-headed girl in an evening dress was swaying around the floor in the spotlight, slowly taking off a long glove that went up nearly to her shoulder.
Thomas ordered a Scotch and soda. When the barman brought the drink and placed it in front of him, he said, in English, “I’m looking for an American lady who was in here awhile ago. Brown hair. Wearing pink pants. With a monsieur in a gabardine suit.”
“Have not zee no American lady,” the barman said.
Thomas put a hundred-franc note on the bar.
“Maybe I begin to remembair,” the barman said.
Thomas put down another hundred-franc note. The barman looked around him quickly. The two notes disappeared. He took up a glass and began to polish it assiduously. He spoke without looking at Thomas. With all the noise from the band there was no danger of his being overheard.
“Be’ind les toilettes,” the barman said, speaking rapidly, “is found un escalier, staircase, to ze cave. Ze plongeur, ze dishwasher, he sleep there after work. Per’aps you find what you look for in cave. The name of fellow is Danovic. Sal type. Be careful. He has friends.”
Thomas watched while the strip-teaser took off one stocking and waved it and began to work on the garter of the other stocking. Then, still seeming to be interested in the act, he strolled slowly toward the illuminated sign in the rear that said Toilettes, Telephone. Everybody in the room seemed to be watching the girl in the spotlight and he was fairly sure that no one noticed him as he went through the archway under the sign. He passed the stink of the toilets and saw the steps going to the cellar. He went down them quickly. There was a thin, veneered wooden door at the bottom of the steps, with patched strips showing in the dim light of the small bulb that lit the stairway. Over the noise of the band, he could hear a woman’s voice from behind the door, pleading hysterically, then being cut off, as though by a hand across the mouth. He tried the door, but it was locked. He backed off a little and lunged at the door. The rotten wood and the flimsy lock gave at the same time and he plunged through the doorway. Jean was there, struggling to sit up, on the dishwasher’s cot. Her hair was streaming wildly about her face and her sweater was half torn from one shoulder. The man in the gabardine suit, Danovic, was standing beside her, facing the door. In the light of the one bulb strung on a wire from the ceiling, Thomas could see stacks of empty wine bottles, a work bench, some carpentry tools spread about.
“Tom!” Jean said. “Get me out of here.” She had been frightened out of her drunkenness or she hadn’t been as drunk as Pinky had imagined. She tried to stand up, but the man pushed her back roughly, still facing Thomas.
“What do you want?” Danovic said. He spoke English, but thickly. He was about the same size as Thomas, with heavy shoulders. He had a knife or razor scar down one side of his face.
“I came to take the lady home,” Thomas said.
“I’ll take the lady home when I’m good and ready,” Danovic said. “Fout-moi le camp, Sammy.” He pushed heavily at Jean’s face, as she struggled again to get up.
Overhead, the noise of the band increased as another garment came off.
Thomas took a step nearer the cot. “Don’t make any trouble,” he said to the man quietly. “The lady’s coming with me.”
“If you want her, you will have to take her from me, Sammy,” Danovic said. He reached back suddenly and grabbed a ball-peen hammer from the workbench and held it up in his fist.
Oh, Christ, Thomas thought, Falconettis everywhere.
“Please, please, Tom,” Jean was sobbing.
“I give you five seconds to leave,” Danovic said. He moved toward Thomas, the hammer ready, at the level of Thomas’s face.
Somehow, Thomas knew, no matter what happened, he had to keep the hammer away from his head. If it hit him even a glancing blow, that would be the end of it. “Okay, okay,” he said, retreating a little and putting up his hands placatingly. “I’m not looking for a fight.” Then he dove at Danovic’s legs as the hammer swung. He got his head into the crotch, butting as hard as he could. The hammer hit his shoulder and he felt the shoulder going numb. The man was reeling backward, off balance, and Thomas wrapped his arms around his knees and toppled him. His head must have hit something, because for a fraction of a second he didn’t struggle. Thomas took the chance and pulled his head up. Danovic swung the hammer and hit the elbow that Thomas threw up to protect himself. He went for the hand with the hammer again, clawing at the man’s eyes with his other hand. He missed the hammer and felt a stab of pain in his knee as the hammer came down again. This time he got hold of the hammer. He ignored the blows of the other hand and twisted hard. The hammer slid a little way on the cement floor and Thomas leapt for it, using his knees to keep the man away from him. They both were on their feet again, but Thomas could hardly move because of his knee and he had to switch the hammer to his left hand because his right shoulder was numb.