She had turned from her dressing table, still holding a lipstick in one hand. “Yes, what do you want?”
The taller man, the one with the incredible shoulders and thick black hair, continued to grin at her. His companion, a huge squat man with badly battered features, nodded his head at her approvingly.
“You got a nice direct personality, Miss Wade,” he said.
She looked from one man to the other, aware that her hands were trembling. “Who are you?” she said.
“We’re friends of a friend,” the bigger man said, his grin widening. “That makes us all friends, so to speak.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“We don’t want to mystify you, Miss Wade. Do we, Hymie?”
The man at the door shook his round head solemnly. “Not a bit. With a direct personality we should be direct, I say.”
“Right, Miss Wade; we’re friends, in a manner of speaking, with Barny Nolan. You know the name, I guess?”
“Yes, I know him,” she said, and stood and walked to the door. “Please get out of my way. I’ve got a show to do. I have nothing to say to you about Barny Nolan or anything else.”
“Sure, sure,” Hymie said, in the soothing voice one might use with a child. “First, though, we got a few questions to ask you about our mutual friend.”
“Let me out of here,” she said angrily.
The bigger man lifted her gently back to a chair with the same ease that he would have handled a child’s doll. “Nolan is spending a lot of money on you?” he said, gazing down at her and smiling.
“He give you anything to keep for him?” Hymie asked. “Some stuff in a delicate shade of green maybe, with historical-type pictures on it?”
“I... I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s why we’re here,” Hymie said with great earnestness. “We want to fill in everybody so there won’t be any mystery any more. Everybody should have all the facts, I figure. That way everybody can do what’s best to keep out of trouble. You think I got a good point?”
“If you don’t let me out of here I’ll start screaming.” Linda stood up defiantly. “I’m awfully good at screaming.”
Hymie looked disappointed. “We were hoping this would be a friendly visit, Miss Wade. We don’t want anybody to get hurt. Hurt feelings, I mean. But that creep you hang around with is going to get lots of people hurt, Miss Wade. Maybe even you.”
There was a knock on the door and Hymie stepped aside. Jim Evans stuck his head in and said, “You’re on, Linda.” Then he saw Hymie and Laddy, and his eyes became wary. “What’s up, boys?”
Both men smiled at him. “Nothing much,” Hymie said. “We just came by to tell Miss Wade we liked her act.”
“That’s right,” Laddy said. “We’re stage door Johnnies in a manner of speaking.”
“Oh, I see.” Jim Evans smiled quickly. “Well, I’ll bet Linda’s glad you like the show. How about having a drink with me, boys?”
“No, we’ve got to run along,” Laddy said. “We’re just simple-hearted fellas, and this night-life is pretty tiring.”
Jim Evans laughed. “Well, say hello to Mike for me. Tell him to drop by some night.”
“Sure, we’ll do that,” Hymie said, and smiled at Linda. “You’re a fine singer, Miss Wade. You just stick to it, the singing I mean, and you’ll get along fine.”
The two big men edged out of the room and strolled down the corridor to the dance floor. Jim Evans frowned at their wide backs and then stepped into Linda’s dressing room and closed the door.
“What the hell did they want?”
“Who are they, Jim?”
“Laddy O’Neill and Hymie Solstein, a couple of Mike Espizito’s walking nightmares. They’re nobody for you to know, or even think about, baby.”
“Jim, give me a nickel, please. I’ve got to make a phone call.”
He caught her shoulders. “Are you in some kind of trouble, baby?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Jim. Please don’t ask me about it now.”
“Okay,” Jim Evans said gloomily. “But I’d rather see snakes crawling around the dance floor than those characters in your dressing room. I’ll tell Sam to play another chorus, but rush it up.” He dug a coin from his pocket.
Linda hurried down to the pay phone at the end of the corridor and dialed the Call-Bulletin. A man on the City desk told her that Mark Brewster could probably be reached at the Sixty-fifth District.
Linda stepped out of the phone booth and borrowed a nickel from a passing waitress. Then she called the police board, and asked for the Sixty-fifth...
Nolan walked into the Simba about midnight. The band was playing one of Linda’s songs but she wasn’t on the stage. Despite the steam bath he was still flushed with liquor, and he knew he shouldn’t have come here. Yet he had to see Linda. That was the only thing that mattered.
He walked across the dance floor and down the corridor that led to the dressing rooms. Jim Evans was standing in front of Linda’s, looking worriedly at his watch.
“Where’s Linda?” Nolan asked.
“She’s phoning somebody. Say, Barny, you’re just the man I want to see. I think I need a cop.”
“What’s up?”
Evans shrugged, and glanced back to the booth where Linda was on the phone. “I’m damned if I know, Barny. But Hymie Solstein and Laddy O’Neill were here to see Linda. She won’t tell me why, but I don’t like the idea of those characters being in the same county with her.”
“They were here, eh?”
“Sure, right in her dressing room. What’s the matter, Barny?”
Nolan shoved past him and walked down the corridor to the telephone booth. He reached the open door in time to hear Linda say, “All right, I’ll see you then. And thanks.”
When she stepped from the booth, he saw that she was pale and nervous.
“I want to talk to you,” he said.
“Barny, not now. I’m on.”
He took her arm. “Let’s go back to your dressing room.”
Jim Evans came toward them, looking desperate. “Linda, Sam can’t keep playing your introduction all night.”
“She isn’t going on yet,” Nolan told him, and his hand tightened on Linda’s arm. “Come on, kid. We got a little talking to do.”
Inside her dressing room he kicked the door shut. “Okay now. What did Espizito’s punks want?”
She sat down, her hands locked tightly together in her lap. “I don’t really know, Barny.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“All right. They wanted to know if you were spending money on me. That was about as far as they got before Jim came in.”
“All right, what else?”
“Nothing, Barny.” She looked up at him, and saw that he looked desperately ill. “You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?”
“Yes, I’ve been drinking. What the hell difference does that make to you?”
She turned away from him and put both hands to her face, and then she began to weep.
Nolan stared down at her shining hair, at her slim bare shoulders; and suddenly his anger melted away and he was left with nothing but confusion and sadness.
Clumsily he knelt beside her and patted her arm. “I never meant to do this to you, kid,” he said. “I loved you, that’s all. I wanted to do things that would make you happy. You’ve got to believe that. Don’t cry, kid. I’ll take care of Hymie and Laddy so they’ll never bother anybody again.”
“No, don’t do that, Barny.” She raised her head. “You’ll just get into trouble.” She was drawn almost helplessly to him, as she studied his bitter anguished face. He lowered his head and she stroked his thick curly hair. “Just take everything slowly, Barny,” she said in a gentle voice. “Will you do that?”
“Yeah, sure, kid.”
There was a harried knock on the door. “Linda?” Jim Evans called. “How about it?”