"What you tryin' to pull, there, Mac?"
"She-" Toddy repressed a groan-"Mind your own business!"
"Like that, huh?" The driver reached for the door. "Maybe I'll make this my business."
"Wait," said Elaine. "Wait, please! It's this way, driver. My husband just got out of jail and his nerves are all on edge-" She let her hands flutter descriptively. "He wanted something to drink, and I didn't want him to have anything. But I guess… well, maybe he does need it."
"Dammit," snapped Toddy. "I don't want any-"
"Now you know you do, honey." Elaine laid a sympathetic hand on his arm. "He really must, driver. He hardly ever strikes me unless h-he's like this."
The cabbie grunted. "Okay, Mac. You got your own way."
"Give him some money, sweetheart," said Elaine. "You go right ahead and have your whiskey and I won't say a word!"
"I tell you, I'm not-Oh, hell!" said Toddy.
They had stopped in front of a liquor store, of course. Elaine had timed this little frammis right to a t. Toddy literally threw a five- dollar bill at the driver. And when the latter returned with a pint of whiskey, he literally threw it and the change at Toddy.
Elaine beamed at both of them. Then she took the bottle with a prettily prim movement and placed it in her outsize purse.
The hotel where Toddy and Elaine lived was a two-hundred-room fleabag a little to the north of Los Angeles' north-south dividing line. Coincidences excepted, its only resemblance to a first-class hotel was its rates.
It was the kind of place where the house dick worked on a commission, and room clerks jumped the counter on tough guys. During the war it had paid for itself several times over by renting rooms to couples who "just wanted to clean up a little." People lived there because they liked such places or because they would not be accepted in better ones.
Toddy's insistence on a second-floor room had immediately identified him to the clerk as a hustler. All the hot guys liked it low down. Down low you could sometimes smell a beef before it hit you. You could sometimes get out ahead of it.
So Toddy had paid an inflated rate to begin with, and, three days later, when his primary reason for wanting a room near the street level became apparent, the rent was boosted another ten a week. The clerk was sympathetic about it, insomuch as he was capable of sympathy. He even declared that Elaine was a mighty sweet little lady. But the rent went up, just the same.
He just had to do it, get me, Kent? The joint's liable, know what I mean? Now, naturally, the best little lady in the world is gonna cut it rough now and then, but people ain't got no sense of humor no more. Toss a jug on 'em from the second floor, an' honest to Christ you'd think they was killed!
Toddy had paid the extra ten without protest, and in return strong iron-wire screens went over the windows. And a hell of a lot of good they did! An empty bottle couldn't be hurled through them, but heavier objects could be- and were. So Toddy rented a room on the alley, the single window of which was protected pretty adequately by the fire escape. Of course, you could get stuff past the fire escape if you tried hard enough.
From the standpoint of comfort, it was by far the worst room Toddy and Elaine had lived in. It was badly ventilated and poorly lit. Even in the coldest days of winter (Oh, yes, it does get cold in California!) it was almost unbearably warm. The virtually uninsulated stack of the hotel's incinerator passed through one corner of the room, and the heat from it was like an oven's. Once, on one of her rampages, Elaine had loosened the clamp which held the square metal column to the wall. And before Toddy could get it back into place, re-join the loosened joints, his face was scarlet from its blast.
He had complained about the thing to the management, not asking its removal, of course, which was impossible, but requesting that its dangerously loose condition be corrected. The management had advised him that if the stack was loose, so was his baggage. There were no nails holding it to the floor, and if he disliked his environment he could move the hell out. The management was getting a bellyful of Toddy and Elaine Kent.
On this particular evening, Toddy followed Elaine down the long frayed red carpet of the hall, past the smells of gin and incense, the sounds of sickness, sex and low revelry. He unlocked the door of their room and stood aside for her to precede him. He closed it, set his gold- buyer's box upon the writing table, and sank into a chair.
Elaine sat half-on half-off the bed, her back to its head. She loosened the foil on the bottle with her teeth, tossed the cap away, and took a long gurgling drink.
"How do you like them apples, prince?" She crinkled her eyes at him. "Prince-spelled with a k. What do you say we have another one?"
She had another one and again lowered the bottle. "Well, let's have the sermon, prince. If you don't get started we'll be late for prayer meeting."
"Kid, I-I-" Toddy broke off and rubbed his eyes. "Where do you get the dough to do these things, Elaine! Who gives it to you?"
"Try and find out. Everyone's not as chinchy as you are."
"I'm not stingy. You know that. I'd do anything in the world to help you-really help you."
"Who the hell wants your help?"
"Wherever you get the money, whoever gives it to you, they're not your friends. They're the worst enemies you could have. Can't you see that, kid? Can't you see that some day you're going to get into something that you can't get out of-that neither I nor anyone else can get you out of? You've got intelligence. You-"
He broke off, scowling; for a moment he wanted nothing but to get his hands on her, to-to… And then his scowl faded, and the near-murderous impulse passed; and despite himself he chuckled.
Elaine had drawn her face down into a ridiculous mask of solemnity. It was impossible not to laugh at her.
"Okay. So it's no use." He sighed and lighted a cigarette. "Go on and get yourself cleaned up. I'll check in with Milt, and we'll have dinner when I get back."
"Who the hell's dirty? Who wants dinner?"
"You are," said Toddy, rising. "You do. Now, get in that bathroom and get busy!"
Elaine scrambled off the bed and ran to the bathroom door. She paused before it, clutching the knob in one hand, the bottle in the other. Eyes twinkling venomously, she screamed.
The blood-chilling, spine-tingling shrieks piled one upon the other-rose to a crescendo of terror and pain. Then they ended abruptly as she slammed and locked the door.
Above the noise of the shower, he heard her spitefully amused laughter. Trembling a little, he crossed to the phone and waited. It began to ring. He lifted it and spoke dully into the transmitter.
"All right… we'll stop. Yeah, yeah. I know. Okay, you don't hear anything now, do you? Well, all right!"
He slammed up the receiver, hesitated glowering. He lighted another cigarette, took a deep consoling puff, and flipped open the lid of his box. He blinked.
What the hell? he thought. How the hell? Let's see… I'd just picked the thing up, and, yeah, the lid of the box was open. And then Chinless tried to kick me, and the dog cut loose, and…