"Why is it a secret?"
"Because . . ." she gave me an impish grin, "Mrs. Finney's rooming house is . . . a little more than a rooming house. During the summer, that is."
"Oh," I said. "And she's still loyal to her . . . clients?"
"Something like that."
"The national pastime. No place is too big or too little for it. Any town, anyplace, and there's always a Mrs. Finney. Do you think she'll speak to Grace?"
"She'll be there." She stood up, the satiny folds of the robe whipping around her until the golden dragon seemed almost alive.
There is some crazy fascination about a big woman. And when I looked at her I knew that her love was my kind, greedy, wanting to have everything; violent, wanting to give everything. Her eyes seemed to slant up and the front of the robe followed the concavity of her belly as she sucked in her breath. Her breasts were high and firm, their movement making the dragon's head move toward her throat hungrily.
I held out my hand and without hesitation she took it. When I pulled her toward me she came effortlessly, sliding down beside me, leaning back against the cushions with eyes half-slitted to match those of the guardian golden dragon.
My hands slid around her, feeling the heat of her body through the sheen of the satin. There was nothing soft about her. She was hard and vibrant, quivering under my touch and, although she was waiting, she was tensing to spring, too, and I could sense the flexing and rolling of the muscles at her stomach and across her back.
Her fingertips were on me, touching with wary gentleness and having the knowledge of possession, but first exploring the fullness of something she now owned. One hand went behind my head, kneaded my neck, and the other guided my face to hers. No word was spoken. There was need for none. This was the now when everything was known and everything that was to be would be. She held me away an instant, searching my face, then, realizing how we both desperately hated the silent restraint, did as a woman might and licked my lips with her tongue until they were as wet as her own and with a startled cry let herself explode into a kiss with me that was a wild maelstrom of a minute that seemed to go on endlessly.
My fingers bit into her wrists. "Now you know."
"Now I know," she answered. "It never happened to me before, Kelly."
Dari raised my hands to her mouth, kissed the backs of my hands and smiled.
"What do we do now?" she asked me.
"We don't throw this away, kid. It's ours. We'll take it right and keep it forever."
Slowly she uncoiled, stood in front of me and let all the love in her face tell me I had said what she wanted to hear but didn't expect.
She let me watch her, then laughed deep in her throat and said, "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking that you're not wearing anything at all under that . . . geisha thing."
"You're right," she said.
She let me look and hunger another moment, then fingered the clasp of the robe. She held each edge in her hand and threw her arms back slowly, unfolding the robe like immense, startlingly crimson wings, and stood outlined against them in sheer suntanned beauty highlighted by the mouth so red and hair so blonde.
With another smile my Valkyrie turned and moved away slowly into the bedroom opposite, and behind me the phone rang so suddenly I jumped.
The desk clerk said, "Mr. Smith, I have your New York call."
My tone stopped Artie's usual kidding around.
"Okay, buddy," he said, "but you got yourself a mixed-up package. Two of those cars, a station wagon and a sedan, belong to businessmen who show clean all the way."
"Maybe, Art, but Harry Adrano was riding in the wagon and that boy's been working with the happy dust."
"That one Cadillac is a rented car. The guy who signed out for it is a Walter Cramer nobody knows anything about, but the guy who paid the tab is something. He's Sergei Rudinoff, a Soviet attaché who's been in this country three months."
I thanked Art, hung up, and stared at the phone. The picture was coming through loud and clear.
Dari took me out back to her car and handed me the keys.
It was 8:30. Jimmie spotted us when we walked in and came down.
"Grace Shaefer's in the back. Said she's waiting for you."
I grinned back and we headed for the back room.
Grace Shaefer sat there nursing a highball. She was a wide-eyed brunette with a voluptuously full body in no way disguised by the black, low-cut dress. The white swell of her breasts was deliberately flaunted, the outline of her crossed legs purposely apparent. One time she had been beautiful, but now her beauty had gone down the channels of whoredom.
"Hello, Dari. Who's your big friend?"
"This is Kelly Smith. How have you been, Grace?"
Her smile was to me, a plain invitation, though she spoke to Dari. "I've been fine. Let's say, I have everything I've ever wanted."
"Grace . . . are you going up on the hill this time?"
"Yes, I am," she said, almost defiantly. "Why?"
Before Dari could answer I said, "How thick are you involved, Grace?"
"Say, look . . ."
"You're hooked, baby. You can get out of it if you want to."
There was genuine fear in her eyes. "I got the feeling you're looking to get yourself killed," she told me.
"It's been tried. Now . . . how about you? If you want, you can do me a favor up there."
When she answered I knew she had made up her mind. She said, "Smithy boy, like you know my kind, I know yours. Let's not turn our backs on ourselves. The day I want to commit suicide I'll do you a favor, otherwise from now on stay clear of me. That plain?"
I nodded. But Grace wasn't finished yet. With that subtle intuition some people have, she knew what was between us and said to Dari, "I could do you a favor though, Dari. Mr. Simpson is having a party tonight. He could do with more girls. One thing a pretty bitch like you can be sure of, you'll always be welcome up there. Just come willingly. Remember?"
I grabbed Dari's arm before she could hit her and with a deliberate smirk Grace tossed her furs over her shoulders and walked out.
The outside door slammed open. The kid who came in was scared and out of breath. He gasped and said, "Mr. Smith . . ."
Then I recognized him. Sonny Holmes, the one who braced Paley and Weaver in the bar over the Evans girl.
"Mr. Smith . . . they're looking for you. I'm telling you, they're after you bad."
I grabbed his shoulder. "Who?"
"Those two you fought with because of me. They were over at your hotel asking for you and the desk clerk said you'd be here."
"Those two don't bother me."
"Maybe not them, but they went outside and talked to some others in a car. A Cadillac from the hill."
"Benny Quick spotted me. That little bastard finally got his memory back. Well, the next time I tag him he won't have any memory left." My voice came through my teeth.
"Mr. Smith, you better get out of here."
Without knowing it, I had the .45 in my hand.
"Look, kid, you take Miss Dahl out of here. Get in her car and make sure you're not followed. Try to get to the police. You tell Cox his town is about to explode."
"No, Kelly . . ."
"Don't start bugging me now, Dari. Do what you're told. This is my kind of business and I'll take care of it my way."
She glanced at the gun. "That's what I'm afraid of. Kelly . . . don't let's spoil it so quickly, please, Kelly." She paused, her eyes wet. "You've been one of them. I think everybody knew it. You carry a gun . . . you've been shot . . . you're here in the middle of all this. Run, darling . . . please. I don't care what you were, don't stay part of this or they'll kill you!"
"Not while I have a rod, kitten."
Her words sounded flat. "That's just as bad, isn't it?" she asked. "You kill them . . . and the law kills you."