"Well that's what I'm doing."
"You mean you're going to be a private eye. Like Ricardo Cortez in that movie we saw."
"Yes. but I don't think I'm going to get a smoking jacket or a pretty secretary right away, like Cortez."
"Neither do I."
"And I'm not going to be a private eye. I am a private eye. Detective. Operative. Whatever."
She nibbled at her cheesecake.
"I thought you'd be unhappy," I said.
"Did I say I was unhappy?"
"No. I'm psychic."
"Did you think about asking your uncle Louis for a job?"
"No."
"Well, why did you quit the department, anyway?"
"Why do you think?"
"Because you were involved in that Nitti shooting? So what?"
I hadn't really told her that whole story yet; maybe it was time. Maybe I should tell her what really happened. If she was going to be my wife one of these days, I ought to trust her. She should've been told days ago.
I told her.
She shook her head, angrily, as I finished up. "They just came in and grabbed you. didn't even tell you what they were up to? Louses. Bums." She shook her head again. "But why quit over it?"
"Don't you understand? Don't you understand why they picked on me?"
She shrugged. "The Lingle case. I suppose."
"That's right."
"And they'll expect you to testify for them at the Nitti trial."
"Well I will testify for them."
"If you stayed with the department and testified, you could get something out of it. Why quit, and help them cover up, and get nothing out of it?"
"Because I am getting something. I'm getting my private op's license in return."
"Oh."
I told her about the Cermak meeting; that impressed her. She loved that part. And I told her about Nitti. which impressed her in a different way: it seemed to scare her a little. And then I told her about Dawes, and she really liked that.
"What's wrong with you. Nate? Why don't you take advantage of Dawes' offer?"
"Three grand for supervising some pickpocket operations at the fair would'be easy money; it'd make my first year in business a rousing success even if not a single other client walked in my door."
"That's small potatoes. You can get something better out of Dawes and your uncle. You could get a real job. with a bank or a business or something."
"No. You don't seem to get it. Janey. I am in business. I'm the president of A-l Detective Agency. How 'bout some support here? How about you back me a little?"
She looked blankly at the center of the table, where a candle in a silver deco centerpiece glowed. "Where do I fit in? What about us? Our house?"
"I still have that money in the bank. I haven't had to dip into it yet. But I do think we should wait a year and see how I'm doing. If the money's coming in okay, and I haven't had to dip into the nest egg. we can start looking for that house. Does that make you happy?"
She looked up, found a little smile for me. "Sure it does. I only want what's best for you, Nate."
"Then believe in me."
"I do."
"Would you like to see my office?"
"Of course I would."
"It's a short walk; pretty short. Over on Van Buren and Plymouth."
"Near the Standard Club?"
"Yeah. 'Round the corner from there. Hey, I'll treat you to a cab, if you're not up to a walk."
"I'm up to a walk, Nate. Let's get our coats."
So we walked back, in the mist, arm in arm; she snuggled up next to me, but seemed distant, for being so close. She smelled like flowers; I couldn't tell you what flowers, exactly. But I can smell 'em right now…
And at the building. I unlocked the street entrance and had her go on up, and followed her up the stairs, and then led her to the office and let her in. Turned on the light.
"A Murphy bed?" she said.
"I live here, too," I said.
"Well, it's no worse than the Adams."
"It's better. Here I can have female guests. if I like."
"Let's make that singular. okay? Female guest?"
"Okay," I grinned. "What do you think?"
"It's pretty? roomy. For one room."
"Take a look at this." I opened the door to the washroom.
"Deluxe," she said, ambivalently.
I put my hands on her arms. "Look. I know this isn't anything special. But it's all I got. And it means a lot to me."
"I'd rather hear you say that about me."
"Honey. You know I love you."
"I love you, Nate." she said, flatly.
I took her in my aims and held her close; she responded, but her heart didn't seem to be in it.
So I kissed her. Long and hard, and put everything I had into it. including my tongue in her mouth, and she came around; she came on fire, and clutched at me with something like desperation.
She took the alpaca coat off and laid it gently on the desk. She stood with hands on the hips of her smart rust-color dress and said, "I've never used a Murphy bed in a box; only ones in the wall, like at my flat."
I shrugged. "Why, you want to see how this one works?"
"Yeah. I'm interested."
I took the bed down out of its box; it was made: that was probably why I'd been three minutes late for lunch at Saint Hubert's earlier.
"No big deal," I said.
"Oh I don't know," she said. "Get the lights, would you?"
I got the lights.
Neon pulsed in from the street as she undressed. She did it slowly; there was no tease to it, she was just methodicaclass="underline" loosening the belt, unsnapping some snaps under one arm, slipping the dress up and over her head, laying it on the desk. And then she was in a camisole and lacy, flared panties. The points of the perfect handfuls under the camisole poked at the cloth; the lacy panties rode her thighs, a garter belt riding the panties, dark sheer brown hose rising up her thighs to where the bare stretch extended to where the flared panties came down, and then the flared panties came down, and her heart-shaped pubic tuft called to me. She lifted the camisole over her head and the pink points of her breasts scolded me. She stood there with hands on bare hips and basked in the neon and, head back a bit, smiled her impudent, cock>' smile, knowing how beautiful she was, knowing the power she had, and walked slowly over and began undressing me.
She had a Sheik in her hand, in her palm. She'd carried some with her, apparently- we kept a supply at her flat- and had got it from her purse at some point, unbeknown to me, and was now slipping the condom down over me, tenderly, lovingly.
She was the first girl I ever knew who preferred being on top; I didn't mind. She rode me well, and I could watch her, see how lovely she was, as she reared her head back, lost in herself, as was I, and I put my hands on those breasts, filled my hands with those soft firm breasts, filled my mouth with as much of them as I could, and thrust into her, controlling her from below as best I could, and she rode me, slowly, and she rode me, not slowly, and she clutched her breasts and moaned and moaned till the moan was too loud to be called a moan, and too pleasure-filled to be a scream, and I emptied my seed up into her.
Into the condom, actually.
"I wish I was really in you," I said.
She was still on me; she smiled down, sadly. "You'd like a son, wouldn't you?"
"I suppose. I'd like a family. With you."
She got off me, gently, disappeared into the washroom, the cheeks of her rear jiggling engagingly as she went. She was in there awhile, and there was a flushing, and water ran, then she came back and had some tissue and removed the condom from me and went and disposed of it.
She walked to the desk and got into the panties and camisole and came back to bed; we crawled under the covers. She cuddled to me, nuzzled my neck.
We were quiet for a long time- maybe half an hour. I thought she was asleep, but suddenly she said, "Do you think you could still take Cermak up on his offer?"