‘At the Point?’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘Got to give you a flat rate on that.’
‘What’s the rate?’
‘Five bucks,’ he said.
We drove out to the motel. The Caddy with the SB licence tag was still in front of the office. A little Ford was parked alongside it. Barter was nowhere in sight. My own car was parked just a little to the right of and behind the Ford. I got out of the cab and went straight to cabin 12. I wasn’t surprised to find that the bloodstain along the wall had been scrubbed clean. I changed my clothes, packed whatever was hanging around, and then carried my bag to the car. As I passed the office, I heard voices. I stopped.
It’s impolite to eavesdrop unless you’re a cop.
‘I know she’s here,’ a man’s voice said, ‘so don’t give me any of that crap.’
The voice that answered him was low and throaty. ‘I prefer not to listen to profanity,’ it said. ‘If you’re going to start swearing, you can leave right now.’
‘Where’s Lois? That’s all I want to know,’ the man said.
‘And I told you. She left. This morning.’
‘Where’d she go?’
‘To the railroad station. She said she was going back home.’
‘How come she didn’t tell me anything about it?’
I could almost hear the woman shrugging. ‘How would I know? She made up her mind suddenly. She said she was leaving, and she left.’
‘Did she leave alone?’
‘No. I drove her in with one of the other girls. Walked her to the station, in fact.’
‘What was she wearing?’
‘A white dress,’ the woman said.
‘This was at the railroad station in Sullivan’s Corners?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m going to check there,’ the man said.
‘Go ahead, check. We stopped for coffee in town, too. At The Green Door. You can check there, too.’
‘I will. You can damn well bet I will.’
‘You have a foul mouth,’ the woman said.
‘I’m leaving. Your story better be right, or I’ll be back.’
The woman started to say something else, but I took off then and went to O’Hare’s car. I opened the trunk and threw the bag in. Then I got behind the wheel, backed out of the court, and headed up the road. I pulled into the first cutoff I came to, and I killed the engine, and then I waited.
The Ford came along in about five minutes. I started the car and took off after it. If the driver knew about the twenty-five-mile speed limit, he didn’t give a damn. He took the road’s bumps as if he were testing Goodyear rubber. I had a lot of respect for O’Hare and his Chevy, but I didn’t want to lose this guy, so I tested the tires too. We both rumbled into Sullivan’s Corners, and my young friend went straight to the railroad station. I got out of the car, went into the station to buy a magazine from the stand there, and watched him while he talked to the ticket seller.
He couldn’t have been more than twenty-nine, sort of short, but packed with muscle that came from hard manual labor. His hair was a bright red. He wore dark grey trousers and a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the biceps. I paid for my magazine, and then went out to sit in the car. In a few moments, the redhead came out and piled into his Ford. He drove straight through the middle of town and then abruptly pulled to the curb. I didn’t have to pull in behind him. I cruised down the street until I found a parking spot, and then I got out quickly and doubled back. The Ford was parked in front of a doughnut and coffee joint called The Green Door. The redhead was inside talking to the cashier. I watched him for a few moments, and then went back to the car. I kept looking in the side mirror until I saw the Ford pull into the stream of traffic again. I edged out a little. When the Ford passed me, I pulled in right behind my redhead.
He made a right turn at the corner, and then a left, and that took him to the traffic circle where the town began. He pulled up in front of the hotel. I pulled up two cars behind him. When he got out, I got out.
By the time I entered the lobby, he had already got his key and was in the elevator. I went straight to the desk.
‘That red-headed fellow,’ I said.
‘Yes?’ the clerk answered, looking up.
‘George Bradley, isn’t he?’
‘No,’ the clerk said, patiently correcting me. ‘That’s Mr Simms.’
‘Yes, of course,’ I said, snapping my fingers. ‘How stupid of me.’
‘John Simms,’ the clerk expanded, smiling.
‘He’s on the fourth floor, isn’t he?’ I asked. This was no remarkable deductive feat since Simms had been alone in the elevator, and the elevator floor indicator was now stopped at the numeral four.
‘Yes, 407,’ the clerk said.
‘Thank you.’
I went to the elevator. I waited, watching the indicator. The door opened. ‘Four,’ I said.
‘Two fours in a row,’ the elevator boy said, grinning. ‘Tough to make Little Joe twice in a row.’
‘Tougher to make seven twice in a row,’ I said.
‘Depends on the talent,’ the elevator boy said. ‘You looking for action?’
‘Not with dice.’
‘With broads?’
‘You got some?’
‘You name it.’
‘A big blonde.’
‘You got it.’
‘A big blonde named Stephanie,’ I said.
The elevator boy studied me for a moment. ‘You familiar with the area?’ he asked.
‘Not half as familiar as I’d like to be.’
‘Where’d you pick the name Stephanie?’
‘Ran into her in a bar. Lost her later. Know where I can find her?’
‘The Stephanie I’m thinking of ain’t for sale.’
‘Maybe we’re not thinking of the same girl,’ I said.
‘I guess not, mister.’ He paused. ‘There are other big blondes.’
‘I’m choosy.’
‘So be,’ he said, and he shrugged and added, ‘Four.’
He threw open the door, and I got out. I waited for the door to close, and then I looked for room 407. When I found it, I knocked.
‘Who is it?’
‘Phil Colby,’ I said.
‘Who?’
‘You don’t know me. Open up, Simms.’
‘Just a minute.’
The door opened. Simms had green eyes and a suntanned face. The eyes were narrowed now. ‘What do you want?’
‘I want to talk to you.’
‘What about?’
‘Lois,’ I said.
Simms studied me. ‘Come in,’ he said. I followed him into the room. It was furnished with a brass bed, a dresser, and an easy chair. A Gideon Bible was on the dresser. Alongside that was a bottle of cheap rye.
‘You want a drink?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘I’ll have one,’ Simms said. He poured half a water glass full, and then drank half of that. He made a sighing, rasping sound and then said, ‘What do you know about Lois?’
‘Only that she’s missing.’
‘Where is she?’
‘You tell me.’
‘What is this?’ Simms asked.
‘Was she at the station this morning?’
‘Yes. Station guy says he saw her.’
‘How does he remember?’
‘Three good-looking dames come in together; you’d remember, too.’
‘Three?’
‘Blonde, redhead, brunette. Must have set the town on its ass. The cashier remembered them, too.’
‘What’s Lois?’
‘Huh? Oh. The brunette.’
‘Pretty?’
‘I’m gonna marry her.’
‘Still. Is she pretty?’
‘She’s gorgeous.’
‘What was she doing at Mike Barter’s place?’
Simms looked at me again. ‘How come you’re so interested?’
‘I lost something there, too.’
‘What’d you lose?’
‘A girl.’
‘Is she a—’ Simms stopped himself. ‘What was she doing there?’