She went into the bedroom, pushing by Krakow, slamming the door behind her.
Krakow smiled sleepily. “You got her real mad, guy. And she was a snowbird once before the syndicate had her cured.” He tapped his forehead. “Gotta watch those snowbirds. They get the cure, but they aren’t always okay up here. Get me?”
Peter stared at his clenched fists.
Krakow said, “Don’t take it so hard, guy. It’s only money. I’ll keep her from marking up your bride. But don’t go to the cops, or I’ll turn her loose. She doesn’t give a damn if she burns for murder. She’s pretty sore about losing her looks. You know how woman are.”
Peter rose. “I’ll have to think about it.”
Krakow sighed. “You got no thinking to do, guy. You got to spend your time raising money. Run along, now. We’ll be in touch. You want to get hold of me, I’m in 413, right across the hall.”
Peter walked numbly out into the corridor. The door slammed behind him. He went down in the elevator and walked out and got behind the wheel of his car. If they had not known everything about him, he would have had more confidence. He knew the valuations Krakow had placed on his property were accurate to the last dollar.
He sat stupidly behind the wheel of the car, his sweating hands on the steering wheel. The whole scene made him think of tense movies he had seen. Murder and death. Then you walk out of the darkness of the movie and there you are in the bright afternoon sunshine, blinking at the everyday street scenes, grinning a little because the movie had somehow made you think that you were going to walk out into a damp and foggy night where a dark figure waited for you in an alcove.
But this was three-forty in the afternoon in Sayreton and what went on up in Room 414 wasn’t a movie. He thought of Annaly and shivered.
He put the key in the ignition, started the motor and drove out into traffic without looking. Tires screamed on the asphalt and- somebody yelled at him. He shook his head to clear it and tried to concentrate on his driving.
Minutes later he put the car in the lot, rode up in the elevator and walked into his office. Robina stopped typing and looked up at him. She stared at him for a moment, then pushed her chair back and hurried to him.
“Peter!” she said. “You’re ill!”
He smiled feebly and shook his head. “I’m not sick. Just — upset.”
He went on into his own office, leaving the door open. She came in and closed the door. She had a paper cup and a pint bottle.
She poured a stiff jolt and handed it to him. His hand shook as he lifted it to his lips. The liquor had a wet cardboard Taste from the paper cup. It burned his throat.
She sat beside the desk and looked anxiously at him. “What happened?”
“She had a friend with her. They want a little money. She was in prison for two and a half years. She was hurt. Bad scar.”
“I didn’t like the way you said ‘a little money’.”
“All I can borrow, plus all I have.”
“Shall I get Chief Daniels on the phone?” She reached for the phone on his desk.
He caught her wrist. “No!”
“Why not?” she asked, puzzled.
“Robby, she’s mad. Absolutely insane. Some syndicate or other put her in that overseas spot to handle shipments to this country. Right now they’re using her madness to get money out of me.
“But she isn’t interested in money. She wants me dead. If I don’t play ball, they’ll just turn her loose on me. She’s of no use to them at anything else in her current condition. It’s as though you were in a yard and a man had a vicious dog on a chain, and he told you to throw him your purse or the dog might get away from him. What would you do?”
Robina leaned back in the chair and bit her lips. “How about getting police protection and telling them to go to hell?”
In a low voice Peter said, “They know about Annaly. They said something about acid. She’d like to throw acid on Annaly. She hates every woman that isn’t scarred like she is.” He shook his head hopelessly. “You didn’t see her, Robby. You didn’t see the way her eyes look. Bead. Like the coal on top of a furnace fire after it’s been banked. There’s fire underneath, but you can’t see it. Yet you know it can blaze up!”
“Hey,” she said. “Take it easy!”
He cupped his palms over his eyes, his short fingernails digging deeply into his hairline.
“Peter, you must have turned her in to federal officers.”
He nodded.
“Then maybe they can give you protection.”
For a moment he felt a surge of hope. Then it faded. “What have they got on her to warrant picking her up? I couldn’t take a chance. In ten minutes of freedom she could ruin Annaly’s life. I’ll have to pay.”
Robina set her jaw. “I’d fight! I wouldn’t let them get away with it.”
“I made a mistake and I’ve got to pay for it.”
“Nuts! This baby was a grown-up girl. She was having her fun. Don’t go all soft and sorry on me, my lad.”
“I’ve got to pay them,” he said.
He took out his cigarettes. She took one and he lit hers and his own. His hand was a bit steadier.
She slouched so that her rusty hair was against the top edge of the back of the chair. She looked up at the plaster ceiling while she slitted her eyes and blew a fat, slow smoke ring.
After a moment she said, “Peter, why don’t you tell Annaly the whole situation? Tell her what danger she’s in. Send her away. Send her up to Des Moines and have her register under some other name. Or drive her up yourself. Daniels will give you a permit to carry a gun. Come on back here and tell them all to go to hell.”
He thought it over. It seemed all right except for one detail. There was no point in explaining that detail to Robina. He sighed. “I’ll try it, Robby.”
She stood up and grinned at him. “Now you’re my boy. Run along and I’ll brush off the clients that are swarming in the outer office, I hope.”
Chapter Three
Annaly the Golden
Annaly’s heels made firm clacking sounds on the parquet floor as she walked down the hall to the screen door. Her pale hair, which Peter liked better at shoulder length, the ends curled softly inward, was piled high on her head, giving her a look of fragility, emphasizing the slender and delicate contour of her throat.
“Why Peter!” she said, pushing the screen door open. “What are you doing here at this time of day? I thought you had work to do.” She wore a crisp cotton dress, smooth and tight around her tiny waist. Her lips were coral pink and soft.
She was a haven, a place of refuge, a place of forgetfulness. He took her hungrily in his arms, kissed the side of her throat just under her ear, and then her lips.
With the warm breathlessness he loved, she pushed him away. “Really, darling!” she said, laughing.
“Is your father around?”
“He’s in the upstairs study. Do you want to see him?”
“No. I want to talk to you.”
“I have a guest...”
“Send her away, darling. This is important.”
Annaly shrugged and led the way down the hall to the drawing room. Peter gave a start of surprise as he saw the tall young man standing by the fireplace.
“Peter, I want you to meet Jimmy Cowl. Peter Hume.” Her voice was high, slightly nervous. “Jimmy was taking graduate work at Harvard when I was at Wellesley, Peter. He worked for the State Department.”
James Cowl was blond and tanned and thick through the shoulders. His gabardine suit was steel gray. His handshake was firm.
“Always glad to meet bridegrooms,” he said. There was a faint undercurrent in his tone that Peter couldn’t quite understand, but his voice was hearty and open.