“No, but you’re going to get a lot of phone calls from that ad.”
“Correction,” Jenkins said. “You’re the one who’s gonna get a lot of phone calls from that ad.” He pointed to a phone on his desk. “And that’s the phone.” He explained how she’d take the calls and arrange to meet the men in various outdoor public places. Detectives would be close by to take the suspects into custody as soon as they approached her.
“Got it?” Jenkins asked.
“What if he wants to meet me in a bar?”
“Insist on some outdoor public place. Tell him you don’t drink. We don’t want to start any hassles in some poor bastard’s bar. This Slasher is a pretty violent guy, you know.”
“I know,” Dorothy said.
“Okay,” Jenkins said. “You can go now, but I want you to report for work here at five o’clock tomorrow. And maybe you’d better bring your gun along in your pocketbook just in case.”
Chapter Nine
Rackman knocked on Francie’s door, and when she opened it he handed her the twelve red roses.
She stared at them dumbfounded. “Are they for me?”
“No, they’re for the girl down the hall.,,
“They’re really for me?”
“I told you they’re for the girl down the hall.”
“But…” She looked at him, then at the roses again. “How come?”
“I thought you might like them. Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
He stepped over her threshold and smiled, seeing how rattled she was. He’d never brought her flowers before and doubted whether many other guys had either.
She closed the door and bolted it. “I’ll get a vase. There must be a vase around here someplace.”
“An empty milk container might do.”
“I think there’s a vase someplace.”
She went to her kitchen and rattled around in the cupboards. A box of corn flakes fell out and a glass went crashing to the floor.
He stood in the doorway and watched her. “Are you all right or are you going to have to call your psychiatrist?”
She put her hands on her hips and wrinkled her nose, the shards of glass lying around her feet. “What’s this all about, Danny Rackman!” she demanded.
“You mean the flowers?” he asked.
“First you call me and say you want to take me to dinner, and then you bring me flowers. This isn’t the Danny Rackman I’m used to. What are you up to?”
“Who me?”
“Yes you.”
“I’m not up to anything.”
“You must be up to something.”
“Be careful with your feet there.”
He took the broom and dustpan from their hooks on the wall and began to sweep up the glass around her feet. She stepped back and looked down at him.
“This is a new trick,” she said.
“What’s a new trick?”
“All this.”
He emptied the glass into the garbage and hung up the broom and dustpan. “You were looking for a vase, I believe.”
“That’s right too.”
She went into the cupboards again and this time knocked down four bottles of vitamin pills but they were made of plastic and didn’t break. He picked them up and set them on the counter. Finally she found the vase, jade green. She filled it with water, put the roses in, and carried them into the living room, placing them on the coffee table.
“They look very nice there,” he said.
“What are you up to, Danny Rackman?”
“I’m not up to anything, I told you. You haven’t even thanked me for the roses.”
“How can I thank you for the roses if I know you’ve got something up your sleeve.”
He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves, showing his forearms. “See?”
She pinched her lips together. “I think we’d better sit down and talk about this,” she said. “Can I get you a drink?”
“I thought we were going out.”
“We’re not going out until we settle this.”
“Settle what?”
“Are you drinking bourbon?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Sit down and don’t try anything funny while I’m in the kitchen.”
He sat on the sofa and looked at the roses as she went into the kitchen again. Across the room, Ziggy ran on his treadmill. Ziggy lived in his own little world, just like most people. Only most people didn’t realize how small their worlds were.
Francie returned with two drinks. She placed one before Rackman and then sat in a chair on the other side of the room instead of on the sofa beside him. Rackman raised the glass to his lips and took a sip of bourbon. It was eight years old and went down like velvet.
“Now let me get this straight,” Francie said, crossing her legs. She was wearing a long brown dress and brown boots, looking very Bloomingdales. “You call to ask me to dinner, which you haven’t done for years, and then you bring me a dozen roses, which you’ve never done in your life. Now people don’t do things without reasons. Sometimes they may not be aware of the reason, but there is always a reason nonetheless. Are you aware of why you’re being so nice all of a sudden, or are you unconscious as usual?”
“Well,” he replied, passing the glass from hand to hand, “starting tomorrow I’m going to be working every night for awhile, so I thought I’d have a little fun with you tonight before all the work starts.”
“That explains why you’re here, but it doesn’t explain the dinner and the flowers.”
He lit a cigarette and blew smoke out the corner of his mouth. “I’ve decided that I haven’t been very nice to you in the past, and that maybe I should change a little.”
A pucker appeared between her eyebrows. “What made you decide that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. This and that.”
“This and what?”
He looked at her, getting annoyed. “Do we have to talk about this? Why can’t we just go out?”
“Because we have to talk about this.”
“Why?”
“So that we know what’s going on. So that we won’t be in the dark about things.”
“You mean so that you won’t be in the dark about things.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were more in the dark than I am. You do everything you can so you won’t have to think about things.”
“I think about things.”
“Evidently you have been lately. Tell me what’s going on, Danny. I don’t mind being unhappy, but I don’t like to be confused. What’s the big miracle?”
“It’s no miracle. I was just thinking that I shouldn’t be so rotten to you.”
“It’s finally occurred to you that you’ve been rotten to me?”
“Yes.”
“You admit that?”
“Yes.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“My goodness,” she said. “It must be the second coming of Christ.”
“It couldn’t be,” Rackman replied, “because I’m Jewish.”
Chapter Ten
The phone rang for the first time at five o’clock in the afternoon.
“Should I answer it?” asked Dorothy Owens.
“No,” said Jenkins, looking at her over his half-moon reading glasses. “The ad said after six o’clock and I think we should stick to that.”
Rackman came running into the office. “Is that the phone?”
“Yeah,” said Jenkins, “but she’s not answering it until six o’clock like the ad said.”
“What if it’s the Slasher?”
“What if it ain’t? Suppose she answers it and makes a date to meet some other pervert? While she’s out, the Slasher might call. I think we should stick to the six o’clock schedule, because that way at least we won’t miss him if he calls.”