Shad Donahue was upstairs in the gaming room, at the dice table, when Pudge Bailey nudged him. Donahue made his point, turned to Pudge. "What is it?" Donahue said.
"Banner," Pudge said. "He wants a word."
Donahue collected his chips, cashed them in, followed Pudge down the hall to a room guarded by a heavy-set thick-chested man. The man nodded at Pudge and Donahue and opened the door for them.
John Banner was at the liquor cabinet, mixing himself a drink. "All right, Pudge," he said. "Wait outside."
Pudge Bailey departed.
"Do you want something?" Banner said, indicating the liquor bottles.
"A straight bourbon," Donahue said.
Banner splashed bourbon in a glass, carried it over to Donahue. Then he sipped his own drink, leaned a hip against the edge of his desk. Banner was a tall, slim man with a pencil-thin mustache. His hair was black with traces of iron at the temples. "Do me a turn, will you?" he said. He finished his drink.
"What is it?" Donahue said.
"You know Burt Steele?"
"That slob!"
"He's passed out in Fan's dressing room," Banner informed Donahue. "And don't call one of the richest citizens of Contralto a slob."
"He's a slob," Donahue said.
"Have it your way," Banner said. "What about the favor?"
"Sure. But what do you want done?"
"Take him home," Banner said.
"Didn't he come with friends?" Donahue asked.
"He came with Geraldine Drake."
"And ended up in Fan's dressing room," Donahue said. "How cozy."
"He's got the itch for Fan," Banner said. "He left Geraldine at a table, went into Fan's dressing room and collapsed. He was loaded at the time. In fact, he still is. Fan called me and I tried to shake him awake. It was no good. He's out like dead, see? Well, Geraldine can't take him home because Mrs. Steele might cause a scene. I can't take him home because I've got the club to run. This is a busy night. So, my friend, it's up to you."
"So I park Steele on his doorstep and beat a hasty retreat, is that it?"
"It would be better if you got him inside the house," Banner said. "It gets cold here at night. I wouldn't want Steele to get pneumonia and die; he's too good a customer. He orders the best food and the best liquors. It's customers like Steele who keep this joint going."
"You forget the gambling angle," Donahue reminded.
"That too."
"What about me?" Donahue said. "I'm a customer too. Shouldn't you ask one of your help to do this job?"
"You're more of a fixture than a customer," Banner said. "And you've done some promoting on your own. You've involved some of my customers in quite a few schemes."
"I didn't know you knew," Donahue said.
"There's very little that escapes me. I let you get away with a lot because some of my women customers do some heavy gambling just to be near you in the gaming room. And you've involved some of them in your schemes. You've made plenty of sugar since you made this joint your base of operations. Not that I'm complaining. If the dames don't complain-" Banner shrugged his shoulders-"why should I?"
"So you know all about me," Donahue said.
"Not all. No one knows all about anyone."
"Okay," Donahue said. "I'll lug Steele home. It's the least I can do."
"Fine," Banner said.
"What about Geraldine Drake?"
"I'll have one of the boys take her home," Banner said. "You'd better use Steele's car. His keys are probably in his pocket. Oh, yes, take him out the back way."
"There's just one more thing. Where does Steele live? I know it's somewhere on Gold Hill."
"Number thirty-seven. Esplanade Avenue."
"Thanks."
"Do you want one for the road?" Banner asked. "Sure. Like you said, it might be a cold night."
"Cold at night, hot in the day, real Texas weather." He poured bourbon in a glass, gave it to Donahue.
Fan Norby was wearing a Nile-green robe. The vee of the robe was open to the waist, showing the inner curves of her heavy breasts. She was a tall girl with raven black hair and a generous figure. She nervously put out her cigarette in a bronze tray on her dressing table when she heard the soft knocking on her door. She walked swiftly to the door, said: "Who is it?"
"Shad. Open up."
She opened the door and Shad Donahue came in. She closed the door, leaned her back against it. The robe parted below the tight sash around her waist, showing part of her black panties and the rounded fullness of one thigh.
Donahue glanced at the snoring man on Fan's love seat. "I guess you'll be glad to get rid of him." He walked over to Burt Steele and started going through his pockets.
"What are you doing?" the singer wanted to know. She came away from the door.
"Looking for the keys to his car. I'm taking this mug home."
"Maybe it would be better if you let him sleep it off here," she said, worry creasing her face.
Donahue looked at her. "I don't get it. What's the gag? What's up?"
"I don't know what you mean," she said.
"You should be glad I'm taking him off your hands. But you certainly aren't acting like it. In fact, I think you want him here."
"Don't be a fool," she said, getting angry. "He's dead drunk. What good is he to me?" She put her hands on her hips and drew in her stomach, thrusting out her superb breasts. "He's too drunk to do me any good. I just thought it would be better for him to sleep it off."
"His wife might start worrying," Donahue said. "And John Banner wants him out of the Club Inferno. So out he goes."
"He's an important man," Fan said, "What if people see him in that condition?"
"I'm taking him out the back way." Donahue found a ring of keys. "Open the door for me, will you?"
Fan started to say something else, then thought better of it. She walked to the door, flung it open.
Donahue got one of Steele's arms around his shoulders, shifted his wiry body, got Steele off the love seat. He put an arm around Steele's waist and half-carried, half-dragged him to the door.
Fan watched them go out the door.
Her face angry, she slammed the door shut.
CHAPTER TWO
Gold Hill, the richest residential section in town-sometimes called the Beverly Hills of Contralto-was composed mostly of Spanish style homes. The houses were set well back of freshly cut lawns. Fuchsias grew in abundance. Number thirty-seven Esplanade Avenue was surrounded by a chevaux-de-frise.
Donahue parked in front of the gate. He got out, tried the gate; it swung open. He got back in the car and drove through. There was a three inch turf on either side of the driveway. He braked in front of the house, stepped onto a flagstone walk, and descended four crescent-shaped stairs and stood in front of a big oak door. There was a lions-head knocker on the door. To the right of the door, in the jamb, was a button. He pressed the button and heard the chimes sound.
Presently, the door was opened by a girl in a blue maid's uniform. "Yes?" She was young, possibly twenty-one or-two.
"Is Mrs. Steele home?" Donahue asked.
"Who is calling, please?"
"Shad Donahue. I don't think the name will mean anything to Mrs. Steele."
"Wait one moment, please." She left Donahue standing there and disappeared. She returned within a minute. "Come this way, please."
Donahue followed her swaying hips down a corridor to a massive study. The woman standing in front of a dead fireplace was tall, handsome, with orange hair. "That will be all, Felice," she said.
The maid turned and departed.
"I'm Mrs. Steele," the woman said. She studied Donahue with calculating gray eyes. She wore an orlon cardigan with big pearl buttons. Her skirt was steel-gray. She wore her hair in a very tight bun. "I've seen you before, haven't I?"
"I don't know, have you?"
"At the Club Inferno, John Banner's place. You were at the roulette table."
"I never play roulette," Donahue said, smiling. "Just dice and poker."
"You wanted to see me?" she said, coming away from the fireplace.
"I have your husband outside."
"Really?" She didn't seem very surprised.
"Do you want him?"
"Not particularly."
"He's in his car. Shall I leave him there?"
"I suppose he's under the weather," she said.
"I think he's above it," Donahue said.
"You may as well bring him in. I'm getting used to his escapades. Not that I enjoy them. Far from it."
She walked with Donahue to the front door. "Will you need any help?" she asked.
"I think I can manage." He walked out the front door. She waited till he came back with her husband. "Just follow me," she said, starting up a flight of stairs.
"He is kind of heavy," Donahue complained.
"I suppose we can leave him in the study. Oh, all right, we'll park him in the study." She led the way back to the study. She watched Donahue dump her husband on a leather-covered divan.
Donahue straightened up. "You should keep him on a leash," he said.
"Tell me: was he alone?"
"Yes," Donahue lied.
"Where was he alone?"
"Club Inferno."
"He wasn't really alone, now, was he?" She came slowly towards him, her eyes soft. Donahue nodded his head, yes.
She whirled furiously to a purse on a black composition table and opened it. She extracted a dollar bill and thrust it at Donahue. "Here," she said. "A tip."
Donahue took the bill, grinned, folded it, and put it away. He started to leave.
"Wait," she said.
He turned to her.
She looked contrite. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I was taking out my frustration on you. That was wrong of me. That was petty."
"It's all right," Donahue said. "I've been a whipping boy before."
She looked down at her husband. Steele's mouth was open; harsh sounds were coming from it. He was breathing heavily. "He's neglected me in so many ways," she said. She looked at Donahue. "Am I so hard to take?"
Donahue looked her over carefully. "You're a beautiful woman, Mrs. Steele."
"The name is Marion." She came slowly towards him. "You don't mind calling me Marion, do you?" Her voice was soft, liquid. "I've been a neglected wife for a long, long time. I suppose you've met neglected wives before?"
"I've met all kinds of wives."
"And have you been generous with them?" she wanted to know. "Sometimes."
"Burt is going to be out for a long time. He'll probably be out till morning." There was desire in her eyes; it made her eyes bright. "What about your maid?"
"She won't disturb us," Marion Steele said. "I'd hate to have her walk in on us. It would be embarrassing."
"She won't walk in on us," Marion Steele assured him. She took his arm and led him out of the study, down the corridor, up a flight of carpeted stairs. She opened a door and they walked into a frilly bedroom. She snapped on the overhead lights and closed and locked the door. "This is my room," she said.
"Separate bedrooms?" Donahue inquired.
"I told you he neglects me," she said, pouting. "It's his idea." She came near him, raised her sensuous lips to his. They kissed.
They broke apart and she said: "Do you like to make love in the dark?"
"I like to see what I'm doing," he said.
She took off the orlon cardigan. Her white blouse was frilly with puffed sleeves. "I like to make love in the dark. I'll let you look at me all you want to but when we make love-it'll be in the dark. In the dark. We'll see without eyes. It'll be an experience you'll never forget. I promise you."
"Let me look at you now," he urged.
"Yes, yes." She quickly got rid of her blouse and skirt. She turned slowly in her violet panties and brassiere. Then she stooped and rolled down her stockings. She rid herself of the nylons and her shoes. She took a deep breath and unhooked her bra. Her breasts were pointed and round.
He carried her to the bed where he gently deposited her. He sat down on the edge of the bed and ran his hands over her. Her arms snaked around his neck and drew his head down and they kissed urgently, sensuously. He toyed with her, teased her, caressed her till she couldn't take it anymore. "The lights," she said. "The lights. Turn them off."
CHAPTER THREE
She put on a batiste nightgown. "There was nothing anaemic about our passion, was there?" She laughed; it was like the sound of a thousand tiny bells.
"No, not anaemic. Certainly not that." He dressed. He could see through the nightgown and the proximity of her body was making the desire start all over again.
"I wish you could stay the night," she said, watching him button his shirt. "But, of course, you can't. It would be impossible."
"There'll be other nights," he said.
"Will there be?"
"Why not?"
"You-you're not in love with me, are you?" she asked. "No," he said honestly.
"That was a stupid question, wasn't it?" She laughed without humor. "Can I call for a cab?"
"I'll do it." She used the phone on the cherrywood table at the head of the bed. Then she put on a negligee and they went down to the study.
Burt Steele was still out. His breathing was labored.
"I suppose you think I'm terrible," she suddenly said. "Making love to you in my room while my husband is downstairs drunk."
"You're trying to punish yourself, aren't you, Marion?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"Look, honey, you're not the only one with problems," Donahue told her. He looked down at her husband. "He doesn't beat you, does he?"
"It hasn't come to that yet, no."
"Then you have something to be grateful for." He took a cigarette case from his jacket pocket, opened it, offered it. She shook her head, no. He selected a cigarette, put the case away, used a gas lighter to set fire to the end of the cigarette. "Maybe I'm too realistic, too cold. Perhaps I'm just a cynic. But I believe that women were built just to suffer. They seem to be more noble when they suffer; they absorb life's little tragedies the way a sponge absorbs water. Is there any woman, married or single, who is completely happy? The married women wish they were single and the single women wish they were married. The married woman who is married to Fred imagines that she would have been much happier being married to John. Of course, if she had married John then she would imagine that she would be much happier being married to Fred. She never finds out the bad qualities of her husband till she's married to him. Before she marries she believes that she's marrying the White Knight and after the ceremony he's going to take her away to his castle and she's going to five happily ever after."
"But the castle turns out to be a dungeon," Marion Steele said.
"Something like that. She wants it all to be milk and honey. Well, life isn't like that."
"I certainly didn't expect that." She pointed a finger at the snoring Burt Steele.
"But it does make you feel superior when he's like that, doesn't it?"
They heard a car drive up the driveway. "Your cab, I imagine," Marion Steele said.
"It's been a memorable evening," Donahue said.
"Have you ever been married?" she asked him.
"Yes," he admitted. "I'm paying alimony." He bent, kissed the side of her neck, and walked out the front door. The cab was waiting.
"Club Inferno," he told the driver, and flipped the butt of his cigarette out the open window. There was the smell of night flowers.
"Right," the driver said, and bypassed Burt Steele's car. "Some layout."
"It's a doll's house," Donahue said.
"Huh?"
"Just blow on it and it'll crumble," Donahue said.
"Sure," the driver said, hunching his shoulders. It takes all kinds of nuts to make the world, the driver thought to himself.
The moon splashed gold paint on the houses and gardens of Gold Hill. Donahue lit another cigarette and sighed.
The cab went through the dead business section. The driver felt like talking-he was that kind of a driver-but he realized that nuts could be grouchy when bothered. So he kept his mouth shut even though it hurt him. He bent to his task, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. He'd heard of the Club Inferno. It wasn't so ritzy because you didn't have to wear evening clothes to get in. But it was expensive. Too expensive for a cab driver's tastes. Well, what the hell! Someday, maybe on his next wedding anniversary, he'd take his wife to that joint. She always wanted to go.
He'd heard plenty about the Club Inferno. Gambling upstairs and stripping downstairs. The joint was wide open. Some of the country's best strippers appeared at the Club Inferno. And he'd heard about John Banner's fabulous wine cellar. He'd heard plenty.
He saw the red and blue neon bulbs ahead. CLUB INFERNO. And then he heard the band music coming from the two-story building. Sweet music. "There she is," he said.
The cab went into the wide driveway, stopped by the gold-braided doorman. The doorman opened the door, said, "Mr. Donahue."
Donahue paid the driver, nodded at the doorman and headed for the front doors.
Pudge was outside, taking in the night air. "Hi," he said. "Mavis was asking about you."
"Let her ask," Donahue said.
"Are you in a bad mood?" Pudge asked. "Because if you are, then I'm going to stay out of your way."
"I'm in a great mood-a wonderful mood." Donahue slapped Pudge on his arm. "Do you know why man lords it over the rest of the animal kingdom?"
"Does he?"
"Of course. Doesn't man take a canary down into a mine shaft for the sole purpose of detecting poison gas? Since the bird is more sensitive to air then it'll die first, giving man the warning he needs."
"So?" Pudge said, bewildered.
"So man lords it over the canary. And all the rest of the animal kingdom. Do you know why?"
"No," Pudge said. "I don't know why. But I do know you need a good stiff drink."
"Because man takes advantage of his strength and his alleged intellect," Donahue explained.
"Do tell."
"But man has met his match. Women. Dames. Females. The distaff side. She is more than man's match. She overshadows him, disintegrates him, purges his soul. Man has no warning because woman gives no warning. She is the devil, the-"
"Go have a couple of drinks," Pudge urged.
"What I need is a good poker game."
"Right. I agree. There's one going on upstairs right now. Shall I lead the way?"
"If you'll be so kind."
They walked into the club, went past the checkroom, through the main room where the shows were put on-strippers, singers, strippers, comedians, strippers-through the cocktail lounge with its soft blue fights and imitation leather stools, and upstairs to the second floor. They went past the gaming room with its hum of excited edgy voices, the click of the roulette ball bouncing on the wheel, the ping of a pair of dice being tossed against each other within a loose fist. They came to a door and walked into a room with a card table in the middle and four men seated around the table. There was the smell of whiskey and cigarette and cigar smoke.
One full-faced, bull-necked man looked up and said: "Donahue, is it true you taught Nick the Greek?"
"True," Donahue said.
Pudge found an empty chair and brought it over for Donahue. One of the men was working for the house. His name was Lardos and he nodded at Donahue. Pudge left the room.
Donahue played for about an hour. He missed filling an inside straight but drew one of the biggest pots with a club flush. He got up with about two hundred dollars in winnings and tossed a five dollar bill on the table. "The next bottle is on me."
"You're awfully generous," one of the men said.
Donahue grinned and walked out. He went into the gaming room and lost over a hundred at the dice table. He made four straight craps on the green velvet.
He wandered downstairs and decided to have something to eat. He sat down at a table and saw Mavis Andrews walking towards him.
CHAPTER FOUR
Mavis Andrews was the photographer at the Club Inferno. She had brown hair, a boyish figure, and she wore a tight halter and clinging shorts. Her breasts were small but well rounded and her hips were slim but interesting. She usually wore slacks when she wasn't working.
She parked her Speed Graphic on Donahue's table and sat down. "I've been looking for you," she said.
The waiter appeared.
"Can I get a hot meal?" Donahue asked him.
"I can dig up a steak," the waiter said. "It's late and most of the cooks have gone."
"I'll settle for a steak and ale." Donahue looked at Mavis. "Do you want anything, honey?"
"I'm supposed to be working," she said.
"Forget it," Donahue said. "What do you want?"
"A steak sandwich. And a bottle of pop."
The waiter went away.
"I've been looking for you," Mavis repeated.
"Any special reason?" Donahue said.
"Well, I may be imagining things but-" She took a deep breath. "Did you or did you not drive away with Burt Steele in his car awhile back?"
"Guilty."
"It was you behind the wheel, wasn't it?"
"Yes," Donahue said impatiently.
"Don't snap my head off."
"I pleaded guilty, didn't I?"
"I wanted to be sure," Mavis said.
"Well, now you're sure. Say, what is this? Were you spying on me?"
"Don't be silly," Mavis snapped. "I just happened to be parking my car out in back when I saw you drive away with Steele in the passenger seat. That is, I was almost sure it was you."
"Well, now you are sure."
"Okay," Mavis said. "I think you were tailed."
"Tailed?" Donahue said. There was a note of surprise in his voice.
"Tailed. Shadowed. Followed."
The waiter came with their food. The steak was medium rare and smothered with fried onions. The ale was in a very tall glass. Donahue drank some of it while Mavis bit into her sandwich.
"Your imagination must be working overtime," Donahue said when the waiter was out of hearing distance. The fried onions were crisp.
"Could be," Mavis said. She drank some of her coke. She took Donahue's fork and gathered some onions together and shoved them into her mouth.
"Do you know who tailed me? That is, if I was tailed."
"Fan Norbo."
"Now that's ridiculous," Donahue said. "She wasn't dressed when I scooped Steele out of her dressing room. Don't tell me she got into her car in her robe?"
"It takes half a minute to put on a dress," Mavis pointed out.
"But why should she want to tail me?"
"I wouldn't know." Mavis finished her sandwich. "I'm still hungry," she announced.
"She certainly didn't seem very happy about my taking Steele out of her dressing room."
"Why did you?"
"John asked me to take him home."
"What was he doing in Fan's dressing room?" Mavis asked with the usual feminine curiosity.
"I guess he thought he could make her," Donahue said bluntly.
"Did he?" She wrinkled her nose at him.
"He wasn't in any condition to make anyone," Donahue stated. "The man was dead drunk."
"You seem to do all right when you're looped," Mavis said.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Donahue lied. He finished his ale.
"Let me refresh your memory," Mavis said. "About a week ago-Tuesday it was, I believe-you were looped. You were tall. Fried. Limp. Soaked. Hung. You were drunk, man. And you took my virginity."
"Now that is an out and out lie," Donahue said indignantly. He crooked a finger at the waiter.
"Are you saying you didn't crawl into my bed?" Mavis said, getting angry.
"Another ale," Donahue told the waiter. He looked at Mavis. "Do you want another sandwich?"
Mavis nodded her head. "And another coke."
The waiter went away and Donahue said: "I did crawl into your bed. It was a wonderful experience. It's something that I shall always cherish. But I definitely did not take your virginity."
"Do you think I give myself to every man that happens along?" Mavis asked, her face red.
"No," Donahue said. "Not to every man that happens along. But perhaps to every other man."
"You son of a bitch."
"You asked for it."
"I thought you cared for me," she said. "I do," he said. "A little."
"But not enough to make it count," she said. "I'll never get tangled up with another female as long as I live," Donahue swore. "Because of your ex-wife?"
"Yes. I wish the bitch would get married so I can stop paying alimony."
"Is that why you won't go back to New York? Because of her?"
"You want to know too much."
The lights dimmed and the band stopped playing dance music. Donahue looked at the luminous dials of his watch. It was time for the last show.
The m.c. walked onto the dais and announced into the microphone that the Club Inferno was proud to have one of the country's best strippers as a permanent feature. "Ladies and gentlemen: I now give you Janet Sebastian."
The waiter hurried over to their table as a roll on the drums was sounded. No food was served during the shows. The waiter hurried away, leaving a hot steak sandwich and a coke for Mavis and a glass of ale for Donahue.
Janet Sebastian came out of the wings. She had on a devil's costume. She wriggled her hips and started to do a dance.
"Is that what they call dancing?" Mavis said, biting into her sandwich.
"Don't be critical," Donahue said.
Janet Sebastian had most of her costume off.
"I wonder if she's going to wear pasties," Mavis said. "A lot of the strippers do."
"She isn't even going to wear a 'g' string," Donahue said, grinning.
"You're crazy," Mavis said. "I'll bet you a sawbuck."
"It's a bet."
Donahue tasted his ale. He watched the orange-haired stripper go through her routine. Janet Sebastian was now down to a bra and panties. She turned her back to the audience and fumbled at the hook and eye of the bra. She let it fall. Then she turned, faced the audience. She wasn't wearing any pasties. Her full breasts were completely bare.
"She's got a good build," Donahue said.
"Too big in the breast department," Mavis said.
"Jealous?"
"Why should I be jealous?" Mavis said. "You didn't complain last Tuesday."
"They're adequate," Donahue said, keeping his eyes on the stripper.
"Thanks," Mavis said dryly.
Janet Sebastian got rid of her panties and did one high kick and her routine was finished. She wasn't wearing a 'g' string. She stood there in front of the band, stark naked. Then she ran away from the spotlight and the audience burst into applause.
"You owe me ten," Donahue said.
The lights got brighter.
The band started some dance music and couples got up to dance.
"I'll give it to you in trade," Mavis said wantonly. "How does that suit you?"
"Fine. Just fine."
"In fact-" she looked at her wristwatch-"I'll be off in another hour. You can take me home."
"You're not going to give me your virginity again, are you?" Donahue asked.
"Shad Donahue, you are a son of a bitch."
"I won't deny that," Donahue said.
"But seriously," she said, "what about Fan Norbo?"
"What about her?"
"Aren't you going to find out why she followed you?"
"Do you think she'd tell me if I asked her?" Donahue said.
I guess not.
"We'll just wait and see," Donahue said. "In fact, that's about all we can do."
CHAPTER FIVE
Donahue woke up in Mavis Andrews' bedroom. Sunlight, saffron-colored, peeped through the slats of the Venetian blinds. He sat up and stretched. He was naked. He got out of bed and found Mavis in the shower stall in the bathroom. He waited till she stepped out of the stall and onto a scatter rug. She started rubbing her body with a heavy Turkish towel.
"Have you got a razor I can use, honey?" Donahue asked, watching her slim body.
She rubbed her breasts, making the small mounds jump. "There's a razor in the medicine chest."
"You get up awful early," Donahue said, putting a new blade in a heavy safety razor.
"It's almost noon," Mavis said. She put on a terry-cloth robe. "How about a nude swim tonight?"
"At the lake?" Donahue lathered his face with soap.
"Why not?"
Donahue opened a tube of brushless shaving cream. "Too many people have the same idea about nude swimming at the lake." He washed off the lather, then spread the shaving cream on his face.
"What about John Banner's swimming pool?" Mavis suggested. "He's got a kidney-shaped pool on his estate. I've seen it. Wow!"
"You're not thinking of inviting John to join us, are you?" The razor scraped Donahue's chin.
"Don't be silly," Mavis said. "John will be busy at his club. I don't think he'll mind if we use his pool. Besides, his estate is so big! I think it's too much for just one man."
Donahue finished shaving, washed his face of remaining cream. "I don't think John believes in the share-the-wealth program."
"Well, I'll ask him," Mavis said.
"Aren't you working tonight?"
"I can take off a couple of hours. Besides, John would let me have the whole night off if I asked him. I think he goes for me."
"I hope you don't go for him," Donahue said. He turned and pulled her to him.
"Save all that energy for tonight," Mavis said. She quickly kissed him, tried to break away.
He tugged at the rope that held her terry-cloth robe together. It came apart, revealing her sharp breasts. His hands captured her promontories, squeezed the white mounds gently.
A sigh escaped from her lips. "Don't get me worked up," she pleaded.
His hands went around her robe and spread over her buttocks. He pulled her to him.
"Do you want to go to bed?" she said, her eyes very bright. "Is that what you want?"
"Unless you'd rather not," he said.
"I want to do what you want," she said.
"Let's go to bed," he said. "Okay?"
"Whatever you want." Her hand went around his waist and she pressed as hard as she could against his naked body.
They went into the bedroom.
She threw off the robe and stretched her body against his. Her mouth worked over his ear and neck while her hands felt his back and buttocks. Her hands swept his body. She listened to him groan. "You like?" she said.
"You know I do," he said.
"I like doing things for you," she said.
"I know."
"Darling," she said. "Darling." He kissed her and hugged her to him. "You like?"
"Oh, yes-yes I"
CHAPTER SIX
When Shad Donahue let himself into his apartment, he found he had a visitor. He closed and locked the door and said: "This is a pleasant surprise."
Marion Steele jumped up from the divan where she had been nursing a Scotch and soda. She put the drink on an end table and came up to Donahue. There was fear and worry in her eyes. "I didn't know who to turn to," she said.
"What's wrong?"
"It's Burt. He's been kidnapped."
"Kidnapped?" Donahue said, slightly shocked. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," she said, her words gushing forth. "Ken telephoned me; the kidnapper had called him, told him that Burt was being held for ransom."
"Who's Ken?"
"Ken Richardson," Marion Steele explained. "He's our lawyer. He has an office in the Brent Building."
"But how did they break into the house?" Donahue said. "You would have heard them. Or did your husband leave the house this morning on his own steam?"
"I don't know," she said.
"You don't know?"
"When-when you left last night I went back to my bedroom and to sleep. I left Burt downstairs in the study. When I went down this morning Burt was gone. I presumed he'd awakened and had gone to his office."
"Did Richardson check your husband's office?" Donahue asked.
"Yes. In fact, he checked many of the bars that Burt frequents. He believed that the call was a hoax, a practical joke. But so far he hasn't been able to locate Burt. It must be assumed that Burt really has been kidnapped."
Donahue sat down on the divan and opened his cigarette case. He offered Marion a cigarette; she refused. He selected a cigarette, lit it. "Why did you come to me?"
"I-I had to turn to someone," she said lamely.
"But why me?"
"I thought-last night-Well, you gave me back part of my womanhood."
"And now you want to have your husband back?" Donahue said cruelly.
"I don't know what I want," she cried out. "Don't you understand? He was no good. But I just can't stand around and do nothing. He's my husband."
"You're well rid of him."
"You-you won't help?"
"What can I do?"
"I don't know," she said. "Anything."
"You should go see the police."
"Ken was warned about that," she said. "The kidnapper said that Burt would be killed if the police were called in."
"Do you think they'd let him live so that he could identify them?" Donahue said.
Ken Richardson had his office on the sixth floor of the Brent Building. He had a young secretary; she had
"Oh, please!"
"I'm trying to be honest with you."
"I heard about you," she said.
"Really?" Donahue said, poker-faced.
"You have underworld connections," she said bluntly. "I think you can help."
"I don't owe you a thing," Donahue said flatly.
"How can you say that after last night?" she cried out. "How can you?"
"I didn't force you."
"No, but-"
"Go to the police. That's your best bet. I'll even go down with you if you want."
"Thanks a lot," she said, her voice throaty. "Thanks a lot for nothing." She turned to leave.
"Wait a minute." He stood up, faced her. "Do you feel guilty about last night? Is that why you're so desperate to get him back?"
"It's not a question of getting him back," she said. "I just want him off the hook."
"Can I talk to this guy Richardson?"
"I don't see why not. I'll call him, tell him to expect you."
"I'm not promising anything," Donahue said; "but I'll see what I can find out."
"I-I feel so much better."
"Sure," Donahue said. He lit another cigarette while she used his phone to call her lawyer. black hair and a pony tail. "Mr. Richardson is expecting you," she intoned.
Shad Donahue opened the door marked: private. Richardson was a tall man about forty. He had bushy eyebrows, an aquiline nose, and a worried expression on his face.
He came from behind his desk and shook hands with Donahue. "I know most of Burt's friends," he said, "but I don't think we've ever-"
"I know Burt from the Club Inferno," Donahue said. "We've done some gambling together."
"Donahue," Richardson said, screwing up his forehead. "Now the name rings a bell. I've seen you at the club. You're a friend of John Banner's, aren't you?"
"I know Banner," Donahue said, noncommittally. "I know a lot of people."
"Banner happens to be the gangster element in this town," Richardson said. "If anyone did any kidnapping-"
"You should know better than that," Donahue said. "You're supposed to be a lawyer. By talking like that you're laying yourself open for a law suit."
Richardson cooled off. "Do you mind telling me why you want to help?"
"Let's just say it's my turn to play the good Samaritan. That's as good an answer as any."
"Well, I don't see how you can help; you're not the police." Richardson went behind his desk and took a bottle of scotch from a desk drawer. He put two paper cups on the desk flat.
"Nothing for me, thanks," Donahue said.
Richardson poured scotch into one of the paper cups. He sat down behind his desk, lifted the cup and sipped. "The escape from reality," he said.
"Has Steele's kidnapping hit you that hard?"
"He was my friend," Richardson said simply.
"Was? You think he's dead?"
"Too many kidnapping victims are murdered. Why, he may be dead this minute." The lawyer finished his scotch, poured a second helping. He sipped at it, sighed. "Marion is the one I feel sorry for. She's suffered a lot because of Burt's drinking and fooling around with other women. And now this!"
"What time did the call come through?"
"As soon as I opened my office. I open up around nine. The voice was disguised, as if a handkerchief was put over the mouthpiece. The voice told me that Burt Steele had been kidnapped; that I would get another call soon as to how the ransom would be paid."
"Did the voice say how much ransom he wanted?"
"No," the lawyer said. "He didn't say how much."
"Then what happened?"
"Well, I thought it was all one big joke," Richardson said. "I even said so. The other party hung up."
"And then you called Steele's office?"
"Yes," the lawyer said. "Miss Brown said Steele hadn't shown yet. Then I called a couple of bars."
"That early in the morning?"
"There are a couple of cocktail lounges that open up at the crack of dawn," Richardson said. "It's a wide open town. Too wide open for some people."
"You mean the country club set?"
"I'm part of that set," Richardson said.
"You people are glad the town is wide open. You do a lot of talking for publication. But most of the male members of your set come to the club just to pick up some slut and the female members do their gambling there. So don't be a hypocrite. You pretend to be fine and respectable because your position in the community demands it of you but you can curse and carouse with the best of them. So just stow it."
"Let's not digress," Richardson said. "What are you going to do about Burt Steele?"
"Ask around," Donahue said. "That's about all I can do."
"I wish I could do something," Richardson said, clenching his fists. "But I don't know what."
"You'll have to sit tight till the next call comes through," Donahue said.
"I wonder how much they'll want," the lawyer thought out loud.
"How much is Steele worth?"
"Plenty," Richardson said. "He's in the eighty percent bracket."
Donahue whistled.
"We've some rich people in Contralto," Ken Richardson said. "Some awfully rich people."
"You haven't notified the police, I take it."
"I was warned not to," the lawyer said. "Steele would be killed if the law were brought in."
"All kidnappers tell you that."
"I'm not taking any chances," Richardson said. "There's the barest chance that Burt might get out of this alive. I certainly hope so."
"Who's Miss Brown in Steele's office?"
"His secretary. A very loyal girl."
"Will you call her and tell her to expect me?"
"I'll call her right away," Richardson, said, drawing the phone towards him. He looked up at Donahue. "But how can she help you?"
Donahue shrugged his shoulders. "I'm going off half blind. Perhaps a pattern will form if I talk to enough people. Please, indulge me."
"I'll tell her to expect you immediately," Richardson said, raising the receiver.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Natalie Brown wondered what all the commotion was about. Two calls from Burt's lawyer and both times his voice was strained as if a great pile were pressing against his throat. It wasn't the first time that Burt Steele had taken the day off. She didn't mind it. It gave her a chance to get home early.
Some part of her brain kept telling her that something was wrong but she tried to laugh it off. What could be wrong? Burt Steele was capable of taking care of himself. He was a big man; strong, quick-witted.
Her mind's eye went back to the day before. It was one of the days when Burt Steele got ideas about her and couldn't keep his hands off her. She liked him, she had to admit that. He was very rugged and good-looking and she would have taken more of an interest in him if he had been single. But Steele was married and had women on the side. Natalie Brown was determined that she wouldn't become one of Steele's women.
She closed her eyes on the scene in her mind's eye when he had put his hands inside her dress. It had been pleasant, she had to admit that.
The outside door was opening. She shook her head and the scene faded. It was a good thing she had finally pulled away or he certainly would have made her then. She felt she had been ripe for it.
The door to the inner office opened and a tall, slim, tanned man came in. He couldn't have been more than thirty. His hair was dark brown and very wavy. She remembered the call from Steele's lawyer, telling her that he was sending over someone called Donahue and that she should cooperate with him. She wondered if this was Donahue and if he was married.
She put on her brightest smile, said: "Yes?"
Donahue looked at the pretty face, the even white teeth, the tanned skin. "Mr. Richardson called...."
"You're Mr. Donahue?"
"Yes," Donahue admitted.
"Mr. Richardson said I should cooperate with you. I confess, I'm completely in the dark."
Donahue looked at his watch. "It's almost four. What time do you close up the office?"
"Well, since Mr. Steele hasn't been in all day, and I don't suppose he'll show up so late, I guess I can leave any time."
"Good. Let me take you home. Or do you have a car?"
"I travel by bus. I'm afraid of cars."
"Not really?" Donahue said.
She nodded her head. "A boy friend tried to teach me how to drive and he gave me the wheel. The car went into a ditch."
"Was anyone hurt?"
"Fortunately, no. But I wouldn't get behind the wheel of a car for all the money in the world."
"Well, I promise not to give you the wheel of my car," Donahue said.
"Fine," she said. "But I have three calls to make. It'll only take a second." She dialed the numbers while Donahue cooled his heels. They were all business calls and she told the person at each number that Mr. Steele would certainly call him the very next day. She finally hung up. "The real estate business is certainly jumping. Mr. Steele has a lot of property in the suburbs. Of course, Contralto itself would be considered a suburb if we were close to New York or Chicago."
"It's a decent sized town anyway," Donahue said. He waited while she applied fresh lipstick, then held the door for her. She locked up and they went out into the street.
"Is that your car?" she said. The gleaming car was in front of the building. White wall tires, plenty of shiny chrome, freshly waxed. The car looked like a dream.
"That's it," Donahue said. "I was thinking of a foreign car but the denizens of Contralto haven't advanced that far yet. It's Buicks and Lincolns and Caddys."
"We're not that old fashioned," Natalie Brown said. "To a certain degree, yes," said Donahue.
"We'll have our foreign cars too," she said.
"In another year or two," Donahue said. "Contralto is just one step behind the times."
"You don't identify yourself with Contralto, do you?" she wanted to know.
"I never thought much of it."
"Where are you from? Or should I guess?" She looked up at his handsome visage as he pulled the car away from the curb.
"Go ahead and guess."
"L. A."
"Wrong."
"New York," she said. "Right."
"What are you doing in this neck of the woods?" she asked, searching in her purse for cigarettes.
He took out his cigarette case, handed it to her. She opened it, selected a cigarette. "Style," she said, examining the slim case. "Were you born rich?"
"No," he said, putting away his case. "I struggled to the top like the heroes of realistic movies. Realistic and boring."
"You didn't answer my other question," she said, lighting her cigarette.
"Which question was that?" He concentrated on his driving. "By the way, where do you live?"
"535 Oak Drive."
"Live with your parents?"
"I live with four husky brothers."
He laughed. "You live alone then?"
"Yes," she said. "Answer my question."
"Ask it."
"What are you doing in this neck of the woods?"
"Searching for gold." Liar.
"I came here to do social work."
"Liar."
"I ran away from an ex-wife."
"Is that the truth?" she asked. "Yes."
"Have you a girl friend?"
"Dozens."
"I'm jealous."
"Don't be," he said. "There's not one that counts. I don't even call them by name but by number. I'm actually indifferent to every one of them."
He pulled up in front of 535 Oak Drive.
"Well, here we are," she said.
"You don't live far from your place of work," he observed.
"Don't get the wrong ideas, Steele is just my boss, nothing else."
"Just talking. No harm intended."
"Not that he hasn't tried," she said, suddenly bold. She suddenly wanted to shock this handsome man from New York. He was too sure of himself.
"Really?" He smiled at her indulgently.
"I'm still bruised from our last encounter," she blurted out.
"I hope he didn't hurt you," Donahue said, the smile still on his face.
"I liked being hurt," she said. She tossed her cigarette out the car window. "Do you want to come inside for a drink? That is, if your mother lets you drink."
"What are you sore about?"
"I'm not sore about anything." She climbed out of the car. Her dress hiked up halfway to her hip, exposing a generous view of white thigh. She hoped he got a good look. She shook her skirt and said: "Are you coming?"
He got out of the car and followed her through a wooden gate, to a two-story white house. "You live here all alone?" he asked, surprised.
"It's a two family house," she explained. "I have the upstairs apartment."
There was an entrance at the side, near the garage.
They went up a flight of stairs. She fished out a key from her purse, unlocked the door. They came into a living room which was modernistic, with lithographs on the walls. There was a mauve carpet on the floor.
She went into the kitchen and came back with a bowl of ice cubes, a bottle of charged water, and two glasses. She put everything on a cocktail table and then went to a small oak liquor cabinet, opened it, revealing many bottles of all sizes and shapes. "What is your wish, sir?" she said.
"Plain bourbon."
"On the rocks?"
"Okay," Donahue said.
She made Donahue a bourbon on the rocks, gave it to him, then made an orange blossom for herself. She added charged water to the drink.
"Wouldn't that spoil it?" Donahue said.
"That's the way I like it." She sank down on a pastel divan, crossed her knees. "Well, Mr. Richardson said I should cooperate with you. In what way, may I ask?"
"I'm going to tell you something which you'll have to keep to yourself," Donahue said.
"Well, I don't know." Natalie Brown sipped her drink. "I like to gossip."
"You won't be able to gossip about this. Mr. Richardson has reason to believe that your boss has been kidnapped."
"What?" She looked startled.
"Someone called Richardson early this morning and said that Steele had been kidnapped. Richardson called you and you said he wasn't in the office. Then he called some bars and Steele wasn't in any of them. So far, he hasn't been able to locate Steele."
"So it does look like a kidnapping," she mused.
"It gives every appearance of being a kidnapping," Donahue said.
"What can I do to help?"
"You're sure that Steele didn't show up today?"
"I told Mr. Richardson that he didn't. I don't usually lie. And why should I he about a thing like that? What could I hope to gain?"
"Perhaps Steele did show up and made you promise not to tell anyone that you'd seen him. It could have happened that way."
"You must be off someplace in left field," she said. "You're nuts."
"Just an idea, honey."
"Well, get those ideas out of your head," she said.
She sipped at her drink. "You're not from the police, are you?" she asked.
"Richardson was warned not to bring in the police."
"Well, what's your interest in this thing?"
"Mrs. Steele came to see me; she told me what had happened. She asked me to lend a hand. That's my interest in this business."
"I see," Natalie Brown said. "You and Marion Steele. How cozy."
"Here now," Donahue said. "Get those wicked thoughts out of your head. I'd never touch a married woman," he lied. "The very idea."
"You can't trust any man," she said sagely.
"I suppose you're a woman who knows."
"I've been around," she said, smiling a Mona Lisa smile.
"Let's not get off the beaten path," Donahue said. "Has Steele ever confided in you about owing money to anyone or about anyone owing him money?"
"No."
"Did he ever complain about being followed?"
"No," she said.
"Did he act suspicious lately?"
"About what?" she said. "About anything."
"No."
Donahue said: "You're a great help."
"So sue me," she said. "You came to me, remember? I didn't go to you."
"I'm not doing much good around here." He tossed off his drink. "Thanks for the bourbon."
"I'm going to cook up a fine dinner," she said. "How about helping me finish it off?"
"I wish I could, but there are a thousand things I have to do."
She walked to the door with him. "What's your first name?"
"Shad." He opened the door, thanked her for the drink again, then started down the stairs.
"Shad," she said. "And I always thought that was a fish."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Smoke curled from a chimney, disappeared in the air. There was a clearing around the hunting lodge; around the clearing were pine, elm, spruce. The smell of pine was strong.
A car, small and compact, stopped at the edge of a side road and Fan Norbo got out. She wore a blue sweater that showed off her fine breasts and a pair of tight gray slacks. She walked over the rough grass, stopped by a big elm, rested a hand on the trunk and peered at the lodge. She saw the smoke but no other sign of life. She moved away from the elm and entered the clearing. She walked up to the front door of the lodge and pushed open the door.
Burt Steele was sitting in front of the wood fire, glass in hand. His head jerked around as the door was opened. "Fan!" he said. He got hastily to his feet.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice charged with excitement.
"A hunch," Fan Norbo said. "A hunch brought me here." She looked around at the interior of the lodge, at the panel walls, the shotguns and rifles on the walls, the bed, the straight-backed chairs, the pot-belly stove. "How cozy."
"Did you tell anyone you were coming up here?" Steele wanted to know.
"No," she said. "But don't get any funny ideas. You're not the type to kill."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't you?" She advanced well into the large room. "Didn't the idea cross your mind as soon as you saw me? Be honest."
"Don't be silly," he said gruffly.
She shrugged her shoulders. "Have it your way." She looked around again. "By the way, where are your kidnappers? Did they step out for lunch?"
"Did my lawyer call in the police?" Steele said, his forehead creased in a frown.
"I wouldn't know about that," Fan said. "But it wasn't in the papers."
"How did you-"
She laughed. "You were drunk last night," she said. "You always did talk too much when you drank."
"I see." Steele looked down at his drink, tossed it off. He made another, sat down on one of the straight-backed chairs. "I hope you're going to be sensible about this."
"It all depends."
"On how much?" he said, tasting his drink.
"A girl has to live."
"Why?" he said.
"I told you not to get any funny ideas," she snapped. "You'd only bungle it."
"The way I bungled this," he said bitterly. "I'm the only one who knows the truth," she said. "That's what you think," Burt Steele said. "What do you mean?"
"Never mind," Steele said. "Okay, honey. How much will it cost me?"
"What about ten thousand dollars?"
"You'll take five and like it."
"I can't bargain with you?" she said, grinning. "No, damn you!"
"Okay. I'll take five thousand but I won't like it." She looked at the glass in his hand. "How about fixing me a drink?"
"Sure." He stood up and built her a scotch and soda. He gave it to her, watched her drink it. "You don't have to rush right back, do you?"
She saw him staring at her full breasts and read the hunger there. She smiled, showing her white teeth in a toothpaste-ad smile. "There's no big hurry."
"We may as well enjoy ourselves," he said, taking her glass away.
She stripped off the sweater and rid herself of the slacks. She stood in front of him in bra and panties. "You remember the last time we were here?"
"Yes," he said huskily. "Is that what give you the idea that I might be hiding here?"
"Uh huh." She turned. "Unhook my bra."
He unhooked her bra. The flimsy garment fell to the floor. His hands went around her and captured her heavy breasts.
She closed her eyes, and sighed. "That feels so good."
He kissed her. His hands roamed all over her. His body was wild with desire.
They fell onto the bed and she wrapped her arms around his neck.
The bed was as sturdy as the Rock of Gibraltar.
CHAPTER NINE
Shad Donahue had an apartment on Forest Avenue. It was a three-room flat, with carpets and foam rubber sofa and chairs. The television set and the liquor cabinet were made of blond wood. A Reynolds print hung on the living room wall.
Donahue shaved, showered, and took a nap. He slept till five, then washed his face, put on an Italian silk suit, brown loafers, and went to a cafeteria across the street for a breaded veal cutlet, Lima beans, small sweet peas, and a cup of coffee. He used the phone booth in the rear and called John Banner's private home number.
A man's deep voice answered: "Yes?"
"I want to speak to Banner."
"Who is this, please?"
"Don't you recognize my voice, Steve?"
"Oh, Mr. Donahue. Just a second, please."
John Banner came on. "Hello, Shad. What can I do for you?"
"I wanted to have a little chat with Fan Norbo," Donahue said. "Can you give me her number?"
"Isn't there a phone book where you are?" Banner asked.
"I didn't bother to look," Donahue said. "And I didn't bother to look because I know that Fan has an unlisted number and she doesn't freely give out her address."
"The number is Mutual 534." There was a click and the line went dead.
"Thanks," Donahue said into the mouthpiece, then juggled the hook, slid a dime into the slot and dialed the number Banner had just given him.
Fan Norbo came on. "Yes?" Her voice was metallic.
"I'd like to come visit you," Donahue said.
"What? Who is this?"
"I've always admired you from afar."
"Drop dead."
"Hold on; this is Shad."
"All right, Rover, what do you want?" she said, her voice annoyed. "I'd like to talk to you."
"You mean now?"
"Yes, now," Donahue said patiently. "Well, go ahead and talk."
"Not over the phone."
"Look, Shad, I'm going to be at the Club Inferno around ten tonight. Can't it wait till then?"
"No," Donahue answered.
The sigh came over very distinctly. "Okay, you win.
The number is 236 Bluman Street. Apartment 77. Take the elevator straight up to the seventh floor and go right soon as you leave the elevator. Have you got all that?"
"Wait a minute," Donahue said. "I'm writing all this down. Let me lick my pencil again."
There was a sharp click and Donahue hung up his receiver, grinning. He walked out of the cafeteria, went across the street, turned around the block to the garage set into the building where he had his apartment. He told the day man to get his car and waited on the sidewalk, smoking a cigarette.
There was an overcast and chances were it would rain before night set in. The day man drove the car out of the garage and Donahue took over. The garage man accepted the quarter tip and disappeared into the garage. Donahue went down Fleetwood Avenue, stopped at a red light. He got rid of the cigarette butt, shot forward when the light changed to green.
It took him twenty minutes to get to 236 Bluman Street. He parked the car, walked into the red brick building. The carpets were almost ankle deep. The self service took him up to the seventh floor and he turned right, walked down the corridor till he got to the door marked: 77. He thumbed a button set in the jamb and waited.
Fan Norbo opened up. "You made it in good time," she said, letting him in. She closed, locked the door. She told him to have a seat, then she made him a scotch on the rocks. She made nothing for herself. She had on a street dress and brown pumps. The skirt flared down from her hips. She looked good in the dress. It showed off her fine breasts. She watched him drink, then said: "What's on your mind?"
"Why did you follow me last night?" Donahue said.
She stood there, looked down at him with amused eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Burt Steele has been kidnapped," Donahue announced.
"Really?"
"You don't sound surprised," he said. "Nothing surprises me. I've seen too much of everything."
"I took Burt home last night from the Club Inferno," Donahue said. "In fact, I got him out of your dressing room. And you followed us."
"You're crazy," she said.
"Do you know who kidnapped Steele?"
"Don't be stupid."
"Do you know where Steele is?"
"You're still being stupid."
Donahue put his glass on a cocktail table, stood up. "Why are you holding out?"
"Why are you asking so many questions?"
"I'm trying to find him."
"Why?"
"Because I'm on a scavenger hunt and Steele is number six on the list," Donahue said hotly. "Will you come across or do I have to-"
"Will I come across?" she said. She feigned shock. "I didn't know you cared."
"All right, Fan," Donahue said, giving up. He walked towards the door, stopped, turned. "You're not very bright. You sat down and mixed yourself a bad deal."
"There's a joker in the deck," Fan said. "What does that mean?"
"It means I've got the best hand." He shrugged his shoulders, opened the door, walked out.
CHAPTER TEN
John Banner fingered his pencil-thin mustache. He was seated behind the desk in his office. The band downstairs, led by Jack Price, could be heard doing an Afro-Cuban number. Banner selected a cigarette from a silver inlaid cigarette box. He lifted a heavy desk lighter from the polished surface of his desk, set fire to the cigarette. Blue-gray smoke curled from between his lips and from his nostrils. "I think you're wrong about Fan," he said, his voice amused.
"I'm not looking to get Fan into trouble," Shad Donahue said. He was half-sitting, half-leaning on Banner's desk. One foot rested on the floor, the other suspended in mid-air. "I just want to get Burt Steele back. And in one piece."
Banner puffed deeply on his cigarette. "Why all this interest in Steele? He was never a friend to you. And you aren't the police."
"I'm doing his wife a favor," Donahue said.
"I didn't know you knew his wife?"
"I met her last night."
"I take it you just didn't beat a hasty retreat after leaving Steele with his wife?"
"I don't like to answer personal questions," Donahue said. He reached over, took a cigarette from the silver inlaid box. He used Banner's desk lighter.
"I have no control over my employees," Banner said, going back to the subject of Fan Norbo.
"We're all out to make a buck," Donahue said. "I can't blame Fan if she sees a chance of getting some extra dough in her kick. But I'd hate to see her get mixed up in a kidnapping deal."
"She's old enough to take care of herself." Banner mashed out the butt of his cigarette against the bottom of a crystal ash tray.
"You won't talk to her?"
"She'll get sore at you for talking to me," the night club owner said. "Let her get sore."
"She won't trust you with anything," Banner said. "She doesn't trust me now."
Banner shook his head. "I can't interfere; it's none of my business."
"I just don't want to see her get hurt. She's playing with dynamite."
"It's her affair. Let's drop it."
"Okay." Donahue slid off the desk, started for the door when it opened and Banner's bodyguard stood in the doorway.
"Well?" Banner said impatiently.
"It's that stripper dame," the bodyguard said. "She looks awful mad."
"Let her in."
The bodyguard jerked with his head and Janet Sebastian brushed by him. She was furious. Her fists were doubled up, her finger nails digging into her palms. She had on a loose robe. Her breasts swayed freely, letting Banner and Donahue know that she wasn't wearing a bra. She jerked to a halt and her breasts bobbed once more.
"What's eating you?" Banner said.
"Am I supposed to perform every night wearing the same costumes?" Janet Sebastian demanded to know.
"Didn't your costumes come?" Banner asked. "I ordered some new ones for you."
"No, they did not come," she said furiously. "You get the costumer on the phone right now and have him bring out what I need."
"It's night," Banner said, trying not to lose his patience. "His shop is probably closed up."
"I was promised new costumes," she said stubbornly. "And I want them."
"I'll have them for you by tomorrow night," John Banner said. "I promise."
"Well...." She saw that it was hopeless. She turned, saw Donahue watching her, gave him a fleeting smile, then bounced out. Banner and Donahue appreciated the liquid movement of her buttocks.
"I think she likes you," Banner told Donahue after the stripper left the office.
"It's my charm that does it," Donahue said without modesty. He walked to the door, glanced over his shoulder at Banner. "Mavis told me to ask about using your private pool."
"Sure," Banner said. "I'll call my caretaker, tell him to expect you."
Donahue left Banner's office, walked down to the bar, ordered a scotch, took it with him to a phone booth. He dialed Ken Richardson's home number.
Richardson answered on the third peal. "Yes?"
"This is Donahue. Any word?"
"Nothing."
"I'll call you at your office tomorrow morning," Donahue said, and hung up. He took his scotch out of the booth, drank it, brought the empty glass back to the bar. Jack Price, the band's leader, was sitting on the next stool, to Donahue's left.
Price was a tall, handsome man with blond hair. He was smoking one of his unusually long cigarettes. He had a double bourbon in front of him. He glared at Donahue, said, "I've a headache because of you."
Donahue didn't know what the band leader was talking about. "Come again," he said.
"Fan Norbo," Jack Price spit out. He finished his bourbon, told the bartender, "Jerry, fill that glass and keep filling it till I tell you to stop."
"What happened?" Donahue asked Price.
"All of a sudden that bitch doesn't like the arrangements," Price said. "She really carried on in her dressing room. Then she started cursing all men and particularly you. Well, I got the message all right. She's sore at you and she's taking it out on everybody. Dames!"
"What the hell!" Donahue said. "She's got to do her numbers whether she likes the arrangements or not."
"That's true," Price said. "But she can cause an awful bitch and that's exactly what she's going to do. Do I need these headaches? My God, Shad, I don't know what she's sore at you for but try to straighten it out with her before the show."
"I'll go see her," Donahue said.
"Go see who?" said a calm feminine voice.
Price and Donahue both turned. Mavis Andrews, in her shorts and halter, stood there. She held her camera in her hands. "Go see who?" she repeated.
Price stared at her with open interest. "You look lovely tonight, Mavis," he said.
"I look lovely every night," she said. "And stop staring at my bust that way. It's indecent."
Price turned to face the bar and took his fresh bourbon.
Mavis looked at Donahue. "And who are you going to see?"
"A social worker," Donahue said. "I need rehabilitation badly."
"I know what you need," Mavis said wickedly, moving closer to Donahue so that her breast brushed against his chest.
"I hope he doesn't spy on us," Mavis said, giggling.
"Let him," Donahue said. "I feel generous."
"Well, I don't. I won't expose myself to just anyone." She smiled up at him. "I really have to go for a fella before I'd let him see me nude."
Price slid off his stool. "Couldn't help overhearing that last remark, Mavis. I wish I could say something apropos but I'm afraid all that bourbon has sort of dulled my brain."
"It wasn't the bourbon; you were born that way," Mavis said unkindly.
"Ouch." Jack Price slunk away.
"Get many orders?" Donahue said, pointing to the camera.
"Nothing to write home about," Mavis said. "The tight crowd are the early ones. Later, there'll be orders for pictures." She suddenly giggled. "But I won't be here to take them. Say, when do we blow this joint and head for John's estate?"
"Meet me outside in the parking lot in an hour," Donahue said. "Okay?"
"Okay." She suddenly gave him a quick kiss on his cheek and darted into the main room where the waiters were darting about, taking orders and delivering hot dishes.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Fan Norbo was stepping into her evening gown when the door opened and Shad Donahue materialized in the doorway. She jerked the gown up, covering her naked breasts. "Why don't you knock?" she said angrily. She fastened the gown at the back. It was strapless, cut very low.
"I heard you were giving Jack Price a hard time," Donahue said.
"That's none of your business," she snapped.
"You wouldn't be acting that way if something weren't bothering you," Donahue reasoned.
"Listen, I have a number to do," she said. "Get the hell out of here."
"I'm not leaving till I get a few straight answers," Donahue said.
"I didn't get sore at Jack Price because of you," she said. "And that's the truth."
"Then why?"
"How would you feel if you lost out on five grand?" she wanted to know.
"I don't read you," he said. "Send the message again. And this time make it clear."
"Can't you figure it out?" she said.
"No."
"I can't explain now. I'll see you after the number."
"No good. I'm going swimming with Mavis."
"Give me the key to your apartment," she said.
Donahue handed her the key.
"I'll be waiting for you when you get back from your swim. Just don't bring Mavis home with you or you'll have some explaining to do."
"Are you going to do both shows?"
"Just the first one," she said. "I'll go to your place after my last number. We can talk there."
"All right, Fan."
"Give me your address."
He gave it to her, then left the dressing room.
He found Mavis in the parking lot, leaning against his car. She had changed into a blue cotton dress. She had a knitted shawl around her shoulders.
Donahue opened the car door and they climbed in, he taking the wheel and Mavis in the passenger seat. He kicked the motor over and the car slid out of the lot.
They drove through the length of Contralto. The sky was red and there were no stars to be seen. "It's going to rain," Mavis said.
"It sure looks like it."
The caretaker stopped them at the front gate. "The name is Donahue. John Banner said he would call you, tell you to expect us."
"Yes, sir. That he did. Yes, sir." The caretaker opened the gate and Donahue drove through. He stopped at the side of the house and they got out.
There was the smell of night flowers. The house was big and sprawling. "What a layout," Mavis said.
Donahue took her arm and they walked around the house to the back where the swimming pool and bath houses were. "Make sure there's nobody in the house," Mavis said. "I wouldn't want anyone to see us."
"Don't be silly," Donahue said. "There's nobody in the house."
"Make sure."
"You expect me to break in?"
"There must be an open window somewhere," she pleaded. "Please, Shad."
He sighed. "Okay." He walked close to the house till he found a half open window. He climbed in, wandered about till he was absolutely certain that the house was empty. Then he rejoined Mavis.
"Well?" she said.
"The joint is empty."
"You can't blame a girl for worrying," she said.
"Off with our duds and into the water," he said, pulling out his shirt tails.
"We're not going to undress in front of each other," she said.
"We're not?" he said stupidly.
"Oh, no," she said. "You take a locker in the men's bath house and I'll take a locker in the women's bath house. When I'm undressed I'll come out and go into the pool and then call you. You come out then and join me. Is that clear?"
"Like mud," he said. "I've already seen you undress, honey. Don't you remember?"
"That was different," she said.
"It was?"
"Oh, yes. We were in the heat of passion. This-this is more cold blooded."
"Whatever you say, honey." Donahue decided it was better not to argue. He went into the men's bath house and undressed. He waited till she called out to him. He left the bath house and saw her head bobbing on the water's surface. He jumped in and swam to her side.
"Isn't this fun?" she said.
"Yeah." He swam around her, dived, pinched her fanny, and surfaced. "Having fun?" she said. "Race you to the end of the pool?"
"Okay."
Donahue beat her by a small margin. He hoisted himself up, then grabbed her arms, and she was sitting next to him. Their feet dangled in the water. He looked boldly at her small wet breasts. His hands suddenly captured them, molded them. She sighed and her body fell back.
"I like that," she said.
And then the sky opened up.
Thunder and lightning and pelts of rain. They jumped up. "I'd better take you home," he said.
"Damn it!"
He slapped her buttocks and she ran into the women's bath house. Donahue went into the bath house for men and found a clean heavy bath towel. He wiped himself dry and got dressed. He then went to the front door and shouted: "Mavis, are you ready?"
"Yes," she answered back.
"Start running for the car," he shouted.
They ran for Donahue's car. They were soaked by the time they were in the car's interior. Donahue started the motor. He went out the front gate and said: "I'll take you home."
"You'd better come up with me and dry off."
"I'm better off going straight to my place," he said. "I'm tired and I want to hit the sack."
"All right." She sounded disappointed.
"We'll have other nights," he promised her.
"Will we?"
"Sure we will."
"I think you're a born woman chaser," she said. "I won't deny that."
"Don't you think it's time you settled down with just one girl?" she asked.
"Find me a girl and I'll let you know."
"Oh, you!"
"I'm not the marrying kind, Mavis."
"I wasn't thinking of me as your soul mate," she said.
"Oh, no?"
"Well, you could do worse." She took a cigarette from her purse.
He took out his lighter and lit her cigarette. "Look, honey," he said, "I break out in a rash when I even hear the word marriage."
"I promise not to mention it again."
He grinned at her. "You look beautiful when you're mad."
She didn't answer him. She was silent till he braked in front of her apartment building. "Good night," she said, and ran for the building's doorway.
He sighed, said, "Women," and headed for his own place.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Fan Norbo stood at the window and watched the rain wash the city clean. She had fixed herself a drink and was nursing it along. She seemed to be constantly plagued by bad luck. Her failure to make it as a big time singer, the love affair with that movie star where she thought he would marry her, and many, many broken dreams. And now this. Five thousand dollars fading away before her very eyes.
She saw the car park in front of the building and the tall, slim man making a run for it, seeking shelter in the lobby. Donahue wasn't a bad sort. She knew the women went for him. She knew that Janet Sebastian had eyes for this tall Irishman. And she guessed that Donahue had already taken Mavis Andrews to bed. She couldn't see what Donahue saw in Mavis. The girl had no bosom to talk about. And she was too skinny to catch a real man's eye. She believed that Donahue was a real man. He had been around. He never talked much about himself but he carried himself with assurance, with the knowledge that people respected him and knew he wouldn't take crap from anyone. He was the type of man you read about in books but rarely ever met.
The door bell sounded and she went to admit the man who had been in her thoughts. Donahue walked in dripping. His clothes clung to him.
She shut the door, locked it, said, "Next time use a bathing suit when swimming."
"I wasn't swimming when the rains came," he said. "Look out that window and tell me you don't see the rain and the thunder and the lightning." He walked into the bathroom and started to strip. He was down to his T shirt and shorts and socks. He looked up at her. "Close your eyes, dear, I'm going to take off my socks."
Fan Norbo grinned. "I've seen men take their socks off before."
He shrugged, sat on the edge of the tub and removed his socks. He then took off the T shirt and the shorts. He started using a heavy towel to dry himself.
Fan Norbo wandered into the living room and built a drink for Donahue. When he appeared he had on blue pajamas and a quilted robe. He accepted the drink gratefully and said: "Any port in a storm."
"I'm wondering how I'm going to get home," she said, finishing off her drink.
"I suppose I'll have to brave the elements again," Donahue said. He settled down on the sofa and put his drink on the cocktail table, "You were going to do some explaining, remember?"
Fan Norbo sat down on the sofa beside him and said: "What if I told you that Burt Steele doesn't want to be found?"
"I'd say you were crazy."
"Steele wasn't kidnapped," Fan Norbo said. She got up and walked to the liquor cabinet where she made another drink. She came back to the sofa and sat down. She sipped at her fresh drink.
"You mean there's a conspiracy afoot?" Donahue said, trying not to show how this piece of information had startled him.
"Something like that."
"Well, let's hear more," he said, deciding that getting information from Fan Norbo was like pulling teeth from a diamond back turtle.
"Listen to this first," she said urgently. "Steele promised me five grand if I'd keep my mouth shut. But tonight I was told that I'm not getting a cent; that I'd get my teeth knocked out if I so much as opened my mouth. That's why I took it out on Jack Price. I was sore at him and you and all men."
"You saw Burt Steele?"
"This afternoon."
"Where?" he wanted to know.
"Let's get something settled first," she said.
"Sure," he said.
"Are you going to cut yourself in on some of the pie?" she asked.
"How much is the pie worth?" he said.
"Eighty grand," she told him.
"How much of a chunk do you think I can get?" he wanted to know.
"If you try for too much, you'll end up with a bullet in the head."
"Who's holding the gun?"
"John Banner" she said.
"John wouldn't take a shot at me," he said, more to assure himself.
"He likes you," she admitted. "But where money is concerned-" She shrugged her shoulders.
"Okay," he said. "So I don't try for too much of a chunk. How much do I try for?"
"Ten thousand."
"Ten thousand should make me very happy," he said.
"Five thousand will be your share after we split," she said. "I don't like partners."
"Steele promised me that five thousand," she cried. "And Banner took it away from me."
"Then it was John Banner who told you tonight to lay off?"
"Yes," she admitted. "He came to my dressing room. He said that Burt had called him and told him I'd cut myself in. John said I'd lose teeth if I didn't pull out. So I agreed to mind my own business."
"Okay," Donahue said. "So we split the ten grand." He drank his drink, put the glass back on the cocktail table. "Now fill me in."
"Burt Steele is in the eighty percent bracket," Fan Norbo started out. "In other words, eighty percent of his income goes for taxes. Now let's say he's kidnapped and the ransom is a hundred thousand dollars. That money can't be declared as income. So naturally he doesn't pay taxes on it. So he saves eighty thousand dollars if the ransom money, a hundred thousand, is paid to himself. Catch on?"
"Now I do," Donahue said. "Only eighty grand would be profit since the other twenty would go into his own pocket anyway."
"That's right," Fan Norbo said. "And what if something should go wrong and the whole scheme comes out? He can't go to jail for kidnapping himself."
"No," Donahue said; "but he can go to jail for conspiracy. It's a clever scheme all right."
"Are you going to cut yourself in?" Fan wanted to know.
"How does John Banner fit into this?"
"One of John's men, Lardos, made the first call to Steele's lawyer. And he'll make the second, the one which will give the amount of money wanted and the instructions on how it's to be delivered. And John keeps Steele supplied with food till he can be released by his 'kidnappers'."
"I'd hate to have Banner after me," Donahue said. "He can be awfully tough when the mood hits him."
"A thought just struck me," she said. "How about keeping the whole hundred grand for ourselves?"
"Now how do we do that?" Donahue sounded skeptical.
"Richardson will need someone to deliver the money," she said. "You can volunteer for the job."
"The army taught me never to volunteer," he said.
"Shut up and listen," she snapped. "You don't deliver the money see? You pick me up and we leave the state."
"And John Banner and his boys will be after us till they get us," Donahue pointed out.
"You're not afraid of Banner, are you?" she said, her voice metallic.
"We have a healthy respect for each other," he said. "I'd rather keep it that way. Besides, all that money might give me a complex."
"I think you're a very foolish, very stupid man," Fan Norbo said without heat. She smiled at Donahue, showing her white teeth. "But I'm not going to argue with you. You handle it your own way. If all you're interested in is ten thousand then that's what it'll be. Of course, I expect you to split fifty-fifty with me."
"If I get the ten thousand," Donahue said, "then you'll get half."
"Shall we seal our new partnership with a kiss?" Her eyes were shiny.
"A wonderful suggestion." He bent his head and their lips met. He ran a hand over her hair. "You're a beautiful woman, Fan." He put his hand on her breasts. When she didn't object he kissed her neck and looked for a zipper or buttons. He found a zipper and tugged. The dress came away. She stood up and got rid of it. She rejoined him on the sofa in bra and panties.
She opened his pajama jacket. Her hands caressed his chest. Her hands were light and warm on his skin. She kissed his chest and then stood up.
She smiled down at him, then got rid of her bra and panties. She turned slowly, showing every curve of her wonder-woman's body. Her sculptured back and hips, the fine thighs, the proud breasts, her torso.
He didn't miss an inch of skin. He stood up finally after feasting his eyes and hugged her body to his. He kissed her mouth and shoulders.
He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Fan Norbo woke up first. She sat up, stretched, then looked down at the sleeping Donahue. She felt good. She bent over him, kissed his ear.
He mumbled.
She slapped his hip playfully.
Shad Donahue opened his eyes and grinned.
"Having fun?" she said.
"This is the best way to wake up," he said. "With a beautiful naked woman in bed with you."
"I'd rather wake up with a beautiful naked man," she said.
He ran his hand over her lovely body.
"Are you in the mood?" she asked. "I'm always in the mood," he answered.
Shad Donahue drove Fan home, kissed her mouth, watched her disappear into the lobby. Then he turned around and headed to the outskirts of Contralto. He lit a cigarette and thought about Fan Norbo. He'd have to go steady with her because of Mavis. He certainly didn't want to be the cause of any friction between Mavis and Fan. It would be too damn embarrassing. He had talked it over with Fan and she agreed that their romance would not be a hot and heavy one. He'd go steady with her, very steady. Steady and easy.
He drove out of Contralto.
It took him half an hour to find the hunting lodge. He parked on the side road, stepped into the clearing and walked up to the front door. He knocked.
The door jerked open. Burt Steele stood there. "Oh, my God!" he groaned. "You too? First it was Fan, not that I minded too much, and now it's you. Is somebody selling tickets to visit this place?"
"Can I come in?" Donahue said. "It's hot out here. The sun is blinding me."
"Come on in." Steele turned and walked into the lodge, followed by Donahue. Steele sat down on the bed and crossed his ankles.
Donahue offered Steele a cigarette; the real estate man shook his head. He watched Donahue light up, then said: "Thanks for taking me home."
"You weren't so drunk then, were you?" Donahue said, blowing out smoke.
"Part of my brain was functioning," Steele said.
"I'm glad it was the part that counted," Donahue said, wondering if Steele knew or guessed about the episode in his wife's bedroom between Marion Steele and himself.
"I suppose you're looking for a handout," Steele said, looking up at Donahue with contemplative eyes.
"I just want you to understand that it's the mercenary part of me that's doing this," Donahue said.
"Sure; I understand."
"And this is between you and me," Donahue pointed out. "I wouldn't want John Banner to know I'm dealing myself in. He might not understand."
"Full of schemes, aren't you?"
"I'm thinking all the time," Donahue said.
"Well, think about this." Steele lunged off the bed and threw a roundhouse punch. Donahue stepped inside, close to Steel, and the fist grazed the back of his head. Donahue brought up his knee into Steele's groin and the bull-like man sank back on the bed. He groaned with pain.
Donahue backed away, grinning. "I'd stick around for a few rounds but I've urgent business elsewhere."
"You bastard!" Steele grunted. "I'll get you for this." He was holding himself.
"I forget to tell you the chunk I'm expecting," Donahue said. "It's ten grand."
"I'll see you in hell first," Steele said, trying to get to his feet.
"You don't have much choice," Donahue said. He waited till Steele got up and started coming for him. He lashed out with his right fist, caught the big man across the chin. Steele went backwards, bounced twice on the bed, lay still.
Donahue picked up a bottle of five year old Scotch, tilted it, drank some. There was a third of the scotch left. He finished it off.
He put down the empty bottle and left the lodge.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The sun was high and yellow and it had evaporated the moisture of last night's rain. The macadam was-dry, the sword grass on either side of the highway was parched, eager for more rain, the trees were thirsting already for the clouds to open and deluge them with another downpour. It was hot and dry country; it was beautiful in spots, grim in others.
Donahue could see the desert. It was low, sandy, with high peaks in the distance. He had gone into the desert with Mavis many times and had stumbled on unbelievably beautiful flowers. He knew cactus survived in the desert but never imagined that flowers could.
The desert stretched for miles and he knew that one could get hopelessly lost, perhaps die from too much sun and lack of water. He stopped at a filling station and had his tank filled. He smoked a cigarette, paid the man, then drove into Contralto.
He parked on Cherry Street, hung his sport jacket over his arm, walked into the lobby of the building where Mavis had an apartment.
He paused in front of her door, lit another cigarette, then knocked. Mavis opened the door an inch. Her right eye peered out at him. "What do you want?" she said. "Haven't you anything better to do than waking me up?" Her voice was decidedly unfriendly.
"I thought you'd like to go for a drive?" he said, waiting for her to ask him in.
"I don't feel like going for a drive," she said.
"Are you angry about last night?"
"I don't like being ditched," she said crossly.
"Nobody ditched you."
"Well, I certainly felt like it."
"It's all in your mind," he said. "Now let me in. Don't act like a child."
He persuaded her to let him in. She did so reluctantly. "You can talk the hide off a steer," she said glumly.
He sank down into a sofa, his jacket over his lap. The shades were drawn and the light that came through them was pearl-gray. He watched her-she had on lounging pajamas-go into the kitchenette and then he heard the refrigerator door open and close and ice cubes falling into glasses. She returned with two tall glasses of orange juice. Ice cubes floated near the top. She gave him a glass. "Drink this while I fix myself some breakfast." He accepted the glass. "Did you have breakfast yet?"
"No," he admitted.
"Would you like some flapjacks?"
"I'd love 'em."
She took her orange juice with her, disappeared into the kitchenette again. He heard her putter around. When she called him breakfast was ready. He sat down at the table set in a nook and they ate flapjacks soaked in crystal-clear syrup. She had a pot of coffee ready and they both had two cups each.
She made him wait in the living room while she dressed in the bedroom. They left the flat.
She wore slacks and a white blouse. Her slim body looked good. She had a swan's neck, white, smooth, clean. The blouse was open at the throat, showing the beginning of the cleft between her perfectly formed breasts. She sat in the passenger seat while he pulled away from the curb.
He drove to the other side of Contralto where the gambling houses and burlesque theaters flourished. They passed the Club Inferno. Pudge Bailey was outside, talking to Lardos. The two men didn't see them pass. Lardos was a swarthy man, heavy chested.
They stopped at a resort outside Contralto, which was situated on the slope of a hill, and had gin and tonics. They sat on a patio and to their left was a blue lake.
"Have you ever been on the Riviera?" Mavis asked him, sipped at her drink, looked out on the lake. "At Cannes."
"Was it lovely?"
"As lovely as a picture postcard," he said. He finished his gin and tonic and looked for the waiter.
"Did you ever want to go back?" she asked.
"One place is as good as another," he said. He had caught his waiter's attention and waited for the man to appear at their table. "I'll have another," he told the waiter. He looked at Mavis. She nodded her head.
"Two," Donahue said. He sighed. "One place is as good as another," he repeated.
"You can't mean that," Mavis said, gulping down the last of her drink.
He took out his cigarette case and they both lit up. He put away the case and the cigarette lighter and said: "I rarely talk about myself. That's not because I'm the strong, silent type. It's because people hate cynics and when I start to talk the cynicism shows through. People hate cynics or so they say but the fact remains that there are more cynics around today than ever before. Probably because the world has gone to pot but let's not delve into that or we'll be talking fdr hours. So I'm a cynic and I keep my mouth shut because it's better that way.
"I say that one place is as good as another. I've been all over the world and I find all the ingredients at each spot. People, hypocrisy, scenery. You get tired of people, you get sick of hypocrisy, you get bored with scenery. So you go from place to place, looking for a change ... but you'll never find that change. The scenery may be different but the people are the same and the hypocrisy is the same. And how in the world can you enjoy any scenery when all around you are the same hypocrites but with different names. It's all one big vicious circle."
The waiter came over with their fresh drinks and Mavis said: "Obviously you don't see the world through rose-colored glasses. But that may be because you are a cynic."
"My dear girl, I am a cynic because people made me that way." Donahue drank his drink.
"Then you were weak to begin with," she argued. "If people could mold you so-"
Donahue laughed and Mavis got mad.
"Don't laugh at me," she flared.
"Every person is molded by others," Donahue said. "Your parents, your friends-"
"So we're all weak," she said.
"Oh, yes."
"Let's forget about people and hypocrisy," Mavis begged. "Just tell me what you found on the Riviera."
"I found sand," Donahue said. "I found young, healthy, tanned bodies. I found rich people who lived there by the year and by the season. I found middle class people who went there to see what it was all about and who may go back in another five years when they'd have saved up enough to make the trip and pay for the expenses. The Riviera is for the rich. The beaches, the sports cars, the lush restaurants, the gambling joints. It's a playground for the rich."
"Then I want to be rich," Mavis said, "and I want to live there and never grow old."
"The beauty parlors will take care of that."
"Are the women very beautiful?" she wanted to know. "Tell me, Shad. Are they?"
"They are beautiful and their bodies are lifeless," he said.
"I don't care," she said. "Bodies are shells. And the scenery?"
"The most beautiful scenery I ever saw was right here in the States," he said. "Oh, yeah?"
"The Northwest," he said. "I went by train to Geiger Field near Spokane, Washington. You can't beat the mountains and the snow. The scenery is beautiful. The mountains and the valleys covered with white snow. The dips and the rises and the clean sweeps. You never saw anything like it. I've seen the mountains in Bavaria and they don't compare with our own Northwest."
"You really mean that?" she said, suddenly very interested. "Is it that beautiful?"
"I even went on a mountain climbing expedition," he said. "And you know how I hate exercise."
"Were you in the army then?" she asked.
"Air Force."
"Were you a pilot?"
"Nothing so romantic," he said. "Ground crew. I once made corporal and got busted for being AWOL."
"So you didn't have a very exciting time in the army, did you."
"Nope."
"That's funny," she said. "Why?"
"Most men spend their most exciting moments in the army and when they go back to civilian life they spend the rest of their days in serenity. But you spend a dull time in the army by your own admission and now in civilian life your every moment is spent in something stimulating and exciting."
"What's so exciting about throwing craps?" he wanted to know.
"There's something exciting in the expectation of what the dice will turn up," she said. "And the turn of a card. The spin of a wheel. Oh, yes, I forgot. You don't like roulette. Well, the dice and the cards are enough. And the travel. You've been everywhere, seen everything. And the pursuit of women. That must be exciting to you. Most men select one woman and they claim they're happy and satisfied and when they approach middle age they want to prove to themselves that they still have that old charm and start looking for that one last fling. They usually settle for a whore. But you're one man with many women. You can pick and choose because you're tall and straight and very handsome. You've wavy hair and good features and-"
"Please," Donahue said, holding up a palm. "Stop right there. You're making me blush with embarrassment. I'd rather looked rugged and craggy and it's too bad I can't have my wish."
They ordered a third round of gin and tonics. A cool breeze came from the lake and cooled their faces.
The waiter brought their fresh drinks. There were fresh slices of lemon floating amid the ice cubes. The ice made the outside of the glasses sweat. The waiter took away the empty glasses. "Nice breeze," Mavis said.
"You'd have another Riviera if the girls started to wear Bikinis," Donahue said. "Sand and Bikinis. That's all it takes. A state of mind, my dear child."
"I wouldn't wear a Bikini," Mavis said.
"You'd rather not wear anything."
She ignored that last remark. "I can't see anything attractive about a belly button."
"It's as close to complete nudity as a girl can get without having the law on her," he said.
"I suppose Bikini wearers are sun worshippers," she said.
"I don't know." He looked out on the lake. "Want to go for a swim? We can rent our suits."
"Okay."
They finished their drinks and called over the waiter for the check.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The phone was ringing when Donahue walked into his apartment. He picked up the receiver, said, "Yes?"
"Mr. Donahue?" A woman's voice. "Who is this?"
"This is Natalie Brown. Mr. Donahue, I must see you right away."
"Shall I come over there?"
"Will you please? I'm at my flat."
Donahue said, "I'm starting out now," and hung up. He flung his sports jacket over his left shoulder, shut and locked his front door and went out to his car.
Donahue braked in front of 535 Oak Drive. He walked up the pathway, went around to the side of the house, and up the flight of stairs. Natalie Brown let him in. She had on a hostess coat with large brown buttons. She wore fluffy mules.
"I saw him," she said, even before Donahue sat down.
He lit a cigarette, said, "Who?"
"Burt Steele."
"Where did you see him?"
"I was coming out of the Steele home on Gold Hill and I caught a glimpse of him. He was hiding behind some hedges. He saw me and ducked his head."
"Are you sure it was Steele?"
"Positive."
"What were you doing at the Steele's house?" Donahue wanted to know.
"I had some papers for Mr. Richardson."
"Richardson was at Steele's house?"
"Yes. He called me from his office and told me he'd be with Mrs. Steele and that I should bring the papers to the house on Gold Hill." She sat down on the sofa and asked for a cigarette.
Donahue's mind was going at top sped as he lit her cigarette. If Steele's scheme blew up he'd be out five thousand dollars. (He'd give Fan Norbo her share of the ten thousand-after all, he wouldn't have known what was going on without her.) But there wasn't going to be any ten thousand to divvy up if Natalie Brown went to the cops and swore she'd seen Burt Steele roaming around loose when he should have been held captive by his kidnappers. And why did Steele take such a chance leaving his hunting lodge to roam around the grounds of his own home?
Natalie Brown interrupted his thoughts. "I didn't know what to do," she said. "I had to turn to somebody."
"Everybody turns to me," he said. "Don't apologize. It's okay."
"But what should I do?"
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."
"But-but if I saw Steele-well, don't you understand? How could he have been kidnapped and still be on the loose? It just doesn't make sense."
"You don't want to get Steele into trouble, do you?" Donahue asked.
"Of course not."
"Then don't tell anyone else you saw him," Donahue said.
"You-you think he wasn't kidnapped?" she said. "You think he faked the kidnapping for some reason?"
"I don't know," Donahue said. "But he's your boss and you have to show some loyalty."
"Until today my life was one big bore," she said. "I always resented it. But now-well, I don't think too much excitement is good for me. I'm going to leave Steele's employment when this mess is straightened out.
"That's up to you," Donahue said. "But you'll have to keep your mouth shut till this mess is straightened out. Will you promise me to keep it all on the q.t.?"
"Yes, I promise." She got up and took out a bottle of bourbon. "Bourbon? It's good stuff. Or would you rather have some scotch?"
"Scotch."
She poked in the oak liquor cabinet, found a bottle of Vat 69. "Ice cubes?" Donahue nodded.
She went into the kitchenette, returned with a bowl of ice cubes. She made two scotch on the rocks, sank down on the sofa beside him, gave him his glass. They sipped at their drinks.
"There are so many questions," she sighed. "So many questions and so few answers."
Donahue put an arm around her shoulders and she leaned against him. She sighed, drank. His hand felt the material of the hostess gown on her shoulder, then felt the material on her breast.
She leaned back against the back of the sofa while his hands adventured over her. She moaned as his palms caressed her breasts, felt a tingling sensation spark through her breasts and belly. Then her loins felt electric shocks shooting up her torso and down her thighs and legs.
"No," she said. "No, please." She pushed his hands away.
"Will you answer me just one question?" Donahue said, going back to his drink.
"Just one?" She smiled. She reached for her own scotch on the rocks.
Donahue drank deeply. "Are you a virgin?"
"That's my business," she laughed throatily.
"Are you just playing hard to get then?"
"That's two questions," she pointed out. She finished her drink, got up to make another.
"You didn't answer the first one." He finished his drink, gave her the empty glass so that a second drink could be built.
"I'm not going to answer the first nor the second question," she said. She brought over the second drinks, sank down on the sofa.
He took his glass, sipped at the cold liquor. "Will you at least give me a hint as to what's going on behind those beautiful blue eyes?"
"Let's just say I'm the marrying kind," she said. "Oh, oh," he said.
"I had a hunch that would throw you for a loop," she said.
"I haven't even landed yet."
"Well, when you do, just dust off your knees and skip on home," she said. "This property is going to be owned, not leased."
"If I had a hat," Donahue said, "I'd take it off to you. Yes, ma'am. You know what you want and you're determined to get it."
"I just want one man and one bed," she said. "It may sound foolish to a roue like you-"
"A roue? Say, I'm still a young man."
"Actually, the definition of roue has nothing to do with age," she said. "In usage it's come to mean an old man." She sipped her drink. "Not really an old man but an old Casanova."
"And I'm a young Casanova."
"You have a way with you, of course," she said. "But I'm not sure whether it's charm or your good looks."
"It's my charm that does it," he assured her.
"Charm plus good looks," she said.
"We're wasting a lot of time talking," Donahue said boldly staring at the thrust of her breasts.
"Would you like to play canasta?"
"How about 'spin the bottle'?"
"I'm afraid I don't know that game," she said.
"Then there's no chance of going back to where we were?" he said wistfully.
"No chance at all."
"Well, I can't score every time." Donahue finished the scotch, put away the glass. He stood up. "Another drink?"
"I don't think so," he said. "Time for me to go."
"To look for greener pastures?" she said.
"Maybe," he said. She walked with him to the door, opened it. He kissed her lips and she responded for a few seconds, then withdrew her head. She watched him walk down the stairs.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Donahue dialed Ken Richardson's office number. "This is Donahue," he said, when he heard Richardson's inquiring "hello?"
"Anything doing?"
"Can you come right over?" Richardson said in a strained voice.
"I'll be there in a few minutes," Donahue said, hanging up. He walked out of the drugstore phone booth, lit a cigarette, and went outside to his car.
It was early evening but the sky was still bright. Azure clouds dotted the sky like fluffy puffs of whipped cream.
Richardson was stalking an unknown enemy in his office when Donahue walked in. The lawyer turned censorious eyes upon Donahue's visage.
Donahue leaned a hip against the side of the lawyer's desk. "What's eating you?" he said, fishing his cigarette case from his packet pocket.
"I just received the second phone call," Richardson informed Donahue. "They want a hundred thousand dollars and they want you to deliver it."
"Me?" Donahue's lighter halted half way to the tip of his cigarette. Then, recovering from the surprise at this bit of information, he proceeded to light his cigarette. "Where do I shine in?" he said. "How did the kidnappers pick out my name?"
"That's what I'd like to know," Richardson said.
"So that's why you gave me that look when I walked in," Donahue said. "My God, you don't think I kidnapped Burt Steele, do you?"
"You're associated with John Banner," Richardson shot back. "And he owns the Club Inferno and-"
"I know," Donahue said. "That's where the gangster element hangs out."
"It does seem funny, doesn't it?"
"I'll have to admit it does," Donahue said. "But my kidnapping days are over. I haven't kidnapped anyone in years. Honest."
"My hands are tied in this situation," Richardson said. "All I can do is turn the money over to you and-"
"Just a minute," Donahue said, feeling his temperature rise. "Are you turning the ransom over to me, believing I'm the kidnapper?"
"Not at all," Richardson said smoothly. He looked at his wristwatch. "It's twenty after six. You're supposed to deliver the money at seven at a motel near Green Haven. You'll just have time to make it."
"What motel?"
"Sunbeam Lake motel. Cabin seven. The door will be open. All you have to do is walk in, leave the money, and walk out."
"Is that all?"
"Yes," Richardson said. "Those were the instructions. You're to go alone. One sign of police and the money won't be picked up and Steele will be killed."
"When did you get these instructions?" Donahue wanted to know.
"Around five."
'Why didn't you get in touch with me sooner?"
"I tried," Richardson said patiently. "But I couldn't reach you."
"You have the money?"
"Of course." The lawyer produced a suitcase.
"Where did you get it?"
Richardson sighed. "From the Contralto National," he said.
"I thought the banks close at three," Donahue said, mashing out the butt of his cigarette against the bottom of a bronze tray on Richardson's desk.
"I had Evers-he's a vice president of Contralto National-standing by. I called him at his home and I met him at the bank. He opened up and gave me the money. As simple as that."
"There was no fuss?"
"No fuss," Richardson said.
"You tell him what the money was for?"
"I had to," the lawyer said. "It's a very large amount. I don't think he would have given me that much money without Steele's signature otherwise."
"That much money?" Donahue said. "Could you get money without Steele's signature?"
"I have a power of attorney," Richardson said. "I only use it in case of emergency."
"Are the bills marked?"
"No," the lawyer said. "My God, man, you're wasting valuable time."
"Okay, okay." Donahue picked up the suitcase. "See you in church." He lugged the suitcase out of Richardson's office and down to his car. He pulled away from the curb and headed in the direction of Green Haven.
In ten minutes he was in the desert. He did some fast thinking but couldn't get any decent answers. Who had suggested him to deliver the money? Was it Steele? Had it been John Banner? Did John Banner know he was involved in this scheme to the tune of ten thousand dollars worth? Had Steele told Banner? He wondered if the cabin at the Sunbeam Lake motel would be empty when he entered it to deliver the ransom money? Or would Banner be there with a display of hardware? He didn't think Banner would really shoot him. After all, they were friends. To some degree. One didn't shoot one's friends. Or did one?
He came upon the motel. He parked in back of the cabins and took the suitcase from the back seat. He lugged it around till he came to cabin seven. He squared his shoulders, pushed the door open, and walked in.
The large room was empty. There was a bed, dresser, sofa, two arm chairs, scatter rugs. All inanimate objects.
He swung the suitcase, let it drop onto the bed.
He turned to go.
Fan Norbo stood there. There was a .25 automatic pistol in her hand. "Hello, handsome," she said.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"I never give up," Fan Norbo said, moving well into the room. She used the back of her heel to shut the door behind her. "I'm the kind that keeps coming back till I get what's mine," she said.
"Like a Democrat," Donahue said.
Fan Norbo smirked. "I don't mind the wise cracks. I'll remember them when I'm in Mexico spending all that booty."
"But you're not going to Mexico," Donahue said.
"No?"
"If you were, you wouldn't have mentioned it. You're just trying to use me to give Banner a false lead. Well, it's no go."
Her face hardened. "I don't know why I waste time talking to you," she said. "I should plug you right now. Right in the belly."
Donahue scowled. "You're not going to make friends talking like that. And you're not going to plug anybody either. I can't see you committing murder."
"For a hundred thousand dollars?"
"Not even for a million," Donahue said. "You can talk tough all you want but you'll never convince me."
"You're a fool," she said. She gritted her teeth, aimed the gun at Donahue's belly. "I'm going to give you a chance to walk out of this alive."
"Are you now?"
"We can both go to Mexico and live off the fat of the hog," she said. "What do you say?"
"Will you answer a couple of questions?"
"Give them fast."
"Did you call Richardson and arrange for me to deliver the money here?"
"No," she said. "Banner's man, Lardos, did that."
"Who's supposed to pick up the money?"
"Burt Steele," she answered.
"Well, don't you think we'd better get out of here before he shows up?"
"You don't have to worry about that," she said.
"How did you know I was to deliver the money here?"
"John Banner told me," she said. "Steele told him how you were cutting yourself in. Banner figured since you were wading into the stream you might as well get as wet as possible. That's why he told Lardos to tell Richardson to send you out with the ransom money."
"How did you worm your way into Banner's good graces?" Donahue asked.
"I promised him I'd visit his bedroom soon."
"But you're all set to double-cross him, aren't you?"
"A girl can do a lot with a hundred thousand dollars," she said.
"That's true."
"Of course," she said. "I wouldn't mind half of it if you felt like sharing the pie with me. I like you. I like you a lot."
"I, on the other hand, would hate to have Banner and his gunsels after me."
"Isn't that kind of money worth taking a chance for?" she said.
"I don't know," he mused. "We skip with the dough and leave Banner and Steele, the masterminds of this little plot, high and dry."
Fan walked over to him, her Mona Lisa smile making her look wanton. "You're right," she said. "I couldn't shoot you. I couldn't shoot anyone." She tossed the gun on the bed, near the suitcase. "That weapon is useless in my hands. But I have other weapons." She looked down at her ripe breasts. "And these weapons are also loaded and more dangerous. I think I'll use them to convince you that Mexico, or any place you name, will be a paradise with me beside you."
"You act as if you have all the time in the world," Donahue said. "Steele is probably on his way here to collect that money."
She threw her arms around his neck, ground her body against his, thrust her tongue deep into his mouth.
He responded. He couldn't help it. He kissed her hard. "You beautiful bitch," he murmured.
"Will you go away with me?" she said, her eyes clouded with passion.
"No," he said.
She tried to slap him.
He caught her wrist. "Don't be a fool."
She jerked her shoulder, freed her wrist, dove for the bed and the gun. He dove after her, landed on her back. He forced the breath out of her body. She had hold of the gun. She twisted under him, and their struggling tossed the suitcase to the floor. She was now facing him, her skirt over her knees. "You bastard," she said. "You doublecrosser. I'll kill you."
He held the wrist that had the gun. He twisted it, heard her cry out, saw the gun fall from her fingers. He threw the gun to the floor.
She swung her fist, caught his jaw.
"You bitch," he said. He slapped her face.
"Don't," she cried out.
"Will you behave?"
"All right."
He got off her, got off the bed. She still lay there, her dress up, showing her full white thighs. "Straighten up," he said. .
She sat up, looked at him. "You didn't have to play so rough."
"Let's get out of here before Steele shows up," he said.
"You don't have to worry about that," she said. "He's dead."
"What?"
"In his hunting lodge. Dead." She rubbed her wrist. "Burt Steele was murdered."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The suitcase locked safely in the trunk, they roared past Contralto, turned off the macadam, into the side road. Donahue braked and pushed the sullen Fan Norbo out of the car ahead of him. They made their way to the hunting lodge.
"Don't bother knocking," she said.
Donahue pushed open the door and they walked in. Burt Steele was on his side, near the bed, on the floor, one arm outstretched over his head, the other folded under his body. Donahue closed the door and Fan sat down in one of the straight-backed chairs.
"I don't lie," she said.
"You just happened to stop by because it was bargain day, and this isn't really a hunting lodge but a department store, and you found him like that. At first you thought it was the floor manager but a second look showed it was Uncle Henry and-"
"I dropped around to try and talk him into leaving with me," she said. "I walked in and found him like that. I guess that's when I got the idea of picking up the ransom money."
"And you found me," Donahue said. "And you thought that I'd make a good second choice."
"Something like that."
"Bless you," Donahue said.
"Look, must we hang around here?" she said. "I don't like to keep the dead company." She jerked nervously to her feet. "Let's scram out of here."
"Just a minute," Donahue said. He knelt beside the body. Steele had on a blue half-sleeve sport shirt, gray dacron-and-wool slacks and thong sandals. He noticed the crystal on Steele's wristwatch was broken. The dials had stopped at fifteen minutes past six.
"What are you boys doing?" Fan said nervously. "Holding hands?"
Donahue looked at the floor around the body, then stood up. He took the singer's arm and steered her out of the lodge. They walked through the clearing, through some sword grass and climbed into Donahue's car. "I'm taking you home," he said.
"Just drop me off at the motel," she said. "My car is parked near there."
"Whatever you say," he said, kicking the motor over. He went into the highway, drove back to the motel and let her out.
"What are you going to do with the money?" she wanted to know.
"I'm not going to keep it," he said. "That's for certain, honey."
She didn't believe him. She snorted, walked away.
He turned around and drove into Contralto. He found a drugstore, called Mavis, and told her what he wanted. He told her he'd pick her up in twenty minutes. Then he went to the counter and had a ham sandwich, a baked potato, a slice of pineapple pie, and two cups of coffee.
Mavis was on the sidewalk, waiting, when he slowed down. She hopped in and he took off.
She had on a pair of tight shorts and a green halter. She held a big handbag on her lap.
"Have you got the stuff?" Donahue asked.
She opened the bag and took out a Retina Reflex with a built-in light meter and a Leica M-3 with a Leica RF Summaron 35 mm lens.
"Do you have a flash attachment?" Donahue asked.
She nodded her head.
"Do you mind telling me what this is all about?" she asked, dying of curiosity.
He gave her all the details, not once taking his eyes off the road ahead. It was dark now and the twin headlights tunnelled a path for the car through the heavy rolling fog. Donahue started cursing.
"What's the matter?" she said.
"Fog. Out of nowhere."
He found the side road, swung into it, stopped. They made their way into the cabin. She averted her eyes from the sight of the body, then slowly, she focused on the empty husk.
Donahue told her what to do.
She spent almost twenty minutes taking pictures. When she was finished she put her cameras back in the big handbag and they went back to the car.
Driving back to Contralto, she lit cigarettes for both. "What are you going to do with the money?" she finally asked.
"I had thought about leaving it in Steele's cabin but decided that wouldn't be such a good idea," he said. "I guess the best bet would be to give it to Richardson. What do you think?"
"Then you'll have to tell him that Steele is dead and the police will want to know how you knew and what the hell were you doing in that hunting lodge in the first place. No, Shad, you'd really get involved if you admitted knowing that Steele was dead."
"I couldn't get any more involved than I am now," he reasoned.
"But so far," she pointed out, "you're just the bloke who delivered the ransom money. The best bet for you is to show complete ignorance of Steele's death."
"You do have a head on your shoulders," he said. "But what about the dough?"
"You can convert it into mink stoles, diamond rings and necklaces, and pink Jaguars," she said.
"What am I going to do with all that stuff?"
She slipped her arm through his, pressed her breast against him, said, "You can give that junk to me."
"But I wouldn't want to involve you in this mess," he said innocently.
"I don't think I'd mind too much where diamonds, mink stoles, and Jaguars are concerned."
"I couldn't do it to you," he said. "You're too fine, too good."
"Oh, go rape yourself."
"But I'll get you a stole if you really want one," he said.
"Really? You're not kidding?"
"It won't be from that money in back," he said.
"I don't like skunk."
"It'll be mink."
"Are you really that loaded?" she asked.
"I'm not exactly poor," he said. "But let's get back to that dough," he changed the subject. "I think I'll leave it where I was supposed to. That way I'll be covered."
"What about Steele's body?" she said. "I'll call the cops after I've deposited the money in the motel cabin."
"Don't give them your right name," she said.
"Do you think I'm that dumb?"
"Yes," she said, sticking her tongue out at him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Jack Price waved his baton and his boys went to town with Two-o'clock Jump. He waved a greeting to Pudge Bailey, who failed to see the band leader. Pudge had just received orders to see Banner immediately. He made his way upstairs, nodded at Banner's bodyguard. He opened the door and entered the night club owner's office. "You wanted me, chief?" he said.
John Banner was working on his books. He looked up at the heavy set man. "Have you seen Donahue?"
"I saw him about half an hour ago," Pudge reported. "He's probably in the gaming room or one of the private rooms playing poker."
"Tell him I want to see him," Banner said.
Pudge nodded his head, left the office. He walked down the carpeted corridor, walked into the gaming room. He saw Donahue at the dice table, awaiting his turn. He sauntered over to Donahue's side, said, "Waiting to throw the jungle cubes?"
"Yeah," Donahue said. "I feel lucky tonight. Besides, I promised Mavis a mink stole. Why should I pay for it with my own money?"
"I see what you mean." Pudge coughed delicately behind a palm. "The boss would like a few words with you."
The man with the dice sevened out and it was Donahue's turn. He shook his head at the house man, took Pudge's arm, and they both walked out of the gaming room. They went down the corridor to Banner's office. The bodyguard nodded at Donahue, who opened the door and walked into the office. Pudge Went back downstairs.
Banner put away the books.
"How many sets of books have you got anyway?" Donahue said jokingly.
"You're the one man I couldn't tell," Banner said. "You'd try to blackmail me."
"You sound serious."
"I am serious," Banner said. "You're too greedy for your own good."
"I hope you're not threatening me," Donahue said. "I don't take threats."
"I'd never bother to threaten you," Banner said. "If I ever decide to hang one on you, lethal or otherwise, I'd just go ahead and do it. A bullet or a fist. It wouldn't make much difference. I wouldn't bother to notify you. I'd just go ahead and give the word."
"Okay," Donahue said; "let's have it."
"The cops have that ransom money," Banner said.
Donahue sank into a deep leather arm chair, crossed his ankles. "Very sorry about that. Couldn't help it. That money was more than hot."
"Because Steele was murdered?"
"That's right," Donahue said. "With Steele dead the whole scheme might have come out in the open. Even if it didn't, Steele's lawyer would have to tell them that Steele had been kidnapped."
"The cops would have had to get the kidnapping story anyway, whether Steele had been killed or not," Banner said. "He couldn't have declared the hundred thousand as lost without saying he was kidnapped. The kidnapping was to cover up the hundred grand swindle. You already know the story from Fan."
"Yeah," Donahue said. "Steele had to turn eighty percent of all he earned over to the government for taxes. So he kidnaps himself, forks over a hundred grand to himself, thus makes a neat eighty grand profit."
"Right," Banner said. "And then you have to declare yourself in."
"I only wanted ten grand for myself," Donahue said. "What the hell! If Steele hadn't been killed then it would have worked perfectly."
"Who you kiddin'?" Banner said. "You knocked off Steele yourself."
Donahue looked at Banner with amazement, "Where the hell did you ever get that idea?"
"Steele told me how you slugged him when he wasn't looking."
"He was looking," Donahue said.
"You probably came back, demanded a bigger cut, he objected, and you knocked him off."
"And you're nuts," Donahue said.
"Am I?"
"I was with Steele's lawyer when he was killed," Donahue said.
"How do you know when Steele was killed?" Banner wanted to know.
"His wristwatch was smashed at fifteen after six. I was with Richardson around that time."
"I know when you were at Steele's cabin," Banner said. "Fan told me."
"Does she tell you everything?'
"We'll forget about Steele for awhile," Banner said. 'Why did you bring that gelt back to the motel?"
"I didn't want to get caught with it," Shad Donahue explained. "The police will probably think that Steele's kidnappers had done him in. Whoever has the dough will be linked with the kidnappers. So I left the dough where I was instructed to."
"You could have brought the dough to me," John Banner said.
"I wanted to protect you," Donahue said with a straight face. "I didn't want to see you get into trouble."
"You bastard. You were looking out for yourself. The cops now have that dough. Since you did as you were instructed to, and you didn't keep the dough, then you're in the clear. Since you had the opportunity to take the money and you didn't, then you couldn't have any connection with the kidnapping. You were looking out for yourself. You were looking out for Shad Donahue. He's the number one boy in your book."
"Exactly," Donahue said, selecting a cigarette from his slim case.
"You're out ten grand," Banner said.
"Five," Donahue said. "I had promised Fan half of my cut."
"Would you have given it to her?"
"I would have been lost without her," Donahue pointed out. He lit his cigarette. "I certainly would have given her the five gees."
"And now nobody has anything," Banner said. "Well, what the hell! There's no use getting sore at you. You were out to make a buck."
"We're not out of the woods yet," Donahue said. "Burt Steele is dead and the cops will be looking for his killer. This little drama hasn't ended."
"The cops won't come snooping around here," Banner said. "There's no connection between Steele and the Club Inferno. He was just a customer and that's all."
"They might come looking for me," Donahue said. "Ken Richardson must have told them it was me who delivered the ransom money."
"Well, you're not connected with the club either; you're also just a customer." The phone on Banner's desk rang and he lifted the receiver from the rest bar. He listened for a few seconds, didn't say anything, then hung up. He looked up at Donahue. "John Law just walked into our sacred joint. I guess they'll want a few words with you."
"Maybe they're here to get a payoff," Donahue suggested. "Could be."
"They only come on the first of the month," Banner said. "Like clockwork."
"I don't see why you have to pay off," Donahue said. "Gambling is legal in this state."
"We keep a bevy of B girls on hand. A lot of our male customers come here just for female companionship. And they induce them to spend more on liquor and sometimes try a hand at the dice tables. It pays to keep the girls on tap."
"And the law can haul you in for that?"
"They can call it prostitution if they want," Banner said. "If the girls want to make some extra dough on their own time"-he shrugged his shoulders-"who the hell am I to stop them?"
"So you pay off and everybody is happy," Donahue said.
"Everybody."
"Did you give Steele the idea of kidnapping-"
"You'd better go meet John Law," Banner said. "And don't forget to keep me out of your conversation. I'm a very sensitive man."
"Sure," Donahue said. "You're the most sensitive man I know."
"You're a friend of the family and somehow the kidnappers must have found out and so suggested that you carry the ransom money to them."
"I know what to say," Donahue said, turning to the door. "Don't worry about me."
"Oh, I'm not worrying about you," Banner said, lighting a cigarette. "I know you're going to come through. You're too smart to do otherwise."
"Check," Donahue said, and opened the door and let himself out. He walked down the carpeted stairs and before he reached the main floor where the music of Jack Price's band was coming from, he met John Law.
CHAPTER TWENTY
John Law was represented by Lieutenant Steve Krenshaw and Sergeant Bernard Mahoney. They were both big men, both clean shaven. Krenshaw was redheaded while Mahoney had blue-black hair. They found a booth in the cocktail lounge and the waiter took their orders.
"It's on me," Donahue said.
The detectives didn't argue. Krenshaw ordered a bourbon and Mahoney asked for a rye. "I'll take a scotch on the rocks," he told the waiter. Donahue added, "Make them all doubles."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Donahue." The waiter scurried away. The music from the band drifted in.
"Did you know," Krenshaw said, "that's it's against the law to withhold information from the police?"
"Who, me?" Donahue said.
"Kidnapping is a crime," Krenshaw said. "You were supposed to have notified the police."
"Are you going to arrest me?"
"We should," Krenshaw said.
"Are you also going to arrest Ken Richardson and Marion Steele?" Donahue asked.
Krenshaw and Mahoney exchanged glances. Krenshaw started to speak when the waiter returned with their drinks. Krenshaw helped the waiter remove the drinks from the tray and deposit them on the table. The waiter went away and Krenshaw said: "Mrs. Steele would have the jury's sympathy because she was looking out for her husband's welfare. The grand jury would probably refuse to bring in an indictment. The same goes for Richardson. Steele was his client and his friend. He wanted Steele back alive. But you-"
"So I'm the goat," Donahue said, grinning. He lifted his scotch on the rocks, sipped.
"We have short memories when people cooperate with us," Krenshaw pointed out.
"But I'll be happy to cooperate with you," Donahue said. "I never said I wouldn't."
"Who kidnapped Steele?" Krenshaw wanted to know.
"I wouldn't know," Donahue said.
"The kidnapper picked you to deliver the ransom money," Krenshaw said. He drank his bourbon. "Why you? Why not one of a dozen other guys?"
"Maybe he heard about my honesty," Donahue said. "After all, I did deliver the money intact."
"We've got the dough," Krenshaw said. "There's not a cent missing."
"You see," Donahue said. "I only wanted to help out. I could have skipped with that dough if I had wanted to, but I'm an honest man and a good citizen."
"Stow it," Mahoney growled. "Steele would be alive today if you people had contacted the police immediately."
"That could be," Donahue said. "I can't argue the point. There's a lot we don't know."
"We got a call that Steele was dead in his hunting lodge," Krenshaw said. "It was a man who called. He said he was the Green Hornet. So we go to this lodge and find Steele. Steele is dead. Very dead. We contact his wife and she gets hysterical. She tells us he'd been kidnapped and his lawyer, Ken Richardson, has been handling the ransom end. We contact Richardson and he tells us he'd give you a hundred thousand dollars to deliver to a cabin at Sunbeam Lake Motel near Green Haven. We take a trip out there and find the money. One hundred thousand dollars." Krenshaw finished his drink. "Two questions I'd like answers to. Why didn't the kidnapper, or kidnappers, pick up the ransom money? And why did they kill Steele?"
"Maybe they didn't pick up the money because they got into a panic after killing Steele," Donahue suggested.
"You think they didn't mean to kill him?" Krenshaw said, eyeing his empty glass.
"It's a suggestion," Donahue said. He called over the waiter and ordered refills. "Or perhaps they killed him because they were afraid he could identify them."
"Where were you around six this evening?" Ma-honey wanted to know.
"I was in Richardson's office," Donahue said. "He was giving me the suitcase with the ransom money inside it. Why do you ask that?"
"We think Steele was killed around that time," Krenshaw said.
The waiter came with the fresh drinks.
"Steele's wristwatch was smashed when he was killed," Mahoney said. "The watch stopped. We have to go by that. The medical examiner says that he couldn't give a better time because of the unusual hot weather we've been having. The body doesn't cool the way it should and all that rot. I just don't understand that medical business."
"We place the time of death at fifteen minutes past six," Krenshaw said. "That's when the watch stopped. You have an alibi so you didn't kill Steele. But that doesn't mean you didn't have a hand in his kidnapping-"
"I delivered the money and I didn't take a cent of it," Donahue said. "That should mean something."
"Maybe a confederate was supposed to pick it up," Krenshaw said. "Maybe you didn't know Steele had been killed. Your partner, or partners, killed Steele and pushed the panic button. They skipped without picking up the loot."
"Leaving me holding the suitcase," Donahue said.
"Something like that," Mahoney said.
"And all you gentlemen have to do is prove it," Donahue said. He tasted his drink, said, "I like scotch; it has that smoky quality about it."
"Murder is a tough rap," Krenshaw said. "You may not have killed Steele yourself but if it was the outcome of the kidnapping, and you were part of the scheme, then you're equally guilty. You think about it." Krenshaw nudged Mahoney and they sidled out of the booth.
"By the way," Donahue said. "How was Steele killed?"
"A blow on the head. He didn't bleed much. The medical examiner couldn't find the wound right away because the hair covered it."
"How does a kidnapper usually get rid of his victim?" Donahue asked.
"He usually uses a gun," Krenshaw said. "Maybe this guy is trying to start a precedent."
Donahue watched them leave the lounge, then paid off the waiter and went into the big room where Jack Price was leading his band. Price waved at Donahue; Donahue waved back.
Mavis marched over to him. She had on a black halter and a black pair of shorts. She looked lovely. "Let's eat together. I'm starved."
They found a table at the rear and the waiter took their orders. Donahue told her of his sessions with the police, and with John Banner.
"I'd be more afraid of Banner than of the police," Mavis said.
"There's no sense in John starting trouble. No percentage in his getting sore at me and trying to take it out of my hide. Besides, John isn't a killer."
"You don't think he killed Burt Steele?" Mavis wanted to know.
"Why should he?"
"For a hundred thousand reasons."
The waiter brought over the hot plates. There were lamb chops with mashed potatoes and green beans for Mavis and Vienna cutlet with fried potatoes and creamed corn for Donahue. "Gin and tonics," Donahue said. "Four of them. Plenty of ice."
"Yes, sir." The waiter departed.
"I'm supposed to be working," Mavis said. "John wouldn't like it if I got drunk."
"The food will absorb the alcohol," Donahue said. They dug into their food. "I'll finish the night off with a nice quiet game of poker and then to bed." He chewed on part of the cutlet.
There was a burst of applause and Fan Norbo stepped onto the dais. She started to sing, "My Man."
"I've got the Fannie Brice record home," Mavis said. "It's priceless."
The waiter brought over the drinks.
Donahue was lifting his glass of gin and tonic when a shot rang out. It was unmistakably a shot and it had come from upstairs. Other persons had heard it too. There was a sudden buzzing and Donahue jumped to his feet. He touched Mavis' arm. "You stay here. I'm going up." He walked swiftly away from the table.
Fan Norbo had stopped singing, was watching him leave the main room. Jack Price stopped waving his baton.
An elderly man said: "It was a backfire."
"Don't be stupid," a woman at the same table said. "You couldn't hear a backfire in here. Do you think they have automobiles upstairs? You idiot, that was a gun going off."
Donahue ran up the stairs. He found Banner's bodyguard stretched out in front of the door leading to Banner's office. The door was wide open. Donahue ran to the door and looked in.
Banner was behind the desk, holding his arm. Blood was oozing from between his fingers. He grinned at Donahue.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Shad Donahue used a large linen handkerchief to staunch the flow of blood. "What happened?" he said, using the phone to call the police.
"It happened so fast...." Banner said.
He told the police to send an ambulance.
"I don't need an ambulance," Banner said.
"There'll be an interne in the ambulance," Donahue said. "He'll decide whether you have to go to the hospital or not. Now relax and don't get excited."
Pudge, Lardos, and several customers barged into the office. "Keep them outa here," Banner told Pudge and Lardos. "This isn't a peep show."
Pudge and Lardos herded the customers out of the office. They weren't rough with them because they had been taught by Banner to be gentle with their patrons at all times and under any conditions. Lardos stayed outside in the corridor and Pudge went over to the desk. "Is there anything I can do?" he wanted to know, his heavy face worried.
"I'll be all right," Banner said.
Pudge patted himself under the left armpit. "Who did it, boss? I guarantee he won't live long."
"I didn't recognize him," Banner said. "Mix me a scotch and water, will you?"
"Sure thing." Pudge went over to the liquor cabinet and started to build a drink.
"Do you want anything?" Banner asked Donahue. "Anything," Donahue said.
Pudge made two scotch and waters, brought them over to the desk.
Donahue sipped at his drink. Pudge had neglected to put ice in the glass. "Why should anyone want to take a shot at you?" Donahue asked.
Banner shrugged his shoulders, then winced. "I don't know. A guy like me has plenty of enemies. But they don't usually go around taking pot shots at anyone."
"What land of enemies?" Donahue asked.
"Rival night club owners," Banner said. "There are two or three parties interested in taking over the Club Inferno. The kind of geeks who don't like to take no for an answer. But they won't resort to gun play. At least, I don't think so."
They were on their second round of drinks when two uniformed police officers and an interne and ambulance attendant marched in. The interne examined Banner's arm, said, "The bullet went clean through. You'll have to come with me to the emergency ward. I'll put on a temporary bandage; the bleeding has stopped."
"See how my man outside is doing," Banner said.
"He's on his feet," one of the police officers said. "He got a clout on the head. The skin wasn't broken. He'll be okay."
"He should still come to the hospital for an x-ray," the interne said. "Just to be on the safe side," he added. He was a young man, about twenty-six or-seven.
"Well go in my car," Banner said.
"Do you want me to tag along?" Donahue asked.
"No, you needn't bother," Banner said. "I'll take Pudge with me."
One of the cops pulled out a pencil and a notebook. "Do you mind telling me exactly what happened?"
"You can ask him anything you want after he's been treated," the interne said firmly.
"Okay," the cop said. "You're the boss, Doc."
Donahue waited till they had left the office, then he poured himself a stiff drink. He went behind Banner's desk, sat down, put out the parchment-shaded desk lamp and pondered in the dark for half an hour. He drank quietly and tried to bring his brain cells into full play.
When his drink was finished, he got up, made himself another drink, and sat down again behind Banner's desk. He didn't really believe that Banner had been shot by a rival night club owner. He actually believed that the shooting tonight was an aftermath of the alleged Steele kidnapping. He wondered if Steele's killer had tried to add John Banner to his score card.
Mavis Andrews walked in. "I've been looking all over for you," she said. She advanced towards the desk.
Donahue put on the lamp. He was favorably impressed with her boyish figure. She had changed from halter and shorts to a windsor-checked blouse and azure-blue slacks. She had on rope sandals and a short jacket with very wide pockets. "You look like an angel," he said.
"Thank you, kind sir," Mavis said, and did a short bow. "Now how about taking me home?"
"Are you going to leave your car in the lot out back?" Donahue said.
"Yes," she said. "I'll take a cab to work tomorrow."
"Okay." He got up and came from behind the desk. He put out the lamp and escorted her to the door.
She stopped suddenly and faced him. "You look worried," she said. "Is there something wrong?"
"Didn't you hear about Banner getting shot?"
"John Banner can take care of himself," she said. "You're not just worried about John Banner, are you?"
"I guess I'm trying to figure out a puzzle," Donahue said. "It's a tough one."
"There are better things to do than figure out puzzles," Mavis said.
"Like what?"
She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. "Like that," she said.
He looked into her sea-green eyes and said: "You're like a shot in the arm after a hard day's work. You're like the dessert after dinner. You're like-"
Her mouth shut him up.
"We'll talk later," she whispered. "In bed."
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
There were lilies in a glass vase on the dresser, white taffeta curtains on the windows, a damask boudoir chair with Donahue's clothes piled on the seat.
Mavis was the first to waken. She looked at the man in her bed and stretched and smiled. Then she passed her hand over him as if to memorize his form in case of a long goodbye.
Shad Donahue opened his eyes, smiled at her, said: "What's for breakfast?"
"This." She pressed the length of her body against his and kissed him thoroughly. "I belong to you," she said.
"I don't want you getting serious about me," he said, kissing her neck. "Nothing can come of it."
"Too late," she said.
"You only imagine you care for me," he said. "Oh, sure."
"Let's have breakfast." He started to sit up.
She pushed him down flat. "Not right away." She kissed him hungrily.
He caught her fire. "You bitch," he said, grabbing her to him.
She finally fell away from his trembling body, said, "I think that was the best yet."
"Oh, shut up," he said. "Get up and make me my breakfast, woman."
"Yes, master." She bounced out of bed and vanished into the kitchenette.
Donahue followed her into the kitchenette. He watched her mix pancake mix with milk. She put a griddle over the stove, put a pat of butter on the griddle. She winked at him. "Honey. I love you."
"And you're my slave, is that right?" he said, watching her dip a ladle into the mix.
"Yes," she said. "You're the master and I'm your slave." She tilted the ladle over the hot griddle.
"But things would be different once we got married," Donahue said. "I'd be your slave and you'd be the master. It always works out that way."
"That's nonsense," she said.
"Is it? I've been married before. It's happened to me. Well, I'm soured on marriage, honey. I'm staying away from that institution."
"I wish you wouldn't talk like that."
Donahue shrugged, then filled an electric coffee percolator with water, put coffee into the basket, plugged in the cord. They ate in the kitchenette. Donahue spread strawberry jam over his pancakes, drank three cups of coffee.
They left the dishes in the sink, then took a shower together.
Mavis stepped into a pair of peach-colored panties and said, "How would you like to go shopping with me?"
"That's the first step," Donahue said. "And you'll manage to walk me past furniture stores and jewelry stores and you'll gasp, 'oh, isn't that a lovely engagement ring' and you'll-"
"Oh, shut up," Mavis said furiously. She put on a pair of plaid shorts and a white blouse. "Just drop me off at the shopping center and then you can go straight to hell. I swear I'll never bring up the subject of marriage, or anything pertaining to marriage, again. Incidentally, you're the one who started on this marriage kick."
"My error."
They left her apartment, walked into the warm sunshine, blinked at the sun's rays, and climbed into Donahue's car. Mavis took a pair of sun glasses from her purse, put them on. She fumbled for a pack of cigarettes, selected one, refused a light from Donahue's lighter, found a pack of matches, lit her cigarette.
"The independent woman," Donahue observed.
"You'd better shut up," Mavis warned. "You're getting me mad."
"Sorry." He drove carefully through early afternoon traffic, let her off in front of one of Contralto's biggest department stores. Then he drove home.
He took his mail from his mail box, walked into a lobby and was confronted by a beefy man. "Donahue?" the man said. When Donahue nodded his head the man took out a badge and an identification card. "The District Attorney would like to see you," the beefy man said.
"Do we have to go in your car?" Donahue said. "I have my own car outside."
"You can use your car," the man said. "You can follow me to the Hall of Justice."
They walked out together. The man got into his car and started away from the curb. Donahue lit a cigarette, stepped into his and followed.
The Hall of Justice housed the Chief of Police's office, the D. A.'s office, the various court rooms, and the local F. B. I.
The District Attorney was fifty-three. He was tall, swarthy-complexioned, and he had a fondness for Palm Beach suits.
A male stenographer, half-asleep, was in a deep arm chair.
The office was air conditioned. The beefy man introduced Donahue to the District Attorney, then departed without waiting to be dismissed.
"Sit down, sit down," the tall man said. His name was Fred Henry. "Surprising we've never bumped into each other before. This town isn't that big."
"Maybe we just don't move in the same circles," Donahue said. He sat down in a leather-backed chair, accepted a cigarette from an ivory box the D. A. held out. "Thank you," he said. He leaned forward again as the D. A. offered a heavy desk lighter. Donahue burnt the end of his cigarette, said, "thank you," again, then relaxed against the back of the chair.
The D. A. went behind his desk, sat down. "There's a lot of gambling going on in this town and of course there's been several shootings but-well, kidnapping-that's one for the books. Don't you agree?"
"I agree," Donahue said.
"And another shooting last night," Fred Henry said. "At the Club Inferno. You were there. Poor Mr. Banner. He's lucky he wasn't killed."
"You didn't ask to see me just to give me a rundown on what's been happening in our fair city lately, did you?" Donahue asked.
Fred Henry selected a cigarette from his own ivory box, lit it. He grinned at Donahue. "Always a pleasure to meet a blunt man," he said.
"I've heard about you, Mr. Henry," Donahue said. "You're nobody's fool. Okay. So you're clever. You don't have to prove it by me. Let's get down to cases."
"Is there a connection between last night's shooting and the kidnapping of Burt Steele?" he wanted to know. He nodded at the male stenographer, who shifted in his chair and poised a pencil over his notebook.
Donahue said, "I wouldn't know."
Fred Henry's manner changed radically. "You mean you're completely in the dark?" he said sardonically. He let smoke spew from between his lips, towards the ceiling.
"Something like that."
"Burt Steele gets kidnapped-you're the one selected to carry the ransom money. John Banner gets shot-you're the first one in his office after the shooting. Quite a coincidence, don't you think?"
"It happens."
"Well, I don't think it's a coincidence," Fred Henry said bluntly.
"Think what you damn well please!"
"John Banner found out you were connected with the Steele kidnapping and so you tried to kill him," Fred Henry said. "How do you like those onions?"
"Fried."
"I have an even better theory," the D. A. said. "You and John Banner are the kidnappers. There's a falling out. You take a shot at Banner and miss. Banner has to keep his mouth shut because he's afraid to admit he was mixed up in the kidnapping."
"Suppose Banner and I were the kidnappers?" Donahue said. "Part of your theory falls to pieces."
"How?"
"Why should we have a falling out?" Donahue said. "There's no money to fight over. The police recovered the ransom money where I had left it, remember?"
"Okay," Henry said. "There's another angle we shouldn't overlook. The murder angle. You killed Steele, Banner knows about it, and tries to blackmail you-"
"No good," Donahue interrupted. "Banner wouldn't try to blackmail me. He's the one with the loot. I may be well off but I'm not rich."
"So Banner is the one who knocked off Steele and you try to blackmail him-"
"You're flying in circles," Donahue interrupted again. "I wouldn't shoot a man I'd be blackmailing. There's the old adage about killing the goose that lays the golden eggs. I think you just want to hear yourself talk."
Fred Henry suddenly grinned. He lit another cigarette, said, "I'm taking pot shots in the dark. I'm hoping I'll hit a bullseye."
"You mean you're going to depend on blind luck," Donahue said disgustedly. "You'll never get your killer that way."
"I can't see further than you and Banner," Fred Henry said honestly.
"That's nice," Donahue said dryly.
"That doesn't mean I'd frame either one of you," the D. A. said. "I don't think along such lines. Listen, if a different theory opened up I'd follow it to its conclusion. But so far-"
Donahue nodded his head, sighed. "You've got your patsies lined up," he said. "Why knock yourself out with anyone else?"
"It isn't that at all," Fred Henry said.
"Oh, sure."
"You don't have to believe me," Henry said. "One more thing." He took a piece of paper from his desk drawer, said, reading from the paper, "Medium height, red hair, thick mustache, brown suit, brown-and-white shoes." Fred Henry looked at Donahue. "Well?"
"Well what?" Donahue said, genuinely puzzled. "Do you know the man who answers that description?" the D. A. asked. "No."
"You're sure?"
"Positive."
"Have you ever seen anyone answering that-"
"No."
"Okay," Fred Henry said. "I guess that's all." He stood up and extended his hand over his desk top.
Donahue took it; they shook hands. "Sorry I couldn't have been of more help," Donahue said.
"I do appreciate your cooperation." The D. A. smiled blandly. "But I don't mind telling you I think you're mixed up in this affair, up to your neck."
"I'm just an innocent bystander," Donahue said.
"Well, I'll see you again, Mr. Donahue."
Shad Donahue walked to the door, paused, turned and said, "The description of that redheaded man-do you mind telling me who he's supposed to be?"
"He's the one who took a shot at Banner," Fred Henry said. "At least, that's the description that Banner gave me."
"I see." Donahue opened the door, nodded once at the D. A., then shut the door from the outside.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
She was a hard-faced blonde. She wore a loose wrapper. "What d'ya want?" she said. Her voice was metallic. The wrapper was faded in spots.
"I'd like to see Mike Braden," Shad Donahue said.
There wasn't much light in the hallway. There were many different smells though.
"You a cop?" the woman demanded to know.
"No," Donahue said.
"He got a headache," the woman said. "He don't wanna see nobody."
"He knows me," Donahue said. "I'm a friend of his boss, John Banner. Tell him Donahue wants to see him. Will you do that much, please?"
"Just wait right here," she said. She disappeared for a minute, then came back to the door. "Okay."
Donahue walked into the living room and the woman shut the door. The furniture was tired and worn and there was peeling wall paper on the walls. The woman ushered Donahue into the bedroom and left.
Mike Braden was sitting on the bed, his bare feet resting on the oilcloth. He held a can of beer in his right hand. He was fiddling with the knob of a portable radio with his left hand. The radio was on a night table. He glanced up at Donahue, nodded his head in greeting. There was a stubble of beard on Braden's chin. His hair was very black and curly. His eyes were sleep clouded. He had on a tee-shirt and a pair of green shorts. His arms, legs, were hairy.
"You don't look so bad," Donahue said.
"Got a headache, is all," Braden said. The radio squawked and an old number came on.
Mike Braden was John Banner's bodyguard. It was Braden who had been slugged just before Banner had been shot.
"Did you see the guy who did it?" Donahue said.
Braden drank some beer. He shook his head. He drank some more beer, finished the can. "Want some beer?" he asked Donahue.
"If it's cold enough."
Braden opened his mouth and shouted: "Maggie!" The blonde looked in. "What you want?"
"Two beers. And make it snappy." She disappeared and Donahue said: "You mean the guy sneaked up on you?"
"I guess so," Braden said.
Donahue heard the refrigerator open and close. "But you've got a clear view of both sides of the corridor. How could it be possible-"
The blonde walked in with two cans of beer. The cans had been punched open. She gave Donahue a can, gave Braden the other. Then she walked out.
Braden took a swallow of beer. "I guess I had my back turned-"
"Not you, Mike," Donahue said, and swallowed some beer. "I know better." The beer was good and cold. "I don't think anyone could sneak up on you."
"Well, somebody sure did." Braden rubbed the top of his head. He tilted the beer can; some of it ran down his chin and onto his tee-shirt.
"You're positive you didn't see the guy who put the slug on you?"
"I told you," Braden scowled. "Why should I he about it?"
"I don't know," Donahue said. He finished the beer. "You don't seem to mind my asking all these questions. How come?"
Braden bit his lower lip, frowned thoughtfully, then said, "I guess you're fixin' to knock off the guy who potted the boss. So you come here and ask all those questions, tryin' to find out who the guy is."
"It sure took you some time to think up that answer," Donahue said.
Braden deliberately put down his beer can. He slowly got to his feet. "You seem to be askin' for it."
"Did Banner tell you to put the muzzle on?" Shad Donahue asked.
Braden measured Donahue coldly, then let fly a roundhouse punch. Donahue stepped in and the punch grazed the back of his neck. Donahue jabbed Braden in the belly with a short right. Braden doubled up. Donahue hit Braden with an uppercut and Braden straightened up, went backwards, flopped on the bed.
Donahue blew on his knuckles. They hurt. He bent down and nudged Braden's shoulder. The bodyguard was out cold.
The blonde in the loose wrapper was in the kitchen slicing a cucumber. She was preparing a salad. She turned as Donahue poked his head in.
"He wants another beer," Donahue said. He turned, walked through the living room, out of the apartment.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Fan Norbo was waiting for Donahue in his apartment. She had on a linen dress, square cut at the neck. She had made herself at home. She was drinking a brandy and soda.
Donahue sank into a divan, leaned back, closed his eyes.
"You don't seemed surprised to see me," Fan said.
"Nothing surprises me anymore. How did you get in anyway."
"You forgot to take back your key."
"Oh, yes," he said, remembering. "I give out too many keys to this flat; I'll have to put a stop to it."
"Shall I make you a drink?"
"I'd rather have something to eat first," he said. "I'm starved."
"I'll see what's in the refrigerator." She disappeared into the kitchenette, taking her brandy and soda with her. She came back shortly. "I'd make some sandwiches if you had some bread."
"Am I out of bread?" he inquired.
"You're out of practically everything," she said. She Brushed her brandy and soda, walked over to the liquor cabinet and built herself another.
"Are you hungry?" he asked.
"Slightly."
"Let's go out and eat."
"If you want," she said. "I wanted to talk to you."
"Let's talk over a cold chicken and a hot bottle."
"You've got it twisted," she said. "It's supposed to be a hot chicken and a cold bottle."
"I think it's a hot bird," he said.
She helped him to his feet. "My, you are tired." She traced cool fingers across his face.
He bent his head and kissed her. "Not too tired," he said.
She pushed him towards the door. "Let's find a place to eat."
"And drink," he said.
They went down in the elevator and walked three blocks to Black's Bar and Grill. They occupied a red-lacquered booth. While the cook in the back room prepared their hot dishes they had drinks. Fan had an anisette in a very tall glass and Donahue was satisfied with a glass of Strega.
"I know there's something eating you," Donahue said. "Come on out with it."
"Two detectives paid me a visit this morning," she said, toying with her glass. She leaned over the narrow table. Her dress fell away from her bosom, showing Donahue the cleft between her full breasts. "A Lieutenant Steve Krenshaw and a Sergeant Bernard Mahoney."
"I've met the gentlemen," Donahue said.
"They found out about Burt and me," she said. Her eyes were haunted. She looked very worried. She swallowed some anisette.
"You mean the fact that you and Burt were bed companions?" Donahue said. "Yes."
"They can't hang you for that," Donahue reasoned. He saw the waiter approaching with the food.
They ate in silence. Donahue had ale with his veal cutlets and baked potato.
Later, after the waiter had taken away their plates, and they had lit up cigarettes, they talked.
"They're going to start digging into my movements," Fan said. She had ordered another anisette. "I didn't bother covering my tracks. I didn't think Steele would end up dead in this deal."
"I didn't think so either," Donahue said. "I suppose you have no idea of who Steele's killer is?"
Fan hesitated, then: "At first...."
"Go on," Donahue prompted.
She swallowed some anisette. "I thought Banner had killed Steele."
"Why?"
She shrugged her shoulders; it did interesting things to her breasts. "Who else was in on the kidnapping deal?" she said. "No one else. Banner and Steele. You and I forced our way in. I know I didn't kill Steele. I'm pretty sure you didn't. And that leaves ... John Banner."
"You thought Banner had killed Steele," Donahue said. "What do you think now?"
"I don't know what to think," she said. "I don't think it was Banner any more. I think the killer tried to do away with Banner."
"Maybe," Donahue said. "Could be that Banner arranged that shooting himself to throw the cops off his scent. Could be that way all right."
"You don't really think that, do you?" she said.
"I don't see the percentage in Banner knocking off Steele."
"I want another drink," she said.
Donahue ordered two more drinks. They talked some more but didn't get any place.
"Maybe it was an outsider who killed Burt Steele," Fan suggested. "Perhaps he had an old grudge against Steele and saw his chance to kill him."
"How did he know Steele would be at the hunting lodge?" Donahue asked.
"You've got me on that one."
"Did anyone else know about that hunting lodge besides you and Steele?"
"I suppose he brought other women there," Fan Norbo said.
Donahue sipped his ale. "Other women. It could have been a woman who killed him. A woman he had scorned."
"Any ideas," Fan said.
"One idea," Donahue said.
"But you're not going to confide in me?" she said. She finished her drink, looked around for the waiter. "I think we've both had enough."
"One more for the road," she pleaded. "I'm taking you home."
"What if I don't feel like going home?"
"Have it your way."
"All right," she said.
He called the waiter over, paid the check, and they walked out of the lounge. They sauntered the three blocks to where he had parked the car. He pulled away from the curb, stopped at a gas station, had the car's tank filled.
It was half past five when he dropped her off.
She got out of the car, leaned through the half open window, letting him take a good look down her dress. "Well?" she said.
"Well what?"
"Do you want to come up for a drink?" She was lonely and she wanted company.
The hollow between her breasts was inviting. But Donahue shook his head and sighed. "Can't. Sorry, honey."
"Not as sorry as I am." She pulled her head back and Donahue swung away from the curb.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
It was a Spanish-type house in Gold Hill. Donahue swung into the wide driveway, stopped, walked up the flag stone path till he came to the front door. He thumbed the button.
There was the click-clack of high heels, then the door opened. "Yes?" She was tall, slim, with high cheekbones. Her hair was the color of bronze. "Geraldine Drake?" Donahue asked. "Are you selling something?" Her voice was soft, like silk.
"Only myself. The name is Donahue. Shad Donahue. I hope I'm not intruding but-"
"Donahue," she said thoughtfully. "The name rings a bell. Oh, yes. You carried the ransom money in the Burt Steele kidnapping."
"That's right."
"Won't you come in?" She stepped aside, allowed him to pass through. Then she closed and locked the door.
Donahue found himself in a spacious living room. It was done in delicate shades of blue and white. "Nice place," he said.
"I like it. Won't you be seated, Mr. Donahue?" she said, motioning to a damask chair.
He sat down, looked boldly at her figure. She stared coldly back, put her hands on her hips.
"Do I pass inspection?"
"Yes," he said. "I don't blame Steele for cultivating you."
"Too bad Burt is dead," she said. "I'm sure he would have been glad to hear that."
"You were with him at the Club Inferno the night before he was kidnapped," Donahue said.
"The police already know that." She sat down on a couch, crossed her knees. "Do you mind telling me why you're here?"
"Information."
"You can get all the information you want at the Union Station." She took a cigarette from a box, tapped one end against the back of her hand. He got up, extended his cigarette lighter.
She bent her head, dipped one end of the cigarette into the flame. She inhaled, said, "Thank you," and blew out smoke.
Donahue sat down again. "The police think his kidnappers killed him," Donahue said. "But I don't think they did. I don't think that at all."
"How interesting," she said dryly.
"A fascinating theory, don't you think?" He searched for his cigarette case, selected a cigarette.
"Why don't you go to the police with your fascinating theory?" she wanted to know.
"I wanted to know your reaction first."
"My reaction?" She frowned. "Why should you be interested in my reaction?"
"You had a motive," he said.
"What motive?"
"The night before he was kidnapped, he left you to go visit Fan Norbo."
"I see," she said.
"Women don't like to be left high and dry," Shad Donahue pointed out.
"And you think that's a reason for murder?" she asked, a smile on her lips. She seemed to be amused.
"I'm betting you knew about the hunting lodge." He puffed at his cigarette.
"I'll admit I knew about the cabin," she said. "In fact, I've been there. I'm admitting that to you. But I certainly won't tell the police that. Yes, he left me for Fan Norbo and I knew where the hunting lodge was. But I didn't kill him."
"Do you have an alibi for the time he was murdered?" Donahue asked.
"What concern is it of yours?"
"The District Attorney is playing with the idea that I might have killed Steele," Donahue said. "I'd like to prove to him once and for all that he's wrong about that. I never killed anyone."
"And you're ready to throw me to the wolves to prove how wrong he is," she said.
"You're much too pretty to throw to anyone," he said. "To tell you the truth, I don't really think you killed Steele. But you might know something important."
"Like what?" She put out her cigarette. "Was Steele going to leave his wife?"
"I never asked him," she said. "Did he ever mention it to you?"
"None of your business."
Donahue put out his cigarette, got to his feet. "I don't see why you don't want to help." He walked over to her, sat down on the couch beside her. He took her arm. "I'm in a spot. I don't want any headline hunting D.A. breathing down my neck. If you know something, spill it."
"Let go my arm," she said.
"You do know something, don't you?"
"I know you're hurting me," she said.
"Sorry." He let go her arm.
She rubbed her arm, said, "You're very strong."
"I thought you could help. I guess I was wrong." He started to get to his feet.
She quickly swung her body so that her back was on his lap and her legs hung over the edge of the couch. "Don't be in such a hurry." She looked up at him. She put up her hand and patted his cheek.
What the hell! Donahue thought. What the hell!
"I live all alone. All alone in this great big house." She wore an afternoon frock with big buttons down the center. Her dress had hiked inches over her knees, showing creamy thighs. "I had a husband once," she said. "We were divorced."
"I'm sorry," Donahue said. He didn't know what else to say.
"It's okay; he was a stinker."
"If you'll let me up...."
"Are you embarrassed?" she asked.
"Not exactly."
"Don't you like me?"
"Crazy about you."
"I wasn't the only woman Burt chased," she said. "But I couldn't feel sorry for Marion Steele. She had her own boy friend on the side."
"Are you sure about that?" Donahue said.
"Can't you be nice to me?"
He put up his hand, scratched his chin. "How nice?" he said. "As nice as can be."
"Who was the boy friend?"
She pouted. "I don't know if I should tell you anything. You're so indifferent."
He put his hand over her breast. He heard her sigh.
"That's better." She put up her hand and started to slip buttons through button holes.
He said, "Who was-"
"Don't talk," she said. "Please, don't."
His fingers went searching. Her head twisted from side to side as soft moans escaped from her vermilion lips. She suddenly sat up, jerked down the dress, unhooked the bra. Naked to the waist, she flung her arms around his waist, pressed as hard as she could against him.
His hand roamed her smooth back, feeling the soft skin glide under his palms and fingers. She then got off his lap, pulled the dress down to her ankles, stepped out of it.
He got to his feet and reached for her. They kissed. She opened his jacket, tore open his shirt, and swept her palms across his chest. Her body was aflame.
They kissed again, their naked chests pressed against each other. "The bedroom is upstairs," she gasped.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
It was evening, late evening. Dark shadows, caused by young trees and weaving branches, fell across the garden in the back of the house. Shad Donahue, clad in a pair of Nile-green shorts stood by the window, looked out at the back of the house, looked out at the garden of flowers and short-cut grass. There was a smell of jasmine in the air.
Behind him, on the bed, Geraldine Drake was lighting a cigarette. There was a glass of brandy on an end table near the head of the bed.
It had been a full day, Donahue reflected. He had started the day by waking up with Mavis, had gone through an interview with the District Attorney, had talked with John Banner's bodyguard, Mike Braden, had eaten and drunk with Fan Norbo and then had gone to bed with Geraldine Drake, one of Burt Steele's ex-flames.
And the day wasn't over yet.
Geraldine Drake called him over. He went to her, sat on the edge of the bed.
She was flat on her back, a cigarette dangling from her lips. She smiled up at him.
He boldly took inventory of her golden body. She was tanned all over. Even her firm breasts and curvy hips were tanned. She obviously believed in nude sunbathing.
He took the cigarette from between her lips, took a puff, put it out in a glass tray on the end tables. He then put both hands over her breasts and massaged the mounds gently. He watched her eyes close and her body start to squirm.
When it was over, he folded her in his arms and they slept.
A sliver of moon decorated the night sky. A few thousand stars, like diamonds, twinkled on the black velvet display of dark sky.
Most of the denizens of Contralto were going to bed but the free-going, easy spending percentage were now preparing to do the town. There were the gambling joints, the burlesque shows, the dives where whores were available and the small out-of-the-way joints for the perverted.
Contralto, a wide open town, had everything. From the big gambling joints to the dives where one could indulge in the lowest form of perversion.
A night breeze came through the half open window, cooled Donahue's face. He sat up and then bent over to kiss Geraldine Drake's smooth shoulder.
He got out of bed, put on his shorts and pants, went downstairs to the living room where he built two drinks. He started to carry them up to her bedroom, decided to bring the works with him in case he had to make any extra trips. He loaded a tray with the drinks, a bottle of charged water, a bottle of scotch, a bowl of ice cubes. He carried the tray up the stairs and into the bedroom.
She was sitting up in bed, stretching. "Hello there," she said. Her voice was husky.
He put the tray on the end table, gave her a glass of scotch and soda. He sat on the bed, his own glass in hand.
"To a wonderful friendship," she toasted. They clicked glasses. They drank deeply. "I'm starved," she suddenly announced. "Shall we go out and eat?"
"I'd rather eat in," she said. "I'm a great cook." She started to get out of bed.
He put his arm around her waist, said, "Who's Marion Steele's boy friend?"
"I don't know," she said.
"But how do you know she has a boy friend?" Shad Donahue asked.
"Burt told me," she said. "A husband knows such things the same way a wife knows when her husband acquires a mistress."
"Did he suspect anyone in particular?" Donahue wanted to know.
"He didn't mention any names." She removed his arm from around her waist, got out of bed. She put on a Grecian-type robe. "Let's go downstairs and I'll cook up something special." She made herself another drink while he dressed, then they went downstairs.
They ate spaghetti with clam sauce, veal with mushrooms, garlic bread, and drank a bottle of rose wine.
They had brandy laced with vermouth in the living room.
"I wish I could have been more help," she said.
"Sometimes a little help can go a long way," he said, finishing his brandy. He got to his feet. "I have to go now."
"You-won't stay the night?"
"Can't," he said. "But there will be other nights."
"Yes," she said. "Other nights."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The shooting of the night club owner, John Banner, seemed to have increased business. There were more cars in the parking lot, more noise seemed to come from the Club Inferno.
The doorman saluted Donahue.
"Business picking up?" Donahue said.
"Yes, sir."
Pudge was talking to the hatcheck girl. He saw Donahue, walked over to him. "Busy night," he said.
"I wouldn't be surprised if Banner shot himself just to bring in more busines," Donahue said.
"Aw, the boss wouldn't do that." Pudge took Donahue's arm. "Two big games are goin' on upstairs."
"Not right now," Donahue said. "Is Banner upstairs? I want to see him."
"The boss ain't showin' up tonight," Pudge said. "He's restin' up from that bullet wound."
"Is he at his place?"
"I guess so."
They walked into the taproom, up to the bar, where they ordered drinks. Pudge had a rum collins and Donahue stuck to brandy.
"How long has Braden been with Banner?" Donahue asked Pudge.
"Long enough," Pudge said. "Why?"
"Do you think Braden would take a shot a Banner for enough dough?"
Pudge snorted. "Not Mike Braden. You got the wrong guy, Shad."
"Somebody potted Banner last night," Donahue said, asking for a refill by pointing to his glass. The bartender poured Remy Martin in his glass. "And I don't think it was a rival night club owner."
Pudge shrugged his shoulders. "Banner can take care of himself."
"I don't doubt that," Donahue said sardonically. "Look what happened to him last night? He took care of himself all right. A bullet got him. Just luck it didn't go into his brain or heart."
"Why this sudden interest in Banner's health?" Pudge said quietly.
"Banner's a friend of mine," Donahue explained. "I don't like to see my friends shot. It goes against my grain. You know how it is."
"But I don't know," Pudge said. "Why don't you try and tell me?"
"Look, I only have Banner's interests at heart," Donahue said.
"John left a message for you," Pudge said. "He wants you to give him a wide berth for awhile."
"I got the message," Donahue said. He took out a ten dollar bill and put it on the bar.
Pudge took the bill, folded it, stuffed it in Donahue's breast pocket. "On the house," he said.
"Thanks," Donahue said. He turned and walked out. He went to the parking lot, got his car, and drove off.
He drove till he came to Banner's estate. He parked several blocks away, then walked back. He lit a cigarette, then walked around the gate till he was at the back of the big house. He could see the swimming pool and the tennis courts.
He scaled the gate, dropped down on the grounds. The grass was dewy. He stepped on his cigarette, then walked towards the house in a crouch, keeping within the shadows. He stopped by an elm which was just a few feet from the back of the house. He could hear voices from within. He started to climb the tree.
There were lights in three of the windows. He crawled along a branch towards a half open window, paused as he heard Banner's voice. Banner was saying...."that's not too much to ask for considering...."
"Hey!" A voice, sharp, full-throated, roared up at Donahue. He looked down and saw a man standing at the base of the tree. "What are you doing there? Get down before I shoot I"
Moonlight glinted on the barrel of a revolver.
Donahue took a deep breath and jumped ... right on top of the man. They both sprawled on the grass, the man cursing. "My leg," the man screamed. "My leg. It's broken."
Voices came from the house.
Donahue got to his feet and sprinted for the gate. "Who's out there?" a man called. "My leg. My leg. It's broken." A shot rang out.
Donahue tried to stay within the shadows.
The gate was a few feet away.
His heart pounding, Donahue leaped at the gate, climbed over it, dropped to the sidewalk.
There was the sound of running feet. There were shouts and cursing of many voices.
Another shot rang out.
"Get the sonobitch," a man screamed.
Donahue ran the several blocks to his car, got in, gunned the motor. The car shot away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The jukebox had many-colored lights going on and off. It was gaudy. An Afro-Cuban number spilled from its insides. It was a dive and there were many B-girls floating around.
Donahue found an empty booth and a waitress in a black satin dress came over to him. A shoulder strap had slipped; she didn't bother picking it up. She bent down in front of him so that he could see down her dress. It was orders from the house and she did get better tips from her male customers.
"A brandy," Donahue said.
She walked away, twitching her hips.
A redhead came over to the booth. "Hi, honey," she said. "Lonely?"
"I'm expecting the wife," Donahue said.
"We can have a couple of drinks together before she gets here," the redhead said.
"No, thank you, honey," Donahue dismissed her.
The girl shrugged her shoulders, tossed her mane of red hair, and walked away.
The waitress came back with his brandy. "Eighty-five cents," she said.
Donahue gave her a dollar.
Couples were dancing to the jukebox.
Donahue drank his brandy, then went searching for a phone booth. There was a girl in it. She was talking and making faces at the same time. Donahue went to the bar, ordered another brandy, took it with him to the booth. The girl was just leaving. She brushed by Donahue, leaving behind a scent of chypre. Donahue ducked into the booth, sipped at his brandy, dialed Marion Steele's number. He finished the brandy.
Marion Steele finally answered. "Yes?"
"This is Donahue," he said. "Can I see you?"
"You mean now?"
"Right now," he said. "But-"
"What's wrong?"
"It's rather late," she said, hesitating. "Can't you make it sometime tomorrow?"
"I want to see you now," Donahue said, adamantly. "It's not that late."
"Well, I-All right. If you insist."
Donahue hung up. He went to the bar, had another brandy, then went out to his car. He drove to Gold Hill. He parked by the gate in front of 37 Esplanade Avenue. There was the smell of night flowers. Somewhere a bird was singing.
He opened the gate and started to walk through. An arm went around his neck and started to strangle him. He clutched at the arm, tried to ward it off. His brain couldn't get enough oxygen and he started to black out. He quickly dropped to his knees, tugged at the arm with both hands, and jerked the lower part of his torso forward. His assailant went flying over his back, landed on the flag stone path in the shadows.
Donahue got slowly to his feet. Then he saw the figure of his assailant coming at him. He couldn't see the man's face. But he felt the man's fist explode against his jaw. He went backwards, tried to regain his balance. He felt something crash against the side of his head.
A woman screamed.
Donahue pitched forward.
Blackness awaited him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Cold water ran over his face, down his neck. He sat up, found himself in the driveway leading up to the front of the Steele house. Marion Steele was kneeling by his side, a wet compress in her hand. "Are you all right?" Her voice was anxious. In the moonlight her face was very pale.
"I think my head is going to fall off," Donahue said. He felt the side of his head and winced.
"Can you get to your feet?" she asked.
"I think so. I'll try."
She helped him get up.
"Was that you who screamed?" he asked.
"Yes, I saw-I saw shadows. I saw someone strike out and-it was you-someone fell. I screamed. I guess I frightened him away."
"That scream probably saved my life," Donahue said. He let her lead him into the house. They went into the living room where he sank down on the divan and she went to fix him a drink.
"Did you see who it was?" Donahue asked her, accepting a shot glass of whiskey.
"No. It was so dark." She sat down on the divan beside him. "You-you were close to him. Didn't you recognize him?"
Donahue shook his head, winced. "Remind me to keep my head still."
"What-what happened?"
"Someone tried to strangle me." The recollection so moved Donahue that he finished the whiskey and asked for another.
She took his empty glass, went to the liquor cabinet, poured more whiskey into the glass, brought it back to Donahue.
He took it gratefully. He swallowed it in one gulp. It scorched his throat, warmed his chest and stomach. "Just what I need," he said.
"Do you want another one?" she asked.
"I'd better."
She got him another drink. He took his time with this one.
"Do you think-do you think it was one of the kidnappers?" she asked.
"I don't think so," Donahue said. "Besides, why should he be hanging around here?"
"I don't know." She went to make a drink for herself, returned, sat down. "You wanted to speak to me," she said. "What about?"
"About Burt Steele's woman."
"Which one?" she said.
"Geraldine Drake."
"There had been rumors," Marion Steele said. "I wasn't sure."
"You didn't know?"
"Nothing definite," she said. "But there were others."
"Yes. Others."
"You knew about the others?"
"Yes. Oh, Lord, yes."
"What did you do about it?" He finished the whiskey, shook his head when she wanted to refill the glass.
"What did I do?" She pondered the question. "What did I do? Nothing. What could I do? I couldn't leave him, could I? Where would I go?"
"Did you take on a lover?" he asked bluntly.
She gasped. "Just because-You pig!"
"Ours was something in the order of a one night stand," Donahue said. "I'm not making you out a Moll Flanders just because we had a short fling together. But there is a possibility that you took on a lover, the permanent kind."
"You're crazy," she said, her voice furious.
"That same lover was waiting for me just now because you tipped him that I was coming." He stared at the empty glass, tried to hand it to her so that she'd refill it. She shook her head violently. "That same lover tried to kill me," he added.
"You can't prove that!"
"So there is a lover," Donahue said.
"You can go to hell," she said violently. Her face was pasty white.
"It was your lover who killed your husband, wasn't it?" Donahue said.
"I should have let him kill you," she screamed. "I didn't want another murder on my conscience so I screamed and he ran. I shouldn't have gone out. I knew what he was going to do. I knew it. I stopped him. Now I wish I hadn't. I should have let him kill you."
"Who is he?"
"Go to hell."
"Do you think I'm that dumb that I can't guess what happened to your husband?" Donahue said. "You can go straight to hell." Donahue got to his feet. "I wanted to help."
"Oh, sure," she sneered.
"I'll bet you hadn't planned on killing him," Donahue said.
"You can't prove a goddamn thing," she said. "So you'd better get out of here before I call the police."
"There's such a thing as turning state's evidence," Donahue said.
She walked to the phone.
"Okay," Donahue said. "I'm going." v
"And don't ever come here again," she said, her bosom rising and falling with her rapid breathing. "I'm sorry you won't let me help you," Donahue said. He went out the front door.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The Club Inferno was still jumping when Shad Donahue arrived. He had first gone to his apartment and had changed into an Italian silk gray suit. It was almost three in the morning.
Jack Price's band was swinging it. Hot licks tongued out from the main room, greeted the late arrivals as they materialized in the doorway leading to the checkroom and the taproom. The music was hot and primitive. There were plenty of saxophones working.
Donahue went into the taproom. He ordered a scotch. As he sipped it Pudge Bailey joined him. Pudge looked worried. "John's here," Pudge said. "He asked about you."
"Oh?" Donahue finished his scotch. "I thought he wasn't coming in tonight?"
"I think he made a special trip," Pudge said, "just to see you."
"I would have gone to his place," Donahue said. "He didn't have to come here."
"He thinks maybe you did go to his place," Pudge said. He told the bartender to bring him a rum collins. Donahue ordered another scotch. "I'd hate to see anything come between you and John," Pudge said.
"I'd hate it too," Donahue said.
The bartender brought over their drinks.
"He's in his office now," Pudge said. "He told me to tell you to go right up as soon as you showed. So you've been told."
They drank their drinks.
"Who's with him?" Donahue wanted to know.
"Lardos," Pudge said. "A very unhealthy guy to know. He'd cut your throat if John told him to. So be careful you don't antagonize John."
"No one else?"
Pudge shook his head. "That's it. Just those two. Who'd you think would be up there besides them?"
"I just had a hunch." Donahue turned away from the bar. "Thanks, Pudge." He went through the main room, up the carpeted stairs and down the corridor to John Banner's office. There was another bodyguard outside John Banner's office door. Donahue knew him, nodded his head, said, "Hello, Sammy."
Sammy said, "Go right in. The boss is expecting you, Shad."
Donahue turned the knob, walked in.
Lardos and Banner were in a huddle by the liquor cabinet. They broke apart as Donahue walked into the office.
Banner's arm was in a sling.
"How's the arm?" Donahue asked.
"Kind of stiff."
"You wanted to see me?" Donahue sat down, stretched his legs out in front of him, crossed his ankles. "I saw Pudge downstairs; he said you were anxious to talk to me."
Banner went behind his desk, sat down. Lardos stood at the side of the desk, facing Donahue.
"I had a visitor tonight," Banner said. "At my place. This character climbed the gate, then climbed a tree to get into the house but was caught by one of my men. So he jumps on my man, breaking his leg." Banner took a cigarette from a box on his desk and Lardos flicked a lighter, lit it.
"Did you get him?" Donahue wanted to know.
"He got clean away," Banner said, blowing blue-gray smoke towards the ceiling.
"I guess he wanted another crack at you," Donahue said with a poker face.
Banner looked at Lardos, then at Donahue. "What do you mean by that?"
"Obviously he wanted to take another shot at you," Donahue said. "It was probably the same mug from last night who potted you in the arm."
Banner shook his head. "Couldn't be."
"What makes you so sure?" Donahue said.
"I know."
"How do you know?" Donahue persisted.
"Because I was talking to that mug from last night on the phone when this intruder started the rumpus," Banner said.
"You were talking to him?" Donahue said.
"You heard me."
"Who did take a shot at you?" Donahue asked. "Your Uncle Stanley?"
"Never mind that," Banner snapped. "You're the one who broke my man's leg tonight."
"Now how can you say a thing like that?" Shad Donahue said, shaking his head sadly.
"You also flattened Mike Braden at his apartment," Banner said.
"I suppose I also was responsible for the Wall Street crash in 1929?"
"You were trying to get into my place," Banner said hotly.
"Why should I want to do that?"
"Maybe you're sick," Banner said. He pointed a forefinger at his forehead. "Here. Maybe you imagine I'm holding out on the police. Maybe you thought you could catch me in the act with the guy who potted me. God knows what goes on in a sick man's mind."
"But you aren't holding out on the police, are you?" Donahue said. "Oh, no. You just told me you were talking on the phone to the guy who tried to knock you off. Who you trying to kid?"
"Let's settle this right now," Banner said. "I do know who shot me. A guy I had differences with. So okay. Tonight, over the phone, we settled our differences."
"And what was the payoff?" Donahue said.
"Payoff?" Banner said.
Lardos was visibly disturbed.
"I said payoff," Donahue said.
"No payoff," Banner said. He tried to laugh it off. "I don't go after him; he doesn't go after me. A Mexican standoff, see?"
Donahue shook his head. "I don't believe you," he said.
"We're wasting time," Lardos said. "This creep is going to spoil everything. I say we fix him now. I say we fix him good."
"I didn't know Lardos was your partner?" Shad Donahue spoke to Banner.
"I have no partners," Banner said. "Lardos is only looking after my interests."
"And do your interests also include covering up for a murderer?" Donahue asked.
"How much do you really know?" Banner asked.
"Plenty," Donahue said. "You were in Steele's hunting lodge when the killer brought in Steele's body. How's that so far?"
"You're guessing," Banner speculated.
"Did I guess wrong?" Donahue said.
"Okay," Banner said. "You're right about that."
"You didn't bother going after the ransom money because you knew it would be hotter than hot, especially since the alleged kidnapping victim was now dead. The state would prosecute the kidnappers-or rather those they would consider the kidnappers-for murder as well as kidnapping because they would, naturally, believe that the kidnappers had done away with Steele. You couldn't go to the police with the real story about you and Steele framing this little scheme for a profit of eighty grand, just to beat the income tax people. The cops would give you the horse laugh. So you had to keep quiet. Of course, there was no reason why you shouldn't try for a little blackmail."
Donahue suddenly got to his feet. The movement was so sudden that Lardos thrust his hand inside his jacket for the butt of his gun. He relaxed when Donahue walked over to the liquor cabinet.
"I don't know what happened to the hospitality in this joint," Donahue complained. "Nobody offered me a drink." He built a scotch on the rocks.
"You were saying?" Banner said.
"Now where was I?" Donahue took a sip of scotch. The ice brushed against his teeth. "Oh, yes. You tried to blackmail the killer. So last night he took a shot at you and missed. On the way to the city hospital you told Mike Braden to shut up. Maybe you slipped him a fifty dollar bill. I don't know. But you probably promised him something. It makes no difference anyway.
Braden works for you and he'd jump off the roof of a twenty story building if you told him to. He's not too bright. He's the perfect robot type. The kind that obeys orders blindly."
"How long do we have to listen to him?" Lardos snarled. He drew out his gun. It was a luger. "I can pot him right now, carry him out the back way, dump him in the lake. What do you say, boss?"
"Shut up," Banner said. He turned to Donahue. "Is there more?"
"You got in touch with the killer again tonight when-uh-someone interrupted you. You-"
"That was you, you bastard," Lardos said.
"I'm not admitting a thing," Donahue said. "You got in touch with the killer again and all arrangements are on again but I'll lay odds he kills you eventually. He'll have to. He wouldn't want to go on paying blackmail the rest of his life."
"Do you think I'm the kind who'd stoop to blackmail?" Banner asked, grinning.
"Yes," Donahue said.
"If I let you go to the cops with that story," John Banner said, "it would cost me a pretty penny. I'd be out a hell of a lot of dough."
Donahue shook his head. "If I do go to the cops there won't be any mention about blackmail. I won't even mention your name."
"Why go to the cops at all?" Banner said.
"Because I'm involved for one thing," Donahue said. "The D.A. thinks I kidnapped Steele, or, at least, had a hand in it."
"Fred Henry can't prove a thing," Banner said.
"And our killer tried to knock me off tonight," Donahue said. "He almost strangled me."
"Too bad he failed," Lardos snarled.
"What are you sore about?" Donahue asked Lardos.
"I hate nosy guys," Lardos said heatedly. "I hate guys who can't mind their own business."
"This thing is between Banner and me," Donahue said. "You're sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong."
Lardos walked over to Donahue, the luger thrust out in front of him. "I'll stick this between your ribs and blow your guts out." His eyes were wild.
Donahue suddenly shifted his body, brought a hand down to clamp it on Lardos' wrist. He twisted Lardos' arm till the luger fell from paralyzed fingers. He let the wrist go and Lardos bent to retrieve the gun. Donahue brought his knee up so that it got Lardos under the chin. The gunman bent back, sprawled on the floor. He shook his head, started to his feet.
"Lardos!" John Banner shouted. "Stop it."
Lardos didn't pay attention to his boss. He came for Donahue, his face wild. Donahue kicked Lardos in the shin, then threw a roundhouse punch that landed on his ear. Lardos went down.
Donahue picked up the luger.
"Don't shoot him," Banner said.
"I wasn't going to," Donahue said. He walked over to the desk. "I always thought we were friends."
"There's a lot of dough involved," Banner defended his actions.
"I could pot you right now," Donahue said. "Then take care of Lardos."
"But you won't," Banner said.
"No, I won't," Donahue said. He put the luger on Banner's desk, then went to the door. He stopped, turned, said, "I'm going to the cops tomorrow morning. Now's your chance to stop me." He opened the door, walked slowly out into the corridor. Then he closed the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Mavis Andrews rubbed at her sleep crusted eyes. Something had wakened her. Oh, yes. The doorbell. She got out of bed and walked to the door in her shortie pajamas. "Yes?" she said.
"It's Shad," Donahue said. "Open up."
Mavis opened the door, allowed him to walk in, then closed and locked the door.
Donahue stood and admired her naked thighs.
"I wanna go back to bed." She started for the bed but he stopped her.
"Wait a minute," he said. "The pictures you took in Steele's cabin. I want them."
"In the dresser drawer." She pointed to the dresser, then crawled into bed.
Donahue searched in drawers, found a manila envelope under a pile of slips. He opened the envelope, extracted closeups made of the shots Mavis had taken in the hunting lodge. He put the closeups back, walked over to the bed and slapped her hip. "Thanks," he said.
She opened one eye. "What time is it?"
"It's almost nine."
"In the morning?"
"In the morning," he said.
"Bastard. Waking a girl up in the middle of the night. You bastard."
"Sorry, honey."
"How about having breakfast with me now that you're here?" she said.
"Don't you want to go back to sleep?"
She stretched. The motion brought up her firm small breasts under the pajama jacket. "I'd rather have breakfast with you than sleep," she said.
Donahue sat on the bed, slipped his hand between two buttons of her jacket.
She shivered. "That's nice."
"I'd love to have breakfast with you," he said. "But I'm in an awful hurry." His hand glided over the firm breasts. He felt himself getting excited. He took his hand away, and said, "I've gotta get rollin'."
"You rat. You give me the shivers, then you leave me high and dry."
"Tonight." He bent over her, kissed her mouth.
She threw her arms around his neck, kissed him with an urgency which betrayed her sudden passion. It took him some time before he could tear himself loose. "Don't go away," she pleaded.
"Go back to sleep," he said.
"I know I won't be able to go back to sleep now," she said, pouting.
"I'll make up for it tonight," he promised. He went to the door, said, "So long, baby." He went out, the manila envelope under his arm.
He went downstairs and got into his car. He pulled away from the curb and headed for the Hall of Justice.
Lieutenant Krenshaw was in his office. He shook hands with Donahue and showed him to a chair.
It was a small office. It had a desk, two chairs, a filing cabinet, and a half open window.
"Anything special on your mind?" Krenshaw said, sitting down behind his desk.
"I thought I'd hand Steele's killer over to you," Donahue said.
"Oh, is that all?"
"If you don't want him-" Donahue started to get to his feet.
"Wait a minute," Krenshaw said. He pointed to the manila envelope. "What's in there?"
"Closeups," Donahue said. He opened the envelope, let the pictures spill out onto the desk flat.
Krenshaw studied each picture, frowning. "I don't get it," he said. "These are snapshots of parts of Steele's body. And the floor surrounding the body. What's the big idea? We took pictures too and they didn't show anything."
"Don't ask me where these shots came from," Donahue said. "It doesn't really matter. Did you study each shot?"
"Yeah. So what?"
"See any glass?"
"Glass? No, no glass." Krenshaw frowned. "What are you trying to pull, Donahue?"
"You believe that Steele's wristwatch was smashed when he fell after being slugged, right?" Donahue said.
"So?"
"You also believe that he was killed fifteen after six because that was when the watch stopped. You also believe that he was killed in the cabin, the cabin he used for his hunting lodge."
"Okay," Krenshaw said. "Stop telling me what I believe. Just tell me what you believe."
"I say Steele wasn't killed in his hunting lodge," Donahue said.
"What?"
"I say he was killed someplace else, then taken to the cabin," Donahue said. "Can you prove that?"
"I asked you if you saw any glass in the shots, didn't I?" Donahue said. "Well, you didn't. Those shots were taken of the floor of Steele's cabin."
"I know that," Krenshaw said.
"Where's the glass from Steele's wristwatch?" Donahue said. "The crystal was smashed, wasn't it? Why isn't the glass on the cabin floor?"
Lieutenant Krenshaw slowly studied each snapshot again. "You're right," he finally said. "The floor of the cabin is void of any glass from Steele's watch. That means he wasn't killed in the cabin. He was killed somewhere else, the watch smashed deliberately, then set at fifteen after six to establish an alibi for someone. His body was then taken to the cabin. The medical examiner can't give me an exact time of death because of the unusual hot weather. So we don't know when Steele was killed or where."
"I think I know where he was killed," Donahue said. "In his own home."
"That's impossible," Krenshaw said. "He'd been kidnapped. He was being held for ransom."
"I think that was a gag," Donahue said. He explained the eighty percent bracket that Steele was in and how the real estate man could make eighty thousand dollars in clear profit by staging his own holdup and asking for a hundred thousand in ransom.
"Clever," Krenshaw said. "But how do you know so much?"
"It all came to me in a dream," Donahue said. "Look, don't ask so many stupid questions. Forget about the kidnapping angle. The whole thing was a farce. Just interest yourself in the murder angle."
"Okay," Krenshaw said. "What makes you think Steele was killed in his own home?"
"Natalie Brown, Steele's secretary, delivered some papers to Ken Richardson, Steele's lawyer. Richardson was in the Steele home at the time. When Miss Brown left she saw Steele hiding behind some hedges. I say Steele was there to catch his wife in the act of making love with Richardson. He burst in on them and Richardson killed him, probably hitting him over the head with a table lamp. Richardson then smashed Steele's watch, set the dials for six-fifteen and then went on to establish an alibi for himself."
"And you were his alibi," Krenshaw pointed out.
"Right," Donahue said. "Richardson made sure to let me know it was twenty after six when he was giving me the ransom money."
"But why did he give you the ransom money knowing that Steele was already dead?" Krenshaw said.
"He couldn't afford not to give me the money," Donahue said. "He couldn't say, 'I know Burt Steele is dead because I killed him so there's no reason to pay ransom for a dead man.' He couldn't very well do that, could he? He had to go through with it."
"Very good so far," Lieutenant Krenshaw said. "But do you have any real proof?"
"There was a witness to the murder," Donahue said.
"You mean Mrs. Steele."
"All you have to do is break her down-"
"That should be easy," Krenshaw said sardonically. "We just confront her with a supposition-we have no facts-and she'll break down and tell all. Oh, sure. You're talking through your hat."
"Richardson was with her last night when I called her and told her I was coming over," Donahue said. "He waited for me. He tried to strangle me. She screamed and he ran off. She's been on edge since the murder. I think she'd be easy to break down."
"You said Richardson tried to kill you last night?" Krenshaw said.
"That's right."
"You recognized him?"
"Nope. It was too dark."
Krenshaw toyed with a red pencil. "I suppose we could take a crack at her."
"Tell her you just want Richardson," Donahue said. "Tell her you'll give her a break."
"You don't have to tell me my business," Krenshaw said peevishly.
Donahue got to his feet. "Just trying to be of some help." He walked to the door. "I'll be at my apartment if you need me."
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Donahue was watching an afternoon play on television when the phone rang. He lowered the set and picked up the receiver. "Yes?"
"Donahue? This is Krenshaw."
"Hi, Lieutenant," Donahue said. "How'd it go?"
"Don't ask any questions," Krenshaw said. "Either go to the nearest police station and stay there or lock your door and don't open up for anyone."
Donahue caught the excitement in Krenshaw's voice. "What's up?"
"Richardson got away," Krenshaw said. "And he threatened to kill you."
"He got away? But how?"
"Mahoney and I went to Mrs. Steele's home. She cracked like you said she would. She got hysterical and told us the whole story. Her husband caught her with Richardson. Richardson hit him with the base of a table lamp, killed him. I called my office, had two of my men go over to Richardson's office to pick him up. Richardson shot one of them, ducked out in an emergency exit. Before he ran he screamed he would kill you. I guess he knew you were wise to him."
"He figures I recognized him from last night when he tried to knock me off," Donahue said. "How's the man he shot?"
"He'll pull through."
"I think he's going to pull up stakes and get the hell out of Contralto," Donahue said.
"Could be," Krenshaw said. "But he might try to knock you off first."
"I can't see myself walking into a police station and asking for protection," Donahue said. "Some of my best friends would give me the horse laugh."
"Suit yourself," Krenshaw said. "I'm sending a man down to keep you company anyway."
"I'd rather not-"
Krenshaw hung up, leaving Donahue with a dead wire.
Donahue put the receiver back on the rest bar ... and the door opened. He whirled around. It was Fan Norbo. "Hi," she said. "Hello," he said weakly.
She wore a military type suit; the jacket was square cut at the shoulders. "How about going for a ride?" she said. She shut the door behind her.
Donahue shook his head. "I don't think so. And I don't think you should be here."
"Why, Shad, whatever do you mean? You're not going strait-laced on me, are you?"
"Nothing like that," Donahue said. "But I might be having an unexpected guest."
"A woman?"
"No." Liar.
"Burt Steele's killer," Donahue said. "Now will you please get the hell out of here?"
"You're joking," she said. "You must be. Why, darling, you look ashen."
"I feel-"
The door behind her opened and closed. She turned slowly and faced Ken Richardson. He moved alongside the wall, a gun in his hand.
Donahue swallowed. "Let me introduce-"
"Shut up," Richardson snarled. "You threw me to the wolves, Donahue. Now I'm going to fix you."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Donahue said. He started slowly for Richardson.
"Keep coming," Richardson said. "Keep coming. I've got some bullets for you."
"Well, uh-" Fan stuttered. "If I'm in the way I can leave. I don't want to interfere-"
"Stay put," Richardson said. "This won't take long. A little squeeze on the trigger-"
Fan threw her bag at Richardson. He ducked, fired blindly. The bullet sailed somewhere between Donahue and the singer. Donahue had started for Richardson the second Fan had thrown the bag. Before Richardson could fire again Donahue was on him. He grappled for the gun, swung his left at Richardson's stomach. The gun went off. Donahue butted Richardson in the face with his head, twisted the gun from the lawyer's fingers.
Richardson rocked Donahue back with a solid right to the jaw. The lawyer stepped in with two hard jabs.
Donahue aimed the gun at Richardson's thigh, fingered the trigger. The gun went off and the lawyer yelped. He slumped to the floor, clutching at his thigh.
Donahue sighed, turned towards Fan. She was on the floor. He ran to her, knelt, said. "Are you all right? Where were you hit?"
She fluttered her eyelids. "I guess I fainted."
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Krenshaw and Mahoney, an ambulance, four police officers, reporters and photographers arrived within half an hour. It took an hour before they all left, taking Ken Richardson with them.
"Boy, I wouldn't want to go through that again," Fan said.
"Neither would I."
"Did-did you really think I was shot?"
"That's what I thought when I saw you on the floor," Donahue admitted. "Then you must care for me?" Fan said. "I care for all my girls."
"I thought I was something special," she said. "I think you're all special."
"All right, Shad, have it your way." She walked to the door. "That invitation to go riding still stands," she said. Her voice was seductive.
"I need a complete rest," Donahue said. "I think I'll go to bed and stay there."
"Well...."
"I want to go to bed to rest," he pointed out.
She sighed "Okay, have it your way." She opened the door and walked out.
He went into the bedroom, stripped, put on a pair of pajamas. He crawled into bed, picked up the receiver, dialed John Banner's private home number. Banner answered.
"This is Donahue."
"So?" Banner said.
"The cops have Richardson."
"And you turned him in."
"That's right," Donahue said.
"Is that what you called me about?"
"Yes," Donahue said.
"Why bother?" Banner said.
"I want to know how things stand between us," Shad Donahue said.
"Well, I'm not exactly in the happiest frame of mind," Banner said.
"You'll get over it."
"I suppose I will," Banner said.
"No hard feelings?"
"No hard feelings," Banner said. "You coming over to the club tonight?"
"Probably."
"I'll buy you a drink."
"Swell." Donahue hung up. He stretched out on his back, stared at the ceiling, then closed his eyes. He was asleep within five minutes.
A gentle rocking woke him. He opened his eyes.
Mavis was standing over the bed.
"What time is it?" he asked.
"Late afternoon, I guess. I don't know the time. My watch has stopped," she said.
"What are you doing here?"
She sat on the bed. "I heard about your capture of Burt Steele's killer over the radio so I-"
"Radio? Do people still listen to the radio?"
"So I rushed right over," she finished. "Are you okay?"
"Fine. Just fine."
"What was Fan Norbo doing here?" she wanted to know, her eyes suddenly filled with jealousy.
"She wanted to know if I wanted to go for a ride."
"A ride?" she said suspiciously. "What kind of a ride did she have in mind?"
"An automobile ride."
"I'll bet," she said, her voice -edged with acid. "She has no business coming to your flat."
"Let's not have a jealousy bit," Donahue said. "I'm awfully tired and I want to get some sleep."
"All right, baby. You go to sleep." She kissed his forehead.
"Thanks, honey. Good night."
"Good night."
He closed his eyes and sighed. His body ached from last night's brawl and the tussle he'd had with Richardson that afternoon hadn't helped. He wanted to sleep.
Suddenly he felt someone crawl into bed with him. He put out his hand and felt bare skin. He opened his eyes. It was Mavis and she was naked.
"What's the idea?" he said.
"I'm sleepy too," she said.
"Well, go climb into your own bed and sleep," he said. "I want to be left alone."
"You don't have to act like that," she said. "I just want to sleep. I won't disturb you."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
"Okay," he gave in. He closed his eyes again and was about to fall asleep when he felt her hand creeping under his pajama jacket and stroking his chest. He opened his eyes and sighed. "What's the idea?"
"What do you mean?" she said innocently.
"You know what I mean."
She shook her head. "I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about." He closed his eyes again.
Her hand crept under his pajama jacket again. He caught it. He opened his eyes and said, "Is this your hand or isn't it?"
"I don't get you," she said.
"You said you wouldn't disturb me," he reminded her.
"Oh, that isn't me," she said. "What?" he said, puzzled. "That's my other self."
"Huh?"
"Didn't you know I was two people?"
"Oh, God," he said. He knew he wasn't going to get much sleep. "What the hell." He took her in his arms and kissed her.
"Isn't this nice?" she said, looking up at him.
"Yeah," he said. "Nice." He kissed her neck, lips, ears.
"You're wonderful," she said. "Don't I know it?" he said.
