Find This Woman (16 page)

"Dante set this up for you? To keep you quiet?" She nodded and I said, "Look, start at the beginning, with Isabel or Carter, and bring it right on up so I can get the picture as it happened." I could feel that bourbon taking hold and I wanted to hear whatever she had to say before it just didn't matter to me. Lorraine sure looked good on that bed. And, as I remembered, she
was
good.

Then she said something that sobered me a little. "I told you the truth before, Shell. I don't know this Isabel."

"You know Mrs. Dante?"

"Yes."

"Who is she?"

"Before they got married she was Crystal Claire."

"And who the hell is Crystal Claire?"

"Girl I worked with at the Pelican—my best friend there. We got along swell. She's the girl I talked to that detective, Carter, about."

I sighed and got up, finished my drink, and walked to the dresser. "Lorraine, do you mind if I mix another?"

She leaned forward and held her glass toward me. She smiled. "Fix two." I fixed them and took one to her.

"Sit here," she said. She patted the bed beside her. "You sure look awful. Take off your serape."

I took it off and sat down beside her as she scooted over to give me room. I said, "O.K., give it to me."

She grinned a lot and wiggled a little. I said, "What about this Crystal? What about everything?"

She kept smiling at first, but she started in. "I was in the show at the Pelican"—she paused and grinned at me—"and Crystal was a cigarette girl. Cute, too."

"I know. That's Dante's wife? Little blonde gal?"

"Uh-huh. She wasn't Dante's wife then, but he was hot for her. Hung around her a lot when he came down. He owns the Pelican, or most of it, and he came around regularly on the first and fifteenth of each month. Anyway, Crystal worked there a couple of months or so, and then one day she didn't show up."

"When was that, Lorraine? What day?"

She frowned. "Right at the first of the year. Second or third of January, I think. I don't remember exactly."

"O.K., go on."

"Well, there's nothing to tell until this detective showed up and asked me about some Isabel. I didn't know any Isabel—just like I told you, Shell—but he showed me a picture of her and it sure looked like Crystal."

That slowed me down for a minute. "Was it Crystal?"

"I'm not sure, but it was enough like her so that I mentioned it to Mr. Carter. He thanked me, asked a few questions about Crystal, and left."

"Who else at the Pelican knew Dante was—well, hot for Crystal?"

"Well," she said, frowning again, "probably nobody but me. They didn't bite each other in the club. And I might not have known except that Crystal and I got along so good and she told me. Probably I was the only one."

"Something else. Did you tell Carter about Dante's interest in this Crystal, and that Dante was from Vegas?"

"Yes, I did. Nobody told me not to. Why shouldn't I?"

And maybe that explained how Carter had wound up in Las Vegas. But it didn't explain why he'd wound up dead, I said, "O.K., what then?"

"Nothing till the night you showed up, Shell."

"Uh-huh. And when I busted in, Dante was in your dressing room. What was that all about?"

"Well, he was smooth, but he said he wanted me to star at the Inferno, and he also wanted to give me a thousand dollars. There was one little catch. I had to forget I'd ever seen that detective or heard of Crystal Claire. He said I'd have to keep my goddamned mouth shut." She giggled slightly. "That's what he said, my goddamned mouth." She paused, blinking her eyes. She spent ten seconds blinking and thinking and said, "Wanted me to go with him right away then, he did. In his car."

"Uh-huh. Think I saw the car. For a second. Why didn't you go back with him?"

"Thousand dollars? I should go? I had to get some clothes if I was coming up here. Didn't I?"

"Yes. You sure did." I guess she did, so she could make a good first impression. Only, as I remembered, with Lorraine it wasn't really the first impression that counted.

"So I did," she said. "And so I took the plane in the afternoon. Shell, fix me a drink."

"You got another show to do?"

"No more show. Only two shows, just did the last one." I fixed two more drinks.

She went on, "Golly, Shell, you can see how wonderful that sounded to me. I didn't know of anything wrong, and star billing at the Inferno in Las Vegas. . . " She let it trail off and was quiet for a moment. "Guess that's over."

I said, "Lorraine, honey. Hate to say this, but there's a chance that's not all that's over if Dante finds out you've talked to me. There's been one murder already, besides Freddy." I thought about that a minute and added, "At least one murder."

Her face got sober and she pulled at her drink. The way she pulled at it, her face wasn't going to stay sober. Then she smiled at me and we sat on the bed and drank our highballs. It was getting a little wobbly in the room. Things were sort of rubbery and they didn't exactly stay put the way things should. We had another little drink and chatted gaily for a while. The bourbon crept up on us. I didn't learn a hell of a lot more. I liked Lorraine's long black hair better loose the way it was now than in a bun, I decided. And I liked that full lower lip, and the pouting mouth and impudent eyes and the nose that was too small for her face.

Finally I said, "Dante came down first and fifteenth?"

"Sure."

"Wasn't fifteenth two nights ago?"

"Wasn't? No, wasn't. First time I ever know him to come any time other than first an' fifteenth."

"Good."

"Bully," she said. She looked at me. "Who'n hell you think you are? Fancy pants?"

"Disguise. I'm a private
ojo."

"Oho!" she said. "What's oho?"

"Spanish for eye. I'm a private eye. Like in eyeball."

She shuddered. "Ugh," she said. "Don't ever say that word again. Shell. Hey, Shell."

"Yeah?"

"'Nother drink?"

"Sure. Sure." I made it over to the dresser, mixed the drinks, and came back to the beds. She sure looked good on those beds.

She said, "Toast. Toast somebody."

"Toast Eisenhower. Good ol' boy, he."

"Good. Bully for Eisenheimer."

"Howmer. Eisenhowmer, stupid."

We toasted Owmenheiser.

She got up, poured more drinks, and came back. "Li'l toast," she said. She looked toward me. "Toast Bernard Brooch," she said.

We drank the toast.

She fixed two more. She handed me a glass and we clinked the glasses together.

"Toas'," she said. "Bully ol' toas'. Toas' Truman. Give ol' Harry a toas'."

"
Lorraine!
"
I said. "You're getting
drunk!
"

There was a moment of silence. She blinked at me.

"Guess I am," she said. "You're drunk, too. Bet you're always drunk. Shell's jus' an ol' drunk drunk."

"That's unkind, Lorraine. Not nice. Just because I'm a little tiny bit woozy. No, sir, ma'am. You're striking below the belt."

She leaned close to me. "Shell," she whispered slowly, "don' you remember? I'm striking all over."

"Shh," I said. "Never did tell you how much I enjoyed your dance at Pelican. Tell you now. Really 'joyed it."

She smiled happily. "Thank you, thank you. I'll dance for you, jus' for you. You wanna dance with me?"

"Wanna dance with you? Do I wanna dance with you? Just you ask me."

She was up off the bed now, moving around the room, moving every which way and humming and singing trala-la and bum-diddy-bum, and if she'd looked carefully at me right then she might have thought I still had on my fake eyeballs. I rose and walked to her and grabbed her.

"This kills me," I said. "I'm getting old."

"Not old. Nice."

"Old. Old, old man. I can feel my arteries hardening. I creak when I walk. C'mere."

"No, no, no," she said. "You wait. Gonna dance."

I waited, and I'm glad I waited. She backed across the room and it was just as it had been on that first night when I'd seen her dance at the Pelican: I forgot about everything except the wild, wild woman. She moved easily and gracefully at first, smiling all the time and humming her own music as she fumbled with the blouse and pulled it from her smooth shoulders. Then she reached behind her to unfasten her brassiere, shrugged it from her arms, and dropped it to the floor, looking squarely at me and chuckling softly. I could feel my face getting hot. This was another fire dance, a private one, and I felt as if I were the fuel. Lorraine stood with her hands on her hips, her shoulders thrown back and her heavy breasts thrusting forward, pink-tipped and erect and swaying slightly as she paused for only a moment and then stepped toward me. It was surprising how much better they looked without any gold dust.

I was paralyzed. Well, practically paralyzed: I couldn't move my feet. She backed away from me, fingering the zipper at the side of her brown skirt. I was breathing through my mouth and my throat was dry as I heard the faint hiss of the pulled zipper and the rustle of cloth as the skirt fell to Lorraine's feet. She took one step toward me and out of a pink silk wisp, then stood motionless in the bright glow of the overhead lights, naked except for her high-heeled shoes and rolled nylons.

I stared at her as she laughed softly, then went into the dance she'd promised me: the frantic, twisting body, thrusting spasmodically, writhing and turning, everything the same as it had been at the Pelican. Maybe it was the only routine she knew, but when you came right down to it, it was the only one she would ever need. It was the only one any woman would ever need.

After what might have been minutes, she walked across the room toward me and stopped, smiling up at me, with the erect tips of her breasts brushing the front of my shirt. I put my arms around her, the skin of her back warm against the moist palms of my hands, and she melted against me as I kissed her on her pouting lips, her cheek, her throat. Neither of us remembered to turn off the lights. . .

Later Lorraine took our glasses to the dresser and mixed two more drinks, still laughing at something I'd said. I tried to think of something else funny. She certainly looked terrific laughing like that. I went over to the dresser and stood behind her.

"Go 'way," she said.

"Uh-uh. I'm not thirsty." I put a hand on her arm and turned her around. She wiggled away from me, laughing merrily. I guess it was away from me. Lorraine looked wonderful when I could focus on her.

"Hold still," I said. "I wanna focus on you."

She squealed and struggled weakly. "You relax," she said. "I hate you."

I got a good hold on her and backed her up into a corner and I kissed her with feeling. She didn't mind the kiss, but she objected to the feeling. At least, she said she objected, but I was pretty sure she was kidding—and she smiled when she said that.

"Shell," she laughed, "I didn't know you felt that way."

I said, "C'mere."

She scooted toward the bed, but I grabbed her. She looked up at me. "Watch this," she said, and shoved away from me. She broke into a cute little step and I broke into a cold sweat. Then she was up close to me again, and I was up close to her again, and we went waltzing around the room.

She was light on her feet, all right; her feet seemed hardly to touch the floor, she was so light on her feet. There wasn't any music but it didn't seem to bother her. Didn't seem to bother me. And she was such a good dancer that she could probably have followed anybody, but, man, we danced well together.

Chapter Sixteen

I WOKE UP and my room looked funny and my head felt horrible. I opened my eyes like a man making two slow incisions and squinted at this funny room. I got out of bed and hobbled toward the dresser and a woman came out of the next room.

I looked at her. She was wearing a quilted bathrobe and was holding something on her head with her right hand. She was holding an ice bag on her head.

I said, "What the hell are you doing in my room?"

She groaned at me.

I looked into the mirror. A strange man with black eyebrows and red eyes peered out at me. Hell, I wasn't even in my room. And then it occurred to me that this fellow in the mirror was me, and that this was Lorraine's room, and everything came back to me like crazy.

I jumped to the bed and pulled a blanket around me.

"Coy," Lorraine said. "He's coy."

"My God," I said. "What time is it?"

"Time for you to get out of my life. Forever. You've killed me. Oh, my head. I think it's ruined. Look at my head, Shell. Is it split?"

The shape I was in, I actually went over and looked at it. "No," I said soberly. "It's all right. Nothing wrong with it."

She glared at me. "A fat lot you know," she said. "It's
my
head."

She took her head back into the next room, and I got dressed in my Mexican costume, complete with gun. The way my hand was wobbling, if I'd tried to shoot anyone then I'd probably have blown my brains out. I went to the door of the next room and knocked.

Lorraine opened the door.

"I'm leaving," I said.

"I'm sick," she said. "Sicker than a dog. Much sicker. Dogs got no troubles at all."

"Lorraine, I'm leaving."

"Boy, am I sick."

"Lorraine. Good-by, Lorraine. I'll call you."

"Don't you dare."

"Uh, don't mention to Dante that I was here."

"Are you mad, Dad? I won't mention it to anybody."

I nodded, then put a hand to my throbbing head. "Well, good-by." I went to the front door. Behind me Lorraine said something unintelligible and shut her door again.

I looked at my watch. It was already nearly one in the afternoon. I hunched over, kept my face under the brim of the sombrero, and found the stairs leading down. I kept my face turned toward the floor and brushed past stupid people who were actually laughing. But I made it outside into the bright and painful sunlight. A little bird screamed at me.

A half block away was a bar called Chloe's, the closest place to Dante's Inferno. I headed toward it, hoping that I didn't run into Dante or any of his friends, because they'd have little trouble with me right at this moment.