It's just a theory. And a pretty far-out theory at that. You can't
convict a man because he was born to poor parents. Hell, your childhood
was worse than his, and you're not a killer.'
'At the moment I've got no proof,' Prine said. But if it can't be
found, it can be manufactured, he thought.
Sarah Piper spent the early part of Friday afternoon packing for a
five-day trip to Las Vegas. Ernie Nolan, a men's clothing manufacturer
who had been on her special list of customers for three years, went to
Vegas every six months and took her with him. He paid her fifteen
hundred dollars for her time in bed and gave her five hundred as a
gambling stake. Even if Ernie had been a beast, which he was not, it
would have been a good vacation for her.
Beginning today, she was on a week's leave from the Rhinestone Palace;
and she was glad that she hadn't tried to squeeze in one more night's
work before catching the flight to Vegas tomorrow morning.
She'd had only two hours' sleep after returning from Edna's place, and
those two hours had been plagued by nightmares. She would need to rest
well tonight if she was going to be at the top of her form for Ernie.
As she packed, she wondered if there was something missing from her.
Heart? Normal emotions? She had cried last night, had been deeply
affected by Edna's death. But already her spirits were high again. She
was excited, pleased to be getting away from New York.
Introspection didn't give rise to any guilt. She had seen too much of
the world-too much violence, desperation, selfishness and grubbiness-to
chastise herself for being unable to sustain her grief. That was the
way people were built: forgetfulness was the hub of the wheel, the core
of the mind, the thing that kept you sane. Maybe that was not pleasant
to contemplate, but it was true.
At three o'clock, as she was locking the third suitcase, a man called.
He wanted to set up a date for that evening. She didn't know him, but
he claimed to have gotten her name from one of her regular clients.
Although he sounded quite nice-a genuine Southern gentleman with a
mellow accent-she had to turn him down.
'If you've got something else going,' he said, 'I can make it worth your
while to drop him for tonight.'
'There's no one else. But I'm going to Vegas in the morning, and I need
my rest.'
'What's your usual rate?' he asked.
'Two hundred. But-'
'I'll give you three hundred.'
She hesitated.
'Four hundred.
'I'll give you the names of a couple of girls-''
'i want to spend the evening with you. I hear you're the loveliest
woman in Manhattan.'
She laughed. 'You'd be in for a big disappointment.
'I've made up my mind. When I've made up my mind, nothing on God's
earth can change it. Five hundred dollars.'
'That's too much. If you-'
'Young lady, five hundred is peanuts.
