She stared at me, undecided. “Why're you so hot to get killed?”
I let her have it. “I'm nuts about you.”
Her mouth came open.
“So help me,” I said. “I've got to have you. I don't care if Pug's in the way.”
“You've been hitting the opium.”
“No.”
She thought about this. Thinking made her frown. Now was the time to turn it over.
“Believe that,” I said, “and I'll slice it thicker next time.”
She blinked her eyes.
“Nothing about you gets me,” I said. “I'm just excitement-simple. You probably wear corsets and your breasts are broken down.”
“They are like hell.”
“And I don't like Pug Banta telling me what I can do,” I said.
Ginger slit open the zipper on the side of the black evening gown. “Put your hand in there.”
I did, feeling the smooth flesh with my fingers. “Okay,” I said. “No corsets.”
The bartender pop-eyed us.
“Listen,” I said. “I've been trying to make you sore, so you'd go out with me, so I could show Banta.” I ate the cherry out of my old-fashioned glass. “I'm going to fix him some way. But since you're scared ...” I stuck a finger at the bartender. “How much?”
“Seventy cents.”
Ginger said: “Wait a minute. How tough are you?”
“Plenty,” I said.
She gave me a long look. “If I could believe that. Well, what the hell. Buy me a drink. Then we'll step out.”
She had a sidecar. I had another old-fashioned. The bartender frowned at us while we drank.
“Ready?” I asked Ginger.
“I'll get my purse.” She went out. I gave the bartender two bucks.
“It's none of my business,” he said, “but Pug Banta's a killer.”
I got out a fifty-dollar bill and tore it in half. I gave him the smaller half.
“How would you like the whole demi-c?”
“Fine.”
“Call Pug Banta,” I said. “Tell him I'm taking Ginger to Gus Papas's place.”
“Jeeze!” he said. “I wouldn't dare.”
“Why not? You'll be doing him a favour. He might even slip you a note or two.”
He looked at the 50 on the piece of bill m his hand. He wanted it bad. He picked up the telephone and called a number. He asked for Pug. He said something else, and then he put his hand over the mouthpiece.
“He's out.”
“Tell it to whoever's there.”
“Who's this?” he asked. “Oh. This is Tom over at the Arkady bar. I thought maybe Pug would be interested in knowing his gal just went out with the guy she was with last night. Yeah, Ginger. I think they're going out to Gus Papas's place.” He hung up. I gave him the other half of the fifty.
“Thanks,” I said.
We got in the Drive-It sedan. I started the motor. There was still daylight at seven-thirty, and the air was hot.
“Let's go to Gus Papas's.”
“It's up to you.”
“Which way?”
She told me. In three minutes we were in the country. She sat at the far end of the front seat, facing me, her legs curled under her, her back against the door. Her eyes and lips were sullen.
“I'm dumb,” she said.
“Why?”
“I know you're up to something.”
“Maybe.”
“You're not a G-man, are you?”
