I'd known. Those had always reminded me of Boy Scouts. This G-man was wonderful. He had a girl who was always being abducted by the smugglers spies kidnappers or racketeers he was after. Then she'd send him a note and he'd come and shoot it out with them. Sometimes he d have to kill the whole gang to get her loose. It was a fine system. It's a wonder J. Edgar Hoover hadn't picked it up.
I put the story down and thought some more about Oke. I hadn't had any reports from him; only the letter saying he had something. He was one of those guys who liked to be mysterious. He'd wanted to spring it on me all at once, the dumb Swede! I knew he hadn't put any of it down in writing. I was completely in the dark, as the saying goes. And it looked as though I was up against something tough. I had to move carefully. I thought I'd better look around the town before I let anybody know who I was. I might pick up something. And people wouldn't be shooting at me with rifles.
It kept getting darker outside, but it didn't get any cooler. I was all right naked, but where my skin touched the sheet there was sweat. Even the part of my neck on the pillow sweated. About eight-thirty I got in the shower again.
When I came out it was still hot. It was going to be hot all night. I-put on a shirt and the pants to my seersucker suit and my shoulder holster. Then I put on the coat. The gun made a bulge under the coat, and I shoved it around until it was almost in my armpit. I went downstairs. The lobby was still filled with palm trees and old furniture, and it still smelted of dust and velvet.
I followed the noise of a radio playing dance music and found a bar. It had been fitted up with red-leather and chromium tables and chairs and it looked strange in the old hotel. A couple of salesmen were drinking at a table and a girl was at the bar. It was the redhead I'd seen in the lobby. I sat down at the other end of the bar. The girl looked at me and then back at her glass. I didn't impress her much.
I ordered a whisky sour. The salesmen were trying to promote the girl. They were making remarks about her, but she didn't give them a tumble. One of them was fresher than the other. He kept saying: “Isn't she lovely?” She was a very good number, except for too much paint on her face. Her green dress looked expensive, though, and the colour went well with her red hair. And she had beautiful legs, or did I say that? She was drinking a Tom Collins.
I had a second whisky sour. The fresh salesman went over to the girl.
“Buy you a drink, beautiful?” he asked.
“Scram!” the girl said.
The salesman was tall and thin. He had on a linen suit. He looked cocky. “Beautiful doesn't want a drink,” he called to his friend.
“Okay,” the friend said. He was a little nervous.
The salesman leaned over the girl. “Come on, beautiful,” he said. “It'll make you laugh and play.”
The girl paid no attention to him.
“Give the lady a drink,” the salesman said to the bartender.
The bartender looked at the girl. She shrugged her shoulders. The bartender made her a Tom Collins. The salesman sat with her while she drank it. He talked to her, but I couldn't hear what he said. She didn't play up. Her face looked sullen.
I crooked a finger at the bartender. “A double one,” I told him. I figured I wouldn't mind the heat so much if I got lit. The salesman and the girl began to talk louder. He was trying to get her to go to his table.
“I stay here,” she said.
“Aw, come on,” he said. “We won't hurt you, beautiful.”
“No.”
The bartender was angry, but he didn't do anything. The salesman took hold of the girl's arm. “Come on, beautiful,” he said.
She jerked her arm away. He began to paw her shoulder. I went over to them. “Leave her alone,” I said.
The salesman looked at me over his shoulder. “I'm not hurting her.”
“Back to your table,” I said.
“Say, mister!” He slid off his stool and faced me. “What business is it of yours what I do?”
“Come on, Charley,” the friend called. “What business is it of yours?” the salesman asked again. I took hold of his coat lapels and pulled him to me and shook him. I didn't hit him. I didn't want to hurt him. I lifted him off the floor and tossed him back to his table. He made quite a noise when he hit. He struck his head against one of the chromium chairs. His friend sat at the table, staring down at him as though he didn't believe what he saw.
I grinned at the girl and went to my stool. I kept my back towards the two salesmen, but I could see them in the mirror. I hoped they would start something. I've always hated salesmen and cops. The friend helped the salesman to his feet. He was dazed; the fall had knocked his wind out.
“Come on, Charley,” the friend said.
The salesman tried to get his breath. He began to brush off his pants.
“We'll get a cop,” the friend said.
He helped the salesman to the door. “We'll get a cop,” he said again. He did not speak directly to me. He didn't want a fight. He went away with his arm around the salesman.
“You'd better watch out,” the bartender said to me.
“Why?”
“They may get the law.”
“No, they won't,” I said.
