“Not for three a day?”
“Notfornothin'.”
“She sick?”
“Naah.”
“What's she look like?”
Richie's arm made a sweeping gesture. “Like a million more middle-aged dames. Kinda gray, kinda mousey-”
“I might make that run for you tonight, kid. Or tomorrow.”
The hazel eyes examined Johnny thoughtfully. “Now that'd be a brand change, for sure.”
“Let it be my problem, huh? If you think I'm around, give me a buzz upstairs.”
Richie shrugged. “Be my guest. I still think-”
“Your career's not in thinkin', kid.”
Richie smiled, bent swiftly, and picked up the dice. “Little head-to-head, John?”
“Not with you, Rich. I believe you.”
On the way back upstairs he remembered that he had told Sally he would come up by the apartment. His pace quickened a little; it seemed like a better idea now than when he had first thought of it. He whistled tunelessly as he ran up the metal stairway.
Chapter VI
Johnny lay on his back in tee shirt and shorts in the wide bed in the pocket-sized apartment, and through the big double door watched Sally's slipclad figure at the ironing board in the kitchenette. He tried to drain the last of a can of beer without lifting his head from the pillow, and half sat up abruptly as a thin trickle ran down his chin onto his chest.
“Slob!” Sally jeered. “Hey! Don't you dare use that pillow case for a bar rag! Here!”
He caught the freshly ironed handkerchief she threw him, and mopped himself off. He stretched out again, bare feet digging luxuriously into the sheet. “Thanks, ma. I'll get around to puttin' you on the payroll next week. Any more beer in the box?”
“Did you leave any? I'll look soon's I finish this blouse.”
Idly his glance followed the slender figure manipulating the iron, the thin white shoulders dipping and swaying as she moved the lace-edged blouse around the board. “By God, you're a slat, kid. I'll bet seven to ten I can spit right through you.”
“I'll take that bet,” she said placidly, and then backed away from her ironing as Johnny sat up suddenly. “Johnny! No! Don't you dare, Johnny Killain!”
“Whattya mean, 'Don't you dare!'“ he queried as he came off the bed in a smooth flowing rush and charged the doorway. “Didn't you take the bet?”
“No!” Sally cried, and fled the kitchenette with Johnny a noiseless barefooted stride behind. Blindly she circled a chair in the living room, panting with helpless laughter, only to be engulfed as he put one foot in the center cushion and bounded clear over the back to scoop her up in his arms and bear her in triumph back to the bed. She squealed as he held her head high over the bed and dropped her, and the squeal changed to a squeak as the big arms caught her on the first bounce and squeezed her.
“How anything … as big as you can… move so fast?” she murmured breathlessly as he dropped down beside her.
“Developed it runnin' from women.”
She hooted and drove a sharp-knuckled little fist just below his rib cage, and he leaned up over her and pinioned both thrashing small hands in one of his. He ran his free hand lightly over the ever so slightly rounded stomach, and a long shiver ran through the slim body. He looked down at her quizzically. “Where's all the fight gone now, ma?”
“Stop it!” she protested, but it was a weak protest; her color had flared high. He slid her closer to him, then rolled over on his back, threw an arm under his head and stared up at the ceiling.
“You know this Myrna on the board days, ma?” he broke the cosy silence after a moment.
“Yes?”
He turned his head on the pillow to see her face. “I mean… Do you know her? Know her at all?”
“I know her very well.”
“I don't mean like knowin' someone works the opposite shift from you. I got a reason for asking.”
“I said very well, didn't I? She used to live with me.”
“She did? I never knew that. Where?”
“Right here. Till just before you decided you wanted to play house.”
Johnny stared, then rolled slowly toward her. “You mean she had this place with you, and you busted her out to make room for me?”
Sally smiled up at him. “Johnny, you child. Do you think only the men have a union in the war between the sexes? Myrna's a realist. Neither she nor I is the type to be cut in on every dance at the senior prom; far from it. So when she began to think from watching you that you were beginning to get ideas about me, she suggested that she step out and give me a little elbow room. Greater love hath no woman … for another.”
He whistled shrilly through his teeth. “By God, it's against the articles of war. Sherman didn't know the half of it. Wait'll the next time I get hold of one of these free-will advocates. It's a cinch that crowd never run up against a coupla ninety five pound designin' females.” He grinned suddenly, and dropped back on the pillow.
“Why did you say you had a reason for asking, Johnny?”
He frowned, and his eyes returned to the ceiling. “I need a stakeout on that board on her four-to-twelve shift.” He raised up to look down at Sally again. “You figure she's safe, then? I can ask her to do a little business with us?” He watched Sally's pursed lip hesitation. “What's the matter?”
“Well… she thinks a little… oddly.”
“Like what?” he demanded.
“She's… well, money conscious. She's … oh, stop pinning me down!” A clear, bright color invaded the thin features. “Let's just say she thinks like an adding machine.”
He stared down at her. “Let's just say instead that her practical nature moved her out of here so I could keep you in befittin' style? That she couldn't see you passing up this golden-”
“Johnny!”
“Well?”
She refused to look at him. “She thinks like that, that's all. And if she thought there were any money connected with anything like that you asked her to do at the hotel-”
Johnny grimaced. “Rembrandt couldn't give me a better picture, ma. I sure as hell don't want her shoppin' around for a higher bidder. Still, I need her so bad I'll just have to figure an angle.” He stared at the wall behind her, lost in thought.
“Johnny-”
He looked down suddenly at the timidity in the soft voice.
“Johnny-”
“-you don't think I'm… that I feel-”
In a swooping lunge his arms burrowed beneath her, circled, and tightened, and her breath whuffed from her lungs. “Hell, ma, you haven't got brains enough to feel like that.” He buried his face in the little hollow between the slim neck and the slightly angular shoulder, and she squirmed.
“Your breath tickles!” He lipped at her neck, and she stiffened. “Johnny! I don't want to have to wear a high- necked collar in all this heat!” When she felt his purposeful movement she placed a palm against the big chest. “Let me up first. The door's unlocked.”
Reluctantly he let her go, and she slid off the bed; her voice drifted back to him from the other room. “Mrs. Hogan told me they're taking up some kind of a collection in the neighborhood. There was a knock on the door just before you came, but there wasn't anyone there when I opened it. They'll be back, though.”
