time you've seen a few sunrises you'd trade even up for the artificial gold-on-glass brilliance across the street. The wheel does come full circle, but high or low on the arc a man gets restless.
He wandered uneasily around the room in a stocking-footed shuffle; in the corner by the bathroom door he looked down at Sassy, curled up in a tight white ball in the sleeping basket he had gotten for her. He broke off his aimless prowling to walk into the bathroom and splash water upon face and upper body; toweled off, he returned to the bed and sat upon its edge. He reached absent-mindedly for a cigarette from the pack on the night table and then decided against it.
And with no absent-mindedness at all he reached for the phone. “Sally? Afraid you might have left already. Come on up.”
“Mmmmmm? Business meeting?”
He could hear her initial surprise, followed by the impish humor he had come to expect of her. “Yeah.”
“Shall I bring my notebook?”
“I don't need to hear the minutes of the last meeting to know where we left off.” He could hear the smothered whisper of her laughter in the phone. “Hustle it up.”
“Yes, Galahad.”
He replaced the phone, lifted his legs and swung around as he stretched out on his back. For a man who lived by life's tactile sensations there weren't many superior to the feel of clean linen on flesh. He closed his eyes.
When he heard her footsteps in the corridor outside he slid from the bed and had the door open with himself behind it almost before the faint sound of her knock had died away. Sally slipped quietly inside, and he closed the door again. “Mornin', Ma.”
She turned. “Well!” Her palm cracked smartly on his bare flesh. “Business meeting! Didn't your haberdasher tell you those socks don't match the rest of your outfit?” The big arms encircled her, and she squealed as her breath abruptly departed. She flinched as his lips descended upon an ear lobe, and in his arms he could feel her knees lifting instinctively. “H-hey! That tickles!”
He released her, and she smoothed down the rumpled front of her dress; as always, her clothes looked too large for the doll-like body. She looked at him speculatively. “This means you're not coming by the apartment this afternoon?”
“Few errands to run, Ma.” He returned to the bed, and in seconds she slithered in beside him, the boyish slimness cool to his hands. She stretched lazily along his length, and the little hammers started to pound behind his eyes. Over her shoulder he could see the added light in the room as the golden reflection moved farther down the windows across the street.
He counterbalanced Sally's leaning figure with his arm as she stretched for cigarettes and lighter on the night table. She leaned over him as she flipped on the lighter for the cigarette she popped between his lips. “You know, man-”
“Mmmm?” He blew cigarette smoke up at her.
“You're something better than a vacuum.” She grinned down at him. “To accentuate the positive, sir, you're adequate.” She punched him in the ribs with a sharp-knuckled little fist and slid from the bed before he could grab her.
“I've got to make like a lady again and get out of here.”
He could hear the rustle of her clothing as she dressed. He ducked as ash from his cigarette dropped on his bare chest; he brushed at it hastily, rolled sideways and stubbed out the butt. On his back again he locked his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. “Sally?”
“Yes?”
“You know the big blonde down on the mezzanine works for Ed Russo?”
She appeared beside the bed to look down at him, her hands busy with the belt of her dress. “Mavis? A bleached iceberg. She's no more a blonde than I am. A hard ticket. A twenty-minute egg.” She smiled wryly. “So I'd like to have her figure. All I know about her is that if you follow the panting tongues there's Mavis. What's on your mind, besides lechery?”
“Information.”
“I'd guess that if you didn't run out of money too fast you might get a little.”
“From the sound, she better not ask you to hold her coat.
She footie-footie with anyone around here?”
“I hear Marty Seiden makes a pass every once in a while.” Johnny's head came off the pillow. “Marty? The kid's over-matchin' himself puttin' on the gloves with that trumpet.”
Sally laughed. “Is that my cue to ask you how you know? Maybe he's just apprenticing; a boy has to start somewhere, doesn't he? If you're serious about wanting information why don't you talk to Mike Larsen? He knows everyone. Everyone's business, too.”
“Mike?” Johnny nodded slowly. “I should have thought of Mike. Score one for your side, Ma; remind me to put you on the pay roll. That might be-” He trailed off, lost in thought.
“Let me get out of here,” Sally said firmly. She bent swiftly and brushed his cheek with her lips. “Don't get up. I'll scout the corridor.” She blew him a kiss from the door as she closed it softly behind her.
After staring at the closed door a moment Johnny considered the ceiling again. This Russo, now; he was beginning to have a rather strong smell. There were a few things he'd like to know about Russo. Russo had a distinction: he tied in to both Ellen Saxon and Robert Sanders. No one else with his nose above water did. Except Lorraine Barnes, Johnny reminded himself wearily. He wished he could make up his mind about Lorraine Barnes. She certainly had plenty to cover up cross-town if she'd just come off a date with Sanders before he caught the four in the head. And why else would she have been there? Unless to pour a little lead herself? Maybe Sanders had given her the checkered flag, and she wasn't the type to take it without a rebuttal?
He half rolled over to reach for a cigarette. This Lorraine He winced as the phone on the table went off practically in his ear. He grabbed at it before it could ring again. “Yeah?”
“This is Sally, Johnny. I'm calling from the booth in the lobby downstairs.” He could hear the bubbling excitement in her voice. “I didn't use the elevator coming down just now, of course, and when I crossed the mezzanine I saw Mavis in her office. This early, mind you.” She paused dramatically. “This'll kill you; you know who's with her? What's the name of that cute-looking detective who was here the other night? The one that was around with Dameron when we had the trouble before?”
“Rogers?”
“That's the one. I couldn't think of his name. What do you suppose-”
“He still up there?”
“He hasn't come down the stairs. I can't see the elevators.”
“Hang up, Ma. I want to talk to him. I'll call you.” He broke the connection on his end and jiggled for the operator. “Public stenographer's office,” he told her when she came on the line.
“I doubt there's anyone there yet-” He could hear her ringing. About the fourth ring the phone was picked up; the strident female voice sounded annoyed.
“We're not open yet. Who is this?”
Johnny made his voice neutral. “Let me speak to Detective James Rogers.”
“You've got the wr-” The line hummed emptily for an instant. “Detective?” It was almost a gasp. The voice was fainter; she must be staring at Rogers over the lowered phone, Johnny thought. “You're a detective? Why, you no-good-”
Johnny replaced the phone quietly. He sat and looked down at it, then shook his head and grinned unwillingly. No place to hide on this one. Jimmy Rogers only had to get to the switchboard to find out where the call had originated. And after having a brick like that dropped on him there was a fat chance of his not checking.
Johnny shook with silent laughter; he could picture Rogers in the middle of the stairs, too mad to wait for the elevator. He got up and went to the closet and shrugged into a robe; from the refrigerator he removed a can of orange juice, punched it open and poured two glasses. He carried a glass to the door and listened. It was not a long wait.
When the footsteps he could hear in the corridor halted outside Johnny opened the door left-handed and pushed the glass of orange juice into the hand upraised to knock. The hand closed around it automatically. “Good morning, Jimmy. Join me?”
Detective Rogers snorted. He was hatless, and the sandy hair stood up in spiked tufts; his smattering of
