“Speakin' of the job, how's it goin' over there?”
“Just fine.” She turned to look at him. “Why wouldn't it?”
“No reason, no reason,” he replied hurriedly.
“Mr. Turner is handicapped, of course, by the loss of Jake Gidlow and Terry Chavez at the same time. Between them they handled most of the fight details. Mr. Turner is having a little trouble getting things lined up. He's been a little edgy.”
I'll bet he has, Johnny thought. “How's Chavez gettin' along?” he asked casually.
“Mr. Munson says he'll be back with us any day now.”
So they don't tell this kid everything, Johnny mused. Or haven't they taken the trouble to find out? Or did Al Munson want Turner to believe Chavez would be back shortly? This Munson, now-
“Aren't you going to sit down?” Stacy asked him, breaking into his train of thought. “And aren't you going to smoke?”
“Couldn't stop me with a gun,” he told her, reaching for his cigarettes. He looked down distrustfully at the wide, backless, short-legged chaise longue and lowered himself onto it carefully.
“You look like the type of man who should smoke cigars,” the tall girl remarked as she seated herself erectly a little distance away.
Johnny inched himself back and forth, trying to get comfortable without placing his back against the wall. “These things take a little gettin' used to, don't they?” he inquired. “Not that I'm knockin' your furniture, now,” he continued hastily. “Cigars? Cigars are all right, but too many times you're in a place where you can't get 'em easy or at all.” He waved the cigarette pack in his hand. “Some kind of weed you can generally get most anywhere. Cigarettes can be pretty lousy, just so they burn. This couch here is stuffed probably with better makin's than some of the stuff I've set fire to in my face in my time.” He was aware she was watching his struggles with the couch from the corner of her eye. “I think I need a Western style saddle with this thing. Or a set of spurs.”
She giggled softly. “You're doing fine.” She folded her hands in her lap. “My father smokes cigars. He says that three things come most naturally to a man's hand-a cigar, a drink-” She stopped and turned rosy.
“-and a woman's behind,” Johnny finished for her. He nodded soberly. “I've heard that sayin'. We'd get along, your old man 'n me. He run the farm?”
“Yes, if you mean he operates it. We're tenants.”
“You say that present tense. You're a city girl now, remember?”
“My father doesn't seem to think so,” she said seriously. “He's letting me try my wings here, but he bet me I'd be back in a year.”
“He could be right,” Johnny said thoughtfully. “It's a hard-boiled set of circumstances in this man's town, baby. You might decide you didn't want to take the trouble to gear yourself up to it.” He took a deep, satisfied breath, exhaled slowly and half rolled on his side in Stacy's direction.
“The dishes will only take me a few moments,” she said at once, starting to rise.
“Hell with the dishes,” he said for the second time, and reached lengthily and caught her hand. His strength dropped her effortlessly back on the couch within the circle of his arm, and the feel of her big-bodied softness against him was like a match to carbon.
“That's enough of this-foolishness!” she exclaimed when she could get her breath. “Let me up out of here!”
He nuzzled gently at her white neck, and he could feel the shiver that ran through her. “Remember I said you could give me the ground rules when I got up to bat?” His voice was a deep river; he slowly tightened the pressure of the arm about her. “We playin' college or pro rules, baby?”
“Kindergarten!” she said breathlessly. “And don't expect to graduate too quickly!”
CHAPTER IX
Johnny stepped off the service elevator into the deserted, semidark lobby and intercepted Paul's warning nod in the direction of the switchboard. A quick glance took in the two men standing by the low wooden railing, and Johnny accelerated to a low-slung trot. At the sound of his approach both men faced about hurriedly, and, as he pulled up in front of them-not quite sliding to a stop-he could see the apprehension on Al Munson's fat face and the anticipation on Monk Carmody's battered one.
“Somethin' we can do for you two?” Johnny demanded as neither spoke. His glance slid off beyond them to Sally's slim figure crouched over the switchboard, the small face white and anxious, and his tone hardened. “You two been botherin' this girl?”
“Of course not! Ask her!” the fat press agent replied hastily.
“I'm askin' you,” Johnny said grimly, and shifted the position of his feet as Monk Carmody advanced a step.
“Whyn't you butt out, Killain?” the squat man demanded vibrantly. “We came over here to talk to her. That leaves you nowhere, see? I'm tellin' you to pack it in.”
“You're tellin' me,” Johnny repeated gently. He exhaled and came up on the balls of his feet. He was leaning in Monk Carmody's direction when Al Munson stepped quickly between them.
“Let's not lose our heads, now,” the pasty-faced man urged. “This is a business call.”
“At 2:00 a.m.?”
The publicist's smile was pallid. “I couldn't truthfully claim to be enjoying it myself. Its necessity is dictated by the young lady's persistence in not speaking on the phone, not answering the door-” His smile died. “It's an attitude I can't say I appreciate when time presses.”
Johnny's stare had shifted back to Sally. “I must be neglectin' my homework,” he said softly. He looked down at the misery in her soft brown eyes as he addressed her directly. “There's a reason I didn't get to hear about these guys workin' out on you?”
He could see her swallow hard. “They said-”
“I'm sure he's not really interested, Miss Fontaine,” Al Munson interposed smoothly. “As I indicated in the one conversation you permitted, my business is with you.”
“Your business!” Johnny said deeply. He reached out and took a double handful of lapel on Al Munson's overcoat; Johnny's hands moved, and the fat man's feet slid sideways on the polished floor. “Your dirty, stinking business-”
“Here, now!” Al Munson exclaimed jerkily. “Don't be a fool!”
“Shut up!” Johnny said between his teeth. He pivoted slightly to keep the fat man's body between himself and Monk Carmody. “You tried to bull her into keepin' me out of it, right?”
“What do you think you're settling like this?” the publicist asked hurriedly, and Johnny's grip slackened. Munson took a tentative backward step, and Johnny reluctantly released him. “That's a little better, Killain,” the press agent remarked, readjusting his coat. “Now let's pretend we're adults. If you persist in sticking your nose in this, let's go some place where we can talk privately.”
“Right behind you,” Johnny said shortly, and nodded at the door under the arch of the stairway to the mezzanine. “The bar's in there, an' it's closed for the night.” He looked at the glowering Carmody. “Lead the way, sawed-off.” In the bar the night light shed a soft radiance over booths and tables, but darkness predominated. Shadows bulked larger than actual objects as Johnny faced the two men, keeping them both in front of him. “All right, Munson. Let's hear something that makes a little sense.”
“Does money make sense, Killain? One hundred eighty-nine thousand dollars?” At Johnny's silence he chuckled. “You didn't think we'd let it go without a whimper, did you? I'm here to see about picking up the pieces.”
“It's your money?” Johnny asked carefully.
“Let's say it's a slush fund to which several people have contributed. Through Gidlow's stupidity it's been made unavailable to us temporarily. I'm sure Miss Fontaine would be the first to admit that she has no real claim upon it. We're prepared to settle a satisfactory lump sum upon her for her signature upon a release. You see, it's all really quite simple.”
“An' just how much of the boodle do you simple souls think you'd recover if she signed the release?” Johnny
