Dick Lowell's smile was tired. “There's not much news in anything I've just said.” His eyes went uneasily to his telephone. “I've read somewhere that it's possible to attach some sort of-ah-device to a phone so that not only phone conversations but all conversations in the room can be heard. Is it true?”
Johnny nodded. “It sure is.”
The mayor's eyes were sick. “There was one private conversation here I'm almost sure-how would I find out?”
“If you've got a friend in the upper bracket of the local telephone office they could probably tell you.”
Lowell smiled bitterly. “Jessie Burger's father was the manager of the local phone office before he died. She's still very well acquainted there.” He drew a deep breath. “You haven't said if I can count on you.”
Johnny rose to his feet. “You haven't said what you need done, Lowell.” He waited for a moment. “Your program's a little too vague for me right now. Brighten up the colors and try me again.” He turned to go.
“Killain, wait.” Lowell's tone was urgent. “You won't say anything to Toby? About-all this?” His eyes were pleading. “I intend to have it all straightened out shortly. Very shortly.”
“It's your baby,” Johnny said indifferently. “Even at this distance removed, though, I doubt you're kiddin' Toby Lowell very much about what's goin' on here. What do you do if he decides to bounce up an' look over the situation?”
“I run, not walk, to the nearest exit,” Lowell said with unexpected firmness. “But he won't. He's too busy to pay any attention to what's going on in Jefferson.” Bitterness crept back into Richard Lowell's voice. “You've heard of the senior citizen psych? That's the Indian sign Toby has on me. He's the eternal big brother who always knows best. We weaker vessels distress him.”
“Speakin' of weaker vessels, I've got to run by the Western Union office. I got batted out in Rudy's game last night.” Johnny paused as a thought occurred to him. “I got the impression Rudy doesn't care too much for Jack Riley's gendarmes.”
“Not many do.” The tone was acid.
“But they loved Carl Thompson's?” Johnny moved to the door in the ensuing silence. “For a politician, Richard, you just don't think fast enough on your feet.” There had still been no reply when he closed the office door from the outside.
At Western Union he picked up two thousand dollars and an accompanying telegram: CHECK TO THE ONE- CARD DRAWS YOU DUMMY. He grinned and started to crumple the yellow sheet. The New York dateline reminded him of some unfinished business. He found a phone booth in a drugstore, changed two dollars into silver, and called Sally at the apartment in New York.
“Johnny!” she exclaimed at the sound of his voice. “Where are you?”
“If anyone else is askin' that question, ma, it might be better if you didn't know. Joe Dameron been hauntin' you?”
“Not Dameron. That man Cuneo.”
“Uh-huh. They set a date for the inquest yet?”
“I haven't heard.”
“Find out, but don't ask the direct question. They'd know where it came from. Did they identify the guy?”
“Marty said it was some small-time hood.”
“Local?”
“I guess. Marty didn't say.”
“Find that out, too. I'll call you in a day or two. If they spring an early date on the inquest an' you need to get me in a hurry call the Mick. I'd tell you but you never could lie, ma.”
“Please stay out of trouble, Johnny. And come on home.”
He sat in the booth after he had deposited the amount the operator asked for and tried to figure it out. Something didn't add up. Daddario had had his own muscle with him in New York that day, but a stranger had been hired for the payoff. Check that, Killain. The stranger had been hired for Killain but do you know he had been hired for Thompson, too? You're damn right you don't. Kratz or Savino could easily have done the job. Except that after the beating Thompson had taken in Jefferson how had either one of them been able to get that close to him in the hotel room?
Johnny sighed, fished a dime out of the remaining change, and called Jessamyn Burger.
The drawn drapes darkened the motel room despite the hint of late-afternoon sunlight behind them. On the bed beside him the woman spoke drowsily. “It's been lovely, Johnny, but I've got to get back to town.”
He ran a questing palm over her sleek nudity. “The town'll still be there if you get back an hour later, won't it, Jess?”
She shivered at his touch and sat up. “No more. I want to shower.”
“We'll shower together.” He slid from the bed and scooped her up in his arms.
“What-?” Her voice was startled. “Stop it,” she protested as he carried her into the bathroom. He turned on a single light over the dressing table outside and set her down in the shower stall. “Stop it, Johnny! It's not- decent!”
His bulk effectively blocked the shower entrance when she tried to push past him. From a shelf he took down a wax-papered bathing cap and handed it to her. “Water's goin' on in ten seconds. Get that on your noggin if you want to keep your hair dry.”
“I want you to get out of here!” Her hands and arms were plastered about herself. The indirect light reflected softly from the white-tiled walls upon her full curves, warm ivory by contrast.
“Five seconds,” he said, and stepped inside and closed the glass door. His hand dropped on the shower faucet.
“No!” she exclaimed, but her hands were already hastily fitting the cap over her dark hair. “Johnny, no!” She gasped at the hissing rush of the chilly needle spray. “Oooh, it's cold!”
It warmed at once. He let her soak a moment and picked up the soap from the dish. He took her firmly by a plump shoulder and soaped her completely from neck to ankles, his big hand gliding over her glistening flesh. She stood on first one foot and then the other and her protests died to murmured little half-sounds. He rinsed her off and soaped her again, slowly. This time her body gave itself up to the soaping hand like a flower turning up to the sun.
He rinsed her again and handed her the soap. She soaped him gravely, the hiss of the water the only sound. She kneaded his back and shoulders for a long time. The silence was electric by the time she finished. He turned off the shower, picked her up by the elbows and lifted her out onto the bath mat. “Dimples everywhere, by God,” he said huskily, enveloping her in a towel. She said nothing, made no sound. He could hear her breathing.
He patted her dry first, then scrubbed with the towel till the white skin turned rosy. She twisted and turned under the scouring towel but her feet never moved from the mat. Her eyes were so dark they seemed black.
He dried himself hurriedly as she exited like a sleepwalker. He found her in the bedroom beside her neatly laid out clothing on a chair. She had on panties and one stocking. She made a small sound deep in her throat as he drew her gently back against himself, spoon-fashion. He bent his head to breathe lightly upon the velvety junction of her neck and shoulder.
He removed the panties. He didn't bother with the stocking.
It was well over an hour before they rose again and began to dress.
On the ride back to town she sat primly in her half of the hired car's front seat. Her eyes rested on the road straight ahead. Five miles out from town she sighed and turned to look at him. “I suppose it's time to return to reality,” she said wistfully. “Thanks for the trip to another planet.”
“Many happy returns,” Johnny said.
She smiled. “You know if you'd stop the yakking about Jim Daddario having horns and hooves I could get kind of used to you.”
“Why'd you suggest a little trip to the country when I called you today, Jess?”
Her smile faded. “I couldn't have you parading up to my door in broad daylight and staying, now could I?” she asked lightly. “Wasn't this cozy?”
“Very. I'm just wonderin' where I got the idea you're afraid to be seen with me in town.”
“That's not true.” She said it angrily.
His hands lay relaxed on the wheel as the car rolled along between level green fields. “Kratz and Savino
