go, big man.' And she held out her hand to Henry Ullman.
He turned to look at Mulligan. The bank officer had taken off his glasses and pulled Opal onto his lap. His hand was thrust beneath her skirt. He saw Ullman staring at him.
'Go ahead,' he urged. 'Pearl will do you good.'
Henry followed her into the darkened bedroom, but then she turned on all the lights.
'I like to see what I'm doing,' she said.
'Shall I close the door?'
'What the hell for? Wait'll you hear Mike huffing and puffing. It's a scream!'
She undressed so swiftly that he was still taking off his socks when she was naked, lying on the bed and kicking bony legs in the air.
'C'mon, hurry up,' she demanded. 'I been waiting all week for this, and I'm hot to trot. Oooh, look at the big man. What a sweet cuke!'
He had never had a woman like her before and wasn't certain he'd live to have another. She was demented, insatiable, and wrung him out. She was still at it twenty minutes later, long after he had collapsed, drained. Suddenly she stopped, jumped out of bed.
'Little girls' room,' she said, panting. 'Don't go away.'
Ullman lay in a stupor, thinking this was above and beyond the call of duty, and wishing he might find the strength to rise, dress, and stumble out of that madhouse. But then naked Opal came bounding into the lighted bedroom.
'Turnabout's fair play!' she yelled, and he saw in her eyes what he expected to see.
It was another half-hour before he could get away from her, stagger to his feet, go reeling into the bathroom. He soaked a washcloth in hot water and swabbed off his face and body.
Then he started looking for it.
He checked all the boxes, jars, and bottles in the medicine cabinet, but it wasn't there. It wasn't behind the frosted glass doors of the bathtub. Then he did what he should have done in the first place: lift the porcelain lid of the toilet tank.
There it was: a watertight mason jar containing at least a dozen little glassine envelopes filled with a white powder. He took out the jar, unscrewed the lid, removed one of the envelopes. Then he tightened the lid, replaced the jar in the water-filled tank.
Ullman opened the door cautiously. There was talk and laughter coming from the living room. He heard the voices of the two women and, as promised, the huffing and puffing of Mike Mulligan. He slipped into the bedroom, put the glassine envelope deep in the breast pocket of his jacket.
Then he went back to the living room. Mulligan, his body fish-belly white, mouth smeared, eyes bleary, was sprawled on the couch, and both women were working on him. They all looked up when Ullman entered.
'Party time!' he bawled.
27
A new discount drugstore had opened on Federal Highway and had quickly become a mecca for every hustler in Broward County. All because the owner was using peel-off price labels on his merchandise and wasn't yet aware of how he was being taken.
David Rathbone stopped by to stroll through the crowded aisles. He selected Halston cologne for himself and Chanel dusting powder for Rita. He casually switched the price labels with those from a cheap aftershave and an even cheaper face powder, and brought his purchases to the desk where a harried clerk was trying to cope. She rang up the sale without question, and Rathbone carried his bargains out to the Bentley, reflecting on the credo of con men everywhere: 'Do unto others before others do unto you.'
He drove to the office of the Fort Knox Commodity Trading Fund, north of Atlantic Boulevard. He parked and carefully removed the incorrect price label from the box of Chanel dusting powder. Then he entered the office. Rita was listening to a transistor radio, sandaled feet on her desk. He leaned to kiss her cheek.
'Hi, boss,' she said. 'What's going on?'
'A present for you,' he said, handing her the powder. 'Just for the fun of it.'
'Thanks a mil,' she said, sniffing at the box. 'Hey, this stuff is expensive.'
'Only the best for you,' he said, touching her cheek. 'We travel first class.'
'Oh? Are we going to travel?'
'Maybe,' he said. 'Someday. Any excitement around here?'
'Oh sure,' she said. 'A real hectic morning. The stationery store delivered the letterheads and business cards.'
'Let me take a look.'
She showed him the five boxes of business cards bearing the name, address, and phone number of the Fund, plus the names of the Palace gang in elegant script.
'No titles,' Rita pointed out. 'Are you president, or what?'
'We're all equal partners,' he said. 'No titles. I like these letterheads and envelopes. Very impressive. Listen, I have a little work to do here, and then I've got to go visit a client.'
'Yeah? Man or woman?'
'A widow lady named Birdie Winslow. Every now and then she gets antsy about her investments, and I have to hold her hand.'
'Make sure that's all you hold. Honey, I'm bored. This is a real nothing job.'
'Hang around until I'm finished, then turn on the answering machine, lock up, and go get some sun. It's a super day.'
He went into the inner office and closed the door. Rita took a single business card from each of the five boxes and slipped them into the top desk drawer. Then she fished an emery board from her shoulder bag and went to work on her nails.
David came out of the inner office in less than twenty minutes.
'That was quick,' she said.
'I've had my fun, and now I'm done. Maybe I'll take those business cards along with me. If we see the gang for drinks tonight, I'll hand them out. They'll get a kick out of them.'
'You guys are like kids with a new toy. Are we eating at home tonight?'
He thought a moment. 'Why don't we have dinner at the Palace? Then we can have drinks later in the Lounge.'
'The Palace? I've never eaten there. How's the food?'
He flipped a palm back and forth. 'So-so. They have a double veal chop that's edible. But I don't eat there very often. It's the kind of restaurant that never throws out unused butter, half-eaten rolls, or unfinished steaks. They recycle everything.'
'Isn't that illegal?'
He laughed. 'Come on,' he said, 'you know better than that. So they make beef bourguignonne out of leftover steak. Who's to know?'
'I'm not sure I want to eat there,' she said.
'Don't tell me you're a straight arrow,' he said. 'If you found a wallet on the street with a hundred bucks in it and the owner's phone number, would you return it to him?'
'Probably not. I'd keep the money and drop the wallet in a mailbox.'
'So would I. So would anyone with an ounce of sense. If the owner is dumb enough to lose his wallet, he's got to pay for his stupidity. Would you steal a towel from a hotel?'
'I might.'
'Not me. It's not a class act.'
'What's boosting a hotel towel got to do with eating other people's garbage at the Palace?'
'I'm just proving to you that everyone cuts corners. I wouldn't swipe a hotel towel, but I'd clip a mooch for every cent he's got. I enjoy outwitting suckers, but I'd never bash one over the head in a dark alley. I have my
