“Yes. They were just closing. One of the girls there, Maxine, went across the street and had a beer with me. She didn’t want to, though…not proper, two girls alone in a tavern, she said. But she could see I was upset. She could see I needed the company.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Nothing much. I told her Dillinger was dead. She wanted to know how I knew, and I told her to look in the papers tomorrow. And I told her I didn’t feel so good.”
“There’s a lot of that going around.”
“Why do you talk that way?”
“Because it amuses me to. It helps me not think about how much I hurt from your ex-husband’s pals feeding me the goldfish.” “Goldfish” was Chicago for rubber hose.
“Why do you keep saying that? You act like I know something about it, and I don’t.”
“What
She leaned back in the chair; back away from the light and her face was less distinct. But I could hear her voice just fine: “Anna just told me to…date this guy. Keep him occupied. Keep him…”
“Happy?”
She sighed. “Happy. You mind if I smoke?”
“No. Use the ashtray, though.”
“Where is it?”
I pushed it towards her. It was a thick-rimmed little circle of glass that said Morrison Hotel in it.
She lit the cigarette and the orange tip was an eye in the darkness. She blew some smoke out and then started talking.
“He was a good-hearted guy. I got a thrill out of going around in cabs all the time. Twice he gave me money so Maxine and me could go to the fair. Once he gave me forty dollars and said I should go out and buy something with it. Another time he gave me fifty bucks to get my teeth fixed. I bought clothes with it, though. But he wasn’t mad when he found out.”
“He treated you right.”
She nodded through trails of smoke. “We had a lot of fun.”
“Who did you think this guy was?”
“Jimmy Lawrence. He said he was with the Board of Trade.”
“Did you buy that?”
“Well, he had plastic surgery scars, behind his ears. So I figured he was a small-time con Anna was keeping on ice for the Boys.”
“The Outfit, you mean.”
“I guess. I don’t know much about that sort of thing.”
“But Anna does.”
“Sure. She’s a madam, right?”
“You’re asking me?”
The blue eyes flared. “Does needling me make you feel like a big shot, Heller? Is that why you do it?”
“Sorry. Please continue.”
She drew on the cigarette again. “There’s not much more to say. He was a good dresser, clean and neat. He had a nice smile.”
“So keeping him happy for Anna wasn’t much of a chore.”
“That’s the hell of it. I got to like him, I really did. I was crazy about him, Heller. He had this terrific personality—he was kind and good to me. But he couldn’t have
“I’d say not.”
“I didn’t count on that. Liking him. You know, there was one song he was crazy about, from a Joan Crawford picture we saw at the Marbro.” She started to sing, in a pleasant little Betty Boop soprano: “‘All I do is dream of you the whole night through…’” Her lip was quivering. Another tear rolled down her cheek.
“Did he have a good voice?”
“He could carry a tune. You know, he was crazy about the movies. Couldn’t get enough.”
“Till tonight. You really did like him, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“You didn’t know they were going to hit him tonight?”
“No.”
“But you knew he was going to get hit sooner or later.”
“No! And I didn’t know he was Dillinger!”
