Breathe No More My Lady
Ed Lacy
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PART I
PART II
PART III
3 women can make a mess out of a man's life.
The Right One—Michele, the dark-eyed French beauty who looked like she had just stepped out of a European movie.
The Wrong One—Wilma, the red-headed temptress who came along at the wrong time with the right invitation.
The Dead One—Francine, whose lifeless body was found in a rowboat in the middle of the bay.
Ed Lacy's latest suspense novel is a hard-hitting story of fast-living men and women caught in a web of passion and violence, with a stunning surprise ending.
Copyright, ©, 1958, by Ed Lacy. Published by arrangement with the author. Printed in the U.S.A.
“Writing is like prostitution... first you do it for the love of it, then you do it for a few friends, and finally you do it for money.”
PART I
Norm Connor
I RUSHED into my office at Longson Publishing at five to eleven. I was twenty-five minutes late and sweating a little, but it was neither my being late or the humid morning that made me sweat. As I nodded at Miss Park, she told me, “Mr. Long wants
“Oh, hell, what day is this? Sales conference on?”
Miss Park screwed up her face—as she always did when anything was out of whack. “Why Mr. Connor, the conference was on Monday, as usual. You know, if we try the Turkish iced, I think we should get some heavy cream, or even a can of whipped cream.”
I nodded and walked into my office. I tossed the folded morning paper I'd been carrying under my arm on the desk, lit my pipe, and sat down and drummed on an ash tray with my fingers. I called the apartment. There wasn't any answer as I half expected. Drying my face with a tissue, I finally phoned the air terminal and had them check the Paris flights. The crisp, impersonal voice at the other end of the wire told me Michele had actually taken off at 6:15 a.m. I asked, “Are you positive? Mrs. Michele Connor? C-O-N-N-O-R. Are you positive?”
“Quite. A Mrs. Michele Connor, French passport, left on the 6:15 a.m. flight to Paris.”
“Are you absolutely positive? At the last second she didn't cancel?” I realized my voice was a harsh shout, and I hung up.
I sat there, puffing hard on my pipe, feeling embarrassed and knowing I'd sounded like a fool. Michele had really taken the plane. Now what the devil was I to do? Run after her or...?
My phone rang. William Long asked, “Norm?”
“Yes, Bill.”
“I'm waiting to see you.”
“On my way up.” As I stood up I stared at my sloppy desk, trying to remember if I had anything to discuss with Bill. In a dizzy sort of way I was angry at the 'big boss' tone to his voice. I stood there, completely confused for a second, staring around my own office like a stranger. Suddenly the hollow ache I'd felt all night reached its peak. I felt terribly wrung-out and bushed.
Stopping at Miss Park's desk I asked, “Any aspirin?” She stared at my big hands and of course my eyes bounced over her remarkable breasts. Although I never asked, I had a hunch Miss Park wouldn't object if my hands and her superstructure got together.
“Ill go to the little gals' room. Should be some there.”
“Never mind. I'm on my way up to see Mr. Long. Please order me a sandwich. I didn't have a chance to eat this morning. I overslept.”
“Cheese, ham, egg, lettuce or...?
“Anything.”
“It was an awful night, so muggy. And wasn't the news this morning amazing?”
As I walked out I mumbled, “It floored me.” Riding the tiny self-service elevator to the 7th floor, I tried to think how a man gets his wife back. Or should I try? Would Michele
I couldn't think straight, my head hurt. Even smoking made me suddenly nauseous. When I stepped out of the private elevator I emptied my pipe into a huge, sand-filled, hideous elephant's foot. A highly polished brass plate
