“You tell me a lot of stuff about Harroway and the girl and the commune. And I tell no one anything about Harroway the girl and the commune and you. How’s that for swaps?”
“What if I just call the manager and have you arrested for breaking into my room?”
“It’s not your room. It’s Mr Victor’s room. And I’d have to arrest you on suspicion of violating the Mann Act, possible statutory rape, contributing to the delinquency of a minor child, and resisting arrest. In fact, I think you’d probably get hurt resisting arrest.”
“Look, if you want dough, I could get you some. I mean I haven’t got much on me but…”
“Uh, uh,” I said. “I want information.” I took my gun out, flipped open the cylinder, checked the load, and flipped it shut. “You going to resist arrest,” I said, “or are you going to tell me things?” I looked at him hard, as I’d seen Lee Marvin do in the movies.
“What do you want to know?” he said.
I put the gun back. “I want to know what Harroway is running over there. This setup was obviously arranged and obviously routine. Harroway’s got a movable whorehouse going, and I want to know details and I want to know what else he has going.”
“He’s got everything else,” Robinson said.
“Tell me.”
“Drugs, dirty movies, sex shows, gang bangs, still photos, fetish stuff—you know, like if chains turn you on or leather bras and stuff.”
“What kind of drugs?”
“I don’t know. Everything, I guess. I’m not into drugs. I heard he didn’t deal heroin. One of the girls was talking about Quads, but I don’t really know.”
“Where’s he get the drugs?”
“I don’t know. I told you I’m not into drugs.”
“Yeah, that’s right.” I looked at the empty bottles.
“You’re into New York State champagne. I forgot. How did you get in touch with Harroway?”
“Doctor Croft. Gave me a little card with the phone number. Said if I was looking for anything, to call and say what I wanted.”
“How’d he happen to do that?”
“I was having some trouble with my wife, you know. I mean she wasn’t interested much in sex, and I thought maybe I was doing something wrong; you know, technique.
So I went to Doctor Croft, and he said maybe I could find a release if I wanted to and it would make our marriage better and he gave me this card. Here, gimme my pants. It’s still in my wallet.” Robinson dug it out. A calling card cheaply printed with only a phone number.
Wise old Doc Croft. Save your marriage, son; get out and screw a groupie. “Your wife ever go to Doc Croft?” I said.
“No, why?”
“Never mind. Okay, what’s the connection between Croft and Harroway?”
“I don’t know. Neither one of them ever mentioned it.
Croft never said another word about it after that time he gave me the card. I never brought it up to him. I mean, it’s not the kind of thing you want to talk about, you know. I mean, how your wife is frigid and you have to go to others.” He’d found the basis for his actions as he talked. It was all his wife’s doing anyway, the bitch.
“How much does it cost?” I said.
“A hundred for a regular shack. That’s all night, if you want, but I can’t stay out all night. I mean, my wife won’t even go to bed till I come home, you know? If you want something special, the price goes up from there.”
The telling was building its own momentum, as if he’d had no one to tell about all this till now. He was getting excited. “Like sometimes I go for a nineteen-fifties’ look, like little prim broads with high necks and wide skirts, sort of cute and high-class like, like ah, oh, you know, some of those broads on TV in the fifties, like..”
“Dorothy Collins,” I said.
“Yeah, yeah, like her, and June Allyson in that movie about the ball player with one leg, like that. Well anyway.
For a hundred and a half I get a chick like that, you know, dressed up and everything.”
“Isn’t that something,” I said.
“And they’ll cater parties too. You know, stag parties.
Like I was at one down the Legion Hall one night they had five broads and a goat. And reefers for anyone that wanted them and a lot of other stuff I don’t know about. Jesus, you should see the equipment on that goat.”
“Sorry I missed it,” I said. “Where’s Harroway get the girls?”
“I don’t know, but they’re all young, and they live with him out somewhere on a farm or something. You know like Charles Manson, a commune or whatever And I guess they’ll do anything he says.”
“Okay, Fraser,” I said, “you’re off the hook. But I know who you are and where you live and what your hobbies are.
I’ll keep in touch.”
