The Italian gave me a quick, appraising stare, bowed and shook hands.
“I have heard about you, Mr. Ricca,” he said. “Is all well in Los Angeles?”
“Certainly is,” I said, “but we’ve got nothing to touch this.”
He looked gratified.
“And Mr. Wertham? He is well?” he asked, turning to Della.
“He’s fine. On his way to Paris, the lucky man.”
108
“Paris?” Louis lifted his shoulders. “Well, they have nothing as good as this in Paris either.
You will be lunching in the restaurant?”
“I guess so.”
“I will have something very special for you and Mr. Ricca.”
“Fine,” I said.
“See you later, Louis,” Della said, and moved on.
“You mean we eat in that place for all our meals?” I asked as soon as we were out of
hearing.
“Or the other two restaurants. Why not? They’re all Paul’s, and until they find out he’s
dead, they’re mine, too.”
“Yeah,” I said, feeling as if I’d suddenly walked into a brick wall. “I hadn’t thought of
that.”
She gave me a sharp glance and lifted her shoulders. We walked towards the casino in
silence. There were a few men and women on the wide verandah. They seemed to be catching
up with the sleep they had missed the previous night. Some of the women were good enough
to go into an Art magazine. I found myself gaping until Della said tartly, “Must you act like a
half-wit?”
I grinned.
“Sorry, but this place gets me.”
Then I noticed a convertible Buick, drawn up outside the main entrance of the casino.
“Some car,” I said.
It was a glittering black job, with scarlet leather upholstery, disc wheels and built-in head
and fog lamps.
“Like it?” she said. “It’s Paul’s. He always used it when he stayed here. It’s yours, now,
Johnny.”
“Mine?” My voice croaked.
“Why, yes.” She smiled, but her eyes were as hard as stone. “Yours, until they find out he’s
109
dead. I don’t suppose they’ll let you keep it then.”
I felt suddenly creepy. That was the second time she had cracked that one in ten minutes. I
didn’t like it.
“What’s the idea, Della?”
“No idea.” She walked over to the car, opened the offside door and got in.
I leaned on the door, looking down at her.
“Are you trying to tell me something?”
“Get in, Johnny. They’re watching you.”
I looked up. A few of the rich sofa-pets were hanging over the verandah rail staring at us. I
got in under the steering-wheel.
“We’ll go and look at the town,” she said. “Drive to the gates and I’ll tell you from there.”
I switched on, trod on the starter and drove the car down the broad carriageway.
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
She turned her head: her face was expressionless, and the dark-green sun-glasses masked
her eyes.
