I sat down.
“This helicopter idea of yours is terrific,” Ricca said, when Louis had taken my order and
had gone. “I guess I’ll try it in Los Angeles. I might hook up with San Francisco.”
Della smiled at me possessively.
“I told you, Jack, he’s a clever boy, and they like him here, too.”
“I had a look at that lion pit,” Ricca went on. “Della told me what happened to Nick. I
guess you don’t feed those cats yourself, do you?”
I matched his grin.
“I’m too smart,” I said. “One accident’s enough.”
“Yeah. Had he been dipping into the reserve like Paul thought?”
“A little; not much,” Della said.
“That’s a big reserve. That’s twice the amount I carry.”
There was a moment’s silence.
“We need every nickel of it,” Della said, her voice hard.
He looked at her, then at me.
“It crossed my mind you might feel inclined to transfer say a quarter of it to Los Angeles.
Just an idea, mind you. Paul was always switching lumps of his reserve. It was a smart move.
He kept everyone satisfied.”
I put down my knife and fork. I suddenly wasn’t hungry any more. But Della went right on
eating as if she hadn’t heard.
Just for a moment the smile slipped, and I saw behind the fat, rubber-like mask, and what I
saw I didn’t like.
“Of course it’s up to you,” he said, smiling again.
“I said we needed every nickel of it, Jack,” she said, without looking up.
169
“Maybe you do.”
The waiter came and switched plates. Ricca started talking about the casino at Los Angeles.
The moment had passed, but I wasn’t kidding myself. He’d try again. How far he was
prepared to push it remained to be seen, but he wasn’t the type to give up easily.
We had coffee and brandy on the terrace. I was in the middle of explaining to Ricca my
idea of lighting the swimming-pool when I saw him and Della look up and past me. I glanced
up. There was a girl standing right by me. For a moment I didn’t recognize her, then I saw
she was Georgia Harris Brown, and she was drunk.
I hadn’t seen her since that day we had parted on the beach, and seeing her again came as a
shock to me.
“Hello, handsome,” she said, and put her hand on my shoulder. “Remember me?”
She was wearing a pair of linen slacks and a halter. Her cute, pert little face was flushed,
and the whites of her eyes were bloodshot.
I got up. Ricca got up too. Della watched me, the way a cat watches a mouse. I had an idea
I was heading for trouble.
“Is there anything I can do?” I asked stiffly.
“Sure.” Her fingers gripped my coat to steady herself. “That’s why I’m here.”
“You know Mrs. Wertham?” I said. “This is Jack Ricca. Ricca, I’d like you to meet Miss
Harris Brown.”
Ricca bowed, but she ignored him.
“I thought you were Ricca,” she said.
“So I am. He’s my cousin, on my father’s side.”
“It surprises me a louse like you had a father,” she said.
The words hung in empty space. I didn’t say anything. Ricca didn’t say anything. Della lit a
cigarette.
