“Sure, fifteen minutes on foot, less by cab. Why?”
“Let’s go, then. We can discuss this better there.”
She blinked. “What? Don’t you even wanna buy me a drink first?”
“Hell no. That’s such a tired come-on, right? Well? Do you want to take me home or not?”
“I should say not! What do I look like, anyway?”
“I think you know what you look like. I just thought you wouldn’t mind skipping over the dull preliminaries, since you said you can take care of yourself. But if you’re scared, let’s forget it.”
She frowned and it made her nose even cuter. “What have I got to be scared of… you? Don’t tell me you think I took Louie’s warning about you seriously. Hell, that’s a laugh. There isn’t a man alive I can’t handle!”
I laughed in her face.
And that laugh hurt her. It told her that I thought she was a kid who was just kidding, and couldn’t make it in the big leagues.
Marion reached up and dragged down a flimsy hat and grabbed a light coat from the back of the booth.
“Let’s go, sucker,” she said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Marion Ruston’s apartment was in an older building, a recently renovated brownstone. Most of the furnishings were covered in flowered chintz, very cozy, but strictly a woman’s place. A man wouldn’t have all the frou-frou junk she had for love nor money. I tossed my hat on a coat-tree hook and, while Marion slunk seductively into the bedroom, I stretched out in an overstuffed armchair and waited.
This should be good, I thought.
It was-in only about five minutes, she appeared poised at the hallway entry in the sheerest dressing gown imaginable. And that was all. That and red finger-and-toenail polish.
“My temptation togs,” she explained with a tah dah hand gesture, her smile turning up at both ends.
She went over to a standing lamp to switch it off and, when she did, moved past a window where the drapes were back, letting the glow of the city at night turn her into a curvaceous silhouette. Her form had the kind of lines usual in pin-ups but unusual in life, plump firm behind, full impertinently tipped breasts, a waist you could put your hands around, and legs that followed gentle, supple curves on their way to the toes she posed provocatively upon.
“You can take that spider web off, too,” I said, fishing out my deck of Luckies from my suit coat pocket, “for all I care.”
As I lit up the cig, she moved toward me with a dancer’s grace, and this was a sort of dance, wasn’t it? I blew out smoke, away from her, gentleman that I am.
She raised her eyebrows and slid onto the arm of my chair with studied ease. When she crossed her legs she let as much skin show as possible. Very nice skin, creamy and white, but hardly necessary. It wasn’t like that gown was making an attempt to conceal anything.
I looked up at her the way a scientist studies a slide. “I liked you better in the dress. At least I could let my imagination do a little work.”
She gestured to herself. “What’s the matter with this?” Her expression was more curious than hurt.
“Nothing, but it just shows what every woman has. The equipment is pretty much the same, though I admit yours is well arranged.” I shrugged and blew a smoke ring. “A guy just gets tired seeing the same show over and over again. Why don’t you sit over there so we can talk?”
I pointed my Lucky at the sofa across the room.
She slipped off the arm of the chair and stood with her fists at her waist and her pretty face crinkled. “The hell with you, Mac. Who do you think you’re fooling with that lousy line? It’s nothing new. Your technique stinks.”
“Look,” I said, trying not to get sore, “I’m not pulling your own kind of hard-to-get routine, I’m being serious.”
“You are, huh?”
“You brought me here to tease me and then pull the rug out from under me and give me the horse laugh. Fine. Everybody needs a hobby. But I came up here to spend a little time with a nice kid I used to know, back when your brother Billy was a pal of mine.”
She sighed and I’d be lying if I said what those breasts did under the sheer nightie didn’t rate a trouser salute.
But she abandoned the sex dolly persona and smirked like a real human gal and said, “Okay, okay, Mike Hammer-you win.”
She moved quite naturally over to the couch, and the truth was, it was more appealing than the sashaying routine. “What the hell did you come up here for?”
“Anything but that. It’s too early in our renewed friendship.”
She smirked. “Not for some people, it wouldn’t be.”
“It is for me. Ready to talk a while?”
She threw her painted-toed feet up on the coffee table, then reached over to the end table and withdrew a cigarette from a silver box. I tossed her my matches and she caught them like she was playing first base, smiled her thanks, and batted her eyelashes at me.
“Stop that,” I said.
“Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
I returned to the armchair and got on with my talk. “You ever been out to Sidon, Marion? Little tourist trap out on Long Island?”
A match stopped halfway to the cigarette and she stared at me a moment.
Then she said, “Yes. Well, not Sidon, but a place outside there. Why?”
Interesting that she’d had to think that over before answering.
“A place outside Sidon,” I said. “Wouldn’t be Sharron Wesley’s gambling den, would it?”
“Well… actually, yes. I was there several times. It was really very nice, very pretty perched there on the ocean.”
“Who took you out there?”
“A… just a fellow… Why, does it matter who?”
“It might.”
“Why?”
“Sharron Wesley’s been killed.”
She said nothing, but her eyes were wide and the cigarette froze halfway to her lips. She was batting her eyelashes again but I didn’t figure it had anything to do with trying to look sexy.
“Who took you there, Marion?”
“I’m… I’m sorry to hear that about Sharron. She could be fun.”
Obviously Marion didn’t want to answer my question. I tried another: “Did this… fellow of yours spend much money while you were at the casino?”
She shook her head. “On the contrary. He won about three hundred.”
“That was the first time.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, that joint wasn’t as straight as Louie’s. How did your ‘fellow’ fare after that?”
“Oh, the next time he dropped a little. Not much.”
“Then?”
“I was only there with him twice, if you’re trying to make the point that they suckered him up to that point. Who killed her?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
“Was she a friend of yours, Mike?”
“No.”
