Marsha was propped against the corner of the couch yawning. 'We have to scram, kid.'
Her mouth came shut. 'Something wrong?'
'People want to talk to me and I can't afford the time. I want to go someplace and think. I want to be where nobody'll bother me for a week if I don't feel like seeing them.'
'Well... we can go to my place. I won't bother you, Mike. I just want to crawl in bed and sleep forever.'
'Okay. Get your things on. I'll get dressed.'
I went back to the bedroom and finished putting on my clothes. There was a light tap on the door and I yelled come on in. The nurse opened the door and stood there holding the boy's hand. He would have been content to stay there, only he spotted the sling of the shoulder holster dangling from the dresser and made a dash for it.
This time she grabbed him before he was halfway there and dragged him back.
'I wish he liked his toys that way,' she said.
'Maybe he'll grow up to be a cop.'
I got a disapproving look for that. 'I hope not!' she paused. 'Miss Lee tells me you have to leave again.'
'That's right.'
'Then perhaps you'll do me a favor.'
'Sure.'
'They came to repaint my apartment this morning. I was wondering if you'd mind my staying here tonight.'
'Go right ahead. You'll be doing me the favor if you stay. If anybody calls tell them I'm out, you don't know where I am, nor when I'll be back. Okay?'
A frown creased her forehead. 'You... expect callers?' There was a tremulous note in her voice.
I laughed at her and shook my head. 'Not that kind. They'll be respectable enough.'
She sighed uncertainly and took the kid back to the living room with her. I finished tying my shoes, strapped the gun around my chest and picked my jacket off a coat hanger in the closet. My other suit was draped over the back of the chair and a quick inspection said that it wasn't worth wearing any more. I emptied out the pockets on the dresser, rolled them up in a tight ball and carried them out to the kitchen. I stuffed them into the garbage can on top of the kid's old clothes, pressed the lid down tight and shoved the can back into the corner.
Marsha was waiting for me inside trying to hide her red-rimmed eyes with some mascara. We said good-by to the nurse and the kid and picked up the elevator going down. She fell asleep almost immediately and I had a hell of a time trying to wake her up when we got to her place.
I tried shaking her, pinching her and when that didn't work I bent over and kissed her.
That worked.
She wrinkled her nose and fought her eyes open. I said. 'We're here. Come on, snap out of it.'
'You did this to me,' she smiled.
'That mustached bodyguard you got upstairs will wring my neck for it.'
Her lips crinkled in a grin. 'So that's why you came so readily. You thought you were going to be chaperoned. I'm sorry, Mike, but I'm all alone. The nurse is gone.'
I gave her a playful rap on the chin and scooted her out of the car. She took my hand and we went up together. The guy on the elevator gaped at me until I said, 'Up,' twice, then he swallowed hard and slid the door shut. It was too bad he didn't see me yesterday.
We were so far away from everything up there. The evening filtered through the blinds, the late, slanting rays of the sun forming a crosshatch pattern on the rug. She settled me back in a big chair and disappeared in the kitchen where she made all the pleasant sounds of a woman in her element. I smelled the coffee and heard the bacon and eggs sizzling in the pan. My stomach remembered how long it was since it had been filled, and churned in anticipation.
I was out there before she called me, trying to be helpful by making the toast. She said, 'Hungry?'
'Starving.'
'Me too, I finished a box of stale crackers in your place and haven't eaten since.'
That was all we said. You just don't talk when you don't leave room between bites. The coffee was hot and strong the way I like it and I finished it before I picked up a smoke.
Marsha turned the small radio on to a local station and picked up a supper orchestra and everything was perfect. It stayed that way until the band went off on the hour and a news commentator came on. It was the same boy who got all worked up over affairs in the city and this time he was really running over.
He gushed through his usual routine of introducing himself to the public and said, 'Tonight has seen the end of an era. The man known to the police, the press, and the underworld as Lou Grindle has been found dead in a summer cottage near Islip, Long Island. Two men known to have been Grindle's associates were found shot to death, one in the same house and another twenty miles east of the spot. The house was the scene of violent gunplay and according to police ballistics experts, it was a bullet from Grindle's own gun that killed one of his men. An early reporter on the scene claims that the house had been used as some sort of inquisition chamber by Grindle and his men, but when questioned on the point the police refused to comment. Because of the significance of Grindle's death, the District Attorney has issued a No comment statement, but it is hinted that he is in full possession of the facts.
'Lou Grindle was a product of the racketeering of the early Twenties. Since the repeal of Prohibition he has been suspected of being a key figure in...'
I reached out and tuned in another station. I got a rhumba band that was all drums filling in behind a piano and let it beat through the room. But Marsha wasn't listening to it. Her mouth held a fixed position of surprise that
