In the parking area, Pete took some of the load from Beebo and helped her put it in the truck. “You think I brag a lot, Beebo?” he said.
“I think you’re a creep,” she said.
He waited a moment, chagrined but not about to show it. “That mean you don’t like me?” he said finally.
“Let’s drop it, Pete.”
“You do like me?” he pestered her.
“What do you want, a friendship ring?” she demanded.
Pete shrugged, staring at the low clouds, taking out a toothpick to spear the food specks stuck in his white teeth. “Just an opinion,” he said.
“I told you. That’s Marie’s department. Now, if you’ll get out of my way, I have some deliveries to make.”
He turned to her. “Everybody got an opinion, Beebo. You worked for me over two months now. So say it. Say the truth.”
Beebo swallowed her aggravation. This was a game of wits, and the first man to blow off, lost. She put on the same casual cloak Pete was wearing. “You’re my boss. You keep clear of me, I keep clear of you, and we get along.”
“You make a big thing of keeping clear,” he said. “I smell bad, or something?”
“I wouldn’t know. I never get that close,” Beebo said.
Something in his eyes made her swing up into the driver’s seat with unusual speed. She started the motor, but he came around the truck and pulled her door open.
“You want to know where Mona hangs out?” he said.
Beebo set her jaw. “Not from you,” she said tautly.
Pete grinned. “Why not? My information is as good as the next guy’s.”
It made Beebo wildly impatient. She gripped the steering wheel in hard hands. “You through now, Pete?” she said, gunning the motor.
But he stood there, angled into the truck doorway so that she couldn’t move without bending some of his bones the wrong way.
“It’s okay, Beebo, don’t get sore,” he said, and put a hand on her knee. She picked it up and dropped it like a knot of worms, and he laughed. “You know why I do that?” he asked. “‘Cause you put on such a good show. It really bugs you, don’t it? When I touch you.”
“You get the hell out of my truck or I’ll roll you flat!”
He chuckled again. “Okay,” he said. “I just got one piece of news for you, butch. Listen: 121 McDonald Street—Paula Ash. Tonight. For those as wants to locate Mona.” He pulled away from the truck, and Beebo backed out in a rumble of dust and gravel.
It was nearly midnight before Beebo could bring herself to the McDonald Street address. She had debated it tempestuously throughout the evening, but without confiding in Jack. She could have gone to Mona’s apartment instead, or called her and demanded an explanation. But something told her Pete Pasquini had an interesting motive for sending her here. She might get hurt; but she might also learn the truth, whatever that was, about Mona. So she took the chance.
She was in a don’t-give-a-damn mood, expecting to find Mona with a man in the apartment, rented under an assumed name; or Mona making love to Paula Ash, whoever the hell she was; or even—best joke of all—Mona waiting for her alone, while Pete peeked through the keyhole.
She stood at 121 McDonald Street in a light drizzle, partially sheltered by an inset doorway, her hands shoved into the sleeves of her windbreaker, and tried to make up her mind to call the jest.
At last the chill drove her into the foyer to look at mailboxes. There was a Paula Ash, all right. Apartment 103. Beebo took a deep breath and pushed the buzzer.
The answer came after so long a wait that Beebo was just leaving in disgust, and had to turn back quickly to open the inner door. She had scarcely entered the hall when a door opened ahead and a girl looked out.
“Yes?” she said. She appeared very sleepy, as if she had been in bed for many hours already, even though it was not quite midnight.
“May I come in?” Beebo said. She walked down the hall looking Miss Ash over candidly. If Mona were going to stand her up, and Pete play jokes on her, the least she could do was fall into the pit with as much bravado as possible—and perhaps a pretty girl in her arms.
“I don’t know,” the girl said doubtfully, opening her eyes very wide as if the stretch would keep the lids up a few minutes more. “Who are you?”
“I’m Beebo.” Beebo looked at her, standing about three feet away in the door, wondering if her name would register. The living room behind Paula looked inviting after the gray rain outside.
“Beebo Who?” The girl was beginning to wake up, staring at her visitor.
Beebo smiled. “Didn’t Mona tell you?”
The girl gasped and rubbed her eyes open earnestly. “Mona!” she said, her voice husky. “Did Mona send you here?”
“Not exactly,” Beebo said. “But I was made to think I’d find her here.” The girl was so distressed that Beebo began to think Paula was the victim of whatever joke was afoot, and not herself. She was moved to apologize. “I’m sorry, Miss Ash,” she said. “There must have been a mistake. I came expecting some sort of practical joke. I guess nobody let either one of us in on it.”
“Will you come in, please,” Paula Ash said unexpectedly. She was shy and looked at Beebo’s shoulder when she spoke.
“Thank you,” Beebo said, walking past her into the living room. “It’s pretty cold outside.” She took off her jacket and handed it to Paula, who hung it in her front closet.
“Will you have coffee?” Paula said.
“Thanks, that sounds good.” Beebo watched her curiously while the girl busied herself in a small doorless kitchen. She had a delicately pretty face, different
