Her head jerked around and she stared at me. “What?”
“Take them off. You heard me.”
“Now wait a minute—” she began dangerously.
I said: “Do what I tell you, hear? How do I know you haven’t got a knife tucked away?”
She clenched her teeth. “Why, you dirty little man! What do you think—” Then she shrugged. She looked at me with contempt and said: “All right. What’s the difference?”
Well, there was a considerable difference. She began to unzip and unbutton and wriggle, and pretty soon she was standing there in her underwear, looking at me as though I were a two-headed worm. It was interesting, but kind of embarrassing. I could see Arthur’s eyestalk waving excitedly out of the opened suitcase.
I picked up her skirt and blouse and shook them. I could feel myself blushing, and there didn’t seem to be anything in them.
I growled: “Okay, I guess that’s enough. You can put your clothes back on now.”
“Gee, thanks,” she said.
She looked at me thoughtfully and then shook her head as if she’d never seen anything like me before and never hoped to again. Without another word, she began to get back into her clothes. I had to admire her poise. I mean she was perfectly calm about the whole thing. You’d have thought she was used to taking her clothes off in front of strange men.
Well, for that matter, maybe she was; but it wasn’t any of my business.
Arthur was clacking distractedly, but I didn’t pay any attention to him. I demanded: “All right, now who are you and what do you want?”
She pulled up a stocking and said: “You couldn’t have asked me that in the first place, could you? I’m Vern Eng—”
“Cut it out!”
She stared at me. “I was only going to say I’m Vern Engdahl’s partner. We’ve got a little business deal cooking and I wanted to talk to you about this proposition.”
Arthur squawked: Whats Engdahl up to now Q Q Sam Im warning you I dont like the look of this This woman and Engdahl are probably doublecrossing us
I said: “All right, Arthur, relax. I’m taking care of things. Now start over, you. What’s your name?”
She finished putting on her shoe and stood up. “Amy.”
“Last name?”
She shrugged and fished in her purse for a cigarette. “What does it matter? Mind if I sit down?”
“Go ahead,” I rumbled. “But don’t stop talking!”
“Oh,” she said, “we’ve got plenty of time to straighten things out.” She lit the cigarette and walked over to the chair by the window. On the way, she gave the luggage a good long look.
Arthur’s eyestalk cowered back into the suitcase as she came close. She winked at me, grinned, bent down and peered inside.
“My,” she said, “he’s a nice shiny one, isn’t he?”
The typewriter began to clatter frantically. I didn’t even bother to look; I told him: “Arthur, if you can’t keep quiet, you have to expect people to know you’re there.”
She sat down and crossed her legs. “Now then,” she said. “Frankly, he’s what I came to see you about. Vern told me you had a pross. I want to buy it.”
The typewriter thrashed its carriage back and forth furiously.
“Arthur isn’t for sale.”
“No?” She leaned back. “Vern’s already sold me his interest, you know. And you don’t really have any choice. You see, I’m in charge of matériel procurement for the Major. If you want to sell your share, fine. If you don’t, why, we requisition it anyhow. Do you follow?”
I was getting irritated—at Vern Engdahl, for whatever the hell he thought he was doing; but at her because she was handy. I shook my head.
“Fifty thousand dollars? I mean for your interest?”
“No.”
“Seventy-five?”
“No!”
“Oh, come on now. A hundred thousand?”
It wasn’t going to make any impression on her, but I tried to explain: “Arthur’s a friend of mine. He isn’t for sale.”
She shook her head. “What’s the matter with you? Engdahl wasn’t like this. He sold his interest for forty thousand and was glad to get it.”
Clatter-clatter-clatter from Arthur. I didn’t blame him for having hurt feelings that time.
Amy said in a discouraged tone: “Why can’t people be reasonable? The Major doesn’t like it when people aren’t reasonable.”
I lowered the gun and cleared my throat. “He doesn’t?” I asked, cuing her. I wanted to hear more about this Major, who seemed to have the city pretty well under his thumb.
“No, he doesn’t.” She shook her head sorrowfully. She said in an accusing voice: “You out-of-towners don’t know what it’s like to try to run a city the size of New York. There are fifteen thousand people here, do you know that? It isn’t one of your hick towns. And it’s worry, worry, worry all the time, trying to keep things going.”
“I bet,” I said sympathetically. “You’re, uh, pretty close to the Major?”
She said stiffly: “I’m not married to him, if that’s what you mean. Though I’ve had my chances. … But you see how it is. Fifteen thousand people to run a place the size of New York! It’s forty men to operate the power station, and twenty-five on the P.X., and thirty on the hotel here. And then there are the local groceries, and the Army, and the Coast Guard, and the Air Force—though, really, that’s only two men—and—Well, you get the picture.”
“I certainly do. Look, what kind of a guy is the Major?”
She shrugged. “A guy.”
“I mean what does he like?”
“Women, mostly,” she said, her expression clouded. “Come on now. What about it?”
I stalled. “What do you want Arthur for?”
She gave me a disgusted look. “What do you think? To relieve the manpower shortage, naturally. There’s more work than there are men. Now if the Major could just get hold of a couple of prosthetics, like this thing here, why, he could put them in the big installations. This one used to be an engineer or something, Vern said.”
“Well … like an engineer.”
Amy shrugged. “So why couldn’t we connect him up with the power station? It’s
