cat.”
“Dash isn’t my cat. He just lives with me sometimes.”
“He is, like all cats, stupid.”
“Cats aren’t stupid, Mrs. Plaut. They just don’t like the rules.”
She looked at the gun in my hand again. I stood up and put it in my pocket.
“I’m taking up a collection of guns,” I said. “A hobby. To soothe my ragged nerves.”
“A Police Positive Special Model-looks like a 1936-is hardly the weapon with which to begin a collection.”
“You’re right, Mrs. Plaut.”
“I know where you can obtain an 1882 Adams and Tranter revolver for a reasonable price.”
“You never fail to surprise me, Mrs. P.,” I said.
“It is my lot in life.”
“Someone tried to kill me tonight, Mrs. Plaut.”
“That is not good,” she said firmly. “Young men are dying all over the world in the war. People should not be trying to kill each other on the home front.”
“Sounds reasonable to me,” I said. “I’ve got to get some sleep.”
I started back up the stairs.
“That is not likely,” she said.
I grunted.
“Your sister is waiting in your room for you. She’s been waiting for hours.”
My hand went back to my gun.
I have no sister.
Chapter Ten: All Right Chillen, Let’s Dance
A thin sheet of light shone under the door of my room and made a faint fan pattern on the wooden floor. I held the gun in my right hand, stood to the side of the door, and opened it quickly with my left as I jumped into the open doorway and leveled my weapon at a woman sitting on my sofa with a copy of
She looked up at me and smiled wearily.
I smiled back. She looked like she was about forty. Great teeth, blond hair pulled back, definitely clean and pretty. She wore a yellow dress that fit her snugly.
“Tough night?” she asked, looking at the gun in my hand.
She put down the magazine but continued to stroke the cat.
“Tough night,” I said, closing my door, unable to place her familiar voice.
“I’m unarmed,” she said.
“I can see that.”
I put the gun back into my pocket. Guns are hell on pockets. I had a shoulder holster, one I bought when I was a cop in Glendale. I seldom used it and I almost never took the.38 from my closet.
“I have a message for you,” she said now, stroking the contented Dash under his orange chin. “Violet would like you to bring the money you owe her in the morning.”
“You’re a friend of Violet?”
I was still standing. The only thing between us was the mattress, covered by a green blanket, on the floor.
“When I called your office, I talked to Violet. She gave me your address and asked me to remind you about the money. She said you lost a bet.”
I moved to the table near the window, pulled out one of my two wooden chairs, and turned it toward her. I sat and tried to place that look and voice.
“You don’t recognize me,” she said.
I shrugged. “It’s been a long day.”
“Mr. Dutz, Music. How do we know radio announcers have small hands?”
“Because,” I answered. “They say ‘wee paws now for station identification.’ ” Dutz told that same dumb joke every semester. Clue number one, she had gone to Glendale High a long time ago. Dutz had been dead for almost twenty years.
“Don’t have it yet?” she said, crossing her legs. They were good legs.
“You’re not?. .” I started.
“The flower was a purple orchid. You kissed me at my front door. You kept your mouth closed and your eyes open.”
“Anita?”
“I clean up pretty good, Tobias,” she said with a smile. “When you came to the diner the other day, I had put in twelve hours on my feet and had one hell of a Chinese headache. Not to mention that I wasn’t wearing any makeup and I hadn’t had my hair dyed and done in more than a month.”
It was hard to believe this was the same tired woman who had served me at Mack’s diner and reminded me that I had taken her to the prom.
“Anita, what the. . what are you doing here?”
She took Dash on her lap. Something the cat never allowed. Dash nuzzled against her breast. I was definitely waking up.
“You said you’d call. You didn’t. I called. You didn’t return my calls. I’m persistent. You want to hear a quick version of my life story since high school, the part I didn’t cover at the diner?”
“I. .”
“I think we should renew our acquaintance before we. . By the way, why don’t you have a bed?”
“Bad back,” I said. “Big guy gave me a bear hug right before the war. I was guarding Mickey Rooney. The big guy wanted to talk to him. I was in the way. Back’s had a tendency to go out ever since. I sleep on my back on a hard mattress.”
“See,” she said. “We’re getting to know each other. After Ozzie,” she said, nuzzling her nose against Dash’s, “I started college. One year at Scripps College for Women. Not easy when you’re raising a kid. I put in odd hours at a diner on the Coast Highway. Got a part in a play we were putting on at Scripps with. . you have coffee?”
“I’ll make some,” I said. “Keep talking.”
She talked. I made coffee.
“Anyway, we put the play on with men from Pomona College. Men, boys. The play was
“No,” I said, setting out two cups and saucers while the coffee perked on my hot plate.
“Bear with me,” she said. “There’s a point. I threw Harold out when I caught him with my mother. They were necking in the front seat of her car half a block from our apartment. My mother was a good-looking woman. Bad judge of men. It runs in the family.”
“Want some toast with your coffee?” I asked.
She shrugged. I dropped two slices in the toaster and turned it on.
“Gave up on acting,” she said. “Tried office work. Great Pacific Insurance. Businessmen and salesmen have hands just as big as casting directors. I married a nice older guy who owned a diner where I had lunch with a few other girls. Nice guy, Mack Chirikides. I went to work with him in the diner. Customers have big hands. Mack died. Found out he’d spent all his money on horses. There was mortgage to pay on the diner. A kid to raise. I kept working. You came in there the other day.”
“Your kid?” I asked.
“One girl, with Ozzie,” she said. “Lonny. She’s married, lives in Sacramento. Husband’s in the army. They’ve
