“Is that your monkey? Watching?”
“More like an audition.”
“I already have a job,” I said with a laugh.
“Not like the job I have in mind.”
“I’m sure.”
“Are you any good at it?”
“My job?”
“Yes, your job.”
“Not bad.”
“Brodie says you’re a pit bull. Are you a pit bull… What’s your first name?”
“Sergeant.”
“Cute,” she said sarcastically. “Is this where you go into your official act? Where’s the blackjack?”
“We stopped using them, they leave bruises,” I laughed. “My name’s Zeke. And I assume Brodie told you to go mum on me.”
“Brodie doesn’t tell me what to do; I figure things out for myself. I think you’re chasing some half-baked idea and you think if you talk to enough people, somebody’s bound to tell you a lie you can hang your hat on.”
“I suppose you could look at it that way.”
She shook her head slowly. “Well, at least you’re honest about it, Sergeant,” she said with a little spit in her tone.
“Why don’t you call me Zeke.”
“I don’t think we’re going to get that chummy.”
“Really? I heard you have a thing for cops.”
“I have a thing for men.”
“Ow… got a thing for acid, too.”
“You don’t chip easily, do you?”
“You’re pretty good, but not that good.”
“I’m just warming up.”
“I won’t be around for the finale.”
“Really?”
“This won’t take that long. What do your young ladies do for kicks?” I asked, making it sound as casual as possible. “San Pietro isn’t exactly the Lido.”
“They’re driven into Santa Barbara or Los Angeles when they want to have fun. Sometimes they sneak into town for a movie.”
“Do they do well? I mean, do they make a nice living?”
“Is this going to be twenty questions?”
“Curiosity.”
“Jade, the naked sun goddess, is studying biology at U.C.L.A. She only works summers and holidays. So far, she’s put herself through three years of college, makes straight A’s, and will have a nice little nest egg when she graduates. That answer your question?”
“I was wondering where they bank,” I said, and tried to blow a smoke ring, which fell apart as it left my lips. She blew three perfect ones and stared hard at me as they rose toward the chandelier.
“Do you shill for a bank on the side?” she asked after a minute crept by.
“I’m sure you know about the five hundred a month the woman Verna Hicks Wilensky was getting. I just talked to the notary at one of the banks. She described two of the buyers as five-three or five-four, a hundred and ten pounds, sexy, very fancily dressed for San Pietro. Pleasant, friendly, self-assured. The description could fit either of the naked goddesses down by the pool. And probably all the rest of the gals in your sorority.”
“Or any other good-looking girl five-three or five-four.”
“The descriptions of the buyers all follow the same line. Pretty, far too well dressed for your average San Pietro girl, in their early twenties. Well spoken, good manners, friendly but not overly so…”
“What are you building?”
“As you told me, your girls sneak off to Eureka for an occasional movie but don’t spend time down there.”
“It’s called San Pietro. Eureka is history.”
“Not from where I’m standing. Some things don’t wash off.”
“And you’re different? Your badge makes you any better?”
I thought about that for a moment or two.
“Maybe you’re right, Delilah. Maybe it’s the same gutter no matter how you dress it up.”
“Maybe you better sashay out of here.”
“I’m not through yet. We were talking about your dollhouse. The girls wouldn’t be recognized down in the village. They don’t give their names, they hand the notary an envelope with five Ben Franklins in it and the name of the payee, get the check, put it in an addressed, stamped envelope, and get lost. I’d like to talk to some of the girls.”
“Sure. Just as soon as I fall over dead on the floor.”
“I could get pushy.”
“You could lose that pretty smile of yours.”
“We could do this the hard way, Delilah.”
“ My first name is Miss,” she said harshly. “And you’re up here chasing your own tail. Trying to pin something on me or Culhane or somebody else up here. Let me show you something.”
She led me across the room and pointed to a small photograph mounted on the wall. It was a shot of Brodie and his crew, somewhere in France. The remnants of a town formed the background and they were up to their ankles in mud. Below the photograph, mounted on black velvet, were a Purple Heart and a Silver Star. She stared at Culhane’s figure as though transfixed.
“Why did you leave, Brodie?”
He shrugged. “To see the world.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You want to know the truth? I was running away from what I just came back to.”
She smiled ruefully. “You were sweet on Isabel, Ben was sweet on Isabel, and Isabel was sweet on both of you. Me? I was sweet on you and I couldn’t make it to first base.”
“Hell, we were just kids, Del.”
“Doesn’t make it hurt any the less.”
“We were all good friends. Still are, I should hope.”
“Nothing could ever change that, Brodie.”
She went to the record changer and put on an up-tempo jazz record, “Aunt Hagar’s Children Blues,” and started to dance. Brodie had seen girls in Paris dancing like that, loose, legs flying, swinging to the rhythm of the music.
“C’mon, I’ll teach you to do the Charleston.”
“Can I do it on one leg?” he asked with a smile.
She stopped and lifted the needle off the turntable.
“I’m sorry…”
“Hey, it’s nothing. In another month I’ll be good as new. Still a little gimpy, that’s all.”
She sat down near him.
“Here’s to us,” she said, holding up her glass. When they tapped them, the fine glassware pinged like tiny bells.
“To us,” he echoed. “A month from now you can teach me to dance. Give me an excuse to come by.”
“You’ll never need an excuse, Brodie. Just show up. I’ll give you the key.”
Without looking at me, she said, “Do you know about these men?”
“I’ve met most of them,” I said. “Look, I’m not up here to give anybody grief, particularly a bunch of war heroes. I’m here because I’ve got a job to do and it involves murder and…”
