We had to wait for a table, and the one we got was out in the middle of the floor. The delay bothered me, but I told myself there wasn't really anything else for me to do back at the hotel. Olivia would be all right if she followed instructions, and it was better to let some time pass before we set up another meeting. I might as well be making sure this stray kid I'd involved in the game didn't cause us any official trouble.
"I'd like to go make repairs," Antoinette said after the headwaiter had made us comfortable and departed. "There's something about panic… I feel as if I'd come unraveled, just a little. Do you mind?"
I looked at her across the table. She was really an extremely pretty girl, but pretty wasn't quite the right word. It was an off-beat face, not quite symmetrical, with the heavy black eyebrows almost meeting over the straight little nose. I was betting on those individualistic eyebrows, and on the well-worn satin shoes. She probably wasn't starving, but she was a kid to whom an expensive meal in a fashionable restaurant meant something beyond food; and she was a kid who'd gamble recklessly and high to get it.
"No," I said. "I don't mind."
I watched her go off across the room, slim and straight in her shiny little dress. It was up to her now. There was nothing to be gained by wondering which way she'd turn; I'd know soon enough. There was not much to be gained by wondering what Olivia Mariassy was thinking after her humiliating experience in the Montclair bar, or what the bald man with the craggy face was doing. And there was certainly no profit at all in thinking about a woman who was dead, but I thought about her just the same. We'd had some good times together, Gail and I, even if she'd had too much money and Mac hadn't approved of her. I was going to have to get used to the idea that she wouldn't be around for me to call up when the job was over.
Then Antoinette Vail was returning, her hair very smooth and her lipstick quite perfect, and I rose to manipulate her chair like a gentleman. She smiled up at me as she seated herself.
"Well, there was one," she said.
"One what? Oh, you mean a phone?" I went back and sat down deliberately. I said, "I figured there would be. Did you use it?"
"Of course," she said. "The police don't want to make a fuss in here, but they'll be waiting when we leave. I told them you were armed and dangerous, so they'll probably shoot you down as you step into the street. But we can still have dinner first, can't we?"
"Sure," I said. "All the more reason to enjoy ourselves while we can. Take your choice. The sky's the limit."
She waved the menu aside. "I don't have to look. I want steak and champagne," she said. "It's square, it's corny, and they're not as good with steak here as with fish, but that's what I want. It makes me feel… luxurious. Paul?"
"Yes?"
"How did you know I wouldn't use the phone?"
I said, "You're not a cop-calling girl, Miss Vail. If you were that stuffy and conventional you'd pluck your eyebrows and wear a girdle."
She thought that over for a moment. "Well, I guess it makes sense, vaguely." She had another thought, and looked at me quickly across the table and grinned. "I was going to ask why you picked on me, back there at the Montclair. I guess you've just told me, indirectly, Mr. Paul Sharpeyes Corcoran."
"Sure. You have a beautiful little fanny, Miss Vail. It shows up particularly well on a bar stool. When I had to find a female companion in a hurry, who would I pick from that collection of bulging rumps? Who would any man pick? The corseted lady three stools down? Don't be silly."
Toni laughed and started to speak, but the waiter was hovering nearby, and she changed her mind. We went through the serious formality of ordering dinner. When the waiter had gone again, she leaned forward on her elbows comfortably.
"All right," she said, "let's hear them."
"Let's hear what?"
"The lies. About why you needed a female companion in a hurry. Make them good now."
"Sure," I said. "Well, there's the one about my meeting a married woman for a jazzy New Orleans weekend, and just as we were about to settle down for a drink, who should walk into the bar but her husband? He's a big tough guy. I don't want to tangle with him, and the lady doesn't want any nasty publicity, so I had to act quickly to make it look as if I didn't even know her."
Toni was wrinkling her nose distastefully and shaking her head. "That's not very original. You can do better."
"What's the matter with it?"
"Well, if you were just a weekend Romeo, you'd hardly be flashing a knife like that. And then there's the lady. I suppose you mean the dowdy one in tweed you pointed out as an amorous schoolteacher. She's hardly the type to be stepping out on her husband, if she has a husband; and even if she did want to flip, I can't see you as her partner in sin, Paul. I don't know what you are, but you're a little too smooth to fall for a creep in horn-rimmed glasses."
"Flattery will get you nowhere," I said. "I'm supplying only eats, drinks, and lies. Diamonds and furs you'll have to get elsewhere."
She laughed. "It isn't very nice to call a girl a gold-digger, even just by implication. You might hurt her feelings. No, I don't think much of that story. Try again."
"Well," I said, "how about this? You've heard of the Syndicate, I suppose. Well, I'm on the payroll, see, only I'm hiding out because the fuzz is after me, and I'm running short of the folding ready. So they send my moll with a fresh supply of green, and she's all done up with glasses and a kookie hairdo so nobody'll know her-she's a real dish, normally-but just as she's about to slip me the loot I see a cop come in and I know he's been tailing her. He doesn't know me by sight, and I've made a few changes since the descriptions went out, but I've only got a minute to… No?" I said. "You don't like that one, either?"
"No," she said. "I don't like that one, either."
I sighed. "Lady," I said, "you are very hard to suit. How about this? I'm a government man, see, and I've got a big deal cooking all about spies and saboteurs and stuff, only just as I'm about to make contact with one of my fellow agents, feminine gender, I see a man watching. He's got her spotted, obviously, but there's still hope that I can keep clear if I… No, that won't work."
She was looking at me intently. She touched her lips with her tongue. "Why not, Paul? Why won't it work?"
"Well, hell," I said, "if I were really a government man, I'd have identification, wouldn't I? I'd be just lousy with identification. Did you ever see a government man yet who wasn't ready to flash his buzzer at the drop of a hat?"
"And you haven't got identification?"
"Not the lousiest little bit, doll. I mean, Miss Vail. I'm the most unidentified man you ever saw, Miss Vail."
She said slowly, still watching me, "I think you're one of the cleverest men I ever saw, too, Paul." Her voice was cool. "You want something for nothing, don't you? Well, not for nothing. But for the price of a dinner you want silence and cooperation without committing yourself one tiny little bit. Do you think that's a fair deal?"
I shook my head. "No. Only a damn fool would buy a deal like that. Or a girl who likes steak and champagne and isn't scared of a touch of mystery."
There was a short silence. She reached out and placed her hand on top of mine. "All right," she breathed. "All right. If that's all you're going to tell me."
"I haven't told you anything, Miss Vail. Not a damn thing. Anything you want to guess is up to you, but it's strictly a guess."
"I'm not sure I want you for a friend," she said. "I'm not sure I trust you enough to call you friend." She patted my hand lightly, and sat back, smiling. Everything was settled in her mind, and she murmured, "But I think you'd better start calling me Toni just the same."
VI
SHE LIVED within walking distance of the restaurant, technically speaking, although I wouldn't have wanted to hike that far on a cool fall night in a thin dress and high heels.
But she was still young enough to feel that taxis were corny and walking was reckless and gay-or perhaps she just had some natural reservations about sharing a dark back seat wi
th me and my knife.
Anyway, coming out of the restaurant, I took off my suit coat and put it around her to keep her from freezing, and we hoofed it gaily through narrow streets with shabby old buildings, some with ornamental ironwork on windows and balconies, very picturesque if you like old architecture. I was more interested in the question of whether or not we were being tailed. On foot, in that ancient neighborhood of twisty little lanes, it was hard to tell. If somebody was shadowing us, he was good-but then he would be. That was his business, shadowing. That was why he'd been assigned to Olivia Mariassy in the first place.
Toni's room, apartment, studio, or pad-whatever they called it locally-was up two flights of narrow dusty stairs right under the roof. I couldn't help thinking it would be an oven in a New Orleans summer. She stopped on the landing and gave me back my coat.
"Thanks," she said. She found a key in her purse, unlocked the door, and looked up with her hand on the knob. She spoke in a voice from which all expression had been carefully removed. "Would you like to come in?"
I said, getting into my coat, "That's no way to put it, doll. You're not really concerned with my likes and dislikes, only with my intentions. Sure I'd like to come in. What do you think I am, a eunuch or something? But I'm not coming, thanks just the same."
She smiled faintly, as if she'd proved something about me, and maybe she had. "Why not?" she murmured. "Why the amazing display of self-control?"
"Because if I come in, you'll start wondering if I'm not really figuring you for a sucker or a tramp or both. Hell, you're wondering now, that's why you offered the invitation, isn't it? To see what kind of a slob I really am? But if I treat you with great respect, and just kiss you chastely here at the door and tear myself away, maybe I can make you remember me kindly in spite of the way we met."
She said, watching me, "Just how kindly do you want to be remembered, Paul?"
I said, "To be perfectly honest, I'd rather not be remembered at all, publicly at least. The little man who wasn't ever here, that's me."
"All right," she said. "But hardly little. All right. If that's what you want. I've had a lovely evening after all, and in return I'll follow any instructions you give me. That was the deal. But let's pass up the chaste and respectful kisses, shall we? I don't… don't like playing games with it, if you know what I mean." Her voice wasn't quite even at the end.
I looked at her for a moment, and I had the feeling you sometimes get in the business, that if you'd met somebody at a different time under different circumstances something might have come of the encounter, something you'd rather not think about since it wasn't going to happen.
"Sure," I said. "Anything you say, Toni."
She said quietly, "You're a very clever guy, aren't you? The funny thing is, you've almost got me convinced you're a pretty nice guy." She smiled crookedly. "I'll hold that thought as you walk away, Paul Corcoran, or whatever your real name is." There was a little pause while I turned toward the stairs. "Paul?"
I looked back. "Yes, Toni?"
"Good luck," she said softly. "Good luck with whatever you're doing, whoever you are."
Outside I drew a long breath and started up the street thinking it would be swell if wars were fought only by professional soldiers, and undercover operations involved only tough and unscrupulous agents who'd volunteered for the work. I'd used the kid cold-bloodedly to cover my interest in Olivia Mariassy, and she'd repaid me by calling me a pretty nice guy and wishing me luck. She was a bright kid and kind of a brave kid; and she thought she was experienced and sophisticated but she didn't really know the score.
I hoped she'd never learn it through anything I'd done, but there was no way of being sure of that. It's kind of like rabies, except that you don't have to bite anybody to pass it along. Just being seen with them can sometimes be enough. I remembered a case in which a small boy died, never mind where, because he'd politely picked up and returned a small package a lady had dropped-quite accidentally, as it happened, but the people watching her hadn't known that. They'd had to make sure.
Nobody followed me back to the hotel. I was quite certain of that, but the significance didn't strike me until I was crossing the lobby toward the elevators. Then I stopped abruptly with a cold feeling in my stomach, remembering that I'd had no such confidence when we reached Toni's place.
I stood there trying to remember and analyze my reactions. All the way from Antoine's to Toni's the warning signals had been flashing red on the control board. I might not have consciously seen, heard, smelled, or felt anything wrong, but the night had been faintly wrong behind me. From Toni's to the Montclair there had been nothing of the sort. Logic provided the answer: if somebody had followed me to Toni's, he was still there.
It was time for a careful review of the possibilities and their meanings. If our man had really followed me tonight instead of sticking with Olivia, this meant that my red-herring stunt hadn't worked. He'd seen enough of our clumsy meeting to want to investigate me further. And if he'd stuck with Toni instead of tailing me back to the hotel, this meant… I didn't know what it meant.
It was time to think hard and move slowly; it was time for great caution and thorough planning to retrieve, if possible, what could turn out to be a fatal mistake very early in the operation.
It was no time to consider small girls with black hair and unplucked eyebrows. As far as the job was concerned-as far as my duty was concerned-Antoinette Vail had either served a purpose or failed to serve it. Either way, what happened to her now was quite irrelevant.
Still, I told myself, I might learn something by going back, and the man with the craggy face couldn't be two places at once. If he had business with Antoinette, whatever it might me, he was for the moment no threat to Olivia. I could indulge my sentiment or curiosity or sense of responsibility a little. I could at least find out what had happened back there, if anything.
The cabbie I got had trouble with one-way streets, and it seemed a long time before I was again standing on the sidewalk in front of the three-story building. There was a light behind the drawn blinds of one of the dormer windows high above. Well, she'd told me she painted. She could have had a midnight burst of artistic inspiration, but it would have been more reassuring if the window had been dark, as if she'd gone right to sleep, tired after an exciting evening.
I went up the stairs fast without taking any of the precautions in the manual except to keep my hand on the little knife in my pants pocket. When I reached the third-floor landing I saw that the door was ajar, and I knew I'd come too late. I drew a long breath, pushed the door aside and stepped into the brightly lighted room.
It was a big place under the slanting eaves. At least the floor space was sizable; the ceiling space was less so. A skylight and the window presumably gave illumination by day. Now the light came from a couple of dangling bulbs without shades. There was an easel, but it had been knocked over. There were paints, and some pots of brushes, one of which had been spilled on the floor. There were stacks of canvases on stretchers, several of which had got knocked around. There was a table, stove, refrigerator, and sink; and there were several wooden chairs, some overturned, that looked as if they'd been picked up secondhand like the rest of the furniture.
A cot stood in the corner. It apparently had been shielded from the room by a painted screen, but this had been flung aside. On the cot, face down, lay a small, motionless, terribly disheveled figure, wearing only some torn, shiny pink stuff bunched about the hips and one laddered stocking. The other stocking, the pink satin pumps, and some scraps of undergarments were distributed about the floor with the painting debris. Her long white gloves were laid out neatly on the little, undisturbed table by the door, as if she'd just removed them, starting to undress, when somebody had knocked and she'd turned to answer…
I closed the door behind me and crossed the room. I had no real hope. I didn't speak because I didn't expect her to hear. I put my hand on her shoulder and was more startled than a man of my experience ought
to be when she stirred at the touch and sat up abruptly, tossing the tangled black hair out of her eyes.
"You," she whispered. "You!"
"Me," I said, withdrawing my hand.
"You came back," she whispered. "Well, I hope you're satisfied! He did a good job, didn't he? You must be very pleased! You've proved something, haven't you? I don't know what, but something. Oh, God, and I thought you were nice. Nice!"
After a little, indifferently, she pulled up a handful of the wrecked satin dress to cover her breasts, but not before I'd seen the ugly bruises. She had an incipient black eye and a cut lip. There was blood on her chin from the cut. But she was alive, I told myself. At least she was alive.
She licked her lips, touching the cut gingerly with her tongue. Her eyes, under the thick black brows, hated me.
"You creep!" she breathed. "You disgusting creep, with your knife and your kiss and your smooth, smooth line.
Oh, you were good, you were great, Mr. Corcoran. You had the little girl feeling all romantic and warm inside. Hell, there were tears in her eyes as she watched you go away down the stairs. And then the other man came, the one for whom you'd really been putting on the show all the time. Isn't that right? You didn't really give a damn about me; you were just using me. All the time it was an act for his benefit, wasn't it? In case you don't know, his name is Kroch, Karl Kroch. He told me to call you and tell you. Well, you're here, so I'm telling you. Now get out of here!"
"Kroch," I said. "Why did he want you to tell me?"
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