*
Hope got into his car and drove. There was one gun in the glovebox and another gun and a bulletproof vest in the boot. It somehow seemed to make traffic jams less dense. After all, how many battleships were lost to storms?
When Hope arrived at his office building, he left his weapons where they were, but made an effort to straighten his tie. He got out the car and paced through the security entrance to the elevators, his senses on alert, not entirely ready to trust the shadows in this new world.
At such an hour the elevators lay dormant and ready to serve. Hope rode one to the third floor and stepped out to the sight of Stacey Gurner standing by his office door. Her arms were folded and her gaze focussed. She had been expecting him. She looked good in her green blouse and ashen grey skirt - at the theatre he had not quite been able to realise how much. As he approached, she indicated to the sign on the blackened maple door.
‘Gentleman, it says. Can you prove it?’ She smiled and stepped into him.
14. ‘People spend money just to feel normal. Even when they don’t have any.’
It was drizzling in the Brooklyn slums. It was the kind of night when there was no doubting the nature of the woman standing out on the roadside in her long black coat and bright red stilettos. A lonely figure. George Hope and Stacey Gurner were watching her from Hope’s Ford parked across the street.
‘Slow night,’ sighed Stacey. ‘She’s already been there twenty minutes. Not even an umbrella to keep the rain off.’ She shook her head. ‘Is this what you normally take a date to do, to go hooker watching? It’s all very entertaining, but I’m getting hungry.’
‘It’s not her we’re here for. Her pimp will be lurking somewhere off the street. His name is Mervin Stanley. He keeps a closer watch on his girls than your average pimp.’
‘And you’re so impressed you want to invite dear Mervin to dinner?’
Hope smirked. ‘Three’s a crowd.’
The drizzle was getting thicker on the windows. The girl on the street was hunching over, starting to feel it.
Stacey was not taking her eyes off her. ‘How do you know she’s one of his girls anyway? You know your way around the prostitutes of Brooklyn?’
‘It’s the street she’s standing on. And the yellow scarf around her neck. It was a gift from a wealthy real estate mogul to his mistress.’
‘She being the mistress?’
‘No, the mistress was her mother. The mogul chose not to acknowledge the mistress or the child in any official sense. Not even by providing for them in his will. It took years for this result to play itself out, but here we are. The sad story of Lace Devine and her daughter Kay.’
Stacey took a cigarette out of her silver Dunhill case and lit it, sucking in the smoke and almost enough oxygen to put out the light at the other end. Then she exhaled. ‘Swell. It’s not a real estate mogul you’ve set me up with tomorrow, but he seems close enough. He’s in paper.’
‘The job description is secretary, not mistress,’ muttered Hope. ‘Mather Coape is alright. I don’t mean just reputable, because they’re all reputable. I mean, he’s alright. He’s offering a good steady job, and that’s the sort of thing that makes for a good steady life.’
Stacey leaned into him and said teasingly, ‘That’s something you’d want for me?’
Hope shrugged. ‘There are worse things.’
‘Yeah, like being hungry. And right now I’m starving.’ Stacey straightened up and opened her door.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To try the direct approach. Maybe she’ll just tell us which crack her man is hiding in, spare us from her shivering in the rain.’
‘No way,’ said Hope adamantly. ‘Mervin Stanley wouldn’t be worth his weight in salt if he weren’t able to put the fear of the devil into his workers.’
‘She wouldn’t talk to a cop, sure enough. And she wouldn’t talk to someone who even looked like he used the same aftershave as cops. But when two sisters get to talking it ain’t snitching, it’s good wholesome gossip.’ She was out of the car and smiled confidently back at Hope. ‘We’ll just see what we see.’
She walked a straight line to Kay Devine and immediately got her talking. The conversation went for only a few minutes but by the end of it Devine’s spirits had clearly been lifted, waving Stacey farewell with the slump lost from her shoulders and a card in her hand that Stacey had handed her.
Stacey marched straight back to the Ford and swung in. ‘Okay, let’s go eat.’
‘Really? You got something?’
‘I got his home address. And I’m not telling you it till after dessert. Keeping you in suspense will be good for your appetite. And a nice little guarantee it isn’t boiled eggs on the menu.’
Hope was staring at her. ‘She just came out and blurted the address of her fugitive pimp? That’s what passes for girly talk these days?’
‘Actually I made her a straight forward offer. Girl to girl. She lets me take care of her pimp and we help her get a real job. Charity is what I called it.’
Hope’s gaze narrowed. ‘What’s this real job you’ve got in mind?’
‘A steady job for a steady life. You said Mathew Coape needs a secretary; well, she’ll be at the interview tomorrow afternoon. I told her to make sure she wore her yellow scarf. I think it really suits her.’
Hope scratched his check, paused and scratched some more. ‘What are you going to do then? That job was for you. The most considerate, generous boss I know of.’
Stacey punched him on the arm. ‘I hope not. Don’t you see what’s happening? I’ve got a job. With a man who has a bed in his office but not a secretary. I’m working for you.’
Death of the Extremophile Page 12
