A Girl Like You

by Michelle Cox

  “You’re disgusting!” Henrietta said loudly, though inside a desperate panic had begun to radiate through her. She wasn’t even sure she could move. There was no one to save her now. “You won’t get away with this, you know!” she said, trying to sound brave.

  Larry laughed. “Oh, very good.”

  “I know you killed Libby and Iris! You won’t get away with that, either!”

  “Seems I already have, my dear. And don’t worry, I’ll get away with this as well. Though I’ll try not to let it go too far as it did with those two. I got a bit carried away with them. But you,” he quavered, “I’d rather like to keep you around. Once won’t be enough, I don’t think,” he said, reaching out and gripping her face with one hand, again revealing his raw brutality. “Get the car,” he growled to Carlo, the quick change of tone to one of viciousness causing Henrietta to jump. Carlo immediately faded into the shadows that were growing all around them, Larry watching him go.

  As he did so, Henrietta took the one second he was distracted by watching Carlo go and bit the hand that held her face, causing Larry to cry out in pain.

  “Bitch!” he said, lifting his arm to backhand her. Instinctively, she turned her face and shut her eyes to absorb the blow, but instead she heard the hammer of a pistol being cocked.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” came a deep voice beside her. She opened her eyes to see Clive standing next to Larry with the pistol to his head. “Take a step back from the girl,” Clive said evenly, keeping the gun at Larry’s temple as he slowly obeyed. Henrietta felt relief flood through her, but she remained frozen, unable to move as she tried to take in the fact that Clive was really standing there. Everything seemed to happen at once then, cops appearing out of nowhere, running toward the scene. Two of them grabbed Larry on either side and another had him covered with a shotgun. Two more came up dragging Carlo.

  “Got him, boss!” they said gruffly. Carlo’s head hung down as they dragged him along as if he had already been struck several times by his captors.

  “Get him in the wagon,” he shouted to them, “and take him downtown. You know what to do.”

  He turned his attention, then, slowly back to Larry. “Thought I’d find you here,” Clive said calmly as he put his pistol back in his jacket holster. “You and your cockroach.”

  “I ain’t afraid of you, copper. I’ll be out before you get this one knocked up,” he said, grinning wickedly at Henrietta. With a nod from Clive, one of the cops rapidly punched him in the gut, causing Larry to double over. Roughly they yanked his head up by the hair, then, and Henrietta winced when Clive punched him so hard in the face that blood exploded from Larry’s nose. She thought she might be ill. Clive stepped back calmly, though his breath was ragged. “Don’t you ever talk to her again. Don’t even look at her!” he said commandingly. “And you won’t be getting out. You’ll hang for the murder of two innocent girls.”

  Larry struggled to stand. Though blood was pouring from what looked like a broken nose, he attempted a laugh. “They weren’t so innocent, believe me.” One of the cops punched him in the gut again. Clive watched him struggle.

  “You’re playing with the big boys now, copper,” Larry sputtered, “and you’ll live to regret it. Don’t think the mob won’t come after you for this. If I go down, you’ll attract their attention.”

  “Oh, don’t worry; I intend to,” Clive said, regarding him coolly. “I’m not afraid of you. Take him away,” he said, nodding toward the paddy wagon. He watched them drag Larry off a few paces before turning to Henrietta, who, in truth, felt she might collapse at any moment. The residual terror she felt coupled with an overwhelming sense of relief made her legs feel weak. In fact, Clive caught her just as she was beginning to sink. “Miss Von Harmon . . . Henrietta . . . ” he said gently, putting his arms around her. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head, unable to speak just yet, and he cradled her to him, burying his face in her hair and kissing her head softly as she began to cry. “Shhh . . . It’s all over now,” he said as gently, as if he were comforting a child. “I’m so terribly sorry you had to go through this, but I didn’t see any other way. I had to make sure he was out of the picture for good, that you were safe.”

  Slowly she pulled back from him. “You knew? What do you mean? You knew he was still after me?” She reached in her pocket for a handkerchief, but found none. Clive handed her a clean white one from his breast pocket and led her to the bench, which she sunk down onto. There were still cops scurrying to and fro, and Henrietta saw Jones signal to Clive from a little ways off.

  “One moment,” he said, holding up his finger to her, and strode over to where Jones stood. Clive tipped his hat back and rubbed his chin as Jones spoke to him in low tones, gesturing out across the park. Clive nodded, pointed back toward the cars and then Jones ran off again.

  Clive walked slowly back to where Henrietta sat huddled. He sat down beside her, resting his arm along the back of the bench. “I wasn’t sure, but I had a hunch,” he said, taking up the conversation as if he’d never left. “We had Carlo in custody, but we knew if we let him out, he’d eventually lead us back to Neptune. Sure enough, he did. I put it out that I’d left the state in search of Miss Shoemacher, hoping they’d make a move.”

  “So you didn’t really find Polly?” Henrietta interrupted, earnestly studying his face and noticing for the first time the heavy bruising that still haunted his left eye.

  “I sent Jones down. First-rate sergeant, he is. Needs experience, though. He found her, like Clancy told you, with her aunt. But none too soon, actually. Jones and the local authorities found some suspicious characters hanging about whom they had to round up. No doubt in Neptune’s pay. Meanwhile, in custody, Alice Jenkins confessed that Mama Leone was indeed a supplier for Neptune’s prostitution ring. That’s how they got Libby and then this Iris. Polly got suspicious like she said, and started snooping around.”

  “But surely Polly didn’t kill Mama Leone?” Henrietta simply couldn’t believe that.

  “No, it wasn’t Polly. She was planning to threaten her maybe, but it seems that Mama Leone was blackmailing Neptune, or attempting to anyway, saying she’d go to the police and spill the beans if they didn’t pay her more cash than they already did. So Neptune sent guys to bump her off. Unfortunately, both Polly and Mickey witnessed it, so the search was on. Polly realized they were in danger, so she tried to find Mickey, but it was too late. That’s when she decided to flee. It would have just been a matter of time before they found her. They almost did, really, except that Jones got there first.”

  Henrietta stared straight ahead. It was a lot to take in and sort through. “But . . . we . . . we don’t know for sure that Libby and Iris are dead?” she said hopefully, forgetting that Larry had basically just confessed to it. “Perhaps they ran away, too!”

  Clive looked at her, his eyes full of compassion. “I’m afraid they really are dead,” he said patiently. “Alice Jenkins told us where to look. They were both buried out back behind the Marlowe. My suspicions were first aroused when you told me about the tunnels. It was a hasty, slipshod job. Apparently they were afraid to throw the bodies in the river in case they floated up downstream somewhere. I’m sorry, Henrietta,” he said, putting his arm around her now as she buried her face in her hands, crying again. The strain was becoming too much. Quietly she cried for a few moments until she became conscious that he was holding her and sat up straight, then, trying to collect herself.

  “So who actually killed Mama Leone?” she finally asked.

  “Jenkins says it was Carlo and another bouncer, Frankie,” he said, gradually releasing her, “though they’re not admitting to anything just yet.”

  “Then why let Carlo go?” Henrietta asked, confused.

  “Because we figured he’d do something stupid, which he did. Instead of laying low, he weaseled his way back to Neptune who, it seems, didn’t want to disappear into the woodwork without taking you with him. It was simply a matte
r of me following him.”

  “But . . . but I thought Clancy said you had a guy following me,” she said, muddled.

  “Correct. That would be me,” he grinned.

  “You? You’ve been following me for weeks and never let on?”

  “Well, that would hardly have been effective, now would it?”

  They were alone now in the park, the rest of the cops having finally dissipated back toward the waiting cars and the station under Jones’s direction. A quiet stillness had returned as if the police raid had never even occurred. Henrietta looked up at him hesitantly. “But I . . . I was . . . I thought you’d forgotten about me, or . . . ”

  “Didn’t Clancy give you the message?” he asked worriedly. “I had to stage him taking your statement, you see. My God, he gets everything wrong! How he ever made the force, I’ll never know,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “He was supposed to tell you that I would contact you soon.”

  “Well, he did . . . honestly . . . but I . . . ” she looked at the ground and then up into his hazel eyes. “I was starting to think that perhaps you hadn’t really meant everything you said that night . . . that it was just the heat of the moment, or that maybe you regretted it,” she faltered and searched his eyes. Finally she spoke again. “Was there another reason why you stayed away?” she asked faintly.

  “Can’t you guess it?” he asked, reaching out and tenderly caressing the side of her cheek. At his touch, she felt a shiver run through her. The fact that he could be so commanding, so severe, even violent, with his enemies but so very tender with her was wildly attractive to Henrietta. As she sat, vulnerable, gazing up at him now, he leaned across and softly kissed her, and she didn’t resist. Emboldened, he kissed her again, harder this time, breathing deeply as he did so. Without thinking about it, Henrietta felt her body arch toward him, wanting to be closer to him, to melt together with him. His arms went around her, and he held her close to him as his lips left hers and began to travel instead across her cheek and then her neck. “Oh, Henrietta,” he whispered into her hair.

  He pulled back then, his eyes lingering on hers. “I was sincere in every word I said that night. And yes, perhaps I did stay away for another reason,” he paused, taking a deep breath. “The truth is that I’m afraid of how much I love you. God knows I’ve tried to fight against it,” he hurried on. “But I think I’ve loved you since that first dance at the Promenade. I kept telling myself that you were too young, too beautiful for someone like me, and I tried to hide my feelings for you, but, my God, it was hard. But then, the night at the Marlowe, when you said that you could have fallen in love with me, I. . . .” He paused here as if thinking. “I suppose I stayed away because I worried about what might happen next . . . that we might really be in love. . . . ”

  “Why is that a bad thing?” she asked, nearly inaudibly, fearing she already knew the answer.

  He looked at her then with such wistful yearning. “Because I’m not right for you. I’m too old, for one thing . . . ”

  “How old is too old?” she asked apprehensively.

  “Thirty-five,” he said with one eyebrow arched.

  “That’s not too old,” she said, smiling shyly. For once, she had guessed correctly.

  His gaze lingered on her again before he looked away. “It’s not just that, it’s . . . there are other things you don’t know about me,” he continued, hesitantly.

  “Such as . . . ?” she tried leading him, but he was silent. “Do you mean about your wife?” she asked quietly. She felt his body tense, then, and immediately regretted asking him about it, but she knew it would have to be said at some point.

  “How?” he asked, stunned. Before she could explain, however, he had answered his own question. “It was Clancy, wasn’t it?” he asked tiredly.

  “Well . . . ”

  “I really am going to kill him,” he mumbled disgustedly.

  “Oh, please don’t! He didn’t mean to! He’s terrified you’ll put him on traffic duty,” she said earnestly.

  “Did he tell you everything? About the baby, too?”

  “He did, yes,” she said softly. “But perhaps you should tell me,” she suggested, timidly touching his rough cheek. “I’m . . . I’m sure you loved her.”

  His eyes closed at her gentle touch and sighed. “I did. Yes. Very much. But I was very young then, and our time together was very short. It was before the war. When I came back, wounded, I was told they had both died.”

  Henrietta reached out and took his hand. “I’m so sorry, Clive. Really I am. It must have been terrible for you.”

  “Yes, it was for a long time. But life goes on, even though you don’t want it to, and one day you find you’re not . . . not quite so sad as you were the day before.” He wavered for a moment, thinking, before he plunged ahead. “You know it all now, I suppose. I’m older than you, I’ve been married, fathered a child,” he said, looking down at the ground and then back to her. “I’ve lived through the war, had my shoulder nearly blown off. I’m growing old and cynical, if you must know the truth. I’m not right for you in countless ways, and yet I can’t seem to stop myself from loving you.”

  Whatever doubts Henrietta had had before, they were slipping away now as she listened to him pour out his heart to her. His urgency and his need were almost overwhelming in their intensity, so much so that she could barely take it all in. She looked away, but he put his finger under her chin and gently drew her gaze to him. “For what it’s worth, I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone; I swear it,” he entreated quietly.

  Henrietta felt her heart melting; none of the objections he had put forward seemed to matter to her. All she wanted was to be with this man. “I love you, too, Inspector Howard,” she whispered back. “I always have.”

  At this, Clive let out a rasping sort of noise, almost as if he were choking, and squeezed the hand he still held. “Oh, Henrietta, is it wrong to love you this much?” he asked, his voice strained. Without waiting for an answer, he went on. “Marry me,” he said slowly, taking her other hand in his and studying her eyes intently. “Will you do me the honor of being my wife? Please say yes, Henrietta. I promise to make you happy; at least let me try.”

  “Oh, Clive,” Henrietta said, her own voice catching. Her love for him in this moment was difficult to contain, and she could hardly believe what was unfolding. It was all so sudden, and it scared her a bit. “Clive,” she began again. “We don’t know each other very well, not really. Are you sure? Sure you want a girl like me? I’m not exactly respectable,” her voice quavered. “My father . . . ”

  “Yes, I know all about that,” he said, caressing her hand with his finger. “I’ve done some investigating, and I’m very sorry for what you must have suffered,” he said, looking at her now with genuine sympathy.

  She was so taken aback by his tenderness regarding her father’s shameful act, something she was never allowed to speak about, that a small tear escaped her eye, and she had to bite her lip, fiercely, to keep from crying.

  “Whatever was the source of, or the result of, your father’s despair, it is not for you to feel ashamed,” he said lovingly.

  She began crying in earnest now, and he swiftly reached for a fresh handkerchief and upon taking it out, delicately wiped her tears for her.

  “Of course I’m sure about you,” he said earnestly. “Henrietta, I need you. I’ve been so empty for such a long time, and there’s nothing left now for me but to love you. I don’t care about anything in your past. I’m asking you to be my wife,” he said, tracing the line of her jaw with his finger. “If you’ll have me, that is, such as I am. He searched her eyes again, almost desperately. “Will you marry me?”

  With a bleary smile, Henrietta grasped the hand so very near her face. She wanted to give herself, all of herself, to this good man sitting before her, and just as he had wiped away her past almost as he had wiped her tears, she, too, wiped his past from her mind. “Yes, Clive, I will marry you,” she said, looking st
eadily into his eyes and smiling gratefully, her heart bursting with love for him.

  “Oh, Henrietta,” he whispered as he leaned closer to her. “I promise to make you happy. I want to take all of your burdens away from you, if you will let me.” He kissed her lips now, and the electric current that surged between them was palpable. Clive felt a passion erupt in him as he held her now, so long had it lain dormant, and it didn’t help that the adrenaline was still coursing through his body from his encounter with Neptune. Normally he could maintain his composure, though in this moment with Henrietta he felt dangerously out of control. To his surprise she responded in kind, tentatively putting her hand behind his head as his arms encircled her, and running her fingers through his hair, electrifying him all the more. He began to kiss her deeply now, more fervently than he ever had before, trying to take her all in.

  As Clive began to cover her neck with kisses until she gasped, Henrietta’s heart was racing and a warmth had begun to spread like fire through her. She had never felt quite like this before. As his fingers found her top button and deftly undid it, she could not help but to elicit small murmurs, his kisses continuing down her chest, inching lower and lower until they reached the swell of her breast. His hands began to travel over her body now, and she gasped anew when she felt his hand reach under her skirt, gently parting her legs. The passion wrought in his kisses and his touch overwhelmed her, but it scared her, too, despite the exquisite pleasure she was feeling. She was afraid of how pleasurable it was, of how much she didn’t want him to stop, but a warning bell went off in her mind as she realized suddenly that this wasn’t how she wanted it to happen, that this wasn’t what she had always believed herself to be, even if now, in Clive’s arms, wanting more than anything to be loved by him in this way. Somehow she understood that she had reached her own moment of crisis where she would be defined if not by him, then by herself, and she did not want to be the woman her mother imagined her to be.

  “Clive . . . ” she whispered urgently.