“Bet you didn’t know a certain unnamed city alderman of the 19th Ward was in the Big Dive while you were otherwise engaged with your sadomasochistic floozy.”
“It’s pretty clear you fingered the murderer, Grenadine.”
I didn’t answer him, partly because he was being flippant, but mostly because Kirk’s presence posed a riddle. He could’ve been following Starr and me, but it made more sense that he was hiding out in the Big Dive.
An overweight hulk pounded down to our private retreat. The outer door clanged open. Heavy footsteps entered the lockup and shuffled between the two rows of jail cells. “Starr! Up and at ’em!”
Starr stirred and shuffled up to the bars. “About time.”
The cop opened the cage with a rattle of keys. The cell door groaned open. Starr clomped across the cement floor. “Got the time?” he asked.
“Heavy date?”
“Ticket to the opera.”
“No shit. From the hot house to the opera house. Wait ’til I tell the guys.”
Pushing my nose between the bars, I shouted toward the end of the cellblock. “What about me!”
“Hear a ghost?” the cop said to Starr. “Place is haunted. Thousands down here. Especially the Screaming Mimi.”
“Ha-ha, very funny. I know it’s you Jack Turano.” I used to play hopscotch with his sister Connie.
“Hear something?” Turano said to Starr. “Like a leaky pipe?”
They laughed and dragged their feet toward the exit. The door banged shut with finality, leaving me alone with scurrying rats and disease-borne dampness. The cellblock grew colder. I hunched over knocking knees.
A half-hour later, somebody came for me. I recognized his ambling gait, the way he favored an old football injury, and the distinctive manner he cracked his neck when he had a headache. I was probably the source of his headache. When he looked at me through the steel bars, I shot him down with a stare of death. He let himself into the cell, took off his sports coat, and threw it over my shoulders. At this moment in time, kindness from Pennyroyal was the last thing I wanted.
“You’ll never get away with this,” I said to him. “Who called the cops on us, anyway?”
“Anonymous tipster. Said the murderer returned to the scene of the crime.” He slid a handkerchief from his back pocket, spit on a corner, and wiped what must have been a streak of grime from my forehead. “Instead, we busted a john and his hooker. All in all, not a bad day’s work.”
“This anonymous tipster? Male or female?”
“Male. Disguised his voice with a towel.”
“Kirk,” I said. “He was at the Big Dive.”
“You’re awfully cute when you get angry, doll face. Why I like to make you angry as often as possible.” He took me by surprise, lifted my chin with a gentle finger, and covered my mouth. At first, his kiss was slow and tender. Then it was deep and satisfying. When it ended, he let me think about it. The man could arouse me with a touch, even when I was boiling mad at him.
“Don’t call me doll face.” Reluctant to show him how miserable I was, I turned away from his probing eyes. “I’m tired. I want to go home.”
“I like your hair. Sexy as hell. Not to mention other parts.”
Even though he was a physical mess and needed an extended stay in a quiet institution with plenty of drugs and electroshock therapy, it was his hangdog expression—exemplified by his sunken eyes sockets—that made me want to hold him and make it all go away. Pennyroyal did that to women, brought out our maternal instincts.
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “I’m a scoundrel.”
My teeth chattered. I drew his sports coat closer around me. “When do I get out of here?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
He twirled a loose strand of my hair around his finger. “Tell me what the Li sisters told you, and the judge might go lenient on you.”
“Good try, but I didn’t do anything wrong.”
He kept twirling my hair while his eyes wandered over my body like a slow-moving tidal wave. “We have a sworn affidavit from a reliable witness that Starr forked over a hundred bucks for your personal services.”
“For a different lady.”
“A ménage à trois? Kinky.” He reached under the sports coat and rubbed my back in slow, warming circles. “I was sort of hoping you’d be wearing a G-string.”
“I don’t play guitar.”
“But you do play.” He wanted to make my cold rigid body melt beneath his. He wanted to remove the bobby pins, undo my hair, twist a handful of tendrils through his fingers, and bend my body beneath his. More than that, he wanted to knock the arrogance from the fierce set of my mouth.
“Depends on the tune,” I said.
His face was a breath away from mine. “Tell me what I want to know and I’ll play nice.” His mouth descended once more, his lips hot and his tongue talented.
I felt my thighs go slack, felt irrational lust build inside my chest, felt my head go dizzy with desire. I wasn’t going to let him play me for a fool again. I pushed him away and said, “You call this playing nice?”
He trapped my head between both hands. “John Grenadine may be as good as they say. Hell, he may be the best goddamn lawyer in town. But there’s no guarantee he can keep his youngest daughter from facing a solicitation charge.”
“What makes you all gooey with honey one minute, Pennyroyal, and a rat’s ass the next?”
“Go on,” he said, lowering his mouth. “Scream. No one will hear.” His lips latched onto mine. He wasn’t tender this time. He was mean and vindictive. I whined under the stink of stale cigarettes, the unwashed taste of gallons of coffee, and the frustration of a man unable to seduce an unwilling woman. He pulled his mouth away, only for an instant, and descended once more, consuming me. I moaned. This tiniest signal of surrender was a mistake. He took advantage of it, curling me against his body and wrapping both arms around me. I went limp inside his embrace. His hands were all over me. My hands were all over him. Our lips parted. Our breaths panted in unison. His smoldering eyes glared into mine. I seduced him with the promise of another kiss. He fell for it. And I clamped my teeth savagely on his lower lip.
Pennyroyal howled.
“Maybe,” I said, “someone can hear that.”
Chapter 24
WHEN RALPH SOUZA finally scraped a set of keys across the jail cell bars, I was curled up on the cot, fast asleep. “Time to awaken, Sleeping Beauty, and leave the castle keep for yon sunset. Your knight in shining armor awaits.”
Bleary eyed, I peered through the bars. “Is his name Michael Z. Berkowitz.”
“That’s the one. He doesn’t seem to be up to your standards.”
“You’d be surprised.” I sat up, stiff and achy, yawning and stretching. I needed a drink. I needed a bath. And I needed a change of clothes. “What time is it?”
“Late. Very, very late. Verity, the sun has almost set.”
“How’s Pennyroyal?”
“Since he’ll have to eat through a straw for the next two weeks, pretty steamed.” As we walked out of the lockup, he handed me a brown paper bag. “You’re gorgeous, but you might want to change before somebody jumps you.”
“Too late,” I said. My clothes and purse were packed neatly inside along with a note from the Li sisters. Very sorry, dear. Anytime you’re in the neighborhood, do drop by. Kind regards, Minna and Ada.
When I appeared, Michael Z. Berkowitz, Esquire removed his fedora. He studied my meager attire with a leering stare and grinned, as pleased as Michelangelo gazing at a finished work of art. Expectations clearly exceeded promise. Sobering up, he shook himself back to reality and concentrated on my vapid face instead of my pleasing figure. “You surprise me, Miss Grenadine. I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. If ever,” he added.
“You’re the only lawyer in town who likes me.”
He started to laugh but after hearing Souza’s cautioning grunt, hastily reconsidered. He cleared his th
roat like a kid. It was unclear whether he was more afraid of a scantily dressed woman or the playground bully watching over her. In an officious voice he said, “You’ll be pleased to know that all charges have been dropped.”
“That’s good.”
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“Pennyroyal wouldn’t want to explain how he mistreated his pretty prisoner. He’s a very practical man when it comes to things like that. Just think of the paperwork.”
He gave me a dubious glance from the corners of his eyes. “Why would he want to mistreat you?”
“To make me cooperate,” I explained, shrugging. “Give him information I didn’t want to give him.”
“I hesitate asking what kind of information.”
It was better to leave things unsaid, so I said nothing.
“The detective doesn’t strike me as being an unreasonable man.”
“You don’t know Pascal Pennyroyal like I know him. And anyway,” I said, folding the fingers of my right hand inward and studying the recent manicure. “I taught him a painful lesson he won’t soon forget.”
He considered my statement for a moment. “The split lip?”
I looked up. “Nothing gets past you, does it, Counselor?”
“Or surprises me. Except you, of course.”
“How flattering.”
Bent over a desk, he took care of the paperwork, dotting I’s and crossing T’s with efficiency while I looked over his shoulder. My nearness made him squirm and fidget. He kept shrugging into the shoulder pads of his charcoal-gray suit and tugging at the buttoned-down collar of his starched white shirt. But he didn’t sweat and he didn’t pant, two admirable qualities among many others. His hands were beautiful constructed, finely chiseled with graceful fingers and elegantly mobile as he signed this and looked over that. His profile was contemplative. His eyes focused. His shave close. His sideburns trim. Sweeping past his ears, his haircut was slightly long and ready for the barbershop. His mouth was soft and expressive. His eyelashes were thick and long, gently brushing the rise of his cheeks with each measured blink. His shaving cologne lingered like an aphrodisiac, even this late in the day. He was a fine specimen of a man, just not my kind of man. He was conservative and probably boring, though at the moment, he wasn’t boring me in the least.
Still looking down at the paperwork, he said, “Do you need a lift?” Smooth as a guitar chord strummed in the key of G, he added, “My car is right outside.”
“Make and model?” I asked.
He turned his head in mild curiosity but dutifully answered. “A ’54 Pontiac Star Chief. Why do you ask?”
“A 1950 Pontiac Catalina convertible would be more to my liking.”
Capping his fountain pen, he stood upright. “You’re a connoisseur of cars.”
“And of men. They have to go together like meat and potatoes. Without the potatoes, there’s only a slab of meat sitting on a cold, greasy plate.”
Ralphy grunted again, more forcefully. We both ignored him.
“What about the choice of wine in prelude to the meal and the sweetness of the dessert to follow?” Berkowitz asked.
“It rather depends on the vintage of the wine and the ingredients of the dessert.”
“I can also see you’re a woman of taste.” He reached for his brass-buckled briefcase and hefted it into the tight clutch of his hand. “The offer stands. The ride, I mean. No obligation, of course.”
“Your wife must be waiting dinner for you.”
“I live in a one-bedroom apartment.”
His response begged the question. “Alone?” I asked.
He moved his head back and forth while his eyes steadied on mine and held them in thrall. “With a pet bird.”
“What kind of bird?”
“A canary.”
“Does she sing?”
“On and off.”
“When she flies the coop, be sure to give me a jingle.”
A smile encircled his face. Dimples bracketed the corners. “Should you need my services again, Miss Grenadine, in any manner of speaking, you have my number. It’s been a distinct pleasure.” He tipped his hat and left through the connecting door into the sparsely populated waiting room. Souza had pushed the door open for him. As Berkowitz brushed past him, he delivered a subtle but meaningful bump that doubled the sergeant over and left him gasping for air. Casually, as if he had nowhere to go and nothing important to do, my lawyer friend exited through the front door, whistling into the night.
When Souza could breathe again, he sniggered, clearly tickled. Painfully he unfolded his large frame. He had met his match.
“It’s good to see you have a sense of humor about it.”
He sneered, showing his yellow teeth. “I’ll get back at him one day. And I’m a patient man.”
Fifteen minutes later, dressed once more in street clothes, I signed out my personal belongings. The property sergeant checked off the short list. “One ring. One necklace. One watch. Two earrings.”
I slipped on the jewelry and turned away. “Not so fast.” The sergeant reached under the counter. “And one kitty cat.”
The kitty yowled from being mishandled by his careless handler, but once I gathered him up, the furry beast settled into my arms and purred contentedly. It was my fate to have the same effect on all the stray men in my life. When I wheeled around, Pennyroyal was standing in the doorway, pressing an icepack to his lower lip. His eyes were glazed with pain and fatigue. Between the split lip and the lump on his forehead, he looked like hell. He held up a hand of truce. “It wasn’t personal, Iris. Just doing my job.”
“Do you make a play for all the suspects you take in?”
“Only you.” He tried to smile, but a grimace materialized instead. When we reached his office, he held the door open for me. Since manners were never his strong suit, I was unsure of what I would find on the other side. I stepped through.
Two prim Chinese ladies were seated on adjacent chairs. “Miss Minna,” I said. “Miss Ada.”
The sisters rose to their feet. Minna looked to her sister to begin.
“Another one of our girls has gone missing,” Ada said.
Minna glanced at Pennyroyal with a disparaging eye. “We thought you should know.”
“In fact, we insisted,” Ada said.
“Since you were so concerned about our dear Crystal,” Minna said.
“Someone should be.” Ada avoided looking at Pennyroyal. “Since the police arrest our girls left and right, and don’t give a damn about them otherwise.”
Pennyroyal frowned. He really was a sensitive guy. He just didn’t want anybody to know he had a softer side. It was a cop thing. And a guy thing.
“Except,” Minna said, “when they get a tip in the middle of the night that one of our johns has been shot dead.”
“An entirely false report, I might add,” Ada said.
“Tip?” I asked casually.
Ada nodded. “Detective Pennyroyal could have saved himself the trip since Mr. Byrnes was eventually found resting in peace at the Harmon Hotel nearly twelve hours after the police banged down our door.”
“I see,” I said, figuring out that Pennyroyal had more than enough time to give a heads-up to the mayor and bring Starr onboard for damage control. “I take it you didn’t tell him what you told me ... about ... well ... Crystal and the intruder.”
“Did we tell you anything, dear?” Ada said, tapping her lips. “I don’t recall.”
“Of course,” Minna said, “if such a tragic incident had happened on our premises, which it didn’t, we would’ve cooperated with the police, if only they weren’t always rousting our girls.”
Pennyroyal slumped.
“And if a tragic incident, as you say, had happened, who could’ve given Detective Pennyroyal the tip?”
“More than likely one of our girls,” Minna said.
“Every now and then,” Ada said, “Mr. Hotshot Detective recruits one of them as an informant.”
&
nbsp; “In exchange for getting an out-of-jail card,” Minna explained.
Pennyroyal was squirming.
“If a girl doesn’t get arrested for several months,” Ada said, “we start watching her very closely. Joe usually takes care of the situation.”
Pennyroyal’s slouch revealed stressful days and sleepless nights. I almost felt sorry for the guy. Almost, but not quite.
“And the girl who’s missing?” I asked.
Minna scratched the back of her hand. “She was a new hire.”
“Her dayroom was right next door to Crystal’s,” Ada added.
Chapter 25
STARR WAS WAITING for me in his convertible, ragtop popped, engine idling, and vocal chords crooning off-key. He reached over and pushed open the passenger-side door. “Care for a night at the opera?”
“What’s on tap?”
“La Bohème.”
“I’ve seen it, but what the hell.” The cat circled three times and curled into a contented heap of fur. Green-eyed with envy, Starr scowled at the kitty. He probably wanted to curl up in the same spot. He reached over to pet the beast, but the cat hissed. With a philosophical shrug, Starr put the Buick into gear and sped away.
The sun hung low in the sky. The unrelenting heat of day was giving way to mugginess. The McGuire Sisters sang Sincerely over the radio. I checked out the Super Convertible’s shiny toys and doodads. Played with the electric windows. Rifled through the glove compartment. Flipped down the visor mirror. “What’s that?” I said, pointing to a pushbutton on the floor.
Starr used the toe of his shoe to switch radio stations. “Hands free.” He hopped over to Michigan Avenue. Night was descending. The city lights stayed with us. Wind blowing through the open top could convince anyone that life, despite its occasional frustrations—like being locked up in a jail cell—was indeed good.
“A girl from the Big Dive is missing,” I told him. “She started with the Li sisters last week. Took the dayroom next to Crystal’s. Called herself Persia Delight. Get it? Purr-sia?”
He glanced at the kitty cat.
The Green-Eyed Dick Page 17
