by Alice Orr
“I really am hungry,” she said, as enthusiastic as if she’d just been ushered to a number one table at the Waldorf-Astoria instead of a greasy spoon in a dingy neighborhood on the wrong side of the tracks Manhattan-style.
Two plastic-covered menus had been stuck in against the wall behind the salt and pepper shakers and the napkin dispenser. She pulled them out and handed one across the table to him. She opened hers and scanned the contents eagerly.
“I just might be hungry enough for one of each,” she said.
“You should be careful what you order in a place like this,” he warned.
“What harm can possibly come from a scrambled egg?”
“You’d be surprised.”
The waitress had sauntered over by then and was giving Bennett the once-over in a not-too-friendly way. That was another thing Memphis had seen women do, especially when they came upon another female who looked as good as Bennett did tonight. She smiled back a little bit too sweetly for the street-savvy way she was dressed.
“I’ll have a large orange juice, three eggs scrambled, ham, home fries and coffee,” she said.
“Do you always eat so much?” Memphis asked.
“No, but you seem to have worked up my appetite,” Bennett answered with that same sweet smile.
“I’ll bet,” the waitress murmured in a sarcastic tone that made her meaning all too clear.
“You just bet on how fast you can bring two of those orders.” Memphis gave her a hard look that made his meaning equally clear.
“We’ve got to talk,” he said to Bennett after the waitress had shrugged once and sauntered off. “Like I told you before, this isn’t a game we’re playing. The stakes are way too serious for that.”
Bennett stopped smiling. “I know,” she said. “I’m very aware of what is at stake here.”
Of course she was. He hadn’t meant to insult her intelligence. “It’s just that you almost seem to be enjoying yourself, dressing up like somebody else and all.”
“Didn’t you ever want to get out of yourself and be another person for a while?”
Memphis sighed deeply, as if the weight on his chest were about to suffocate him. “The way things are going, I wouldn’t mind doing that right now.”
She reached across the table and put her hand over his. He felt her touch like an electric jolt so sharp he almost pulled away. He tried to tell himself that had happened only because he wasn’t expecting her to put her hands on him.
“Everything’s going to work out,” she said in such a comforting tone he could almost believe her. “Together we’re going to find out what’s going on here and what to do about it. I promise you that.”
Memphis wasn’t used to having a woman reassure him this way. It occurred to him that he ought to say something macho and in control, but he was fresh out of thoughts of that type for the time being.
“In the meantime, I have to confess that you’re right,” she added. “I have been enjoying this experience in a way, at least the part of it since we left the hotel. In fact, maybe I enjoyed what went on there, too.”
“You liked getting roughed up by thugs?”
“I liked being out on the edge for a change. When I was on that fire escape crouched under the window listening to those hoods talk about what they had in mind for us, it was the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in years.” The color had come up in her cheeks again, two bright spots of pink against the creamy pale of her skin. “And when we fought those two off, I felt I could do anything I had to do. I was strong and free and taking care of myself.”
Memphis stared into her eyes. He could see the excitement shining there, exactly what she was talking about. That sparkle excited him, too. He wanted to take her in his arms and show her what real fireworks they could make together. He also wanted to take her by the arms and shake her.
“Listen here, Bennett. If you’ve got the crazy notion that taking a chance on having some creep in a fleabag hotel blow your head off is a thrill, then you need to do some serious thinking about what’s wrong with your life.”
“I was doing exactly that before I first met you tonight. I’ve even wondered if I might have conjured you up, made you happen.”
“See what I mean? Crazy notions.” Memphis sounded as exasperated as he felt. He was thinking that maybe he had better cut her loose, for his own good, as well as hers.
Her hand was still on top of his. She fitted her fingers through his now and squeezed. “I’m not what you think I am, Memphis,” she said softly. “That side of me you met at the Stuyvesant is a surface I put on. The truth is that the real me is closer than you can imagine to what you’re looking at right now.”
Memphis was so thrown off course by the way she was clutching his hand that it took him a minute to register what she’d said. She went on talking.
“It’s as if we each have a number of possible selves inside us, some we live sometimes, others we live at other times. Some are more comfortable, more natural than others. I tried to be my wild self once upon a time, but I was too young to handle it and I’d hooked myself up with the wrong kind of person, as well.”
Memphis was surprised to hear her echoing thoughts so much like his own, and excited, too. “I’ve got those opposite parts inside me, too. They go at each other so hard sometimes, I think they might pull me apart. But we can’t be pulled apart like that tonight, not either of us. We’ve got guys after us with guns, and those guys are on both sides of the law.”
“I know that, and you can rest assured I also know the seriousness of our dilemma. This is definitely not a game to me, and I wouldn’t stay with you if I thought my presence might bring you harm. On the contrary. I think I can help you. I hope you will let me.”
She was looking so deeply into his eyes she felt she might be able to see clear down to his soul. The waitress had returned with two cups of coffee, but neither Memphis nor Bennett seemed to notice. He put his other hand on top of hers and wished that he might never have to let go.
RUDY WAS ONLY HALF SORRY for Nick and his bruises. That little lady had sure done a number on him with those pieces of bed sheet. He’d been talking hoarse, when he talked at all, ever since they left that rattrap hotel. He was also redhot mad, so Rudy was keeping his distance and driving, that’s all.
“You’d better find those two real soon, or I’ll know the reason why,” Nick said for about the half-dozenth time since they’d started driving up and down the mid West Side.
“I’m doing the best I can,” Rudy said. “We don’t exactly have much to go on here.”
“We got what we got. You’d better find him anyway.”
“Look, Nick. Falcone told us where they’re probably headed. I say we go there and wait for them to show up.”
“You say? What makes you think I give a damn what you say?”
Nick’s forehead had turned so boiling red it was hard to tell where his face ended and his hairline began. His eyes were bugged out, too. He looked like he just might explode any minute. Otherwise, Rudy wouldn’t have let a remark like that last one go by so easy. He knew how much trouble Nick could be when he got a mad on. Rudy didn’t want any more trouble tonight than they already had, which was plenty. For that reason and that reason only, he kept his mouth shut, but it wasn’t easy.
“I got no intention of chilling my heels waiting for nobody,” Nick was saying, grumbling almost to himself as he leaned forward in the seat to peer through the windshield at the passing street scene.
Rudy had been keeping at cruise speed as much as he could manage, but that wasn’t easy to do in Manhattan traffic.
“Slow it down, fool,” Nick snapped. “I can’t see nothing.”
Rudy sighed. Maybe that’s ‘cause there’s nothing to see, he said to himself as he slowed down and waved at the cars behind him to go past. He didn’t much care for being passed by other cars. That’s how come he made such a good wheel man. He was getting to like this job less every minute.
�
�I see him,” Nick yelled out, “and he’s mine.”
He had the door open and was ready to jump out almost before Rudy could edge the car toward the curb. He squinted through the windshield, trying to pick out who it was Nick had seen. He spotted a guy in a leather jacket. Dark hair, burly build. It could be this Modine character. Rudy shoved the car into neutral and kept it at idle while Nick bounded out of the car and darted between two parked cars up onto the sidewalk. He pushed past a couple of people on his way to the guy in leather. They turned to look at him then moved on fast the way they’d been headed. The hate in Nick’s face was likely to make anybody want to run away. Rudy wished Nick would calm down a little. It wasn’t good to attract too much attention, especially when you had it in mind to take a guy out.
Nick was right behind the guy in leather now. Nick grabbed the guy by the arm. Rudy would have bet a bundle that Nick had a gun in his other hand. Rudy got ready to take off fast in case Nick did something that required a quick getaway. Normally he would have smarts enough not to try anything too drastic on a crowded street like this. The mood Nick was in right now, who could tell whether his smarts would be working or not.
Rudy watched the guy’s arm go up in the air as Nick spun him around. Something about the way the guy did that put Rudy on alert. For a minute, he wasn’t sure what for. Then it struck him. This was the wrong guy. He’d flung his arm up like that in a defensive move, to hide behind it. Rudy’d seen enough of Modine in action in that hotel room to know this wouldn’t be what he’d do. He wouldn’t hide behind nothing. He’d come on strong. Even Falcone had said that about Modine. He had to be watched out for because he came on strong.
Sure enough. When Nick got this guy in the leather jacket turned around so he was facing the street, Rudy could tell right off it wasn’t Modine. Nick looked like he was about to clobber him anyway. He still had hold of his arm and was glaring into the poor guy’s face, which had turned as white as Nick’s was red. Rudy was arguing with himself about whether he’d better haul himself out of the car and break things up before Nick made such a big stink in the street that the cops got called in. Rudy’d just about decided he had to do that, like it or not, when Nick finally let loose of the guy, gave him one last nasty look and headed back toward the car.
“You sure scared that poor sap out of ten years’ growth,” Rudy said as Nick jumped into the car and slammed the door way too hard behind him.
Usually Rudy would’ve had something to say about how he hated it when somebody treated his automobile that way. Since Nick really seemed to be at flash point now, Rudy buttoned his lip one more time.
“I’ll scare somebody a lot worse than that before this night’s finished,” Nick said between gritted teeth.
You’re close to scaring me, Rudy thought. He didn’t say that or anything else out loud as he maneuvered the sedan into traffic as fast as he could to get away from the nosy bystanders on the street who were watching the car with too much interest.
“Get back to Ninth Avenue,” Nick barked.
“We already did Ninth Avenue twice.” Rudy was getting a little fed up with Nick acting like the drill sergeant in charge of this operation.
“I don’t care if we did it a hundred times. We’re doing it again.”
Nick was twisted around in the seat so that his jacket bunched around his shoulder holster and what was in it. Nick was a hothead, all right, and hotheads shouldn’t be allowed to play with guns. A hothead just might shoot before he had a chance to think. Rudy, on the other hand, was a cool head. He flicked on the left-hand turn signal and headed for Ninth Avenue.
Chapter Thirteen
“Where are we going?” Bennett had lost track of how many times she’d asked him the same thing tonight. “I know you want to keep your destination to yourself, but maybe if you told me I could help us get there.”
Memphis looked at her with wariness in his eyes. He obviously still didn’t know if he should trust her. She wasn’t sure if he should trust her, either. She wasn’t being completely up-front with him after all. She hadn’t told him about the car phone signal, and she wasn’t sure she ever would, but she needed to know his plans. She could barely stand running around Manhattan like this with no idea whatsoever where she was headed. Dilys St. Simon’s daughter had to be more on top of things than that.
“We’re going to South Street Seaport,” Memphis said with the suddenness and resignation of someone who has just made a risky decision.
“What’s down there?”
Bennett had been to a benefit gala on one of the vintage tall ships that was docked at the seaport as part of the marine museum’s permanent exhibit. She’d had a lovely time. She could still remember the sound of the harbor breeze blowing through the rigging.
“My crew mates,” Modine said. “They’re on the boat we docked this afternoon.”
“And you think they will be able to help you.”
“I think they’ll try.”
“I see.” Bennett had the feeling that just trying wouldn’t be enough to get him out of this mess, which had become her mess, as well.
“I haven’t got a chance of working this thing out by myself,” Memphis said.
“I’m here.”
“Yeah. So you are.” There was that suspicious tone and wary look again. “But for how long?”
Bennett didn’t answer that. “May I make a suggestion?” she asked.
“Go ahead.”
“Sit down here for a minute.” She took his arm and steered him toward an empty stoop leading up to a heavy, red door. His hard muscles beneath her touch made her heart quicken. She had to remind herself to concentrate on the task at hand.
He hung back. “We need to keep moving.”
“A couple of minutes won’t matter.” She pulled harder on his arm. “I want your full attention.”
Memphis shrugged and let her lead him to the stoop. He sat down on the cement steps. When he was settled and watching her intently, she positioned herself squarely in front of him.
“I think you should try to get yourself out of this predicament instead of running away from it.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“Well, I don’t have all of it worked out yet, but I think you should try to find out who did murder that girl in the billiard room.”
“Pearlanne Fellows.”
“What?”
“Pearlanne Fellows. That’s the name of the girl in the billiard room.”
“I thought you said you didn’t know her.”
“I don’t.”
Bennett was beginning to feel confused. “Then how do you know her name?”
“I found it in her purse.”
“When did you do that?” Bennett suddenly realized that he’d been keeping secrets from her, too.
“Just before you came barging in.”
Bennett let that sink in for a minute. Had he been going through the dead woman’s purse out of curiosity or because he’d just killed her and wanted to rob her, too?
“Is that all you found?”
“No,” he said after some hesitation.
“So? What else did you find?” Bennett could tell she was going to have to pry this out of him one fact at a time.
Memphis sighed. He looked past Bennett for a moment toward the traffic moving down Ninth Avenue. He was obviously trying to decide how much he should tell her. Bennett was still standing on the sidewalk in front of him as he sat on the stoop. She leaned forward and put her hand gently on his arm.
“You can trust me,” she said, though she wasn’t entirely certain that was true.
He turned back toward her to study her face. She felt the blush of her own uncertain trustworthiness rise in her cheeks. Or did his scrutiny make her blush for other reasons? She was glad the streetlight wasn’t bright enough to let him see her change of color. She almost wanted to tell him to keep his secrets to himself, like she was keeping hers.
“I found her address and this.” He reached int
o his pocket and pulled out a matchbook before Bennett had a chance to be noble enough to tell him not to.
She took the matchbook from him. It was purple with large, white circles and came from someplace called the DownTown Lounge. Bennett had never heard of it. She opened the cover, hoping to find a clue inside. Apparently that kind of happy discovery only happened in mystery novels. The cardboard folder was bare.
“This is something to start with at least,” she said, tapping the name of the club on the outside of the cover.
“Start what with?”
“Investigating.”
Memphis shook his head. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”
“I’m perfectly serious. If you didn’t commit the murder but you are likely to be accused of it, you don’t have a choice. You have to take matters into your own hands and prove your innocence. I don’t know any other way to do that than to find the real murderer.”
“You’ve been watching too much television,” Memphis said, and started to get up from the step.
“No, I have not,” Bennett said emphatically, looking away from him toward the street in exasperation.
What she saw there took only an instant to register. Quickly she put her hands on Memphis’s shoulders to push him back onto the step. He opened his mouth in surprise and probably to protest.
“Don’t say anything,” she said.
What she had in mind was the reverse of what had happened in the park. There, he had kissed her to keep her from being noticed by the two people passing by. This time, she was shielding him from being seen. That was where the similarity would end. Meanwhile, all she could think of was the dark sedan she had noticed coming down the street slower than the rest of the traffic. She had needed only a single glimpse of the face peering out of the passenger’s side window to recognize the man she had seen in the hotel on Forty-second Street, the one she’d hopped on and nearly strangled. He might have noticed her, also, but she didn’t think he would know her if he had. She looked too radically different now for him to make the connection. She was fairly certain of that. Memphis was another matter.
