“Won’t you have a drink?”
“No, thanks, I’m really not supposed to.”
“Nobody does what he’s supposed to these days,” Nancy said. “What do you drink?”
“Scotch,” he said.
“Sy had good Scotch, I understand. I never drink Scotch, but I understand it’s good.” She poured a glass for him. “Anything in it?”
“Just some ice.”
She dropped the cubes into the glass, and then poured herself some gin over one ice cube. “Am I rushing the season?” she asked.
“What?”
“Gin.”
“I don’t think so.”
She brought him his drink. “Here’s to the plumbers of America,” she said.
“Cheers.”
They drank.
“What questions did you want to ask, Mr. Hawes?”
“Just some routine stuff.”
“About Sy?”
“Yes.”
“How’d you get to me?”
“Were you and he supposed to be a secret?” Hawes asked.
“No,” she said. “I expected the police. I just wondered…”
“We asked around.”
“Well, what do you want to know?”
“How long had you been living together?”
“Since last September.”
“What happens now?”
Nancy shrugged. “The rent’s paid up for next month. After that, I move.”
“Where to?”
“Someplace.” She shrugged again. “I’m”-she paused-“a dancer. I’ll get work. I’ll begin making the rounds again.”
“How’d you meet Kramer?”
“Along The Stem. I’d been making the rounds one morning, and I was pooped. I stopped for a cup of coffee at one of the drugstores, a hangout for the kids in the business. Sy started talking to me at the counter. We began dating.” Again she shrugged. “Here I am.”
“Um-huh.”
“Don’t look so puritanical,” Nancy said.
“Was I?”
“Yes. I wasn’t exactly a pure-white lily when I met Sy. I’m twenty-seven years old, Mr. Hawes. I was born and raised in this city. I’m not a farm girl who was lured here by the bright lights. Sy didn’t comb the hayseed out of my hair.”
“No?”
“No. I’m a pretty good dancer, but a person gets tired as hell making those rounds. Do you know how many dancers there are in this town?”
“How many?”
“Plenty. For every chorus line, there are probably five hundred girls who answer the casting call. I had an idea once.”
“Yes.”
“I thought I’d lay my way to the top.”
“Did it work?”
“I’m still unemployed,” Nancy said. “Sy’s proposition sounded like a good one. Besides, he was a nice guy. I liked him. I wouldn’t have lived with him if I didn’t like him. I’ve lived with starving actors in the Quarter and didn’t like them half as much.”
“Did you know he had a criminal record?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know he was an extortionist?”
“No. Was he?”
“Yes.”
“He told me he’d been in jail once because he’d got into a fight over a girl in a bar.”
“How did he explain his income to you?”
“He didn’t. And I never asked.”
“Did he keep regular working hours?”
“No.”
“And you never suspected he might be involved in something illegal?”
“No. Well, to be truthful, yes, I did. But I never asked him about it.”
“Why not?”
“A man’s business is
“Um-huh,” Hawes said.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I believe you. I was hoping you’d be able to give us a lead onto his victim or victims.” Hawes shrugged. “But if you don’t know anything about-”
“I don’t.” Nancy was thoughtful for a moment. “Where’d you get the white streak?”
“Huh? Oh.” Hawes touched his hair. “I got knifed once.”
“It’s attractive.” She smiled. “The very latest thing, you know.”
“I try to keep in tune with the new fashions,” Hawes said, returning the smile. “Do you have any idea how much money Kramer was making?”
“No. A lot, I suppose. This apartment isn’t exactly a cold-water flat.”
“Hardly,” Hawes said. “Do you know what the rental runs?”
“I think it’s three-fifty a month.”
Hawes whistled.
“Who invents these stories about crime not paying?” Nancy said.
“Does it?” Hawes asked.
“Well, look at-”
“Kramer died in a gutter,” Hawes said flatly.
“But he lived in a penthouse,” Nancy answered.
“I’d rather live in Calm’s Point and die in bed.”
“Do many cops die in bed?”
“Most of them,” Hawes said. “Did Kramer have an address book?”
“Yes. Shall I get it for you?”
“Later. Any bankbooks?” Hawes paused. “Check-books?”
“One of each,” Nancy said.
“A safety deposit box?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You’re pretty, Miss O’Hara,” Hawes said.
“I know,” she answered.
“I know you know. That doesn’t make you any less pretty.”
“Has the routine questioning stopped?” she asked. “Are we ready to do the sex bit?”
“I-”
“You were beginning to sound like most agents and producers in this town. I thought cops were above that sort of stuff. Except cops on the vice squad.”
“I didn’t think you’d mind being told you’re pretty,” Hawes said. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re pretty, too,” Nancy answered. “The compliment has been returned, now let’s drop the bit. Are there any more questions?”
“Did Kramer ever entertain here?”
“Sometimes.”
“What kind of friends did he have?”
“All kinds.”
“Criminals?”
“I wouldn’t know a forger if he signed a check for me.”
“You must have listened to conversations.”
“I did. Crimes were never discussed. The people Sy entertained seemed like respectable citizens with wives and children.”
“Thieves have wives and children, too,” Hawes said.
