Marge and Marie, the two prostitutes, approached Frederick Block. Block was pulling his handkerchief out of his back pocket, preparatory to mopping his face with it, when his elbow struck something very soft. He turned casually. The something very soft was covered with bright-red silk.
"Hello," Marge said.
"Well, hello," Block answered. "Quite a show, isn't it?"
"If you like this kind of jazz," Marie said.
"Well, it's pretty exciting," Block said. He studied the low-cut front of Marie's dress. Damn, if this girl didn't have the…
"There are plenty things more exciting than watching a cheap gunman get shot," Marie said.
"Like what?" Block asked, beginning to get the impression that this girl wasn't even wearing a brassiere.
"Can't you think of anything?" Marie said.
"Well… I can think of a few," Block said.
"Whatever you can think of," Marie said, "we can manage."
Block studied the girls a moment longer. He mopped his face. Then, with a practiced eye, and a whispered voice, he asked, "How much?"
"For one of us or both?" Marie asked.
"Both? Well, I hadn't…"
"Think about it."
"I am." '
"Think fast," Marge said.
"We like to work together," Marie said.
"The Bobbsey Twins down on the Farm," Marge said.
"We know things they don't even know in Paris yet," Marie said.
"We know things ain't even been invented yet," Marge said.
"How much?" Block asked again.
"Fifty for the afternoon, including the stretcher bearers."
"The what?"
"The stretcher bearers. To carry you out when it's over."
Block chuckled. "How much without them?"
"Twenty-five for me alone. My name's Marie. It's a bargain, believe me."
"I'll think about it," Block said.
"Come on, come on," Marie prompted.
"Can't you just wait a minute?"
"Love don't wait a minute, mister," Marie said.
"Not in July it don't," Marge added.
"Twenty-five's too high," Block said.
"Make it twenty, sport. A double sawbuck, what do you say?"
"You're on."
"Or vice versa," Marie said dryly. She turned to her friend. "Well, I'm set Now what are
Jeff Talbot looked at the wall clock and left the luncheonette.
It was fifteen minutes past twelve.
She wasn't coming. He'd been a jerk to think she'd keep the date. He went out into the street, thankful that he had worn his whites today. God what a hot day, why hadn't she kept the date, why in hell hadn't she kept the date? He wanted to hit somebody. He just for the hell of it felt like hitting somebody. You meet a girl like that maybe once in- Oh, the hell with it. Angrily, he stamped back into the luncheonette.
"I'm shoving off, Louise," he said.
"What?" Luis answered.
"She didn't show. I'm leaving."
"Good," Luis said, nodding. "You will be better off out of this neighborhood. There are other girls, sailor."
"Yeah, that's for sure," Jeff said.
He walked out of the luncheonette again. It was a damn shame, he thought, because… well… he'd almost found it. He'd almost, in the space of what was it, ten, fifteen minutes?
In that short a time, he'd almost found it, but of course he should have known. Nothing good comes easy. And yet, it had seemed so right, it had just seemed… seemed right, where… where eyes meet and… and without touching… without saying very much…
The hell with it!
He strode out of the luncheonette, and the first people he saw were Frederick Block and the two prostitutes.
Marge winked at him.
Jeff squared his hat and walked directly to the trio.
"Well, well, well," he said.
"Feel like a party, sailor?" Marge asked.
He hesitated for just a moment, his eyes roaming the street. Then he said, "Yes, goddamnit, I feel
Two boys wearing bright-gold jackets turned into the block.
They stood with their hands on their hips for a moment. Both wore sunglasses, both wore their dark hair in high crowns. The bigger of the two, and the older - a boy of about twenty who stood a little over six feet tall - wore a silver identification bracelet on his right wrist. His name was Tommy. The other boy, nineteen and short by modern standards, was called Li'1 Killer. His real name was Phil. He had never killed anyone in his life, but the name made him sound like a guy who'd cut out your liver for the price of an ice-cream soda. The tall one, Tommy, nodded at Phil and they walked directly toward the crate where Papa and the two girls stood craning their necks.
"Hey, kid," Tommy said.
Papa turned. "You talk to me?"
"Off the box," Tommy said flatly.
"Huh?" Papa said. "Why?"
"You heard him," Phil said. "Off the box. We want a view."
Papa looked down to where Sixto stood near the side of the crate.
"Sixto, go call…" he started, and Phil shoved out at Sixto before he could move.
"Stay put, sonny," he said.
"Don't hurt him, Li'1 Killer," Tommy said. He chuckled. "Just cripple him."
"Listen, why do you want trouble for?" Elena said, looking past them to where Zip stood at the ices cart near the corner.
