Ed Lacy - Blonde Bait
“You shut up, Francois. Mommy told you about pointing that gun at...”
“You'd better call me Frank!” He advanced toward her with another burst of sparks, and with mock screams she ran into the bathroom and slammed the door. All the racket didn't help my head. The boy came back and gave me a man-to-man grin, showing a couple of buck teeth. “Girls are a pain. Gee, I wish I had a face as tough as yours. Did you bring me any presents, Mickey?”
“Well, I'm going to send you both presents in the mail. How did you know my name?”
“Pop talks about you a lot. He has a picture of you as a boxer. Gee, I don't know, can you send anything big through the mail? Like a wagon, or a sled? We almost had some snow the other day and I told...”
Somebody was rushing up the stairs and we both turned to face a small, woman, racing into the room, she was young, her face serious and sort of fleshy, with big bright eyes, and wild dark hair cut close to her head. She was wearing old jeans spotted with paint and a blue sweatshirt. On second look she was fairly stocky.
Holding out a small hand she said, “Ah, you have to be Mickey! I am Colette.”
I shook her hand and she rattled off some French which I think meant she had about given me up, then added in English, “What took you so long? I was afraid you were lost. I went down to see if the bell is working. It is not. I stopped in to tell them downstairs. Ah, I was sure you had gone away after receiving no answer.” All her words came out in an eager rush.
“Mister Johnny lives downstairs. He owns the house,” the boy said. “He has a real gun and he's a police sergeant.”
In French Colette told the boy it was bad manners to talk so much and to get ready for his bath. He said, “Aw, talk American, Mom,” and ran out of the room as she raised her hand.
In my best Haitian French I said, “I'm pleased to meet you, Mrs.—Colette.” While I knew I couldn't waste much time here, it was a relief to feel really welcome.
“I shall call you Mickey because I have heard so much about you. Some place I have pictures of you and my Hal. Every time we see the horrible fights on television, Hal talks about you, wondering where you are. You made a big impression on him.”
“Yeah, that's good,” I said with a foolish grin. Since she was talking English I gave up my bastard French. That I'd ever made any sort of impression on Hal was news to me. “I hate to—that is, I'm in a hurry, so...”
Her eyes took in my torn shoe, my ripped clothing and she asked calmly, “What happened to you?”
Her calmness did it, helped me type her. Colette was one of those take-charge babes, the sweet and very efficient gal who can do everything. That kind would drive me to drink, but I suppose if you only saw her one week out of five, or whatever Hal's schedule was, it wasn't too bad. I said, “The question is, what hasn't happened to me. I've been in a series of accidents ever since I hit New York this morning. I'm the original accident-prone slob. I won't even bother telling you about them, you'd only think me a liar. The main point is, I lost my wallet and every cent I had. Can you lend me about ten bucks? I'll return it by mail in a few days.”
“Of course. But take off your coat and rest. You look tired. I shall fix you some food.”
“That would be great, but I'm in a big rush. I have to make a phone call right away, so if you'll give me the money...”
“Use our phone,” she said, pointing to it.
“No, I think it best not to.”
“Ah, so it is like that.” She looked at me with renewed interest, as if I was another problem for her to solve.
“Nope, it isn't anything crooked. The real trouble is I don't know what it's all about. If you'll let me have the money, I'll be on my high horse.”
“You can't go out like this. Your shoes. I think you wear about the same size as Hal. At least come and see if a pair of his will fit you.”
The little girl opened the bathroom door wearing a pink robe. Colette said, “You are to watch TV in your room and not to disturb us. Tell Francois. Both are to stay in your room.”
The kid nodded without saying a word and marched off. Colette told me, “Please excuse the state of our house. With my painting and the children, I have little time for household work.”
“All those paintings on the wall yours?”
“But of course. You like them?”
“Sure.”
“The house is a mess. We are fixing the chairs.”
“I didn't know Hal was so handy with wood,” I said, following her into the bedroom.
She laughed. “He is all thumbs. I do that myself. So much to do. We couldn't have two boys or two girls. Soon we will need an extra room and rents are terrible. Maybe when we move, I shall be able to have a studio of my own. Here, sit on the bed and try these on.”
The bedroom was more of this modern furniture that looked as if it would stick you any second. I sat on a hassock and opened my coat. I suppose we both wore startled expressions. She was staring at the blood on my neck and I was staring at a framed photo of several teenage boys and girls, all wearing armbands and holding machine guns. The pig-tailed gal with the burp gun cradled in her arms was Colette.
She dropped a pair of Hal's shoes she'd taken from the closet and came running over. “You are hurt!”
“Hit my head in falling,” I said, still staring at the wall photo. “Were those real guns?”
“We must...” She turned and followed my eyes to the picture. “Oh, that, I was with the Maquis—the French underground—during the war. Off with your coat. And your shirt.”
“Don't bother. It's merely a bruise.”
“Nonsense. I will fix it. I teach First-Aid to the mothers at the school. Undress!”
I peeled off my things, stripped down to my pants at her urging. She said, “You are also big and strong, like my man. Wait, I will get the boy from the bathroom. You are certain you do not need a doctor?”
“No.”
“One second, then.”
She dashed out of the bedroom and I went over and examined the picture. You got the feeling this wasn't any posed shot: these kids had used the guns.
Colette called to me and I passed the boy, now in a neat blue robe, and he asked, “Do you have to take a bath every night, too?”
I winked and he said, “You can float my atomic submarine, if you like.”
Colette had me bending over the tub while she expertly cleaned the bump on my head, even shaving some of the hair away. Then I sat on the John as she took off my shoes and socks, taped the blisters my torn shoe had caused. All this attention was embarrassing.
While I washed, Colette brought in shoes, socks, an old car coat, a heavy shirt, and a pair of slacks. Even the shoes fitted and when I dressed I looked my old self. I topped things by using Hal's razor for a fast shave. When I stepped out of the bathroom she clapped her hands. “You look like the new man! Here is some brandy and I will make supper...”
“I have to leave, make that call,” I said, sipping the brandy slowly. It was rich and smooth.
“I forget, here is money. Enough?” She pulled four five dollar bills from her pants pocket.
“Swell. I will send the money and the clothes...”
“It is of no matter. Are you sure you are not in real trouble? You can sleep on the couch for a few days if you like, wait until Hal comes home.”
The brandy was a tonic and I felt almost good again. “No. And thanks—for everything. I'm not in real trouble. I became a busybody, involved in trying to find a sour ball, it seems.” I suppose what really made me feel so good was the twenty bucks. There wasn't anything to stop me from reaching Rose. I was done, forever, playing detective. I could even joke about it now.
“Comment?”
“A kind of inside joke. I wanted to find a clown named Sowor. A German. Sounds like sauerkraut. But it turned out he's dead. Really a crazy story—there's some Oriental chick, Me-Lucy-ah, also in...”
“She is a girl?”
“Sure, sort of a pidgin-English babe. You know, Me-Tarzan? In her case she must be a hot number, you say Me-Lucy and add a sigh.”
“How do you spell it?”
“Come on, Colette, I can barely say it. Why?”
“The dead man, how do you spell his name?” There was a new eagerness in her voice.
“My trouble started when I asked for a Willy Sowor. S-o-w-o-r. Why are you interested?”
“He was a friend of yours?”
“I never saw him in my life. I only wanted to ask if he could tell me anything about a guy called Fedor, who...” I'd been feeling so good I'd let my big mouth run away with me, again. I stared at Colette, full of suspicions.
“Mickey, don't you know what Melouza is?”
“Some gal who... You know?” My guts began to tighten. Would I ever get out of this endless trap I'd walked into?
Her big eyes were bright with excitement as she nodded. “You're pronouncing it correctly, but it is not a woman. It is—or was—a village in the mountains of Algeria. A terrible crime took place there.”
“A village? What crime?”
“Mass murder. Every man, woman, and child in the village was deliberately hacked to pieces. Mickey, how can you be involved in this?”
“Involved? I didn't know it was a town until now. And I can't wait to forget it. Look, I hate to cut this short, but I have to go. Where's the nearest public phone booth?”
“Go to your left on leaving the house. Turn at the corner and you will see a newspaper store. Can't you use our phone?”
I shook my head. “Thanks again for everything and tell...”
“Mickey, make your call and then return here. I must make you something to eat. I'm a fine cook. I will also give sandwiches to take with you.”
“I can't...”
“I insist! I will be insulted if you do not at least try my cooking. What's another half hour or so? Don't be rude.”
“Well, let me make this call and see... er... what's doing.” I walked to the door and she grabbed an old cap from the closet and said, “Wear this to protect your wound. Please come back. It isn't the food alone. There is something important I must discuss with you, about Hal.”
“I'll be back,” I said, inspecting myself in a mirror near the door. I looked like Joe-Average-Citizen in Hal's old clothes. But I couldn't disguise my size.
It was very dark outside and that helped my nerves, until I realized the darkness could be a cover for whoever was after me. Had the superintendent reported to the cops that he'd been slugged? He must have. The police might still be checking the neighborhood. But I was too excited at the thought of talking to Rose to think of anything else. Not even the astonishing news that Me-Lucy-ah was a city in North Africa. Like the rest of the merry-go-round I was on, it didn't make much sense. Of course, Colette could be wrong, too.
I cased the newspaper and candy store as best I could, walked in and bought a couple of cigars to get some change. Dialing long distance and the boatyard, I waited anxiously for the guy to call Rose to the phone. It seemed to take an awfully long time. I sat there restlessly; an icicle of uneasiness growing inside me. It melted in a flood of warmth with Rose's throaty, “Mickey?”
“Yeah. Honey, I'm in the big city and on my way....”
“Oh Mickey! I've been worried out of my living mind! You should have been here hours ago. Anything wrong?” There was a kind of thickness in her voice. Maybe it was the phone connection. Or, Rose had hit the bottle and was cranked-up.
“No, no, everything is jake. I had a small accident I...”
“You're hurt!”
“No, honey, I lost my wallet. I had to scrounge around to get enough money to even phone you. But I'm set now and I'll be on my way in a few minutes. How're things at your end?”
“Quiet, except for worrying about you. Please, Mickey, make it fast. Darling, I want you to be near me so. Oh, Mickey, I'm lost without you!”
“Sit tight, babes, and don't get lost in a bottle. We're not in the clear yet, for all I know,” I said, maybe blushing—I was that pleased. For some silly reason I told myself Hal could have his Colette with all her bright efficiency. She could never be half the woman Rose was.
After telling her to stay on the Sea Princess and be careful, that I should be out by midnight, I hung up. I started to dial the bus terminal when I saw a short squat man standing to one side of the booth. He kept glancing at me. I got this sudden lump of suspicion until I noticed he wasn't wearing a tie under his overcoat. He looked as if he'd rushed out of his home to make a call.
Still... I thought of the poor janitor I'd clobbered. I'd been pure lucky, but another slugging and I could be jammed-up. I decided to bluff, play 'em like you got 'em, as poker players say. When I got the bus terminal I hung up and opened the booth door. “You waiting for the phone?”
“I certainly am!” he shrilled. “I have an important business call to make but that doesn't stop my daughter from tying up the phone. It's a plain outrage when a man can't use his own phone for...”
I stepped out of the booth. “Make your call. I have to use the phone again.”
“I have to make several calls. I shall make one and let you...”
“That's okay, I can wait.” I lit a cigar and walked over to the phone books, figuring they might have a map of New Jersey in them. They didn't. When Shorty left the phone I dialed the bus terminal and found the last bus to Asbury had left a half-hour before. The clerk was a talker and when I said I had to get there, he gave me directions for taking a train to Newark, then connecting to a train or bus going to Red Bank. A cab from Red Bank he said would only be a few bucks. I phoned the train station and found I had ninety minutes before the next train to Newark, and after that, they seemed to run every half-hour.
