I Will Fear No Evil Part 31

"Hrrmph! One more remark like that and I'll call you 'Johann' the rest of the evening." One more remark like that and I'll call you 'Johann' the rest of the evening."

"I'll be good. Mostly. Darling, our waitress suddenly reminded me of the Chesterfield Club. Kansas City in the palmiest days of the Pendergast machine. Nineteen-thirty-four."

"In nineteen-thirty-four I was barely out of diapers, Eunice. It was something like this?"

"Not as much fake sw.a.n.k and lower prices even allowing for inflation. But otherwise much the same. It specialized in complete nudity even at high noon at the 'Businessman's Lunch.' Just up the street from the Federal Reserve Bank. Jake, she's headed back. Find out-for me."

"How? I don't even have a hat to tip."

"Simply ask her, dear, ask her if she's available. Slip her ten dollars as you do; she won't be insulted."

The waitress came back, smiled, and said, "Have you looked over our drug list? All illegal drugs at the controlled international prices plus twenty-five percent. Guaranteed pure, we obtain them from government sources."

"Not for me, thank you, dear. Eunice? Want a trip?"

"Me? I don't even take aspirin. But I want a steady supply of champagne. And I could use a sandwich, or something. Chiquita, is there a kitchen?"

"There is always a gourmet chef on duty, Ma'am; it says so at the bottom of your wine card. Anything from snacks to Maine lobster. Would you like to see a menu?"

"No, thank you. Maybe a big platter of little sandwiches for all of us, Jake. And don't forget that other matter."

Joan Eunice saw Jake get out a ten-dollar bill. It disappeared and Joan decided that the girl must have folded it with one hand and palmed it. Jake spoke to her in a voice lower than the music.

She smiled and answered clearly. "No, sir, I'm not even allowed to dance with customers-and I'm not in that branch of the business; I'm married. But I can arrange it." The waitress glanced toward the 'beautiful people' and looked back. "For you sir? Or for both of you?"

"NO," Jake answered. "It was just curiosity."

"My curiosity," Joan put in. "I'm sorry, dear; I shouldn't have made him ask you." curiosity," Joan put in. "I'm sorry, dear; I shouldn't have made him ask you."

"Ma'am, a high roller can be as inquisitive as he wishes. Baby needs shoes." She smiled. "Twins. Boys. Two years old. I was licensed for two and now I'm arguing with the Board as to whether twins use up my license. Since twins are okay under a one-baby license. I'd like to have a little girl, too."

"Jake, be a high roller again; I want to ask"-Joan leaned forward, read the girl's name written or tattooed above her left breast-"Marie another question."

"He's paid for more than one question, really, Ma'am." But a second note disappeared as quickly as the first.

"Marie, do you live inside the turf? With kids?"

"Oh, goodness, no! My husband would never permit that. An armed bus picks me up after supper and delivers me home around breakfast time. Most of us use it. Except-" She indicated the exception by inclining her head toward the corner. "My husband is on night s.h.i.+ft at Timken-we match up pretty well."

"Who takes care of your twins at night? Nursery?"

"Oh, no, Mama lives with us. No huhu. Actually, Ma'am, this is a good job. I've been a waitress where I had to wear uniforms-and the work was hard and the tips were small. Here the work is easy and the tips are usually high. Oh, sometimes a customer gets drunk and gropy, but I don't bruise all that easily-and drunks are often the highest tippers. Never any trouble; the guards watch everything." She smiled at Joan. "You could get a job here in two seconds, Ma'am. All it takes is a friendly manner and a good figure-and you've got both."

"Thank you, Marie."

"I'd better go, the maitre d' is bringing a party to another of my tables. 'Scuse, please-sandwiches will be right in."

The girl left. Joan said, "Jake, would you say that she has found her niche?"

"Seems so. As long as she keeps her figure and saves her money. She doesn't pile up Social Security points here; this doesn't count as a job under the rules, it's off the map."

"She doesn't pay income tax?"

"Oh, certainly! The fact that her income doesn't exist, legally, means nothing to revenooers. Though she may hold out a good portion-I would. My dear, do you want to try this music?"

"Jake, I thought you didn't dance?"

"I don't dance this modem stuff. But I can try, if you want to. I wonder if that combo can play Rock? This new stuff has so little beat I don't see why they call it dance music."

Joan chuckled. "I'm so much older that I despised Rock instead of liking it. Swing was my era, Jake, and on back clear to the Bunny Hug-though I didn't learn to dance until the fox-trot crowded out the rest."

"I can fox-trot, I'm not all that young. But I doubt if that bunch of disappointed harpists can play one. Eunice, can you tango?"

"Try me, just try me! Learned it when Irene Castle was alive-and with this new body I'm eight times as good as I was then. Been teaching it to Winnie. Do you have a firm lead?"

"Firm enough for you, wench. I'm going to flag the maitre-d'-it's possible that they can play one. It's the only tempo that has stayed evergreen through all the pa.s.sing fads."

"Of course, Jake. Because the tango, danced correctly, is so s.e.xy that you ought to get married afterwards. See if they can play one."

But they were interrupted by busboys arriving with four swivel chairs and Joan decided that it would be polite to sit in hers a while, since she had made a fuss over chairs. Then sandwiches arrived and more champagne and she found she wanted both-bubbly to make her tiddly and sandwiches to soak it up so that she wouldn't get tiddly too fast. Roberto and Winifred. returned to the table; Winnie said, "Oh, food! Good-bye, waistline! Bob, will you love me when I'm fat?"

"Who knows? Let's operate and find out," he answered, reaching for a sandwich with one hand and champagne with the other.

"Winsome, pour that c.o.ke into the wine bucket and have champagne."

"Joanie, you know I mustn't. My Nemesis."

"But this time there's food to go with it . . . and not the other hazards."

Winifred blushed. "I'll get drunk. I'll get silly."

"Roberto, will you promise this poor child that, if she pa.s.ses out, you'll get her home safely?" (What's safe about home, twin? You ought to hang out a red light.) (Nonsense, Eunice! Our man won't marry us-so what do you want me to do? I don't give myself to men I don't respect-and I've got years to make up for. I'm nearly ninety-five years old-and knocked up-and healthy-and can't can't hurt anyone physically and won't hurt anyone socially . . . a man's pride or anything else. Why shouldn't I be 'No-Pants Smith'?) ('Methinks the lady doth protest too much.' Boss, your Bible-Belt background is chafing you again. Certainly s.e.x is no sin-but hurt anyone physically and won't hurt anyone socially . . . a man's pride or anything else. Why shouldn't I be 'No-Pants Smith'?) ('Methinks the lady doth protest too much.' Boss, your Bible-Belt background is chafing you again. Certainly s.e.x is no sin-but you you don't really believe it.) (I do so! Always have. I've been almost enough of a busybody to keep don't really believe it.) (I do so! Always have. I've been almost enough of a busybody to keep you you happy. Why do you needle me?) (Beloved Boss. You've shown amazing talent for juggling eggs and I've enjoyed every second of it and I hope you have, too.) (You happy. Why do you needle me?) (Beloved Boss. You've shown amazing talent for juggling eggs and I've enjoyed every second of it and I hope you have, too.) (You know know I have. So much I'm scared of losing my judgment. My caution, rather, Eunice, I never I have. So much I'm scared of losing my judgment. My caution, rather, Eunice, I never dreamed dreamed how much how much more more it is, to be a woman. It's our it is, to be a woman. It's our whole whole body.) body.) The cabaret was crowded now; the lights changed and the floor show began-two comics. Joan listened, tried to look amused, and tried to amuse herself by trying to remember how long ago she had heard each "new" gag. She could see only one improvement in the routines: The "dirty" story of her (his) youth had disappeared. Being based on shock of breaking taboo, the dirty story had bled to death when there were no more taboos. There was s.e.x humor-the comics used plenty of it; s.e.x remained forever the most comical thing on a weary globe. But it was harder to work out real comedy than it once had been simply to shock.

But she applauded the comics as they left. There was a black-out and the dance floor changed instantly into a farmyard scene-she found herself more intrigued by trying to guess the mechanics of that "magic" than she had been by the comics.

The farmyard set was used for one of the oldest (possibly the oldest, she decided) of all s.e.x stories, and it was done in stylized, very old symbols in both costume and props: the Farmer, the Farmer's Daughter, and the City Slicker with his Hundred-Dollar Bills. It was pantomime, with theme music from the orchestra.

She whispered to Jake, "If she's a farm girl, I'm Adolf Hitler."

"What do you know about farms, my dear?"

"Plenty, for a city boy. On one nearly every summer when I was a kid. Followed the harvest in high school and college-good money, plus occasionally a farm girl. Always was a peasant at heart-wanted the biggest manure pile in the valley . . . and got it, save that it was cash. Jake? Couldn't we buy an abandoned farm? A simple little place, with drawbridge and moat, and our own plant and water supply? Get out of this dying city?"

"If you say to, dear. Getting bored with this? Want to move on?"

"Not during their act, dear." (I'm curious to see how he fakes it.) (Me, too!) To her surprise the entertainers did not fake it. Money caused the "farm girl" to go from offended, to coy, to consent, to active cooperation, with a haystack as locale of consummation-and actor and actress made certain that the audience could see that it was in no way faked. Winifred blushed to her waist and never took her eyes off it.

The ending had a variation that Joan-Johann conceded was new to her-him. As motions grew vigorous and the orchestra kept time to loud squeals and grunts, the "Farmer" showed up (as expected) with pitchfork. But the hay caught fire, apparently from the action, and the "Farmer" dropped his pitchfork and grabbed a seltzer bottle conveniently at hand on an empty table and doused his "Daughter" and the "City Slicker" in putting out the fire-aiming first at the apparent source of the fire.

Joan decided that it rated applause. Winifred hesitantly joined in, then clapped hard when Roberto did. Jake joined in but was interrupted. "What is it, Rockford?"

Joan turned her head, surprised. Jake's driver-guard was looking very upset. "Mr. Salomon-I've got got to speak with you." to speak with you."

"You are. Speak up."

"Uh-" Rockford tried to make it just to his employer but Joan watched his lips. "That crazy fool Charlie has gone got hisself killed."

"Oh, for G.o.d's sake! Where? How?"

"Just now. In the guards' lounge. Not drunk. This is a tight joint, they won't let a guard drink. We were playing stud and Charlie kept needling this Polack. No excuse and I told him to knock it off. But he didn't. Polack got sore, but tried to avoid a showdown. Charlie kept crowding him and-oh, what's the use; the Polack broke his neck. Before I could get around to that side of the table." Rockford said, "Boss? Seeing where we are, I could dump him. Best, maybe?"

"Of course not. I have to report it, the body has to go to the morgue. d.a.m.n it, Rocky, I'm his parole officer."

"Yeah, but maybe you don't know about it? He skipped. Dropped out."

"Shut up." Salomon turned to Joan. "My dear, I'm terribly sorry."

"Jake, I should never have asked you to take me into an A.A."

"That has nothing to do with it. Charlie was a congenital killer. Rockford, get the maitre-d'. No, take me to the manager. Friends-Bob, Winnie-stay here please, I've got to take care of something."

Garcia said, "I caught most of it. Take me with you, Jake. I can certify death-and it's smart to get that done at once."

"Uh . . . who's going to stay with the girls?"

Joan put her hand on Jake's arm. "Jake, Winnie and I are safe-lots of guards. I think we'll go to the powder room. I need to, Winnie probably docs, too. Coming, Winnie?"

The party was over but it was two hours before they were home; too many details-tedious ones rather than legal complications, as Dr. Garcia certified death, and he, the manager, Mr. Salomon, and Rockford endorsed the certificate that death had occurred in an Abandoned Area at the hands of a party or parties unknown-in fact unknown, as the cardroom was empty save for the body. There was no point in inquiries; it had happened in an Abandoned Area and was not a crime de facto nor in any practical sense de jure. Nor did anyone weep; even Rockford did not like his driving partner, he simply respected him as a fast gun in a crunch. To Garcia Jake groused that He should have known better than to try to rehabilitate a congenital-and got no sympathy, as Garcia believed that such creatures should be exterminated as soon as identified.

Both tried to keep the grisly aspects from the ladies.

Winifred and Joan Eunice spent an hour alone at the table, fiddling with champagne and trying to look amused, while the men tidied up the mess. But Joan helped on one point: The body had to be sent to the morgue and Jake was unwilling to leave it to the management, he was certain they would dump it. Nor was he willing to send Rockford without someone to ride shotgun. So a phone was brought to Joan and she called O'Neil-was answered instantly and she wondered if her Chief ever slept.

Finchley and Shorty were on duty; O'Neil said they would be rolling at once. But Joan ordered him to have them first pick up Fred, to ride shotgun for Rockford. As an afterthought she told O'Neil to have the night pantryman place a cold supper and a case of chilled champagne in her lounge-the "night on the town" had turned out a dismal flop; she was darned if she would let it stay that way. Charlie was better dead and his death did not rate one crocodile tear. Ten thousand human beings had died around the globe in the hour since his death-why weep over a worthless one? (Eunice, what happens to a kark like Charlie after he's dead?) (I'm no authority, Boss. Maybe the bad ones die dead-like a potter destroying damaged work. Ask the Front Office.) (I don't know its wavelength, sweetheart. Maybe you can tell me this-How can I get this party rolling again? Look at Winnie-drinking champagne but not smiling.) (Boss darling, I recommend more champagne and Money Hums, mixed fifty-fifty.) (Eunice, I thought you didn't approve of liquor?) (Never said that, Boss. I didn't drink because I didn't need it. But nothing is good or bad in itself, just in its effects. Try it. Can't hurt, might help.) So when at last the four reached the big, ugly fortress, Eunice insisted that they go to her lounge for a nightcap and a snack. "Who knows? We might feel like dancing yet. Roberto, has Winnie introduced you to our relaxing routine? The Money Hum?"

"I've tried to teach it to him, Joanie. But Bob is a dreadful cynic."

"Jake, let's uncynic Robert. I've thought of a new way to recite it. Sit in a circle and pa.s.s around a loving cup. Three recite while one drinks, and pa.s.s the cup to the next one."

"I vote Yea," Jake answered. "Doctor, if you want to be cynical, go do so by yourself-you can have the guest bed in my suite. We'll form a triangle instead."

"I had better stay to keep the party orderly."

"Very well, sir. But one unseemly word while we are at our devotions and you will be severely punished."

"How?"

Joan Eunice answered, "By having to down the loving cup una.s.sisted, of course, and then start it again."

Joan Eunice woke up feeling rested but very thirsty. She glanced at the ceiling, saw that it was after ten and thought idly of turning on floor lights as a gentle preliminary to stronger light.

Then she realized that she was not alone. Should she wake Jake-gently-for a pleasant good morning? Or slide out softly and sneak back to her room and hope not to be seen? Or did it matter? Was she already a topic of gossip in her own house?

Better not wake Jake in any case; the poor darling planned to go to Was.h.i.+ngton tonight. She started to slide out of bed.

The man by her reached out and pulled her to him. She at once gave in, went soft and boneless. "Didn't know you were awake, dear. I meant to-Roberto!"

"You were expecting Santa Claus?"

"How did you get here?"

"You invited me."

"I did? Well, yes, I did. I mean I told you that you were welcome in my bed, quite a while back. But where's Jake? Did he go to sleep on us? And what about Winnie?" She thumbed on the floor lights, saw that she was, as she was beginning to suspect, in her own bed.

"Winnie's next door. In her bed. With Jake."

"Good G.o.d, Roberto-I've finally spent a night with you. And don't remember it." (I do! do! Whee! Whee!) (Well, I I don't, Eunice, Not in detail. Confused.) (You're a drunken little b.i.t.c.h, Boss. But we had fun.) (I'm sure we did. I wish I remembered it.) don't, Eunice, Not in detail. Confused.) (You're a drunken little b.i.t.c.h, Boss. But we had fun.) (I'm sure we did. I wish I remembered it.) Dr. Garcia sighed. "Ah, well. I should not complain."

"It's coming back to me," she lied. "Just disoriented as I woke up. You were especially sweet to me."

"You didn't think so when I wouldn't let you go to bed with your makeup on."

Joan allowed enough general illumination to come on to let her see herself, noted that the star sequins were gone as well as body paint they had adhered to. She had not scrubbed it off herself; ergo, someone else had. Not Winnie-Winnie had been potted as a palm. "That's part of what I meant by 'especially sweet', Roberto. Not many men would take such good care of a drunken wench. Was I hard to handle?"

"Not really. But you were pretty tight."

"Too tight?"

"Not too tight. Just pleasantly so."

"I'm not sure I understand that and don't think I want to. Roberto darling, even if I did fuss over it, thank you for was.h.i.+ng me. Only a s.l.u.t leaves paint on when she goes to bed. I'm a tart but I don't want to be a s.l.u.t." (Hi, s.l.u.t!) "And thank you most of all for a wonderfully sweet night. I hope I wasn't too drunk to make it sweet for you, too."

"Eunice, you would be more woman pa.s.sed out cold than most can manage at their best."

"I'm glad you said 'would be' rather than 'are.' But, Roberto, I'm uneasy. Not about you and me, dear, but about Winnie. Does this affect that thought you've been considering? About Winnie, I mean."

"On the contrary, Eunice, it was Winnie's idea-her notion of how to celebrate our engagement-"

"Wait a moment! Am I engaged to you? you?"

"Eh? No, no-I'm engaged to Winnie."

"Oh. Roberto, I would happily marry you, you would make a numero-uno esposo. But I don't need one, and Winnie does. Did I know this last night? About you two?"