She swung around in a little graceful movement, taking a step nearer me. "I never had a night I wanted to remember. I want to have this one for my memories." Her eyes were leaping, dancing coals of passion.
"Come here, Mike!" It was a demand that wasn't necessary.
I grabbed her shoulders and my fingers bit into her flesh.
"I want you to love me Mike, just for tonight," she said. "I want a love that's as strong as mine and just as fierce because there may be no tomorrow for either one of us, and if there is it will never be the same. Say it, Mike. Tell me."
"I love you, Lola. I could have told you that before, but you wouldn't let me. You're easy to love, even for me. Once I said I'd never love again, but I have."
"Just for tonight."
"You're wrong. Not just for tonight. I'll love you as long as I please. If there's any stopping to be done I'll do it. You're brand new, Lola... you're made for a brand-new guy, somebody more than me. I'm trouble for everything I touch."
Her hand closed over my mouth. My whole body was aching for her until my head felt dizzy. When she took her hand away she put it over one of mine that squeezed her shoulders and moved it to the neckline of the gown.
"I made this gown to be worn only once. There's only one way to get it off."
A devil was making love to me.
My fingers closed over the silk and ripped it away with a hissing, tearing sound and she was standing in front of me, naked and inviting.
Her voice had angels in it, though. "I love you, Mike," she said again.
She was my kind of woman, one that you didn't have to speak to, for words weren't that necessary. She was honest and strong in her honesty, capable of loving a man with all her heart had to give, and she was giving it to me.
Her mouth was cool, but her body was hot with an inner fire that could only be smothered out.
It was a night she thought she'd never have.
It was a night I'd never forget.
I was alone when I woke up. The tinkling of a miniature alarm-clock on the dresser was a persistent reminder that a new day was here. Pinned to the pillow next to mine was a note from Lola and signed with a lipstick kiss. It read, "It ended too soon, Mike. Now I have to finish the job you gave me. Breakfast is all ready--just warm everything up."
Breakfast, hell!' It was after twelve. I ate while I was getting dressed, anxious to get into things. The coffee was too hot to touch and while it cooled. I snapped the radio on. For the first time in his life the news commentator seemed genuinely excited. He gave out with a spiel at a fast clip, only pausing to take a breath at the end of each paragraph. The police had staged two more raids after I left Pat, and the dragnet was pulling in every shady character suspected of having dealings with the gigantic vice ring that controlled the city.
The iron fist had made a wide sweep. It closed in on places and persons I never thought of. A grin crossed my face and I ran my hand over the stubble of beard on my chin. I was seeing Pat again, acknowledging the knowledge of the existence of such a ring, yet readily agreeing that there was little that could be done about it. He was eating his own words and liking it.
One thing about a drive like that, it can't be stopped. The papers take up the crusade and the hue and cry is on. The public goes on a fox-hunt in righteous indignation, ready to smash something they had unconcernedly supported with indifference only the day before. To them it was fun to see a public name grovelling in the mud, a thrill to know they were part of the pack.
But the big scenes weren't written yet. They'd come later in a court-room after postponements, stalls, anything to gain time to let the affair cool down. Then maybe a fine would be handed out, maybe a light jail sentence here and there, maybe a dismissal for lack of evidence.
Evidence--the kind that could stick. The police would do their share, but if the evidence didn't stick there would be people walking out of that court with the memory of what had happened and a vow never to let it happen again. They'd be people with power, of course, filthy, rotten squibs who liked the feeling of power and money, determined to let nothing interfere with their course of life. They'd undermine the workings of the law. A little at a time, like the waves lapping at the sand around a piling, uncovering it until it was ready to topple of its own accord. Then they could get in their own kind... people who would look the other way and interpret the law to their own advantage.
I got into my coat and went downstairs for a paper, hurrying back to the apartment to read it. The story was there complete with pictures, but it was the columnists that went further than fact. They hinted that more than one prominent personage had been hurriedly called away from town on the eve of the investigation and, if the revelations continued, the number in the Blue Book was going to diminish by many pages. One of the more sensational writers inferred that the police were getting able assistance outside their own circle, a subtle implication that they couldn't handle the situation unless they were prodded into action.
The police themselves had little or nothing to say. There was no statement from higher headquarters as yet, but a few of the lesser politicos had issued fiery blasts that the law was taking too much on its shoulders and was more concerned with smear tactics than law enforcement. I had to laugh at that. I was willing to bet those boys were trying to cover up by making more noise than the police.
I picked up the phone and dialed Pat. He was dog tired and glad to hear from me. "Read the papers yet?" he asked.
"Yeah, and listened to the radio. The exodus has begun."
"You can say that again. We're picking them up left and right trying to beat it. Some of them talked enough to lead us into other things, but all we have are the mechanics, the working group of the outfit--and the customers."
"They're the ones who support the racket."
"They're going to pay more than they expected to. It's getting rougher. A lot of dirty noses are looking for someone to wipe them on."
"And you're the boy?"
"I'm the boy, Mike."
"Who's going bail for all the big names?"
"It's coming in from all over. I've been called more dirty names than any one guy in the city..."
"Except me."
"Yeah, except you. But nobody wants your job like they want mine. I've been cajoled, threatened, enticed and what not. It makes me feel ashamed to know that I live within a hundred miles of some people."
He yawned into the phone and muttered, "I have news, friend. Murray Candid has been seen in the city, hopping from one place to another. He's accompanied by an alderman in a downtown district."
"He isn't trying to make a break for it, then?"
"Evidently not. He's keeping out of sight until something happens. I think he wants to see how far we're going to go. He'll be pretty surprised."
"You have a murder warrant out on him?"
"Couldn't make it, Mike. He had an alibi for that. He's ducking out on this investigation. Here's something else that might interest you, but keep it under your hat. There's been an influx of tough guys who are walking around the city just being seen by the right persons. One look and you couldn't make them talk for love or money."
"How do you like that!"
"I don't. They have records, most of them, but they're clean now and we can't touch them. We started holding them for questioning. It didn't work. Every one of them is loaded with dough and sense enough to have a lawyer pull them out fast. None of them was armed or talked back to a cop, so there wasn't a thing we could stick them with."