Tiger grinned, nodded at her.
“There’s a box of Kleenex over there.”
“Help me get dressed.”
He did just that, in gradual steps, giving her a little kiss, a nip, a caress, now and again. She loved that.
Finally, they were both dressed. She was smiling happily, dreamily, at him. She looked great in her dress.
“Well—” she said, “What’s the result of my test?”
Tiger grinned, she was a good-humored lass. A touch of wit, no less.
“We’ll discuss that next time,” he said.
“Promise that?”
“More than that.”
“I hope I passed.”
Cuddling her, Tiger said, ‘‘Now look—let’s just keep this our own little secret—O.K.?”
“But O.K.—” She said, her hands gliding downward again.
“Uh uh—and look—Here’s this little bottle for you—” She looked at the bottle he held. She smiled. She took it from him.
“See, it tells you on there how to take—”
She nodded, gave him a little kiss.
‘The little darlings work wonders—no kidding, hon—” “Are they The Pill?” Mona asked.
‘That’s right.”
“That’s wonderful!’' She said.
“I think they’re great. Just do as it says on the bottle.
O.K.?”
“O.K.”
“Promise?”
“Sure I do.”
“That’s the way. Then—no problems. Only fun.”
“Let me kiss you—Mmmmmm—”
“Let me know—when you run low—”
“I want one little kiss—Whitey—” She murmured.
Tiger chuckled.
“You’re some lovely honey,” he said, giving her a little peck, loving those lips.
“See you soon.”
“How do I look?”
“Good as new.”
She laughed her soft little laugh, he walked her to the door.
"Bye—for now—” She murmured to him.
“Be good—” He grinned at her.
She left.
Tiger, feeling very good, returned to his desk.. . ,
34
“Jim—” Surcher said, in his quiet way, “What I’m trying to do is get at the facts. In other words, the truth. I’m not after you.” He paused, observing the lad. “If you didn’t harm that girl, there’s nothing for you to worry about. Not a thing. Believe me.” Again he paused. “That’s a fact” They sat silently.
The Captain shifted around in Proffer’s chair. He put his feet on one of the desk drawers, which he had slightly pulled out. His hands were linked across his stomach.
“See, Jim—or Kid—I’ll call you Jim—The real problem here, as far as you’re concerned, is that note.” He paused. “I mean, both notes—the one you wrote to Jill, with your prints all over it, and—the one that was pinned to her.” He paused, keeping his eyes on Jim. "By somebodyHe paused again. “I guess you heard about that.”
The boy nodded, “Yeh, I did.” Then he said, “Whose prints were on it?”
Surcher waited before dealing with that. He was impressed with the shrewdness of the lad. He was no dumb kid. He wasn’t, in truth, sure about the boy. It could—or couldn’t be. He was only maneuvering now, trying to find out. And he wasn’t going to let himself be outfoxed. Prints or no prints, he could be his man. So he played his cards as close as he could, answering now.
“Whose do you think, Jim?”
“Not mine, man.”
Surcher watched the lad.
“That would look pretty bad."
“Were they?” The boy asked.
“Jim—why do you think you’re in here with me so long?” Surcher tried.
“The hell they were,” the boy said.
“Did you wipe them off?”
“You make me laugh!”
“But what if you didn’t get them all off?”
“What a load of crap!”
He asked, finally, “Is there football practice tonight, Jim?”
“There is."
Surcher moved from his comfortable position and leaned forward on the desk. He looked at the folder’s contents again. He made a few notes on his pad. He finally spoke but didn’t look up at the lad.
He said.
35
Ponce was in Trigonometry class, and he was feeling bad. If there was anything by itself, not to mention everything else, it was Trigonometry that could make him feel bad. He had to take it, for it was part of the Academic course, of course, and Mummer was the teacher. He could never hope to get into State if he didn’t pass it, either. Or anywhere, for that matter, that he knew of. He had always
Pretty Maids All in a Row 189 had a pretty rough time with Mathematics, especially that end comprising Algebra, Geometry, and Trigonometry. Was it a coincidence they were all taught by Mummer? Could he have made out better if the teacher had been another? He wondered. He often wondered. When he got to college, maybe, he would know. He knew he would have to take Algebra, his first year. At the moment, he was in anguish. That queer Mummer was babbling away up there —about something. Ponce was baffled. He couldn’t latch on to it. How had he ever got through Geometry? Algebra? True, he had just scraped through, but in Geometry, especially, he knew nothing. From time to time, even now, looking back on it, he wondered just what it was all about. He had once discussed his Mathematics problem with Tiger. He had been very understanding, in sum telling Ponce it didn’t matter. His talents lay elsewhere. Ponce knew it. Did Mummer? Would that creep give him just one more break now? Especially now? He thought, forlornly. He tried hard, he studied, he listened. Sometimes, he was sure he was just about to break through that solid wall and find himself on the other side, in the golden sunlight, basking and at last understanding the gibberish that was Trigonometry. Then, suddenly, the wall held, and he was back where he was, Nowhere. That was the moment of darkest despair, always. For then he felt he never would, no matter what he did. It just wasn’t in him. Definitely, he would have to see Tiger again about it For somehow, he had to get through this course, It didn’t particularly matter to him how he did—short of letting Mummer blow him. There, absolutely, he called a halt, and how he did. He’d rather die first. Sighing, he looking at Mona Drake, in the seat alongside him. She seemed to know what was going on. She seemed with it. She followed Mummer’s incomprehensible patter without a tremor. The rows and rows and columns of utterly mysterious figures apparently meant something to her. In fact, right now, she looked dreamy-eyed, almost in love with it. How could that be? Ponce was mystified. He stared at her. Maybe he could get her to help him with it. He wondered about that. He would ask her. She was a dark beauty, without a doubt of it. She was warm, just the sort of warmth that could help him get it. That queer Mummer—he could forget him. Ponce felt resentful. What the hell was it all in aid of, anyhow? Was he going to be a stupid engineer or something? Why did he need it? Why did the colleges require it? He smoldered over it, knowing there was little he could probably do about it—except try and get through it. Definitely, he would approach Mona. She had come to class a few minutes late. She had been tied up in the Guidance/Counseling office, with Tiger, she had explained. Was he testing her? What test had he sprung on her? Ponce wondered. He would ask her. That damn Mummer. If he was anything but what he was Ponce could have a heart-to-heart talk with him, about the thing. He might get that break. As it was —a talk with him. Suddenly Ponce got an idea. What if he cornered him—unless he gave him a break? For a moment or two, Ponce was excited about the idea. It sounded great! Poetic justice—almost! But then—he knew it was something he couldn’t do. Besides, it was stupid. It just wouldn’t do. Again, he was blue. Mona, Tiger—somehow, between them, he’d make it through, What a gorgeous girl she was though. Ponce mused about her, that curvaceous, gorgeous colored girl. What a girl. He thought of Jill. Suddenly, hitting rock bottom again, he saw that poor girl. He missed her, he felt an empty spot alright, without her around. When was the funeral? Saturday, he had heard. Practically the whole school would be there. He knew. He didn’t look forward to being there. Funerals were bad, this one was appallingly bad, he’d never get over it. The mere thought made him feel numb, and heavy, so heavy— and a little sick. Would he have to look at her—in the coffin? Would he have to do that? He felt scared, on top of everything else. He was right under the floorboards, with that. “Page one-sixteen—” Mummer said, and Ponce flipped to that page, woodenly. Tonight—football practice. And Ponce felt better. He had already passed the word on to most of the boys, after Assembly, where Tiger had told him. And next period—Eng Lit! Now, Ponce soared. He saw Miss Smith. He was way, way above those floorboards. There were only ten minutes to go. He looked up at Mummer. He would have to make a move soon about him. He couldn’t walk around forever with that on his mind, definitely. If Surcher didn’t soon crack the case— He looked around the room. There was Jeannie Bonni. That cutie. Sally Swink. What a sweetie. They were both trying hard to follow what was going on, but the fog was thick.