“Of course I’m serious.”
“I have a feeling it would be quite an experience,” he said, straight-faced. The girl on the ship had turned slightly; her hands seemed clasped before her tightly, her profile was almost Grecian, edged with the gold of the setting sun. “Yes,” Reardon said with relish, “I’m sure it would be very worth while...”
Jan studied him mischievously, one eyebrow cocked.
“And what did you see that I missed? Or rather, who — or is it whom? — did you see that I missed?” She reached over, her small, strong hand demanding. “I have a feeling, sometimes, that you’re not to be trusted with binoculars. Let me have them.”
Reardon handed them over obediently. Jan took very few seconds to locate her target; she fiddled with the focus a moment and then studied the girl as impersonally as she could.
“For a lecher you’ve got good taste, I’ll say that,” she admitted frankly. “But I’ve always said that.” She grinned, trying to sound impersonal. “This one’s too tall for you, I think.”
“The bigger they are—”
“The harder you fall. I know.” She leaned forward a bit, as if it might aid her vision. “Wait a minute—”
“What is it?” He reached for the glasses. “Let me see.”
“Down, boy!” Jan twisted away. “I hate to smash a budding romance but it looks like you have competition. A tall handsome officer in a lovely blue uniform and nice broad shoulders, has just joined your fair one on deck...”
“He wouldn’t dare!” Reardon said with mock indignation.
“He has dared,” Jan said flatly. “Apparently he feels safe from you at this distance.” She adjusted the glasses. “Anyway, either she is furtively handing him something below the railing where I can’t see — or they are romantically holding hands. Take your choice.”
“I choose the furtiveness, obviously,” Reardon said stoutly. “She would never hold hands with another man with me waiting steadfastly and faithfully for her on shore.”
“I know,” Jan said sympathetically. “Here you are, straining your eyes through wind and rain and dark of night, searching for the first sight of her forecastle waving in the breeze—”
“Watch your language!”
Jan brought the glasses down, laughing. “Here. Look to your heart’s content. Her boy friend has gone back inside. I’m going to take a shower and get dressed.”
Reardon put the binoculars aside, grinning down at her. “Right. And then we’ll go out and have a few drinks and then dinner. Where would you like to eat? I’ll call and make a reservation.”
“Little Tokyo,” she said without hesitation. “We haven’t had sukiyaki for a long time. And we don’t need reservations there, certainly not this early. All right?”
“Fine.”
“And you can fix us martinis while I’m getting ready. All right?”
“Fine, once again.”
“And last — or rather, first — you can help me down from this table. All right?”
“Even better,” he said, and picked her up, enjoying the warm feeling of her very-much woman’s body against his. He set her lightly on her feet, bent down, and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. She pulled back, giving him her gamin grin.
“You’d have trouble picking up your girl friend from the ship. And it’s terrible being awkward about those things.”
Reardon laughed. “I’d see she didn’t climb on tables.”
Jan made a face and padded off toward the bathroom, the big slippers flopping on her tiny feet. Reardon sighed and looked about. Martinis, eh? He turned to the cupboard.
The lower shelf furnished an almost full bottle of dry vermouth and a completely full bottle of Bombay gin; the refrigerator yielded ice cubes and a lemon for lemon peel twists. There was a Mason jar back of a milk bottle with the remains of some mysterious, colorless liquid in it. Reardon frowned at it, picked it up and checked it for odor, and then with a shrug decanted the unknown contents into the sink. He rinsed the jar well, filled it with ice cubes, added a carefully measured teaspoonful of vermouth, and began pouring in the gin. When he judged he had sufficient, he stirred the affair with a butter knife, and then tilted the jar over two large cocktail glasses, smiling proudly as each was filled to the brim with no excess in the jar. A peel of lemon in each glass added the final touch of professionalism; he rinsed the jar and turned it upside down on the sink to drain. The two glasses were placed in the refrigerator to maintain their chill. Someday, James Reardon, he told himself approvingly, you’re going to make some woman a fine bartender!
Satisfied that the immediate chores were under control, Reardon picked up the binoculars again and returned to a study of the ship. It took him several minutes to locate it in the bay; it had advanced much farther, running at half speed now that the customs officials were aboard. The island of Alcatraz now furnished the background, with Hyde Street Pier in front. The ship’s ladder had been retrieved; the white vessel was approaching North Point moving in the direction of the China and Central Basins. Beneath the thin, high prow white-capped sheets of water folded back, dissolving into green foam. The foredeck was bustling with activity now; the hatch covers had been removed and the davits, working in tandem, were leaning over the cavernous holds, hooks dangling, ready to extract the contents. But the girl was no longer in sight.
How it goes! Reardon thought philosophically, and started to bring the binoculars down when he remembered the apartment down on Larkin and the four girls who made up its tenancy. Unfortunately, the windows remainded dark. Life! he thought with a grin, and put the binoculars back into their leather case, dropped into a chair, lighting a cigarette, waiting for Jan to appear.
Tuesday — 7:45 P.M.
Mr. Sessue Noguchi of the Little Tokyo restaurant bowed with pleasure to his old friends and long-time customers, the stocky gray-eyed police lieutenant and his very pretty young lady. He waited politely while they paused in a small alcove and removed their shoes, and then led them personally to a low table in a corner beside the large second-floor front window looking down on Fisherman’s Wharf and the Aquatic Park to one side. He waited while they sat, knees bent, and then took their order for martinis, but before he could hand the scribbled slip to their waitress, a second kimona-clad young girl appeared at his side. She whispered into Mr. Noguchi’s ear and slipped away. Mr. Noguchi bent over the table, truly apologetic.
“The telephone, Lieutenant.”
Reardon frowned his annoyance. Less than an hour before, he himself hadn’t known he’d be at the Little Tokyo, so who could be calling? He shrugged his apologies across the table, came to his feet, and walked to the cashier’s counter and the telephone there. He picked up the waiting instrument, staring down at his stockinged feet as he answered. And only pure luck, he thought, accounted for the fact he had put on a pair of socks without holes.
“Hello?”
“Jim? This is Dondero. You’re supposed to be—”
“How the devil did you know where I was?”
“I’m a detective, remember? It says so on my rating card,” Dondero said. “I figured it was about time for Jan to be getting the urge for sukiyaki, and where would she drag you to get it?” He laughed. “No; to tell the truth, this is about the tenth place I called. All the fancy bars in town first, naturally. Anyway, like I was saying, you’re supposed to be at some sort of meeting here at headquarters, and Captain Tower isn’t too overjoyed at your absence. He said—”
“Damn!” Reardon snapped his fingers in annoyance. “I forgot all about it! I had this afternoon off and the thing completely slipped my mind. What’s it all about?”
“The meeting? How should I know?” Dondero sounded mystified. “Clock punchers, janitors, and hired help in my grade don’t get invited. Me, I’m just a messenger, and now I’ve passed along the good word I’m checking out and heading for home. I already put in my forty-eight hours for today.” He paused as a thought struck him. “Hey, Jim — if you want I can tell the captain I couldn’t find you.”