poor job of covering herself with the top sheet. Tart or not, she was cute.
“What are you doing here?” Captain Corson asked her.
Her grin was gamin. “Do you really want me to tell you?”
Corson got red back of the ears. “Let’s put it this way, then. How long have you been here?”
“Three or four hours,” she lied. “Since around four o’clock.”
“I told you,” LaFanti repeated.
Unless I’d blown my top, both the blonde and the elevator boy were lying. They had to be.
“What’s the matter?” the blonde asked LaFanti. “Are we raided?”
“So it would seem,” he said.
One of the camera men tried to get a picture of the blonde. Still red behind the ears, Captain Corson closed the door and led the way back to the living room. “I will be damned,” he said, “if I know what to think.”
LaFanti’s voice was patronizing. “You sure now, soldier, that you haven’t gotten your apartments mixed?”
I tried to think of something to say and couldn’t. I couldn’t prove a damn thing, at least not immediately. It was the time element that had thrown me. I’d figured to be back in ten minutes. Instead, it had been over an hour, giving him plenty of time to clean up the apartment, buy off the elevator boy and substitute the naked little blonde for the girl I’d heard crying.
One of the reporters laughed. “It sort of looks like this has turned out to be a wild goose chase.” He looked back at the door of the room. “Or should I say wild tomato? Isn’t that the little stripper who takes off her clothes to music at The Furnace, Joe?”
“That’s right,” LaFanti admitted. “So help me, the guy must be crazy.” He glanced at the door of the bedroom. “Why would I want to pound on him when —” He left it there.
Several reporters laughed. I said, “You’re lying and you know you are. You had some other dame in here while you were pounding on me. The little babe in the bedroom was downstairs when I left. With all her clothes on, I know. She got out of the cab I took to Central Bureau.”
“So you say,” LaFanti said. He looked at my campaign ribbons and medal bars and asked, “I wonder if I could speak to you privately, Mr. State’s Attorney.”
Olson said, “You can say whatever you want to say right here.”
LaFanti said it. “I think the soldier is nuts. Look at the fruit salad on the guy.”
“What about it?” I asked.
LaFanti’s smile was smooth. “They’re a credit to you, soldier. I wish I could wear them.” He sounded like a con man selling a bill of goods to a bunch of rubes on a carnival midway. “All I’m thinking is maybe you’ve been through too much. Making all these wild accusations that you have doesn’t make good sense. In my book you got —” he couldn’t think of the word he wanted. “Not battle fatigue. What’s that other thing?”
“War neurosis?” one of the reporters suggested.
LaFanti showed his white teeth in a smile. “Yeah. That’s it. Like hallucinations.” He ignored me to talk directly to the reporters. “The sergeant’s a good Joe, see? He comes back here to look up his brother’s wife and what does he find? He finds Mona just about to take the big step for scragging a guy she’d been cheating on his brother with. The sergeant is hurt. He’s sore. He wants to beat on someone to get even for what Mona done to his brother. So he dreams up this stuff about me, subconsciously, see? Just because at one time Mona was my girl.”
I said, “That’s a lot of crap.”
“Could be,” LaFanti admitted. “But you’ve made a lot of charges, fellow. You’ve caused me embarrassment. Now I’m going to make one request, for your own good, because I think when you’re normal, you’re probably a pretty good guy.”
“What sort of a request?” Olson asked.
LaFanti said, “I want the guy run through the psycho ward.”
Coming from him it was funny but Olson didn’t seem to think so. I could feel my throat contract, as
“What are you doing here?” Captain Corson asked her.
Her grin was gamin. “Do you really want me to tell you?”
Corson got red back of the ears. “Let’s put it this way, then. How long have you been here?”
“Three or four hours,” she lied. “Since around four o’clock.”
“I told you,” LaFanti repeated.
Unless I’d blown my top, both the blonde and the elevator boy were lying. They had to be.
“What’s the matter?” the blonde asked LaFanti. “Are we raided?”
“So it would seem,” he said.
One of the camera men tried to get a picture of the blonde. Still red behind the ears, Captain Corson closed the door and led the way back to the living room. “I will be damned,” he said, “if I know what to think.”
LaFanti’s voice was patronizing. “You sure now, soldier, that you haven’t gotten your apartments mixed?”
I tried to think of something to say and couldn’t. I couldn’t prove a damn thing, at least not immediately. It was the time element that had thrown me. I’d figured to be back in ten minutes. Instead, it had been over an hour, giving him plenty of time to clean up the apartment, buy off the elevator boy and substitute the naked little blonde for the girl I’d heard crying.
One of the reporters laughed. “It sort of looks like this has turned out to be a wild goose chase.” He looked back at the door of the room. “Or should I say wild tomato? Isn’t that the little stripper who takes off her clothes to music at The Furnace, Joe?”
“That’s right,” LaFanti admitted. “So help me, the guy must be crazy.” He glanced at the door of the bedroom. “Why would I want to pound on him when —” He left it there.
Several reporters laughed. I said, “You’re lying and you know you are. You had some other dame in here while you were pounding on me. The little babe in the bedroom was downstairs when I left. With all her clothes on, I know. She got out of the cab I took to Central Bureau.”
“So you say,” LaFanti said. He looked at my campaign ribbons and medal bars and asked, “I wonder if I could speak to you privately, Mr. State’s Attorney.”
Olson said, “You can say whatever you want to say right here.”
LaFanti said it. “I think the soldier is nuts. Look at the fruit salad on the guy.”
“What about it?” I asked.
LaFanti’s smile was smooth. “They’re a credit to you, soldier. I wish I could wear them.” He sounded like a con man selling a bill of goods to a bunch of rubes on a carnival midway. “All I’m thinking is maybe you’ve been through too much. Making all these wild accusations that you have doesn’t make good sense. In my book you got —” he couldn’t think of the word he wanted. “Not battle fatigue. What’s that other thing?”
“War neurosis?” one of the reporters suggested.
LaFanti showed his white teeth in a smile. “Yeah. That’s it. Like hallucinations.” He ignored me to talk directly to the reporters. “The sergeant’s a good Joe, see? He comes back here to look up his brother’s wife and what does he find? He finds Mona just about to take the big step for scragging a guy she’d been cheating on his brother with. The sergeant is hurt. He’s sore. He wants to beat on someone to get even for what Mona done to his brother. So he dreams up this stuff about me, subconsciously, see? Just because at one time Mona was my girl.”
I said, “That’s a lot of crap.”
“Could be,” LaFanti admitted. “But you’ve made a lot of charges, fellow. You’ve caused me embarrassment. Now I’m going to make one request, for your own good, because I think when you’re normal, you’re probably a pretty good guy.”
“What sort of a request?” Olson asked.
LaFanti said, “I want the guy run through the psycho ward.”
Coming from him it was funny but Olson didn’t seem to think so. I could feel my throat contract, as
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