flowers the size of a trumpet bell bloomed in the little garden.
“Mrs. Utley,” I said, “I think that Donna’s being blackmailed and that the blackmailer will eventually ruin her life and her husband’s and he’s using your films.”
Silence behind me. I turned around and put my hands in my hip pocket. “If I can get those films, I can take away his leverage.” She sat quietly with her knees together and her ankles crossed as she had before and took a delicate sip of sherry. “You remember Donna, don’t you? Like a niece almost.
You taught her everything. Pygmalion. Remember her? She started out in life caught in a mudhole. And she’s climbed out.
She has gotten out of the bog and onto solid ground, and now she’s getting dragged back in. You don’t need money. You told me that.”
“I’m a businesswoman,” she said. “I do not follow bad business practices.”
“Is that how you stay out of the bog?” I said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You climbed out of the mudhole a bit too, is that how?
You keep telling yourself you’re a businesswoman and that’s the code you live by. So that you don’t have to deal with the fact that you are also a pimp. Like Violet.”
There was no change in her expression. “You lousy nodick son of a bitch,” she said.
I laughed. “Now, baby, now we are getting it together.
You got a lot of style and great manners, but you and I are from the same neighborhood, darling, and now that we both know it maybe we can do business. I want those goddamned films, and I’ll do what I have to to get them.”
Her face was whiter now than it had been. I could see the makeup more clearly.
“You want her back in the mudhole?” I said. “She got out, and you helped her. Now she’s got style and manners, and there’s a man that wants to dirty her up and rub her nose in what she was. It’ll destroy her. You want to destroy her?
For business? When I said you were like Violet, you got mad.
Think how mad it would make Violet.” She reached over and picked up the phone and pressed the intercom button.
“Steven,” she said, “I need you.”
By the time the phone was back in the cradle, Steven was in the room. He had a nice springy step when he walked.
Vigorous. He also had a.38 caliber Ruger Black Hawk.
Patricia Utley said, “I believe he has a gun, Steven.”
Steven said, “Yeah, right hip, I spotted it when he came in. Shall I take it away from him?” Steven was holding the Ruger at his side, the barrel pointing at the floor. As he spoke, he slapped it absentmindedly against his thigh.
“No,” Patricia Utley said, “just show him to the street, please.”
Steven gestured with his head toward the door. “Move it,” he said.
I looked at Patricia Utley. Her color had returned. She was poised, still controlled, handsome. I couldn’t think of anything to say. So I moved it.
Outside, it was a warm summer night. Dark now, the bronze glow gone. And on the East Side, midtown, quiet. I walked over to Fifth Avenue and caught a cab uptown to my motel. The West Side was a little noisier but nowhere near as suave. When I got into my room, I turned up the air conditioner, turned on the television, and took a shower. When I came out, there was a Yankee game on and I lay on the bed and watched it.
Was it Lester? Was it Maynard with Lester as the straw? It had to be something like that. The coincidence would have been too big. The rumor that Rabb is shading games, the wife’s past, Marty knew something about it. He lied about the marriage circumstances, and Lester Floyd showing up asking about the wife and Lester Floyd’s name being on the mailing list. It had to be. Lester or Maynard had spotted Linda Rabb in the film and put the screws on her husband. I couldn’t prove it, but I didn’t have to. I could report back to Erskine that it looked probable Rabb was in somebody’s pocket and he could go to the DA and they could take it from there. I could get a print of
“Mrs. Utley,” I said, “I think that Donna’s being blackmailed and that the blackmailer will eventually ruin her life and her husband’s and he’s using your films.”
Silence behind me. I turned around and put my hands in my hip pocket. “If I can get those films, I can take away his leverage.” She sat quietly with her knees together and her ankles crossed as she had before and took a delicate sip of sherry. “You remember Donna, don’t you? Like a niece almost.
You taught her everything. Pygmalion. Remember her? She started out in life caught in a mudhole. And she’s climbed out.
She has gotten out of the bog and onto solid ground, and now she’s getting dragged back in. You don’t need money. You told me that.”
“I’m a businesswoman,” she said. “I do not follow bad business practices.”
“Is that how you stay out of the bog?” I said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You climbed out of the mudhole a bit too, is that how?
You keep telling yourself you’re a businesswoman and that’s the code you live by. So that you don’t have to deal with the fact that you are also a pimp. Like Violet.”
There was no change in her expression. “You lousy nodick son of a bitch,” she said.
I laughed. “Now, baby, now we are getting it together.
You got a lot of style and great manners, but you and I are from the same neighborhood, darling, and now that we both know it maybe we can do business. I want those goddamned films, and I’ll do what I have to to get them.”
Her face was whiter now than it had been. I could see the makeup more clearly.
“You want her back in the mudhole?” I said. “She got out, and you helped her. Now she’s got style and manners, and there’s a man that wants to dirty her up and rub her nose in what she was. It’ll destroy her. You want to destroy her?
For business? When I said you were like Violet, you got mad.
Think how mad it would make Violet.” She reached over and picked up the phone and pressed the intercom button.
“Steven,” she said, “I need you.”
By the time the phone was back in the cradle, Steven was in the room. He had a nice springy step when he walked.
Vigorous. He also had a.38 caliber Ruger Black Hawk.
Patricia Utley said, “I believe he has a gun, Steven.”
Steven said, “Yeah, right hip, I spotted it when he came in. Shall I take it away from him?” Steven was holding the Ruger at his side, the barrel pointing at the floor. As he spoke, he slapped it absentmindedly against his thigh.
“No,” Patricia Utley said, “just show him to the street, please.”
Steven gestured with his head toward the door. “Move it,” he said.
I looked at Patricia Utley. Her color had returned. She was poised, still controlled, handsome. I couldn’t think of anything to say. So I moved it.
Outside, it was a warm summer night. Dark now, the bronze glow gone. And on the East Side, midtown, quiet. I walked over to Fifth Avenue and caught a cab uptown to my motel. The West Side was a little noisier but nowhere near as suave. When I got into my room, I turned up the air conditioner, turned on the television, and took a shower. When I came out, there was a Yankee game on and I lay on the bed and watched it.
Was it Lester? Was it Maynard with Lester as the straw? It had to be something like that. The coincidence would have been too big. The rumor that Rabb is shading games, the wife’s past, Marty knew something about it. He lied about the marriage circumstances, and Lester Floyd showing up asking about the wife and Lester Floyd’s name being on the mailing list. It had to be. Lester or Maynard had spotted Linda Rabb in the film and put the screws on her husband. I couldn’t prove it, but I didn’t have to. I could report back to Erskine that it looked probable Rabb was in somebody’s pocket and he could go to the DA and they could take it from there. I could get a print of
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