station a man in our neighborhood.”
“I see,” said the FBI man.
“Something has got to be done,” declared Frank. “This is a gross invasion of privacy.”
“It certainly is,” said the FBI man, “and we will look into the matter, never fear.”
After Frank had hung up, he returned to his bacon sandwich and thermos of buttermilk.
“
I’m just a poor little
—” he had sung before catching himself. Shocked, he totted figures the remainder of his lunch hour.
T he next night it was a perky brunette with a blouse front slashed to forever.
“No!” said Frank in a ringing voice.
She wiggled sumptuously. “Why?” she asked.
“
I do not have to explain myself to you
!” he said and shut the door, heart pistoning against his chest.
Then he snapped his fingers and opened the door again. The brunette turned, smiling.
“Changed your mind, honey?” she asked.
“No. I mean
yes
,” said Frank, eyes narrowing. “What’s your address?”
The brunette looked mildly accusing.
“Now, honey,” she said. “You wouldn’t be trying to get me in trouble, would you?”
“She wouldn’t tell me,” he said dismally when he returned to the living room.
Sylvia looked despairing. “I phoned the police again,” she said.
“And—?”
“And
nothing
. There’s the smell of corruption in this.”
Frank nodded gravely. “You’d better get that dog,” he said. He thought of the brunette. “A
big
one,” he added.
W owee, that Janie,” said Maxwell.
Frank downshifted vigorously and yawed around a corner on squealing tires. His face was adamantine.
Maxwell clapped him on the shoulder.
“Aw, come off it, Frankie-boy,” he said, “you’re not fooling me any. You’re no different from the rest of us.”
“I’ll have no part in it,” declared Frank, “and that’s all there is to it.”
“So keep telling that to the Mrs.,” said Maxwell. “But get in a few kicks on the side like the rest of us. Right?”
“Wrong,” said Frank. “
All
wrong. No
wonder
the police can’t do anything. I’m probably the only willing witness in town.”
Maxwell guffawed.
It was a raven-haired, limp-lidded vamp that night. On her outfit spangles moved and glittered at strategic points.
“Hel-lo, honey lamb,” she said. “My name’s—”
“
What have you done with our dog
?” challenged Frank.
“Why, nothing, honey, nothing,” she said. “He’s just off getting acquainted with my poodle Winifred. Now about
us
—”
Frank shut the door without a word and waited until the twitching had eased before returning to Sylvia and television.
Semper
, by God oh God, he thought as he put on his pajamas later,
fidelis
.
T he next two nights they sat in the darkened living room and, as soon as the woman rang the doorbell, Sylvia phoned the police.
“
Yes
,” she whispered, furiously, “they’re right outthere
now
. Will you please send a patrol car
this instant
?”
Both nights the patrol car arrived after the women had gone.
“Complicity,” muttered Sylvia as she daubed on cold cream. “Plain out-and-out complicity.”
Frank ran cold water over his wrists.
T hat day Frank phoned city and state officials who promised to look into the matter.
That night it was a redhead sheathed in a green knit dress that hugged all that was voluminous and there was much of that.
“Now, see here—” Frank began.
“Girls who were here before me,” said the redhead, “tell me you’re not interested. Well, I always say, where there’s a disinterested husband there’s a listening wife.”
“Now you see here—” said Frank.
He stopped as the redhead handed him a card. He looked at it automatically.
39-26-36
MARGIE
( SPECIALTIES )
BY APPOINTMENT ONLY .
“If you don’t want to set it up here, honey,” said Margie, “you just meet me in the Cyprian Room of the Hotel Fillmore.”
“I
beg
your pardon,” said Frank and flung the card away.
“Any evening between six
“I see,” said the FBI man.
“Something has got to be done,” declared Frank. “This is a gross invasion of privacy.”
“It certainly is,” said the FBI man, “and we will look into the matter, never fear.”
After Frank had hung up, he returned to his bacon sandwich and thermos of buttermilk.
“
I’m just a poor little
—” he had sung before catching himself. Shocked, he totted figures the remainder of his lunch hour.
T he next night it was a perky brunette with a blouse front slashed to forever.
“No!” said Frank in a ringing voice.
She wiggled sumptuously. “Why?” she asked.
“
I do not have to explain myself to you
!” he said and shut the door, heart pistoning against his chest.
Then he snapped his fingers and opened the door again. The brunette turned, smiling.
“Changed your mind, honey?” she asked.
“No. I mean
yes
,” said Frank, eyes narrowing. “What’s your address?”
The brunette looked mildly accusing.
“Now, honey,” she said. “You wouldn’t be trying to get me in trouble, would you?”
“She wouldn’t tell me,” he said dismally when he returned to the living room.
Sylvia looked despairing. “I phoned the police again,” she said.
“And—?”
“And
nothing
. There’s the smell of corruption in this.”
Frank nodded gravely. “You’d better get that dog,” he said. He thought of the brunette. “A
big
one,” he added.
W owee, that Janie,” said Maxwell.
Frank downshifted vigorously and yawed around a corner on squealing tires. His face was adamantine.
Maxwell clapped him on the shoulder.
“Aw, come off it, Frankie-boy,” he said, “you’re not fooling me any. You’re no different from the rest of us.”
“I’ll have no part in it,” declared Frank, “and that’s all there is to it.”
“So keep telling that to the Mrs.,” said Maxwell. “But get in a few kicks on the side like the rest of us. Right?”
“Wrong,” said Frank. “
All
wrong. No
wonder
the police can’t do anything. I’m probably the only willing witness in town.”
Maxwell guffawed.
It was a raven-haired, limp-lidded vamp that night. On her outfit spangles moved and glittered at strategic points.
“Hel-lo, honey lamb,” she said. “My name’s—”
“
What have you done with our dog
?” challenged Frank.
“Why, nothing, honey, nothing,” she said. “He’s just off getting acquainted with my poodle Winifred. Now about
us
—”
Frank shut the door without a word and waited until the twitching had eased before returning to Sylvia and television.
Semper
, by God oh God, he thought as he put on his pajamas later,
fidelis
.
T he next two nights they sat in the darkened living room and, as soon as the woman rang the doorbell, Sylvia phoned the police.
“
Yes
,” she whispered, furiously, “they’re right outthere
now
. Will you please send a patrol car
this instant
?”
Both nights the patrol car arrived after the women had gone.
“Complicity,” muttered Sylvia as she daubed on cold cream. “Plain out-and-out complicity.”
Frank ran cold water over his wrists.
T hat day Frank phoned city and state officials who promised to look into the matter.
That night it was a redhead sheathed in a green knit dress that hugged all that was voluminous and there was much of that.
“Now, see here—” Frank began.
“Girls who were here before me,” said the redhead, “tell me you’re not interested. Well, I always say, where there’s a disinterested husband there’s a listening wife.”
“Now you see here—” said Frank.
He stopped as the redhead handed him a card. He looked at it automatically.
39-26-36
MARGIE
( SPECIALTIES )
BY APPOINTMENT ONLY .
“If you don’t want to set it up here, honey,” said Margie, “you just meet me in the Cyprian Room of the Hotel Fillmore.”
“I
beg
your pardon,” said Frank and flung the card away.
“Any evening between six
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