said to the girl. He said it with
relish, as if he were hoping I'd turn him down.
Coral winked at me and sauntered out of the room. She
was naked under that shift and she moved with a studied sensuality.
"I understand you sell pictures," I said, sitting across
from him on a hard, red plastic chair.
"Who told you that?"
"That isn't important."
I took one of the photographs of Cindy Ann out of my
pocket and tossed it over to him.
Jones slapped the snapshot face-down on his knee.
Then he flicked its edge and peeked at it the way a man peeks at a
hole-card. It occurred to me that he wouldn't have to squeeze out
that look if there wasn't a good chance that he wasn't going to like
what he saw.
"So what?" he said, pitching the photo back
to me. "I want the girl," I said to him.
"Well, you can want what you want, mister. But
you ain't going to get nothing out of me."
Coral came back into the room with a bottle of Old
Grandad and three glasses in her right hand.
She
poured three drinks and handed one to me and one to Jones.
"Cheers," she said, raising her own glass.
Jones tossed down the bourbon. He hadn't taken his
vicious little eyes off me since I'd showed him the snapshot. But
that didn't mean much. A man like Jones only has one expression and,
like a kid on Christmas day, he likes to set it up and see it work. I
concentrated on the girl and tried to read his mood in her face. If
my reading was correct, I was in for some trouble, because Coral's
dark eyes touched on everything in the room but me. It was as if she
were calculating just how much damage she'd have to repair when Abel
got through. From the disgust on her face, she saw a lot of work
ahead.
"You ain't touched your drink, mister, "
Jones said.
Coral let out a sigh. "There doesn't have to be
any trouble, does there?"
"Shut up!" Jones said.
"No, Abel. I'm not going to shut up. This is my
house, and I'm not going to see it busted up again. Let me see that
photograph."
Jones stood up and walked over to where Coral was
standing in the archway next to the front hall. "Get the hell
out of here," he said to her. "Or there will be trouble."
That was my cue. I stood up. "No, there won't,
Abel."
He whirled around to face me. He balled his fists and
started toward me when Coral shrieked. And I mean shrieked--a real
movieland scream that made the room ring and stopped Abel Jones in
his tracks. He lowered his fists and turned back to where Coral was
standing. "Now just why the hell'd you do that, Coral?" he
said in a cranky voice that was probably as close to amusement as
Abel Jones ever got. "You 'bout scared the shit
out of me."
"Good," she said.
He shook his head forlornly and looked back at me.
"Takes most of the fun out of it, doesn't it?"
I said.
Jones shook his head again, walked back over to the
recliner, and plopped down.
"That's the first sane thing you've done in a
month," Coral said to him. "Now, show me that picture."
I dug it out of my coat pocket. She studied it
dispassionately for a moment.
"Before I say anything," she said. "I
want to be clear. That mean son-of-a-bitch over there would just as
soon kill you as look at you. And don't think he couldn't, mister."
She tossed her handsome head at Abel. "You're big all right. But
he's as merciless as a New Mexican rattlesnake. And I don't want to
see this place get torn up again."
"I'm not the law," I told her. "I'm a
private cop. And your boy can pander as many dirty pictures as he
likes, once I find that girl."
"What's so important about this little slut?"
She tapped the photograph.
"Her father wants her back."
Coral glanced at Jones, who was still sitting stock
still in the chair, contemplating a world of freakish folly.
"He's no pornographer," she said with a
touch of contempt in her voice. "He does favors for the people
who gave him those photographs. He's supposed to get rid of them, but
Abel there just can't stand to see an easy buck slide by. So every
now and then he sells a bundle to
relish, as if he were hoping I'd turn him down.
Coral winked at me and sauntered out of the room. She
was naked under that shift and she moved with a studied sensuality.
"I understand you sell pictures," I said, sitting across
from him on a hard, red plastic chair.
"Who told you that?"
"That isn't important."
I took one of the photographs of Cindy Ann out of my
pocket and tossed it over to him.
Jones slapped the snapshot face-down on his knee.
Then he flicked its edge and peeked at it the way a man peeks at a
hole-card. It occurred to me that he wouldn't have to squeeze out
that look if there wasn't a good chance that he wasn't going to like
what he saw.
"So what?" he said, pitching the photo back
to me. "I want the girl," I said to him.
"Well, you can want what you want, mister. But
you ain't going to get nothing out of me."
Coral came back into the room with a bottle of Old
Grandad and three glasses in her right hand.
She
poured three drinks and handed one to me and one to Jones.
"Cheers," she said, raising her own glass.
Jones tossed down the bourbon. He hadn't taken his
vicious little eyes off me since I'd showed him the snapshot. But
that didn't mean much. A man like Jones only has one expression and,
like a kid on Christmas day, he likes to set it up and see it work. I
concentrated on the girl and tried to read his mood in her face. If
my reading was correct, I was in for some trouble, because Coral's
dark eyes touched on everything in the room but me. It was as if she
were calculating just how much damage she'd have to repair when Abel
got through. From the disgust on her face, she saw a lot of work
ahead.
"You ain't touched your drink, mister, "
Jones said.
Coral let out a sigh. "There doesn't have to be
any trouble, does there?"
"Shut up!" Jones said.
"No, Abel. I'm not going to shut up. This is my
house, and I'm not going to see it busted up again. Let me see that
photograph."
Jones stood up and walked over to where Coral was
standing in the archway next to the front hall. "Get the hell
out of here," he said to her. "Or there will be trouble."
That was my cue. I stood up. "No, there won't,
Abel."
He whirled around to face me. He balled his fists and
started toward me when Coral shrieked. And I mean shrieked--a real
movieland scream that made the room ring and stopped Abel Jones in
his tracks. He lowered his fists and turned back to where Coral was
standing. "Now just why the hell'd you do that, Coral?" he
said in a cranky voice that was probably as close to amusement as
Abel Jones ever got. "You 'bout scared the shit
out of me."
"Good," she said.
He shook his head forlornly and looked back at me.
"Takes most of the fun out of it, doesn't it?"
I said.
Jones shook his head again, walked back over to the
recliner, and plopped down.
"That's the first sane thing you've done in a
month," Coral said to him. "Now, show me that picture."
I dug it out of my coat pocket. She studied it
dispassionately for a moment.
"Before I say anything," she said. "I
want to be clear. That mean son-of-a-bitch over there would just as
soon kill you as look at you. And don't think he couldn't, mister."
She tossed her handsome head at Abel. "You're big all right. But
he's as merciless as a New Mexican rattlesnake. And I don't want to
see this place get torn up again."
"I'm not the law," I told her. "I'm a
private cop. And your boy can pander as many dirty pictures as he
likes, once I find that girl."
"What's so important about this little slut?"
She tapped the photograph.
"Her father wants her back."
Coral glanced at Jones, who was still sitting stock
still in the chair, contemplating a world of freakish folly.
"He's no pornographer," she said with a
touch of contempt in her voice. "He does favors for the people
who gave him those photographs. He's supposed to get rid of them, but
Abel there just can't stand to see an easy buck slide by. So every
now and then he sells a bundle to
Similar Books
