Coward's Kiss by Lawrence Block Read Free Book Online Page B

Sheila Kane was there?”
    “With one of the angels,” she said. “She wasn’t an actress. She waltzed in on the arm of a very grim-looking man with a cigar in his mouth. His name was Clay and her name was Alicia and that’s all I found out about either of them. I didn’t particularly want to know more, to tell you the truth. He looked like a Hollywood heavy and she looked like Whore Row Goes To College and I just wasn’t interested.”
    “Clay——”
    “Clay and Alicia, and don’t ask me her last name or his first name. I don’t know how much money he wasted on the show but he didn’t seem to give a damn. He smoked his cigars and nursed one glass of sour red wine and ignored everybody. She spent her time watching everybody very carefully. Like a rich tourist taking a walk on the Bowery, curious about everything but careful not to get her precious hands dirty. I took an instant dislike to her. I suppose it was bitchy of me but that’s the way I am. I make quick judgments. I didn’t like her at all.”
    “Anyone else with either of them?”
    “Not that I noticed. And no, I don’t remember who the other backers were. Lee Brougham produced the play—he could tell you who put up the money, I suppose. Unless he thought you were trying to steal his angels for a dog of your own. But he’ll be tough to find. I heard he went to the coast. You can’t blame him after ‘Hungry Wedding.’ A genuinely terrible play. An abortion.”
    She didn’t have anything more to tell me. She hadn’t seen the girl again, never heard anything more about her. I tried to fit the new picture with what I knew about Sheila Kane. Now her name was Alicia, and she sounded a little less like Jack Enright’s mistress, a little less like the girl in the snapshot.
    And I had another name now. Mr. Clay. Joe Clay? Sam Clay? Tom, Dick or Harry Clay?
    To hell with it. It was another scrap and it would fit into place eventually. In the meantime we could switch to another topic of conversation.
    But I forgot I was talking to Maddy Parson.
    “Now,” she said dramatically, “give.”
    I tried to look blank.
    “It is now my turn to play detective, Mr. London, sir. If you think you can pump me blind without telling me a damn thing——”
    “Pump you dry, you mean.”
    “That sounds dirty, sort of. And don’t change the subject. You are now going to tell me all about Sheila or Alicia or whoever the hell she is. Come clean, Mr. London, sir.”
    “Maddy——”
    “About the girl,” she said heavily. “Talk.”
    I said: “She’s dead, Maddy.”
    “Oh. I sort of thought so. Now I’m sorry I didn’t like her. I mean——”
    “I know.”
    “Tell me the whole thing, Ed. I’ll be very quiet and I won’t repeat a thing to a soul. I’ll be good. But tell me.”
    I told her. There was no reason to keep secrets from her. She wasn’t involved, didn’t know any of the people involved, and made a good sounding board for the ideas that were rattling around in my head. I gave her the full summary, from the minute Jack Enright walked through my door to the moment I picked her up for dinner. I didn’t leave anything out.
    She shivered properly when I told her how I got shot at. She made a face when I described the scene in the blonde girl’s apartment. And she listened intently all the way through.
    “So here you are,” she said finally. “Hunting a killer and dodging him at the same time. You think Clay’s the killer?”
    I shrugged. “He looks as good as anybody else, but I don’t know who he is.”
    “He looked capable of murder. Be careful, Ed.”
    “I’m always careful. I’m a coward.”
    She grinned at me. I grinned back, and we stood up together, both grinning foolishly. Somewhere along the way the grins gave way to deep long looks. Her eyes were not opaque at all now. I stared into them.
    Then all at once she was in my arms and I was stroking silky hair. Her face buried itself against my chest and my arms were filled with