supposed, naturally, that the idea would be something like a quarter a point, maybe more, and that if he won I would pay, and if I won he would owe me. But no, it was purely social, a cent a point. Either he gambled only on the beautiful muscles, or he was stringing me along, or he merely wanted to establish relations for future use. He was a damn good gin player. He could talk about anything, and did, and at the same time remember every discard and every pickup. I won 92 cents, but only because I got most of the breaks.
At one point I took advantage of something he had said. That reminds me,' I told him, 'of a remark I overheard today. What do you think of a man who makes a pass at his son's wife?'
He was dealing. His hand stopped for an instant and then flipped me a card. 'Who made the remark?'
'I'd rather not say. I wasn't eavesdropping, but I happened to hear it.'
'Any names mentioned?'
'Certainly.'
He picked up his hand. 'Your name's Alfred?'
'Alan.'
'I forget names. People's. Not horses'. I'll tell you, Alan. For what I think about my brother-in-law's attitude on money and his wife's brother, come to me anytime. Beyond that I'm no authority. Anyone who thinks he ought to be shot, they can shoot him. No flowers. Not from me. Your play.'
That didn't tell me much. When, at six o'clock, I said I had to wash and change for a date with Lois, and he totaled the score, fast and accurate, he turned it around for me to check. 'At the moment,' he said, 'I haven't got ninety-two cents, but you can make it ninety-two dollars. More. Peach Fuzz in the fifth at Jamaica Thursday will be eight to one. With sixty dollars I could put forty on his nose. Three hundred and twenty, and half to you. And ninety-two cents.'
I told him it sounded very attractive and I'd let him know tomorrow. Since Jarrell had said to let him have fifty or a hundred I could have dished it out then and there, but if I did he probably wouldn't be around tomorrow, and there was an off chance that I would want him for something. He took it like a gentleman, no shoving.
When, that morning on the terrace, I had proposed dinner and dance to Lois, I had mentioned the Flamingo Club, but the experience at Rusterman's with Trella had shown me it wouldn't be advisable. So I asked her if she would mind making it Colonna's in the Village, where there was a good band and no one knew me, at least not by name, and we weren't apt to run into any of my friends. For a second she did mind, but then decided it would be fun to try one she had never been to.
Jarrell had said she was particular about her dancing partners, and she had a right to be. The rhythm was clear through her, not just from her hips down, and she was right with me in everything we tried. To give her as good as she gave I had to put the mind away entirely and let the body take over, and the result was that when midnight came, and time for champagne, I hadn't made a single stab at the project I was supposed to be working on. As the waiter was pouring I was thinking. What the hell, a detective has to get the subject feeling intimate before he can expect her to discuss intimate matters, and three more numbers ought to do it. Actually I never did get it started. It just happened that when we returned to the table again and finished the champagne, she lifted her glass with the last thimbleful, said, 'To life and death,' and tossed it down. She put the glass on the table and added, 'If death ever slept.'
'I'm with you,' I said, putting my empty glass next to hers, 'or I guess I am. What does it mean?'
'I don't know. I ought to, since I wrote it myself. It's from that poem I wrote. The last five lines go:
'Or a rodent kept
High and free on the twig of a tree,
Or a girl who wept
A bitter tear for the death so near,
If death ever slept!'
'I'm sorry,' I said. 'I like the sound of it, but I'm still not sure what it means.'
'Neither am I. That's why I'm sure it's a poem. Susan understands it, or says she does.
At one point I took advantage of something he had said. That reminds me,' I told him, 'of a remark I overheard today. What do you think of a man who makes a pass at his son's wife?'
He was dealing. His hand stopped for an instant and then flipped me a card. 'Who made the remark?'
'I'd rather not say. I wasn't eavesdropping, but I happened to hear it.'
'Any names mentioned?'
'Certainly.'
He picked up his hand. 'Your name's Alfred?'
'Alan.'
'I forget names. People's. Not horses'. I'll tell you, Alan. For what I think about my brother-in-law's attitude on money and his wife's brother, come to me anytime. Beyond that I'm no authority. Anyone who thinks he ought to be shot, they can shoot him. No flowers. Not from me. Your play.'
That didn't tell me much. When, at six o'clock, I said I had to wash and change for a date with Lois, and he totaled the score, fast and accurate, he turned it around for me to check. 'At the moment,' he said, 'I haven't got ninety-two cents, but you can make it ninety-two dollars. More. Peach Fuzz in the fifth at Jamaica Thursday will be eight to one. With sixty dollars I could put forty on his nose. Three hundred and twenty, and half to you. And ninety-two cents.'
I told him it sounded very attractive and I'd let him know tomorrow. Since Jarrell had said to let him have fifty or a hundred I could have dished it out then and there, but if I did he probably wouldn't be around tomorrow, and there was an off chance that I would want him for something. He took it like a gentleman, no shoving.
When, that morning on the terrace, I had proposed dinner and dance to Lois, I had mentioned the Flamingo Club, but the experience at Rusterman's with Trella had shown me it wouldn't be advisable. So I asked her if she would mind making it Colonna's in the Village, where there was a good band and no one knew me, at least not by name, and we weren't apt to run into any of my friends. For a second she did mind, but then decided it would be fun to try one she had never been to.
Jarrell had said she was particular about her dancing partners, and she had a right to be. The rhythm was clear through her, not just from her hips down, and she was right with me in everything we tried. To give her as good as she gave I had to put the mind away entirely and let the body take over, and the result was that when midnight came, and time for champagne, I hadn't made a single stab at the project I was supposed to be working on. As the waiter was pouring I was thinking. What the hell, a detective has to get the subject feeling intimate before he can expect her to discuss intimate matters, and three more numbers ought to do it. Actually I never did get it started. It just happened that when we returned to the table again and finished the champagne, she lifted her glass with the last thimbleful, said, 'To life and death,' and tossed it down. She put the glass on the table and added, 'If death ever slept.'
'I'm with you,' I said, putting my empty glass next to hers, 'or I guess I am. What does it mean?'
'I don't know. I ought to, since I wrote it myself. It's from that poem I wrote. The last five lines go:
'Or a rodent kept
High and free on the twig of a tree,
Or a girl who wept
A bitter tear for the death so near,
If death ever slept!'
'I'm sorry,' I said. 'I like the sound of it, but I'm still not sure what it means.'
'Neither am I. That's why I'm sure it's a poem. Susan understands it, or says she does.
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