McNally's Risk by Lawrence Sanders Read Free Book Online Page B

determined to wheel down to Fort Lauderdale and have a chat with Shirley Feebling, the young woman who was causing Chauncey Wilson Smythe-Hersforth to suffer an acute attack of the fantods.
    In my innocence it never occurred to me the two investigations might be connected. But as A. Pope remarked, "Fools rush in . . ." Right on, Alex!
    Less than two hours later I was in a mini-mall north of Ft. Liquordale, staring with some bemusement at a large sign that advertised in block letters: topless car wash. And below, in a chaste script: "No touching allowed." The activities within were hidden from prurient passers-by by a canvas curtain slit down the middle. Customers' cars were driven through the curtain to the interior, where vehicles and drivers were presumably rejuvenated.
    I decided my flag-red Miata convertible would be abashed by such intimate attention, so I parked nearby and returned on foot to push my way through the slit curtain. I was confronted by a woolly mammoth, who appeared to be either the manager or a hired sentinel assigned to halt sightseers who didn't arrive on wheels.
    "I'd like to speak to Miss Shirley Feebling, please," I said.
    "Yeah?" he said belligerently. "Who're you?"
    "Andrew Jackson," I said, proffering a twenty-dollar bill. "Here is my business card."
    "Oh yeah," he said, grabbing it. "I thought I recognized you. She's over there washing down the Tuchas."
    I turned to look. "Taurus," I said.
    "Whatever," he said, shrugging.
    I was a bit taken aback by my first sight of Ms. Feebling.
    I suppose I had expected a brazen hussy and instead I saw a small, demure brunet who looked rather sweet and vulnerable. There was a waifish innocence about her that made her costume even more outre. She was wearing the bottom section of a pink thong bikini, and she was indeed topless.
    It would be indelicate to describe those gifts that qualified her for employment in a topless car wash. Suffice to say that she was well-qualified.
    I waited until she finished wiping the Taurus dry and had been handed what appeared to be a generous tip by the pop-eyed driver. Then I approached and offered her my business card, a legitimate one this time.
    "My name is Archibald McNally," I said with a restrained 100-watt smile. "My law firm represents Mr. Smythe-Hersforth. I was hoping to have a friendly talk with you so that we might arrive at some mutually beneficial solution of your misunderstanding with our client."
    "There's no misunderstanding," she said, inspecting my card. "Chauncey said he'd marry me, and I've got the letters to prove it."
    "Of course," I said, "but I hope you'll be willing to discuss it. I drove down from Palm Beach specifically to meet you and learn your side of this disagreement. Could we go somewhere reasonably private where we can chat? I would be more than willing to recompense you or your employer for the time you are absent from work."
    She looked up at me. "Will you buy me a pizza?" she asked.
    "Delighted," I told her.
    "Then I'll ask Jake," she said. She went over to the woolly mammoth, talked a moment, then came back. "He wants fifty for an hour. Okay?"
    "Certainly," I said, imagining my father's reaction when he saw this item on my expense account.
    "That's neat," she said, and her smile sparkled. "I'll go get dressed. Just take a minute."
    She went through an unmarked door that I presumed led to a dressing room, or rather an undressing room. I thought she would don a voluminous coverup, but when she reappeared she had added only a T-shirt that had PEACE printed on the front, an affirmation to which I heartily subscribed. But unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on the state of one's hormones—the T-shirt appeared to be sodden, and it clung. Lucky T-shirt.
    "The pizza joint is just two doors away," she said. "All us girls go there. The owner don't mind as long as our boobs are covered."
    A few moments later we were seated in the pizza joint, a fancy palace with real Formica-topped tables and