Chapter 6

Terry was dressed except for his jacket. He was nursing his drink.

"I don't even know where you live, baby," she said. "Some dump."

"Where did you pick up so many American expressions?" she wanted to know.

"Was born in the States, but raised in Britain."

"I think you're more American than English," she said. "You certainly don't make love like an Englishman."

"Really? And how does an Englishman make love?"

"He usually goes to bed with his spats on."

"Somebody has been telling you stories," he accused.

"You meant it's not so?"

"Haven't I just shown you?"

"You don't count," she said. "You are an American by birth."

"And on that note," he said, "I think I'll take my departure. You had better get some sleep, young lady."

"Are you going to let Hans hide you?"

"I don't know," he said. "It's an expensive proposition."

"You make up your mind and let me know."

"I'll have to get my money. It's stashed away."

"Will you know by tomorrow?"

"I imagine so."

"All right, baby. You can leave the powder here. It'll be safe."

"I think I will leave it here." He took her gun from his jacket pocket. "I may as well return your pistol." He put the automatic on the cocktail table.

She walked with him to the door.

"Would you like to make a little bet?" she asked.

"About what?"

"I'll bet you're shadowed as soon as you leave here."

"But why?"

"Hans would like to know where you live," she said. "He'd want to check on you."

"A man has to have some privacy," he complained. "I know, baby, but Hans is so thoughtless."

"Thanks for tipping me." He kissed her cheek. "It was a ball, darling."

He went into the hall and she closed the door.

Terry Scott hailed a cab. "Just drive," he told the driver. He looked back through the rear window. There was a blue Caddy hugging the cab's behind.

After five minutes, Terry said, "Forty-Second Street and Seventh Avenue."

The Caddy stayed close by.

Terry lit a cigarette.

At Forty-Second Street and Seventh he paid the driver and got out. He walked down the subway stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, he paused, looked up.

A short, stocky man appeared. He stopped short when he saw Terry.

Terry, grinning from ear to ear, walked through the station, took the shuttle to the East side. The stocky man was in the other car.

He left the station, walked across the street to the automat where he had a cup of coffee. Then he went back into the station. He took the East 180th Street train uptown. At 149th Street he got off, walked across the upstairs platform, took the downtown train. He glanced into the next car, saw the stocky man. At the 125th Street station he hunched forward on his seat, balancing himself on the balls of his feet. As soon as the doors started to close he leaped through. The doors closed and the train pulled away. The stocky man was at the doors of the next car. His face was deep red. Terry waved at him.

He left the station and found himself in Harlem. He walked to the corner and waited under the street light. A cab came cruising up the street.

Terry hailed the cab, got in. He gave his address.

The cab headed downtown.

He settled back, lit a cigarette.

He looked at his watch. It was three o'clock in the morning. There wasn't much traffic.

The cab went east to Second Avenue turned right and went down town.

Twenty minutes later, Terry Scott was in his flat, opening the refrigerator for a can of beer. Rene Moffet materialized in the doorway. She had on shortie pajamas.

"I'm sorry I woke you," Terry said. "That's all right."

"Do you want a beer?"

"Sure. I'll join you." She sat down at a formica topped table while Terry opened two cans of beer. He got two glasses from the cupboard, washed them, filled them with beer.

"I might be going away for awhile," he said.

"If you have to."

"Maybe it would be better if you took a short vacation," he suggested.

"There might be trouble?"

"You never can tell."

"I can go to Mineola for a couple of weeks," she said. "I'll get paid for it too. I was offered a small part in a show. It meant going to Mineola so I turned it down."

"Can you still get it?"

"I believe I can."

"Grab it," Terry urged.

"I'd have to leave right away."

"That's okay. Everything will be back to normal by the time you get back."

"Normal?" she said. "What is normal?"

"Take it easy, Rene," Terry said. "You don't have to put up with me."

"Can't I gripe a little bit? Just a little bit?"

"Sure," he said. "I'm sorry. You've every right to gripe."

"Let's hit the hay," she said. "I'm horney." He put out the lights in the kitchen and they went to bed.

Terry had been drained by his session with Gina, but he got it up for Rene and plowed her into seventh heaven. This lay was going to have to do her till he finished this job.