Chapter 3

Her unexpected statement had the effect of a bucket of cold water poured over Conway's head. He sucked in his breath, wondering if he'd heard right. "You serious?" he asked when he found his voice.

Margo nodded. "Perfectly. Does it surprise you?"

He had to be honest. "A little."

"I love you, Steve," she said soberly. "I suppose I have ever since that first night in the back seat of your car. The only answer for us is marriage."

For her that might be the answer, Conway reflected. Not for him. No one in their right mind ever got hooked. Why bother sticking to one dame when there were so many floating around? He found himself cursing women and their screwy emotions. Every time they got themselves tickled they figured they were in love. He knew that sensation was worthless. Certainly he'd never felt it.

But Conway was no dope. He realized that if Margo was thinking this way he could be walking on thin ice. Supposing he told her how he felt? There was a strong chance she'd stop the car and let him walk the rest of the way into town. What then? He didn't have a place to stay ... or any money for that matter, other than the crummy fifty he'd been given at the prison. Chicken feed.

There were other considerations. Conway glanced at the outline his hand made beneath her dress. It didn't make sense to go chasing around when he had it made at home. Why not catch up on her and then move out?

Conway decided to play along for the time being. "When you figure to do this marriage bit?" he asked.

"Is there any hurry?" Margo said. "I thought you could get your feet on the ground first."

That suited Conway perfectly. This way he could string along in a manner of speaking.

Margo skirted the loop and headed straight into the Gold Coast, a collection of buildings fronting the lake where the rent started at three hundred. Just short of Chicago she turned left and dove across the busy Michigan Boulevard traffic. Three blocks further on she slowed and turned into the basement garage of a plush-looking apartment house.

"Who we visiting?" Conway grunted as they slid from the light into the shadows.

"I live here." Margo corrected herself, "Or we do."

Conway reflected that this little girl had come a long way from the third story hovel he'd left her in three years back. No wonder she hadn't had time to visit him upstate.

When she'd parked the car, he slid out and opened Margo's door for her. She stepped onto the concrete with a great show of leg that Conway found hard to tear his eyes away from. "You like that, don't you?" Margo smiled.

"Yeah," he agreed.

She rubbed herself and made a face. "I'm sore."

"You'll hurt a lot worse before I get through," Conway growled.

Margo came close and kissed him gently, liking the way his hand felt caressing her buttocks, wishing her dress weren't in the way. "Come on," she said at last, leading him through the labyrinth of concrete toward a self-service elevator.

Once inside the security of the machine, she brought herself to him and kissed him without reserve, her body and tongue telling 'him exactly what she wanted. "I want you, Steve," she whispered.

"Soon," he promised.

"Now ... here." She emphasized the demand by tugging her dress to the waist and pulling open the bodice of the cloth, letting her breasts spill into view.

"Careful," Conway cautioned. "Someone might want to get on."

"To hell with them," Margo said sullenly.

Again, Conway reflected, that rough language. What kind of company had the woman been keeping? With Margo around he constantly felt like the man on the dance floor being led by his partner. Just once he would have enjoyed taking the initiative.

This time he was saved by the bell, or at least the door opening onto die floor she'd selected. He would have expected her to button up a little, considering they were stepping out into public. She did let the skirt fall into place. But' at the same time she stripped out of the blouse and walked bare-breasted down the hall. Conway had to admit he enjoyed watching those big boobs bounce around. If there'd been a purpose to her maneuver she succeeded. His temperature shot up.

Margo opened the door to her apartment, and he followed her through the opening. The first thing that hit him was the plushness of the joint. There was the whole bit, wall to wall carpeting, fancy furniture and drapes, a fireplace, and lots of room. "Some place," he commented. "How the hell do you pay the rent?"

Margo walked to a bar set along one wall. "How do you suppose?"

Conway was afraid that he knew the answer to that one. "Won't I throw a crimp in your activities?" he said somewhat bitterly.

Margo poured them both a drink, shaking her head. "Not at all. I just have a few friends, and they won't take much time."

Conway moved to the window, thinking over what she'd said. Just what kind of a set up was he walking into? There was a name for the kind of man he'd be if he stood for what she suggested. Still, he thought it best to hold off his criticism.

He pulled back the drape and looked outside. They were on the 'tenth floor, and the view was magnificant. The lake spread out before him in a panorama of spring color. Closer by, Lincoln Park had its first coating of green. Conway really began to feel free for the first time.

"Here's your drink," Margo said from behind him.

Conway turned into the room and saw the woman seated on the couch. She'd removed what little remained of her dress. Her naked body gleamed in the dull light. "You certainly aren't very modest, are you?" he smiled.

"Is there any reason to be?"

"I guess not," Conway chuckled. As he walked toward her she leaned against the back of the couch and her breasts arched upwards from the position, each enlarged tip pointing directly at him. At the same time she placed her hands at her thighs and drew them up wards, the red nails in vivid contrast to her tanned flesh. For a moment her hands blocked off his view, then with tantalizing slowness she let them move her legs, bringing everything into view. At that point she began a rhythmic pulsation, as if he were already against her. When a strand of her long hair covered one nipple she impatiently brushed it aside, as if she wanted him to see all of her.

Conway had begun to sweat. "Where's that drink?" he asked huskily, wondering why in the hell he worried about such a thing at this moment.

Her eyes sullenly on his, Margo reached out and picked up the filled glass without looking at it. Then, with complete deliberateness, she emptied the contents on her body beneath her chin.

He watched, transfixed, as some of the liquor flowed down between the cavity of her breasts, over her navel and downward.

"You'll have to drink it second hand," Margo smiled.

Conway was silent. He bent down and licked her flesh like a cat after cream. The whisky, along with the salt of the woman spun his head.

"Do it now," she whispered, tugging at his clothes.

Conway need no urging. He tore off his clothes and jumped her in animal heat. With one motion he took her. She screamed in ecstasy, and he struck again, damning the fact that she couldn't do more.

Halfway through the act Margo fell off the couch. He followed her down, not missing a beat, driving at her with all his strength, urged on by her sexual ravings. When she cried out that she'd peaked, Conway paid no attention. He kissed her, drew the wind from her lungs, drew at her breasts and brought her back again until she cried for more.

For better than twenty minutes Conway beat that slender body with his, pinned to her by a force that gathered more strength by the minute. They were soaked in sweat. Her hair was plastered to her head. Moisture trickled from her breasts, and her belly, grinding against his, was hot.

When she peaked again her nails dug cruelly into his bare back, and she pleaded for him to stop. Conway laughed wildly and pulled her more tightly to him, now running his fingers through her legs from the rear, now drawing at a breast until the nipple threatened to pop off in his mouth.

Conway put every one of his frustrations into that lengthy session until the woman's strength failed her and she lay limp beneath him, unable any longer to answer the commands of his body.

Then and only then did he let himself go.

Margo felt him shudder and found new strength to press against him. Her face flushed again, and she cried out in ecstasy, clamping her mouth over his, trying to gain more from him. They seemed to cling forever, until she was sure she could stand no more.

And when it was finished she collapsed on the floor in pleasant shock.

Conway waited a few minutes and then got up. He was proud of himself. He'd shown Margo what a real man was like.

He'd lighted a cigarette and was seated in the chair when she opened her eyes. "You were wonderful," she sighed. "You almost killed me."

"That'll teach you to tease," Conway growled.

Margo got to her feet unsteadily. She kissed him, but there was little feeling in the embrace. "I think I'll go to bed," she announced. "Are you coming?"

He shook his head. "I thought I'd make a few calls and perhaps do some visiting. Mind?"

Margo stood looking down at him, the marks of their recent activities evident from the bruises on her skin. "Of course not. You'll need some money. Take what you need from my purse. You'd better take the key. And when you come in don't wake me up."

Conway grinned. "Not at all?"

She made a face and headed for the door that was obviously the bedroom. "I've been a busy girl these last two days," she reminded him, speaking over her shoulder. "We'll take up where we left off tomorrow."

After she'd gone, Conway fixed himself another drink and sipped it in the conventional manner. He was frankly puzzled concerning Margo. Of course there was the obvious change in her that he didn't like in the least bit. She'd been acting the tramp ever since she'd picked him up at Joliet.

But it was the money that bothered him the most. Not once had she mentioned it. That didn't seem in the least natural.

He glanced around the fancy room, wondering if forty thousand meant so little to her. And on top of everything else she'd offered him her own dough.

Conway lighted a cigarette and scratched his chin in confusion. Was it possible that she didn't know about the money? That hardly seemed likely considering everyone else did. After all, hadn't it been in all the papers at 'the time of the trial? He could still see the headlines: BANK BANDIT REFUSES TO TELL WHERE FORTY THOUSAND HIDDEN.

Conway paced the room, deep in his own thoughts. Perhaps Margo was a better catch than he'd considered. There weren't many women who would keep their traps shut for so long.

At that, his first two days had been far different than he'd anticipated. First there'd been the matter of sex. He'd planned on having his first helping under far better circumstances than that crummy motel back in Joliet.

But mostly he'd figured to be hounded to death about the missing dough. So far not one soul outside of the warden had mentioned it.

Right now Conway decided he needed other company than a dame. He found a clock and saw it was a little after seven. In another hour the boys would be gathered at Clancy's bar.

Then he remembered what Margo had said about the old gang, that they'd all gone stright. This time he dismissed her talk as hogwash. Of course they'd be there. They'd know that Steve Conway, their leader, was out and ready for action.

Spurred on by his thoughts Conway dipped into Margo's purse and extracted a hundred bucks and the key. Then, with a silent tip of his invisible hat in the direction of her bedroom, he hot-footed it from the apartment. He was off to have a damned good time.

In two hours Conway had managed to squeeze in a haircut, shave, and some new clothes. He sat in the back of the cab, humming to himself as they headed for Clancy's. It was odd, he thought, how free he felt now that he was out of Margo's grasp. There was something about that woman that really bugged him. Maybe it was because she kept spreading herself over him like an invisible cloak.

It was odd how he felt about Margo now. There had been a time when he'd really been hot for her. In fact, during his stay in prison, he'd been damned anxious to take up where they'd left off. Of course he'd kept seeing her as she used to be. In the old days the woman suited him to a T. The reason was that he'd trained her that way. When they'd first met she hadn't even been too sure of what sex was. In fact he doubted if she'd ever seen a man.

It had only been after that first session in the back of the car that he'd been able to bring her along, show her the proper way to make a man happy. Conway happily remembered those six months when her only thoughts had been to climb into his sack.

Of course she'd come up with the standard guff about loving him. That's always the crutch a woman uses when she has hot pants. He'd gone along and lied a little so that she wouldn't cool down too much.

But now the shoe was on the other foot. It was Margo who'd been teaching him new tricks. He hardly knew this woman. She was crude and demanding and lacking of even the minimum standards of modesty.

Conway realized he had no real reason to complain. He'd wanted sex when he was sprung and he'd had it ... in large quantities. Still, he felt uneasy about the whole business.

The driver turned off the drive and onto 55th, threading his way through the heavy traffic, alternately cursing and using his brakes. "Place sure has changed," he said over his shoulder, trying to make conversation with his silent passenger.

"Yeah," Conway agreed. "It has." The line of cheap buildings along the road were gone, replaced by modern apartment houses and shops with fancy exteriors. "What the hell happened?"

"Urban renewal," the driver grunted. "The big-wigs figured as how the University of Chicago was so close they should clean the joint up. I think it looks like hell."

Conway had a sudden fear that Clancy's might have been swept away in the rush for efficiency. His thoughts proved groundless. They emerged from the section of neat, concrete buildings into a jungle of brownstone tenements in the space of less than a block. Here Conway felt suddenly at home. This was where he'd been born and raised. He watched the kids playing on the sidewalks, skipping among the overturned garbage cans and scratching their names on anything they could find just as he'd done so many years ago. Laundry flapped from the open windows and small clusters of people relaxed together on the many fire escapes to escape the heat of the spring night. The only change that Conway could see was the addition of the many colored families. It looked as if segregation here meant keeping the white man out.

The driver made one more turn and slid to the curb in front of a dirt-encrusted building housing a bar with the name, CLANCY'S, barely visible over the front door. "You sure you want out here, kid?" he asked. "This is a damned tough neighborhood. They'll chew up a dude like you and spit out the pieces."

Conway chuckled as he handed over a fin. "I was born here, Mac," he said. "I think I can handle myself."

The driver pocketed the money and shrugged. "Suit yourself, but this ain't no place to come home to."

Conway stood on the sidewalk for a minute after the cab had roared off and took in the stink of the place. It was exactly as he remembered, right down to the smell.

Nor had the bar changed. He walked into the dimly lighted room and took a seat in one of the booths along the wall. The place was crowded, and he suddenly fek out of place in his new red-plaid sport jacket. Most of the guys were wearing short-sleeved shirts.

A young girl wearing slacks and a blouse cut almost to her navel came up to his table and gave him a dirty look. "You'd better sit at the bar, friend," she snapped. "These tables are saved for the couples."

Conway ignored her command. "Is Clancy here?" he asked.

She made a business of wiping off the table, and as she leaned over a great amount of breast came into view. They weren't too big, but they were certainly chewable. "He's busy," she said, obviously annoyed at his staying.

"Supposing you tell him that Steve Conway is here and would like to see him. And while your about it bring me a tall whiskey.

The girl straightened up and there was new respect in her expression. "Are you Steve Conway?" she asked.

That was more like it, he thought. "Yeah," Conway agreed, puffing a little. "That's me."

The young girl smiled broadly. "Why I know all about you. Everybody down here does. You're a celebrity in these parts. When did you get out?"

Conway idly wondered how she could know so much about him. From the looks of her she'd been in high school when he'd been sent up. "A few days ago," he said, in answer to her question.

"You're our hero," the girl said proudly.

"Whose?"

"The new Southsiders. I'm their girl friend."

"That must keep you pretty busy," Conway said pointedly.

She caught the drift and smiled even more broadly. "I'm a big girl. Besides, I like plenty of company." She took a step toward him, her intention made clear by the look in her eye. "I could even make time for you."

The thing that hit Conway a jolt was the extreme youth of the girl to be passing herself around so freely. She was hardly more than nineteen. Sure, there'd been dames attached to the gang when he ran it, but they hadn't been so young ... or had they? Upon reflection Conway had to admit that they had. It was he who had aged. "What about this gang?" he asked, changing the subject quickly before he was tempted.

"Yours broke up when you were caught," the girl explained. "Just last year a bunch of the guys around here decided to start it up again." Her eyes glistened with excitement as she talked. "We've had a lot of swell rumbles. Just last week we made a shambles of the Dragons."

Listening to her talk should have made Conway feel like old times. Instead he found himself aging, dunking of what she was telling him as kid stuff. If his intention in coming back here had been to recapture his youth he'd wasted his time.

But that youth was only three years back. It was he who was thinking like an old man. Conway lighted a cigarette, wondering how prison could have made him so ancient so soon.

"Do you mind if I go round up the gang and tell them you're here?" the girl was saying. "They'll want to talk to you."

Why not, Conway thought. Maybe he could give them some pointers. "Sure," he agreed. "Go ahead. But tell Clancy I'm here before you blow."

The girl nodded at a short, fat figure heading their way. "He already knows." She gave him a final smile and vanished through the crowd.

Clancy extended his hand while he was still ten feet from the table, shifting his cigar to the other side of his chubby face. "I'll be damned," he spat. "If it ain't Steve Conway. I sure as hell am glad to see you. When was you sprung?"

Conway grasped the sweaty hand. "A few days ago. I came over as soon as I could."

"Glad you did boy," Clancy enthused. "Glad you did. The joint ain't been the same without you and the other fellas and your sexy broads."

"I hear there's a new gang sprung up."

The heavy figure made a wry face. "They're not like you boys were. No class. That's what's missing these days, class. What the hell, they pinch a few things and don't even have organization enough to sell the haul. That's not the way you handled it. I never seen such a smooth operation as you had."

"Until I got caught," Conway reminded him somewhat bitterly.

Clancy squatted on the table, leaning closer until beady eyes bored into the younger man. "A fluke. That's all that was. Just a fluke. Shorty never was much good. If you hadn't gotten hooked up with him you'd have been all right." He shrugged expansively.

"But what the hell, those breaks happen to everyone." He looked at the empty table in front of Conway. "Ain't you drinking?"

"No one's offered me anything yet," Conway grinned.

"We'll fix that." Clancy snapped his finger in the air and the bartender came over. "Fix Steve here with anything he wants," Clancy said. "It's on the house as long as he wants to guzzle. The fat man turned back to Conway. "We'll call it a celebration."

"Thanks," Conway said.

When the drinks came Clancy downed his in one gulp. "You got any plans?" he asked. "Not a one," Conway admitted.

"I guess you ain't in no hurry about going back to work. Money's one sweat you don't have." He jabbed Conway's arm with his hand and winked broadly. "If you know what I mean," he added.

Conway knew damned well what Clancy meant. This was the first direct reference to the money anyone had made to him since he'd been released.

The fat man broke into Conway's thinking. "If you was thinking of making an investment I could let you have a piece of the bar, even a piece of the broads."

"I'll think about it," Conway promised, stalling. "Any idea of where I might get some work?"

"If you're nuts enough to want to slave I suppose I could fix you up. A man with your experience is always in demand."

"I don't want petty stuff."

"Sure you don't," Clancy agreed. "You're big-league now. I'll have a look around and see what I can dig up. I still know a few of the wheels."

"Do that," Conway urged.

"Tell me," Clancy said, his voice suddenly turning confidential. "Just what did happen at that bank job?"

Conway wished the chubby figure hadn't brought up the subject. He'd spent a lot of time trying to forget that day when everything had gone wrong. But he could see from Clancy's interest that he'd have to tell him something. Conway ordered another drink and got rid of it, liking the sharp sting in his throat. "You read about it in the papers," he said. "Shorty went into the bank and left me at the curb in the car with the engine running. A few minutes later he comes out of that building like he had a firecracker on his tail. Next I saw the guard standing in the doorway. He supported his gun on the frame and got off one shot at Shorty." Conway shrugged. "That was it. Shorty went down in one big lump. Next thing I knew the guard was shooting at me, and I got the hell out of there. Two miles down the road they caught up with me."

Saliva seemed to drool from Clancy's thick lips. "But the sack with the forty grand. Did it get tossed into your car before Shorty got hit or did some clown make off with the stuff and leave you holding an empty bag?"

Conway smiled and sipped his third drink. He'd just been asked the sixty-four dollar question, one he had no intention of answering. "I wouldn't know," he said simply.

Anger crossed Clancy's face. "I don't like to be kidded," he growled.

Conway made an attempt at soothing the fat man. Clancy was no man to have on the opposite you. He had more connections than a switchboard and could be mighty useful in a pinch, even for some sex.

"Now. Clancy," Conway said slowly. "You don't really expect me to tell you everything, do you? If I have the money I'll spend a big bundle in here. If I don't...." He shrugged. "Then you'll just have to get me a job so I can help support you."

Clancy stared at the younger man across from him for a minute, absorbing the double-talk answer. Then he broke into a rich laugh and slapped Conway on the back. "You joker," he spat. "I always said you was the smartest of the bunch. If you got that dough you keep it. I think three years in stir is worth about forty grand." He winked, adding, "Only leave a little behind you in my direction." He rose ponderously to his feet, looking around at the crowd which had thickened considerably during their talk. "I got to go to work," he announced. "You stick around and have a ball. When Dolly comes back I'll give her the night off. She's a damned good tumble. You take her out and gave her a few for me."

Conway leaned back in the booth and relaxed. The alcohol helped. He stared around him at the activity, and it felt good to be back in circulation. The thing he'd always liked about Clancy's was its informality. The fat man was in good with the cops, and he got away with murder. The chances were better than even that right now a game was going on in the back room.

Things out front were going pretty good too, Conway reflected. A few couples danced, if you could call it that, to the music of the juke box. The twist had just been coming in when he'd temporarily left society. Here he saw new variations in their uncensored glory.

Conway watched a dark-haired girl do her best. She wiggled everything there was to shake, from her fanny on up. He debated whether she was wearing a bra and decided against it. Her big breasts were a blur of movement against the tight-fitting sweater. Even though he was seated several yards away from the activity, his temperature jumped a little when the girl spun around a few times. For what seemed like a pleasant eternity her skirt stood straight out from the narrow waist. She wore no stockings and her panties must have been made of cellophane. Her partner took immediate action at her brief exposure. He moved in, touching and kissing her at the same time. That was the end of their dance, and they retired to a back booth for more privacy.

Conway was still thinking this over when he realized he was no longer alone. He looked up into the coldest pair of eyes he'd ever seen. He smelled cop.

"You are Steve Conway?" the newcomer said. It was more statement than question.

"Yeah," Conway agreed, making no offer for him to sit down. "What's it to you?"

The tall man squatted onto the seat across the table from Conway. His eyes burned a hole through the younger man. "I thought I might find you here," he said.

"So you found me," Conway snapped. "Now tell me what this is about or get lost."

The stranger lighted a cigarette with what seemed like deliberate slowness. He blew smoke directly into Conway's face. "I'm an insurance investigator. I thought perhaps it was time you and I had a little talk about forty thousand dollars."