female curiosity,” Penny said. “Would your delicate male ego be crushed if I told you that I have had enough romance for the next day or two?”
He chuckled.
She reached out her hand and rubbed her fingers across his cheek.
“Make that ‘physical romance’,” she said. “You can hold my hand, if you want.”
She moved her hand to his on the steering wheel and caught it and moved it to her chest.
That is a tender, as opposed to erotic, gesture.
“You need a shave,” she said. “Are you going to take me to your apartment, Matthew?”
“I suppose that’s best, even for someone whose delicate male ego has just been crushed flat.”
“Women have the right to change their minds,” she said cheerfully. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that?”
She suddenly let go of his hand and sat up.
“I know. Look for an all-night grocery store. We’ll get eggs and bacon, or maybe Taylor Ham, and coffee and orange juice, and I’ll make us breakfast.”
“You’re hungry again?”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“It would be easier to find a diner.”
“I want to make us breakfast!”
“It’s tiny,” Penny said. “Where did you ever find this place?”
The red light on the answering machine, surprising Matt not at all, was blinking.
“My father owns it,” he said. “The kitchen is that place back there with all the white things.”
He motioned her ahead of him, and then ducked and pulled the answering machine’s plug out of its socket.
“Does it have a toilet?”
“Off the bedroom,” he said, catching up with her and pointing.
He unpacked the groceries, setting them on the kitchen counter. Then he went to the refrigerator and threw away all the food he had purchased with the noble intention of making his own meals, and which was now spoiled.
She came back into the kitchen.
“Would it help your crushed ego to learn that I am very sore?”
“Jesus,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
She walked quickly to him and kissed him lightly on the lips.
“I’m not,” she said. “Cheap at twice the price.”
He put his hands on her shoulders, and then slid them down to her waist and pulled her against him. He ran the balls of his fingers along her spine and wondered why he found that so erotic.
After a moment, she pushed him away.
“Tarzan sit,” Penny said. “Jane make food.”
He went into the living room and put his pistol on the mantelpiece, and then sat down in his armchair. He looked at the dead answering machine.
And then he reached for the telephone, lifted it up, and consulted a typewritten list of telephone numbers.
Officer Jesus Martinez answered, sleepily, on the third ring.
“Martinez.”
“This guy you’re interested in: dark-skinned, maybe thirty, thirty-five, five-nine or . . .”
“Payne?” Jesus asked incredulously.
“. . . five-nine or ten. Maybe one-seventy. Wears his shirts unbuttoned to the navel?”
“What the hell?”
“You said his name is Lanzo, Lanza, something like that?”
“Lanza, Vito Lanza. What about him?”
“At two o’clock this morning, he was signing a two-thousand-dollar IOU in the back room at the Oaks and Pines Lodge,” Matt said.
There was a long silence.
“Marker,” Martinez said, finally. “Not an IOU, a marker.”
“I stand corrected.”
“What were you doing up there?”
“Is this your guy, Hay-zus?”
“Yeah. I’m sure. How did you know who he was?”
“He was carrying. I made him as a cop. And he made me . . .”
“Shit!”
“Not as a cop. I was in Las Vegas when he was. He recognized me from Vegas and spoke to me.”
“You’re sure he didn’t make you as a cop?”
“As you’re so fond of telling me, Hay-zus, I don’t look like a cop.”
There was another pause.
“Payne, keep this under your hat, will you?”
“Who would I tell? What would I tell? ‘Inspector, I just happened to be in an illegal gambling joint, and you know what, I wasn’t the only cop in there’?”
“Just keep it under your hat, Payne, okay?”
“Okay. Are you forgetting something, Hay-zus?”
“What?”
“Try, ‘Thank you very much, Detective Payne.’ ”
“Thanks, Payne,” Jesus said. “I’ll get back to you.”
He hung up.
Matt said, “You’re welcome, Hay-zus,” and put the phone back in its cradle. He pushed himself out of the chair and went into the kitchen.
Penny was at the stove, and there was the peculiar smell of frying Taylor Ham.
“One egg or two? Over light or sunny side up?”
“Two. Up. Have I got time for a shower?”
“A quick one.”
When he came back into the kitchen, Penny was in the process of wiping up the last of her egg yolk with a piece of toast.
“Boy, for a fat girl, you sure don’t eat much.”
“Your eggs are probably cold, which serves you right. What