The Mugger 87th Precinct Series, Book 2 - By Ed McBain Page 0,39

course.

He did not see Willis coming up behind the girl.

Nor did Willis see him.

There are three lampposts on each block, Eileen thought.

It takes approximately one and a half minutes to cover the distance between lampposts. Four and a half minutes a block. That’s plain arithmetic.

Nor is that exceptionally fast. If Willis thinks that’s fast, he should meet my brother. My brother is the type of person who rushes through everything—breakfast, dinner…

Hold it now!

Something was moving up ahead.

Her mind, as if instantly sucked clean of debris by a huge vacuum cleaner, lay glistening like a hard, cut diamond. Her left hand snapped to the drawstrings on her purse, wedging into the purse and enlarging the opening. She felt the reassuring steel of the .38, content that the butt was in a position to be grasped instantly by a cross-body swipe of her right hand.

She walked with her head erect. She did not break her stride. The figure ahead was a man, of that much she was certain. He had seen her now, and he moved toward her rapidly. He wore a dark-blue suit, and he was hatless. He was a big man, topping six feet.

“Hey!” he called. “Hey, you!” and she felt her heart lurch into her throat because she knew with rattling certainty that this was Clifford.

And, suddenly, she felt quite foolish.

She had seen the markings on the sleeve of the blue suit, had seen the slender white lines on the collar. The man she’d thought to be Clifford was only a hatless sailor. The tenseness flooded from her body. A small smile touched her lips.

The sailor came closer to her, and she saw now that he was weaving unsteadily, quite unsteadily. He was, to be kind, as drunk as a lord, and his condition undoubtedly accounted for his missing white hat.

“Wal now,” he bawled, “if’n it ain’ a redhaid! C’mere, redhaid!”

He grabbed for Eileen, and she knocked his arm aside quickly and efficiently. “Run along, sailor,” she said. “You’re in the wrong pew!”

The sailor threw back his head and guffawed boisterously. “Th’ wrong pew!” he shouted. “Wal now, Ah’ll be hung fer a hoss thief!”

Eileen, not caring at all what he was hung for so long as he kept his nose out of the serious business afoot, walked briskly past him and continued on her way.

“Hey!” he bellowed. “Wheah y’goin’?”

She heard his hurried footsteps behind her, and then she felt his hand close on her elbow. She whirled, shaking his fingers free.

“Whutsamatter?” he asked. “Doan’choo like sailors?”

“I like them fine,” Eileen answered. “But I think you ought to be getting back to your ship. Now, go ahead. Run along.” She stared at him levelly.

He returned her stare soberly and then quite suddenly asked, “Hey, you-all like t’go to bed wi’ me?”

Eileen could not suppress the smile. “No,” she said. “Thank you very much.”

“Why not?” he asked, thrusting forward his jaw.

“I’m married,” she lied.

“Why, tha’s awright,” he said. “Ah’m married, too.”

“My husband is a cop,” she further lied.

“Cops doan scare me none. On’y the SOBSP ah got to worry ‘bout. Hey now, how ‘bout it, huh?”

“No,” Eileen said firmly. She turned to go, and he wove quickly around her, skidding to a stop in front of her.

“We can talk ‘bout yo’ husbin an’ mah wife, how’s that? Ah got th’ sweetes’ li’l wife in th’ whole wide world.”

“Then go home to her,” Eileen said.

“Ah cain’t! Dammit all, she’s in Alabama!”

“Take off, sailor,” Eileen said. “I’m serious. Take off before you get yourself in trouble.”

“No,” he said, pouting.

She turned and looked over her shoulder for Willis. He was nowhere in sight. He was undoubtedly resting against an alley wall, laughing his fool head off. She walked around the sailor and started up the street. The sailor fell in beside her.

“Nothin’ ah like better’n walkin’,” he said. “Ah’m goan walk mah big feet off, right here ‘longside you. Ah’m goan walk till hell freezes over.”

“Stick with me, and you will,” Eileen muttered, and then she wondered how soon it would be until she spotted an SP. Dammit, there never was a cop around when you needed one!

Now she’s picking up sailors, Willis thought.

We’ve got nothing better to do than humor the fleet. Why doesn’t she conk him on the head and leave him to sleep it off in an alleyway?

How the hell are we going to smoke Clifford if she insists on a naval escort? Shall I go break it up? Or has she got something up her sleeve?

The terrible thing about