Death of a Pusher

Chapter 13

At midnight I began to wonder if Beverly planned to spend the night. By twelve-thirty I was trying to think up some excuse to send her home before it was time to leave for my late date.

I hadn’t thought of anything which seemed plausible when, at one A.M., she finally resolved the problem herself.

“Norman will be calling the police to report me missing,” she said. “I’d better go.”

“I thought he was in bed before you left,” I said.

“I tell little white lies like that,” she said cheerfully. “I needed some excuse for showing here so late. He knows I’m out.”

She climbed from bed and slipped on her skirt and shoes. “Don’t get up,” she said. “I can let myself out.”

She leaned over the bed to give me a peck on the forehead, then considerately turned out the light. I waited until I heard the front door close, then got up and turned it back on. There was no point in trying to grab fifteen minutes of sleep, so I took a leisurely shower and shave and dressed for my date with April.

Before Beverly’s arrival at the apartment, I had anticipated that something interesting might develop with April French, but now I was inclined to hope it wouldn’t. Beverly had left me wanting no more strenuous relations than holding hands with any woman during the immediate future.

I walked into the Palace at five minutes after two. The floor show was already over and couples were dancing on the stage. When I got backstage, the eight chorus girls were again lined up in front of the dressing table, this time removing their stage make-up with cold cream.

April jumped up when I stuck my head in the door and said, “Only be a minute, honey.”

A row of lockers lined the wall opposite the dressing table. Moving over to one, she casually slipped off her halter and hung it in the locker. A couple of other girls simultaneously walked over to lockers and started to un-snap their halters.

When April reached for a zipper at the side of her skimpy pink skirt, I decided it was time to withdraw. I knew that in show-business circles it was sometimes customary to be remarkably casual about exposure of female anatomy backstage, but in quantity it embarrassed me. I was afraid I might draw frowns of disapproval for staring too hard, and I knew if I continued to stand in the doorway, I couldn’t avoid staring in eight different directions. I leaned my back against the wall next to the doorway and waited.

In a few minutes April came out wearing a light summer print dress with a high neck, no sleeves and very little back.

“The bars close in twenty minutes,” she said. “Think we can make one in time?”

“We can make the bar here in about thirty seconds,” I said.

She made a face. “That’s too much like a busman’s holiday. I don’t want to see any more of this place tonight.”

When we got out to my car, she said, “What I need more than a drink is a shower. The Palace only has them in the private dressing rooms, though we girls work up more of a sweat than either the M.C. or the feature stripper. After three shows we’re pretty hot and sweaty. What kind of a place do you live in?”

“A three-room apartment.”

“Are you married or anything?”

I shook my head. “Not even anything. I live alone.”

“You have a shower or a tub?”

“Combination.”

“Any liquor in the place?”

“Uh-huh,” I said reluctantly.

“Then let’s go there,” she said. “I can have a shower and we’ll have our drink afterward.”

I doubt that April was the sort of girl who fell in bed with any man who suggested it, because she was good-looking enough to be able to pick and choose. But obviously she regarded sex as casually as the average girl regards a good-night kiss. If she liked a man’s looks, she saw no point in the usual preliminaries. She certainly wasn’t naïve enough to think she could invite herself to a strange man’s apartment to take a shower in the middle of the night and have things end there. It seemed likely she meant to spend the rest of the night.

If it hadn’t been for Beverly’s visit, I would have been enthusiastic about the plan. Now it only depressed me. But when you have a cooperative witness, it’s bad tactics to do anything which might give offense.

Bracing myself for sacrifice in line of duty, I headed for my apartment.

En route I attempted to pump her a little in the hope that if I got what information she had before we arrived, I could afford to keep our relationship on a platonic basis.

I said, “Tell me about this Charlie Kossack, April.”

But April wasn’t having any. “I just want to relax now,” she said. “Three shows is hard work. Save it until we’re cuddled up with a couple of drinks.”

At the apartment she looked around with the same air of interest that Beverly had shown. She glanced into the bathroom last, examining the tub and shower with approval, then walked back into the bedroom and zipped down the back of her dress.

As I stood disconsolately watching from the bedroom doorway, she pulled the dress off over her head and tossed it across a chair. There was nothing but April beneath it.

Her figure was as nice as Beverly’s, though she was considerably plumper through the chest. Under ordinary circumstances it would have started my heart pounding. But at the moment it didn’t do a thing.

Kicking off her shoes, she ran into the bathroom and closed the door. Instantly it reopened a crack to disclose one blue eye.

“I’ll yell when I’m ready for you to wash my back,” she said.

The door closed again.

Five minutes later her voice trilled in a carrying soprano, “All ready, honey!”

I winced, certain that my neighbors on all sides must have heard the female yell coming from my apartment at two-thirty in the morning. With a sigh of self-pity, I hung my suit coat in my closet, opened the bathroom door and went in.

It was one of the nicest backs I ever washed. Despite my reduced stamina, I found myself getting so interested in the chore, I decided not to stop with her back. Stripping to the waist, I turned her around and lathered her front, too. Presumably she had already washed that once, but she seemed not to mind.

By the time I had soaped her to the waist, I was even more interested. Taking off the rest of my clothes, I climbed into the tub and did a complete job.

When she decided to reciprocate the favor, I had my second bath within two hours. By then I had completely forgotten that Beverly had been an earlier visitor.

Neither of us got quite dry, because we were in too much of a hurry. We let the sheets absorb the moisture our towels had missed.

Though I had managed to forget my earlier session with Beverly, my system didn’t. April never did get her drink, and I didn’t get my information until morning. I fell asleep on her shoulder and slept right through.

Sunlight slanting through the Venetian blinds and falling on my face awakened me. Thinking I had overslept, I jumped out of bed and hurriedly glanced at my watch. I breathed a sigh of relief. The sun must have just come up, for it was only seven A.M.

April opened one blue eye to look at me, then closed it again. Leaning over her, I shook her shoulder.

“Go away,” she said, eyes tightly squeezed shut. “Wanna sleep.”

Peeling back the sheet, I rolled her over on her stomach and gave her plump little bottom a resounding smack. With a gasp she swung herself around to a seated position and glared at me.

“Sorry, kitten,” I said. “But I have to make a report to a very G.I. lieutenant in an hour and a half, and he’s going to want to know what I learned from you. After I leave, you can go back to bed and sleep all day if you want. But on your feet right now. You can brew some coffee while I shave and dress. We’ll talk about Benny over coffee.”

Pouting, she rose and tenderly felt her posterior. Placing her back to the dresser, she peered over her shoulder into the mirror.

“That’s a dirty way to wake a girl up,” she complained. “I can see your handprint.”

“If you don’t rustle up some coffee fast, you’ll see one on the other cheek,” I threatened.

She made a face at me. “Woman beater. Don’t I even get kissed good morning?”

Walking over to her, I tilted up her chin, planted a firm but quick kiss on her lips, then took her by the shoulders and faced her toward the door. Lightly I slapped the cheek which wasn’t already red and she scurried out of the room.

Fifteen minutes later, when I entered the kitchenette fully dressed, she was seated at the table, still without a stitch on. Cups, sugar, and cream were already laid out, and the coffee pot was merrily perking.

“The only food in your refrigerator is butter and jam,” she said. “But I found a loaf of kind of dry bread in your cupboard. Want some toast?”

“All right,” I said.

I’d never had breakfast served by a naked woman before. It was pleasant but distracting. April burst out laughing when I stuck a piece of toast in my eye.

“Want me to dress?” she asked. “I didn’t because I plan to take your offer and go back to bed as soon as you leave.”

“Don’t bother,” I said, wiping jam from my eyebrows with a paper napkin. “Time’s running short and we have to talk.”

She took a sip of her coffee. “I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint you. I really don’t know a thing about Charlie Kossack.”

“You said he was a friend of Benny’s. You must know something about him if Benny was your boy friend.”

“Benny and I were pretty torrid for a time,” she admitted. “But I realize now I hardly knew a thing about him, let alone about his friends. All I know about Charlie was that he and Benny had some kind of business deal pending.”

“Oh?” I said. “With the business Benny was in, that must have concerned dope.”

She shook her head. “It was something new he wanted Benny to go in with him. The first time I met Charlie Kossack was about three weeks ago, at the club. Benny always caught the first show, and Charlie was at his table when I came over to sit with Benny between shows.

I just caught the tail end of their conversation as I walked up to the table. Charlie said something about Benny being in a sucker business, and they could both make a fortune if Benny would get out of it and throw in with him. Then Benny cut him off to introduce me, and they didn’t talk business any more. But a couple of times after that Charlie came in the club while Benny was waiting for me, and asked when Benny would be ready to start operations. The night you arrested Benny they were talking about it, as a matter of fact.”

“You saw Benny earlier that night?” I asked.

“I used to see him every night. He drove me to work. We got to the club about twenty after eight and found Charlie having dinner there. Charlie said he wanted to get things settled one way or the other that night, because if Benny didn’t make up his mind, he was going to look for another partner. Benny said he had an errand to run, but Charlie could come along and they’d discuss it on the way. I think they took Charlie’s car and Benny left his on the lot.”

“That figures,” I said. “Benny had a driver that night. The errand was to meet a new customer in an alley and sell him a pop of heroin.”

She made a face. “And to think I worried about the slob when he didn’t come back. He was supposed to pick me up when I got off at two. Next day Charlie phoned to tell me he was in jail. How he got my number I don’t know, because the phone is listed in my landlady’s name. Maybe Benny gave it to him.”

“Just what did he say when he called?”

“Only that Benny was in jail. Claimed he didn’t know why, but he thought Benny might appreciate me bailing him out. So I grabbed my checkbook and headed for headquarters like Lady Bountiful. You know the rest.”

I asked her what Charlie Kossack looked like.

“He’s a tall, lean guy. About six-two, I’d say, but I doubt if he weighs over one-fifty. About thirty-five with dark, slick hair and a thin face. Dresses pretty well.”

The description touched a vague chord of memory, but I couldn’t quite pin it down.