Manhunt. Volume 1, Number 12, December, 1953

The Wife of Riley by Evan Hunter

He went into the cabin with one woman, and came out with another. Some guys might have liked the idea, but not Riley.

If you know any seashore resort town in mid-July, you know this one. You know the rows of wooden, salt-scarred bungalows hugging the main drag, with the boardwalk on the side flanking the ocean. You know the hot dog stands, and the shooting galleries, and the tanned women in shorts and halters and brief bathing suits, and the men with browned, hairy chests and spidery white legs.

You know the smell of the ocean mixed with the smell of popcorn, and you know the shriek of the gulls and the boom of the surf against the sand, and the creak of the dock that juts out onto the water. You know all that, and you also know the feeling of impermanency that underlies the whole setup; you know that once Winter comes, the concessionaires will fold their tents like the Arabs, and the bungalows and motels will be boarded up tight.

We pulled into the town at about six in the morning. We’d been driving all night, or at least, I had. Anne was asleep on the seat beside me, her red hair spilling onto the plastic of the seat cover. Yesterday had been a scorcher, and she was still wearing shorts and a halter, with her tanned legs pulled up under her. I’d have gone straight through the town because these summer dumps never appeal to me, but I was bushed down to my toes so I stopped at the first bungalow colony and asked for a room.

They were sorry, but they were full to capacity. I shoved the Dodge into reverse, backed out onto the main road again, and kept working my way down, stopping at every colony and motel. I tried five and was ready to say the hell with it when I saw the sixth one close by. A sign swung back and forth outside, hanging from a salt-corroded iron bar, creaking on the early morning sea wind. An inexpert sign painter had tried his hand at Old English, and come up with the sloppily lettered word, “Zach’s.”

I shrugged and turned off the macadam onto a dirt road that raised a cloud of dust behind me. I pulled up alongside a gnarled oak, squinted through the dust and saw neat rows of white bungalows with red shutters. On one of the bungalows, the same tyro sign painter had lettered “Office.” I looked at the Old English and was opening the door of the car when a guy stepped out of the office and started walking toward me rapidly.

He was a tall guy, with a sort of pyramid build — narrow, rounded shoulders that expanded to a wide middle. He was wearing canvas-topped shoes that had once been blue but were now a muddy brown, like a healing skin bruise. He wore white trousers coated with a film of dust, and an open-throated short sleeve sports shirt that showed scraggly crabgrass hair on his chest. He walked to the car quickly, and I studied his face and waited.

He had narrow eyes, pale blue, a fat-lipped mouth and a wide nose. He hadn’t shaved, and he had that patchy kind of beard that always reminds me of a mandarin. His skin was bad and his eyes were puffed with sleep, and he looked like the kind of guy you could rouse out of any doorway in the Bowery. He came up alongside the car, and I said, “Are you filled up, too?”

“We got a cabin left,” he said.

He rested his arms on the metal of the door and stuck his head inside the car. He saw Anne then, and his eyes got narrower. His mouth opened a little, and the eyes traveled over Anne’s body, stopping at the full breasts that bunched against her halter, traveling over her bare midriff, down to her curving legs. His breath was foul with sleep, and he smelled of sweat.

“Why don’t you come inside?” I said. “The front seats three comfortably.”

He smiled, but he didn’t move.

“Do you run a motel, or are you the local beauty contest judge?” I asked, beginning to get a little sore at the direction of his eyes.

“I run a motel,” he said, still smiling.

“Then put your eyes back in their sockets and rustle up a cabin. We’re sleepy.”

“Sure,” he said. He gestured with his thumb toward a wide square of gravel. “You can park the car there.”

“Thanks.”

I shoved the Dodge into gear and pulled up alongside a pickup truck on the gravel. I set the emergency brake and then touched Anne’s shoulder.

“Honey,” I said.

She stirred a little, and I nudged her again. “Anne, wake up. We’re here.”

“Unh,” she said, and then her eyes opened and blinked a little. “Where are we?” she asked sleepily.

“A dump,” I said. “We’ll sleep a while and then shove off tonight. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said, still half-asleep. She swung her legs out and rubbed her eyes, and I said, “Better put a skirt on, honey.”

“A what?”

“A skirt.”

“Why? What on earth for? We’re going right to sleep, aren’t we?”

“Yes, but put a skirt on.”

“You’re a prude,” she said. “Victorian.”

“I know.” I leaned over for the valise in the back, opened it, and pulled out a skirt. “Here.”

Anne shrugged and shook her head, but she slipped on the skirt, buttoning it on the side. I swung the valise out of the car, followed Anne out, and locked all the doors. We began walking toward the office then. My friend the pyramid was nowhere in sight, so I figured he’d gone inside. I opened the screen door, and Anne and I entered a small room with a desk on one wall and two rattan chairs on the other wall. A Marilyn Monroe calendar hung over the desk, and one wall was covered with pictures of women in various stages of undress. My friend sat behind the desk.

He glanced at the skirt Anne had thrown on, and his eyes showed disappointment. “I can give you Number Four,” he said. “A nice clean cabin, and closer to the beach than the others. We don’t serve meals, you understand, but there’s a good...”

“We won’t be staying that long,” I told him. “How much is it for the day?”

“Seven-fifty,” he said. “In advance.”

“That’s a little steep, isn’t it?”

He shrugged. “You can try some of the other places,” he said, knowing damn well I’d already tried them.

“Are you the Zach advertised out front?”

“That’s me. Zachary Hobbs.”

“A good New England name,” I said drily.

“What’s your name?” he asked. “For the register.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Steve Riley.”

“A good Irish name,” he commented. “I don’t suppose I’ll need to see a marriage certificate.”

“I don’t suppose so,” I said. I paused. “If that’s why the tab is so high, you can come down to four bucks. We’ve been married for three years.”

“That’s your business,” he said. “My business is renting cabins. The price is seven-fifty. In advance.”

“You said that once already.”

“With some guys,” he said pleasantly, “you have to say it twice.”

I dug out my wallet and put a five and three singles on the desk. Hobbs opened a drawer, pulled out a green cash box, and lifted two quarters from it. “And fifty makes eight,” he said.

I took the fifty cents and said, “Where’s the cabin?”

“I’ll show you. Come on.”

He surprised me by picking up the bag, and then Anne and I followed him down a dirt path to one of the white, red-shuttered cabins. He pulled a chunk of wood with a key attached to it from his trouser pocket and unlocked the door. He stepped inside, put the bag down, and then opened the windows. I looked around the cabin, and I saw Anne was doing the same thing. It was clean enough, with a double bed against one wall, a dresser against another, and a maple butterfly-back chair near the foot of the bed. He continued opening windows, and I said, “No shades on the windows?”

“Won’t nobody look in,” he said.

“Mmm.”

“Well, that’s it. Everything okay?”

“Fine,” I said half-heartedly. “Where’s the bath?”

“No bath. Shower and toilet up at the office.”

“I see.”

“You got a sink there in the corner. I’ll send a girl down with towels and soap for you. The bedclothes are fresh, changed this morning.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Not at all.” His eyes leaped to the top of Anne’s halter. He smiled and added, “The pleasure was mine.” And then he was gone.

When the door closed behind him, Anne said, “What a scurvy character. Did you see the way he undressed me?”

“That’s why I was Victorian.”

“Oh.” Anne shrugged. “Well, I’m still sleepy.”

“Sleepy? I’m ready for cremation.” I opened the valise and pulled out one of Anne’s skirts and two of my dirty shirts. I draped these over the three windows in the room, and then pulled down the covers on the bed. I was unlacing my shoes when I heard the whine of the pickup truck outside. I went to the window, drew back the shirt covering it, and looked out.

Hobbs was behind the wheel of the truck. He backed it off the gravel patch, and I said, “Zach the Ripper is leaving.”

“Good,” Anne said. “I wanted a shower, but I’ll be damned if I’d go up there with him around.”

I watched the truck leave the grounds. “He’s gone,” I said. “Go take your shower.”

Anne yawned and nodded. She took off the skirt, shorts and halter, and then walked across the room and kissed me gently on the mouth.

“Go away,” I said.

“I’m going.” She pulled on a robe, took her soap dish from the valise and grabbed up a towel. “I’ll be right back.”

“Fine.” I took off my trousers and stretched out on the bed, fully intending to wait for Anne to come back before corking off. I guess I was tireder than I thought.

I remember her coming back to the cabin. I heard the rustle of clothing, but I didn’t open my eyes. Sleep was light upon me, but heavy enough to make movements hazy, sounds unclear. I heard her light, bare-footed tread across the cabin, and then I felt the mild ocean breeze caress my bare legs as she pulled the covers back. And then she was beside me, her body cool on the surface, warm underneath. I reached over, my eyes still closed, and took her into my arms. I thought I heard her giggle. I held her tight, and she fitted the curve of my body, and I fell asleep with my arms around her.

When I woke, the sun was casting its last feeble rays through the shirt I’d hung on the window. For a moment, I didn’t remember if Anne had come back or not. I felt her body close to mine then, and I sighed and closed my eyes once more. I rolled over, and she rolled with me, and I felt her breasts tight against my back. I tried to shake the sleep from my mind, but I’d been driving for a long time, and I fell off again. I must have slept for a good four hours. When I woke the second time, the cabin was dark.

I looked over at Anne beside me, and I touched her upturned breasts and whispered softly, “Anne.”

She didn’t answer. I rubbed my eyes and then passed my hand over the flat hardness of her stomach. She stirred and moved closer to me, and then she suddenly lifted her head and clamped her mouth to mine and kissed me desperately. I held her close, kissing her ear and the curve of her neck. She moved expertly against me, her hands traveling over my body.

“That’s it, baby,” she said. “That’s the way.”

I drew my head back. The voice. The voice hadn’t been Anne’s! I threw the covers back, and I swung my legs over the side of the bed. I crossed the room to the light switch in the wall, and I snapped it on quickly.

The girl in the bed sat up, blinking her eyes against the light. She was a brunette, with large, well-formed breasts and a pretty face. She smiled and said, “Am I okay?”

“What is this?” I said.

“Oh come on now, mister,” she answered, the smile still on her face. “You know damn well what it is.”

“Where’s my wife?”

“Your wife?” She looked at me, startled. “Your wife? Come on back to bed, mister.”

I walked over to the bed, and I grabbed her by the wrist. “What’s this all about, sister?”

“Come on, make easy with the wrist,” she said.

“What are you doing here? Where’s Anne?”

“Who the hell is Anne? Hey, leggo the wrist, will you?”

“Who sent you here?”

“I found my own way. I looked in, and you were alone.” She smiled engagingly and sucked in a deep breath. “I figured you might want company.”

“You figured wrong, sister. Pack up and beat it.”

She threw her arms around my neck, shaking my grip on her wrist. She leaned forward, and her breasts dipped with the sudden motion. She parted her lips, and her eyes narrowed. “Come on,” she said. “I’m good. I’m real good.”

“I’ll bet,” I said, shaking free of her. I crossed the room and put on my trousers. “I’m going up to the office. You’d better be gone when I get back.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed. “You goddamn fairy,” she hissed.

“Have it your way, sister. But get out.”

I slammed out of the cabin and followed the trail down to the office. In the distance, I heard the thunder of the surf, the cries of the hawkers on the boardwalk. I opened the screen door to the office and walked in without knocking.

Zach Hobbs was sitting behind the desk. He looked up when I came in, and he smiled broadly. “Evening, Mr. Riley,” he said.

I walked to the desk and I leaned over it, my palms flat on the wooden top. “Where’s my wife, Hobbs?”

“Your wife?” he said, his eyebrows raising.

“I read the story and I saw the movie,” I told him. “Don’t make like I didn’t come here with a wife. You know goddam well I did. Where is she?”

“Sure you did,” Hobbs said. “A nice looking woman. I remember.”

“You should, all right. Where is she?”

“She left,” he said simply.

“What do you mean, she left? What are you trying to hand me?”

“She left. She came up to the office and said something vile about you, and then she took off.”

I reached across the desk and grabbed a handful of Hobbs’ shirt. “Don’t give me that, you bastard,” I said. “Anne wouldn’t...”

“Relax, Riley,” he told me. “Next time don’t play with another babe when your wife is out taking a shower.”

“Another...”

“Yeah, that’s what she said. Found you in the cabin with another broad, dead asleep. She came up to the office and asked me when the next bus out was. I told her. Then she took off.”

“You’re lying, Hobbs.”

“All right, I’m lying. She’s your wife. What the hell do I care?”

“Who’s the girl in my cabin?”

“How should I know? It’s your cabin.”

“They’re your teeth, Hobbs. If you like them in your mouth, you’d better start making sense.”

“Don’t get smart with me,” he said. “I know a few people in this town.”

“And you say Anne left, huh? You say she took a bus, huh? Is that your story?”

“That’s my story. That’s the truth.”

I dropped his shirt. “We’ll see, Hobbs. We’ll see soon enough.”

I barged out of the office and went back to the cabin. The brunette was still there. She was standing near the window, and she wore a half slip, black and lacy, and nothing else. She turned when I came in, and her breasts bobbed.

“You still here?” I asked.

The girl walked toward me, swinging her hips. She cupped her breasts and said, “I thought you might change your mind.”

“I came back to change my shirt,” I said. “Get the hell out.”

“Sure,” she said surlily. “Sure.”

She began putting on her bra, and then slipped a red silk dress over her head. She picked up her purse, walked to the door, turned and said, “You goddamn...”

“Get out sister, before I...”

She left quickly. I took a clean shirt from the valise, slipped into it, and buttoned it hastily. When I went outside, the girl was walking toward the office. A car turned into the road, and the lights splashed through her thin dress and slip, outlining the long curve of her legs. I caught her elbow and asked, “Where’s the bus terminal?”

“You leaving town?” she asked.

“Maybe. Where’s the terminal?”

“Down the road and right. You can’t miss it. It’s near the Esso station.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I walked to the car, unlocked it, and backed off the gravel. I turned into the dirt road and then onto the macadam. The roller coaster was dipping and screaming at the other end of the boardwalk. The ferris wheel circumscribed a brilliantly-lit circle against the stars. I could hear the wash of the surf, and the delighted cries of a few moonlight bathers. I kept the car on the macadam road until I spotted the Esso station, and then I turned right. The bus terminal was a small affair, and I was thankful for that. I parked the car on the concrete strip behind the terminal and then went inside.

It was a conventional station. Benches, a newsstand in the corner, two ticket windows, and an information booth. I walked to the first ticket window and stood behind a fat woman while she bought her ticket and paid for it. She smiled at me when she turned, and I went directly to the window and said, “I’m trying to locate my wife. She may have bought a ticket here. I wonder...”

The clerk looked at me with a bored expression on his face. He was a thin man with a hawk-like nose, and he wore a green eye shade.

“Lots of people buy tickets here,” he said.

“You’d remember my wife,” I said. “She’s a redhead. How many redheads do you have every day?”

“A redhead, huh?”

“Yes. She was probably alone, if she bought a ticket.”

“Then this one ain’t her.”

“There was one?”

“Yeah. But she was with another girl. A blonde. I remember them because they... well, you remember two pretty girls traveling alone together.”

“What time was this?”

“Early this morning. Eight, nine... maybe ten. I don’t remember.”

“And they bought tickets here, is that right?”

“The blonde bought the tickets. The redhead stood right beside her.”

“Tickets for where?”

“New York.”

“What were they wearing? I mean, what was the redhead wearing?”

“A white dress, I think. Yeah, she was in white, and the blonde was in black. I tell you, they made a pretty pair.”

“A white dress? Are you sure?”

“Mister, I’m positive.”

“Were there any other redheads who bought tickets today?”

“I didn’t see any. Hold it a minute.” He walked out of his booth and had a little chat with the guy at the next window. When he came back, he said, “Charlie didn’t sell no redhead. Charlie remembers things like that.”

“Do you think you can recognize her from a picture?”

“The redhead? Maybe.” He shrugged. “I didn’t pay much attention to the face.” He grinned sheepishly, remembering it was my wife I was asking about.

I fished into my wallet and came up with the only picture I had of Anne, a snap we’d taken on our honeymoon. Her hair had been long then, and she now wore it clipped close to her head in the new Italian cut. She’d also filled out a little more since then. I looked at the picture as if I were seeing it for the first time, and then I handed it to the clerk.

“Is that her?” I asked.

He studied the picture and then shrugged again. “Search me,” he said. “This broad had shorter hair.” He studied the picture again. “Gee, mister, I honestly couldn’t say.”

I sighed and took the picture back. “Well, thanks a lot,” I said.

“Not at all. Glad to help.”

I left him and walked outside to the Dodge. A white dress, he’d said. Anne owned a white dress, but it was home in our closet. She didn’t even have a white blouse along with us, no less a dress. And the blonde. Even assuming Anne had made the acquaintance of another woman somewhere on her walk from the motel to the terminal, the friendship couldn’t have blossomed that rapidly. After all, the blonde had paid for the tickets.

It stank. It stank right from go.

To begin with, I knew Anne like the back of my checkbook. If she’d come into that cabin and found me asleep with the brunette, she’d first have kicked the girl out on her fanny, and then awakened me to ask just what the hell was going on.

But even giving her the benefit of the doubt, I knew damn well she was not the kind of girl who’d go traipsing down to the bus terminal, taking up with a blonde on the way. When Anne is angry, she’s angry right down to the roots of her toes. She’d have taken every penny in my wallet, along with the keys to the car. She’d have packed the valise, and probably taken my pants with her, too, just to show me how angry she really was. She’d have driven back to the city, and she’d probably have started suit for divorce within an hour.

That’s the way Anne was. We’d known each other for six years, and we’d been married for three, and I could just about tell what her reactions would be to any set of circumstances. My money was on her awakening me and having it out right then and there. Second choice was a vengeful leave-taking, with no holds barred — not a quiet withdrawal wearing some other woman’s dress.

I drove back to the cabin, and I went through the clothes there. As far as I could tell, she’d taken nothing. Even her purse was still on the dresser, and Anne wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere without her purse. The only garment missing was the robe she’d taken with her to the shower.

I picked up a towel and a bar of soap, shed my clothes and donned a robe, and then started for the office, trying to plan as I walked. Anne had left me to take a shower. All right, the shower was the starting point. I’d start there. Then, later in the night, giving her plenty of time to get to New York, I’d call home. Maybe Hobbs’ story was true. Maybe she had left in high dudgeon. But I’d be damned if I was going to run back to the city after her. The shower was the starting point. My hunch was that Anne had not boarded that bus, or if she had, it was not done willingly.

I opened the screen door to the office, and I was confronted with the semi-nude photographs on the wall again. Hobbs was leafing through a small book, and I had an idea what kind of literature it was.

“Where’s the shower?” I asked.

“You staying?” He looked surprised.

“Yes.”

“You check at the terminal?”

“I did.”

“Was I telling the truth?”

“Maybe. I’m staying, anyway. Where’s the shower?”

“How come? I mean...”

“She’ll be back,” I said curtly. “Where’s the shower?”

“Around back. Just follow your nose.”

“Thanks,” I said. I walked out of the office and around back, following my nose. The shower was a simple wooden stall tacked to the rear wall of the office. Wooden plankings were set around the stall, and they also formed the bottom of it. I walked inside, closed the door, and looked for a latch on it. There was none. I pulled the door tight, but it didn’t fit the jamb well, and it hung open about two inches. I grunted and turned on my heel, looking around the stall. There was nothing in it but the showerhead and the pipes supplying the water. The rear wall of the stall was peppered with knotholes, and light glanced through several of them. I put my eye to one of them, and was surprised to see the interior of Hobbs’ office. Of course! The stall was tacked to that wall.

I wondered how many times that sonovabitch had peered through the knotholes when a woman was taking a shower. In the daytime, with no light on in the office, it would be difficult to tell that the viewing season was on. I also wondered if he’d been at his post when Anne had gone to the showers this morning. I sighed heavily. Wondering wasn’t going to help me find Anne. There was nothing in the stall to give me a clue, so I started walking out, and then remembered Hobbs could hear the water from his office. He’d know I hadn’t taken a shower, and I didn’t want him to know I suspected something unkosher.

I took off my robe, turned on the hot faucet and got a stream of luke warm water. I didn’t touch the cold faucet. I stayed under the shower for about three minutes. Then I turned it off, dried myself, got into the robe, and headed for my cabin.

I was rounding the corner of the office when I almost ran into the brunette who’d been in my bed, earlier. I started to sidestep her, and then I saw what she was wearing, and I grabbed her arm.

“Hey!” she complained. “What the hell...”

“Where’d you get that robe?” I asked.

“It’s mine,” she said.

“It’s not yours, honey. Where’d you get it?” The robe was a plain white one, with a fleur de lis design delicately printed on it in red. We’d bought the robe in Greenwich Village, and it had been hand printed at the shop. I knew damn well it was Anne’s.

The girl studied me for a moment, saying nothing.

“Where’d you get the robe?” I asked. “Let’s talk.”

“My time is money,” she said. “Talking or otherwise.”

“Come on up to my cabin,” I said.

She looked at me steadily for a few moments. “I’m busy right now,” she said.

“How much will it cost to unbusy you?”

“Five for my loss, and another five for my time. What we do with it is up to you.”

“Get rid of your playmate,” I said. “I’ll be in the cabin.”

“Give me five minutes,” she said. Then she smiled archly and stroked my cheek. She moved closer, thrusting her hips forward. “I’ll be right up, darling.”

I moved, away from her, and watched her turn back on the path and head for one of the darkened cabins. I was beginning to get some inkling of the kind of place good old Zachary Hobbs ran. Cabins for couples, no questions asked. Also, cabins for men, complete with hot and cold running blondes, brunettes, and red...

Redheads. I wondered if there were any redheads in his crew. Or was he trying to... No, he couldn’t be that stupid. I mean, even assuming the local police were in his pocket, he couldn’t hope to get away with abducting Anne for his own particular purposes. No, that was out. Still...

I mulled it over, walking to my cabin. I watched seven minutes march across the face of my wrist watch, and then the brunette came back. She opened the door, closed it quickly, and then opened the robe.

“Keep it on,” I said. “I’m paying for talk.”

“Let’s see the color,” she said.

I dipped into my wallet and came up with a sawbuck, handing it to her. She folded it, and then looked around for a place to put it. There were no pockets in the robe, and there were no pockets in what she had under the robe, because she didn’t have anything under that.

She held the folded bill in her closed fist. “All right,” she said. “Let’s talk.”

“Where’d you get the robe?”

“I told you. It’s mine.”

“Where’d you buy it?”

“Who remembers? In town.”

“It was bought in a joint called Andre’s in Greenwich Village. Look at the label. Where’d you get it?”

“Why? What’s so damn important about it?”

“I’m curious.”

“All right, it was given to me.”

“Who gave it to you?”

She hesitated.

“Come on, who gave it to you?”

“Zach,” she said quickly.

“How long have you been working in this floating bordello?” I asked.

“A while.” She paused and eyed me skeptically. “You a cop?”

“Do I look like a cop?”

“No. It don’t matter, anyway. Cops don’t bother us.”

“How come?”

“Ask Zach. I just work here.”

“Who told you to come down to my cabin this morning?”

“I already answered that one,” she said.

“Sure. Now give me the right answer.”

“Zach did. He said you were needing.” She slipped the robe off her shoulders and came closer to me, hugging it around her waist so that only the white mounds of her breasts were exposed. “Was he right?”

“I’m partial to redheads,” I said.

The girl shrugged. “We split it all anyway. You want a redhead?”

“Have you got one?”

“Sure. I’ll ask Zach to send her down.” She paused. “You’re making a mistake, though.”

“Am I?”

“She’s new, just came in yesterday. You’re making a mistake.”

“As the old maid said when she kissed the cow, ‘It’s all a matter of taste.’ ”

“All right,” the brunette said. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll talk to Zach.” She pulled the robe up over her shoulders, and then she left, wiggling her fanny so I’d know just how big a mistake I was making.

I waited for ten minutes, not sure of what I was going to do, but figuring there might be a connection between Zach’s redhead and Anne. When the knock sounded on the cabin door, I called, “Come in, it’s open.”

The door swung wide, and I was a little surprised because I was expecting a redhead. I was more surprised because the woman was blonde and she was wearing a black silk dress that was slit down the front almost to her navel. I remembered what the guy at the bus terminal had said. A blonde in a black dress.

“Come in,” I said.

She stepped into the cabin, spotted my cigarettes on the dresser, and walked to them quickly, using a loose-hipped gait. She shook a cigarette free from the pack, lighted it, and blew out a wreath of smoke. She hesitated a moment, and then said, “Marie told Zach you want a redhead.”

“That’s right,” I said. I didn’t tell her the redhead I wanted was Anne.

“Zach says he’s sorry, but we ain’t got any.”

I looked at her curiously. “The girl said...”

“Marie just works here. There ain’t no redheads.”

“Who are you?” I asked.

“They call me Bunny,” she said.

I looked at her steadily, and she added, “Zach says I’m not for hire.”

“I didn’t ask,” I told her.

“Just in case you were going to.” She sucked in another cloud of smoke, and her breasts bunched against the wide split in the top of her dress. “Why don’t you go home to your wife, Mac?”

“My wife walked out,” I said, playing my little part in the drama.

“A redhead, huh?”

“Sure.”

“You can always tell. Taste always follows the same.”

“Is that how you can tell?”

“Sure. How else?”

“I thought maybe you’d seen her.”

“Nope.” She sucked on the cigarette again. “So, can we do business?”

I smiled wryly. “Honey,” I said, “how could I settle for anything less than you?”

She didn’t smile back. She considered this for a moment, and then said, “That might be arranged, too.”

“I thought...”

“Anything can be arranged if you know the right people.”

“And you’re the right people?”

“Right as rain.”

“And good old Zach? What about him?”

“What about him? He’s asleep already.”

“Was he asleep when you went to the bus terminal?”

Bunny blinked her eyes. “Who went to the terminal?”

“I thought you did.”

“You thought wrong. Are you in the market or not? I’m busy.”

“I’ll bet you are. Let me think it over. I’ll let you know.”

“All right. I’m in Three, if you want me.”

“And Zach?”

“He sleeps in the office,” Bunny said. She paused and then added significantly, “With his pictures.”

“I’ll let you know.”

She went out, and I thought, Hell, there must be a million blondes in black dresses. Black is a good color for blondes. Besides, this is a small town. Wouldn’t the clerk have recognized a native? Yes, unless Bunny wasn’t a native. In a business life Hobbs’, there are probably a lot of imports. I took off my robe, dressed quickly, and left the cabin. There was a pay phone near the office, but I avoided it and headed for the boardwalk. It was uncluttered, with the crowds beginning to thin out.

I passed the Pokerino setup, and then walked back when I saw a phone booth tucked into one corner of the joint. I got the operator, gave her our city phone number, deposited the coins, and listened to the phone ringing. I let it ring twenty-two times, and then I gave up. Anne wasn’t there.

There was only one question remaining.

Where was she?

I walked up the boardwalk, and I tried to sort the important from the unimportant. I knew I should go to the police, but I figured they were all sewed up on Hobbs’ side. They’d have to be. I thought of calling the state police, but by the time they arrived... No. I was here. Right on the spot. I knew everything that had happened. All right, so what was important?

The terminal clerk had remembered Anne — if she was Anne — and the blonde. That was important. They certainly weren’t trying to hide the fact that they were taking her out of town.

Or was that the idea? Were they trying to show everyone they were leaving? A blonde in a black dress, a redhead in a white dress. Both attention-getters. Well, if they were after attention, they’d have stopped at several places along the way to the terminal. If they wanted to be remembered, they’d want a lot of people to remember them.

But why?

Why in hell do that?

I didn’t question it any further. I walked to the end of the boardwalk, and then I started for the terminal. The first place I saw was a bar. I went in and questioned the bartender. Yes, he’d seen the girls — and what girls! He remembered them. Was anything wrong?

I left and stopped in the candy store on the corner. The girls had been there that morning. They’d stopped for magazines, a blonde and a redhead, both pretty, both dressed to kill.

I stopped in another bar, and was told the girls had been there, too. They’d dropped in for a quick drink. The blonde had put a dime into the juke, and then she and the redhead had sipped martinis and then left.

I thanked the bartender and walked out of the bar, sure I’d hit upon the idea. The idea was to be seen. Christ alone knew why, but that was the idea. I stepped onto the sidewalk and a young girl moved away from the building and brushed against me.

I said, “Pardon me,” and then began walking back toward Zach’s. The cop materialized out of nowhere.

“All right, cousin,” he said.

For a minute, I didn’t know he was talking to me. Then I frowned and said, “Something wrong, officer?”

“Drop the act, cousin,” he said. “I saw you.”

“You saw me what?”

“That young girl back there. We don’t go for molesting in this town.”

“Molesting? Are you out of your mi...”

“Can it, cousin. Come along with me.”

“The hell you say. You’re not going to hang any hick rap on me for something I didn’t...”

He brought his billy up so fast that I almost didn’t see it. He lifted it over his head, and then it whipped down, catching me on the shoulder, sending a sharp pain straight down to my wrist.

“You son of a...” I started.

He brought the billy up again and cracked it down on my bicep. He grabbed my wrist then and flipped my arm up behind my back, wrenching it hard.

“Had enough, cousin?”

“Look, you sloppy bastard. Let go that arm or...” I shouted in pain as he tugged up on my arm again.

“Come along,” he said. “Come along now.”

I cursed all the way to the jail, and then I cursed when he brought me in front of a fat bastard he called, “Chief.”

Chief looked at me and then turned to the cop. “What’s the trouble, O’Hara?”

O’Hara! The name burned me up even more. O’Hara to Riley. Of all the goddamn...

“Masher,” O’Hara said. “Caught him near the terminal. Tried to get funny with a young kid.”

“You’re full of it, O’Hara,” I said. “Look, Chief, are you going to let this slob...”

“Shut up,” Chief said.

“He’s lying through his goddamn teeth. I never...”

“Shut up!” Chief said more firmly. “Toss him in the cooler, O’Hara. Vagrancy, molesting, exhibitionism, indecent expos...”

I got it then, clear and fast. The cops were in Hobbs’ pocket all right, tucked away like a handkerchief. I’d been snooping around, and they hadn’t liked it, so now they were going to dump me in the hoosegow, where I’d be safe for a long while.

O’Hara was standing behind me, and Chief was sitting close to his desk. If there was any time to do it, this was it. I rammed back with my elbow, catching O’Hara in the gut. I whirled as he doubled over, and I let him have a fistful of knuckles against the bridge of his nose. I turned again as Chief started to push his chair back. I shoved the palms of both hands against the desk, and Chief sat down abruptly, the desk slamming into his stomach and pinning him to the wall.

I ran like a bat out of hell, straight for the boardwalk and then over to Zach’s. I heard shouts behind me, and I knew I wasn’t going to get far unless I moved damned fast. I cursed myself for not contacting the state police to begin with, and then I was on the dirt road and running for the gravel patch and my Dodge. I fished the key out of my pocket and opened the door, and I heard a siren wail in the distance and I knew Chief and O’Hara were hot on my trail, with blood in their eye.

I twisted the key in the ignition and pressed the starter. She usually started on the button, but this time she made a low, complaining whine. I tried again. I could hear the siren closer now, and I knew there wasn’t much time. The engine wouldn’t kick over. I tried once more and then got out of the car. Some bastard had probably played with the wires. Some bastard named Hobbs. I started to run, and then I saw his pickup truck at the end of the gravel patch. I ran to it and leaped into the cab, feeling for the ignition.

The keys were there.

I twisted them, felt around for a starter, and then stepped on it. The engine coughed into life, and I heard the door to the office slam open, and Hobbs’ voice came out to me.

“Hey, you! Hey, you, get the hell out of that truck!”

I said something unprintable and then backed off the gravel, gunning the truck forward on the dirt road. When I hit the macadam, I turned right and went like sixty. I passed the flashing red lights of the police car, and I heard them blowing their horn, so I knew they’d spotted me. I saw them making a U turn in the rear view mirror. I kept my foot down to the floorboard, driving like a maniac. I was outside of town in ten minutes flat. I took the first cutoff I saw, kept on that until I came to a fork in the road, and then followed that for about five minutes, keeping on the right branch. I passed a grove of trees, and as soon as the ground was flat again, I turned off the road and crossed the field, heading back for the stand of trees. I swung into a large clearing between the trees, cut the lights and the engine, and then sat back to listen. In a few minutes, I heard the wail of the siren, and then I saw the bright headlights and the flashing red lights swoop by on the road beyond the trees. The first car had hardly passed when a second followed, its lights slicing through the darkness. I sat in the cab of the truck and lighted a cigarette, wondering how long it would take them to figure what I’d done. Probably not very long at all.

I wondered if Hobbs carried any artillery in the truck. I opened the glove compartment and rummaged around there. Outside of a few oily rags, a flashlight, and a couple of road maps, there was nothing. I got out of the cab and walked around to the back of the truck. A tarpaulin was bunched into the far corner of the truck, and a barrel was roped to the sides near the back. I looked into the barrel, found a batch of tools, and picked out a monkey wrench. A wrench wasn’t a gun, but it could bash in a few heads if it ever came to that. I tucked the wrench into my waistband and climbed over the tailboard, walking toward the tarpaulin.

I stooped down, pulled back the tarpaulin, and then felt the hackles on my neck rise.

A redhead was sprawled on the floor of the truck. Her mouth and her eyes were open. She was naked, and there were purple bruises on her throat, and long crimson scratches on her breasts and her belly.

My hands were trembling. My first thought had been of Anne. It had taken me about five seconds to realize the dead redhead wasn’t my wife, but the shock was still on me. I stood looking down at her. She’d been a pretty girl, with short red hair like Anne’s. Her eyes were a startling, glassy blue. She was well-built, with pale full breasts, and a hard, flat stomach.

I covered her quickly, my hands still trembling. I backed away until my legs hit the tailboard, and then I climbed down and walked to the side of the truck. My first idea was to get the hell away. I let the idea peter out until I’d calmed down a little. When my hands were a little steadier, I lighted another cigarette and then tried to make some sense out of it.

She’d been strangled and pretty badly mangled. She was naked. I formed a mental picture of what had happened, and the picture fit perfectly with the kind of joint Zach Hobbs ran.

She was also in the back of a truck, and you don’t put someone in a truck unless you plan on taking her someplace.

That figured. If she was one of Zach’s girls and killed on the premises, he’d want to get her far away. Murder would buy the state police, and the state police wouldn’t help his type of business.

The girl was new, if she was the same one Marie had planned on. sending down to me. She’d arrived yesterday, Marie had said. Yet Bunny, the blonde, said they had no redheads. Apparently, Bunny was buddy-bunny with Hobbs. She’d lie for him, of course, and especially if she’d been the blonde who’d accompanied Anne to the bus terminal.

And all at once, it fell into place.

The dead redhead, and Anne’s abduction, and all of it. Every blessed bit of it. I was right back to go again, and back to go was a visit with Zachary Hobbs. Back to go was a few missing teeth unless somebody started talking, and started damned fast.

I kept off the road, working my way through the trees, staying out of sight and hearing until I hit the town. I cut down to the beach then, and I stayed on the sand until I was opposite the motel. I waited, watching the macadam road until there was no one on it. Then I ran across to the dirt road, up past the gravel patch and behind the office into the shower stall.

Light flickered through the knotholes at the back of the stall. I put my eye to one of the holes. Hobbs was behind his desk, busy on the phone. I tried to make out what he was saying, but it was just a mumble from where I stood. The blonde, Bunny, was leaning against the wall staring straight ahead of her, puffing on a cigarette.

I took the monkey wrench out of my waistband and waited until Hobbs put the receiver back into its cradle.

“It’ll be okay,” he said to Bunny.

“Did they get him?”

“No, but they found the truck. It’ll be okay.”

I waited for him to say more. He came out from behind his desk, and he walked to Bunny, taking the cigarette from her hand and grinding it beneath his heel. Without preamble, he thrust his hand into the front of her blouse.

She tried to back away, but she was pinned against the wall.

“Zach,” she said, “for Christ’s sake. Can’t you pick a better time?” He threw his other arm around her waist and said, “I told you it’s going to be okay. Come on, baby. Come on, now.”

I didn’t wait for more. I left the shower stall and stayed in the shadow’s close to the office, working my way around to the front door. I listened outside the door for a second, and then threw it open.

Hobbs had his fat lips planted on the side of Bunny’s neck. He pulled his head back when the door opened, and then he dropped the girl and rushed over to the desk. I was closer, but we got there at about the same time because he’d had a start on me. He threw open the top drawer and reached into it, and I caught one glimpse of blue gunmetal, and then I brought the monkey wrench up and down in a fast blur.

It caught him on the wrist, and he pulled his hand back in pain. I shoved between him and the desk, slamming him back against the wall and reaching into the drawer for the gun. It was a .45 with the look and feel of a well-oiled, cherished weapon. I closed my fingers around it, and then snapped the safety release with my thumb, tucking the monkey wrench back into my waistband at the same time. Bunny stood to one side, her hand to her mouth, not bothering to button her blouse.

“All right, brother,” I said to Hobbs. “Let’s get at it.”

“Let’s get at what? You know the police are after you, Riley? You know what they’ll do to you when they get you?”

“You know there’s a dead girl in the back of your pickup, Hobbs?”

His eyes flicked to Bunny, and then back to me. I could almost hear the gears grinding inside his skull, and I had to hand it to him for quick thinking. “You killed someone, did you?” he said quickly. “That ain’t going to help, Riley. The cops’ll just...”

“Let’s cut the comedy,” I said. “Let’s stick to the goddamn facts.” I hefted the .45. “I learned how to use this bastard in the Army. I haven’t forgotten how.”

“What facts you talking about?” Hobbs asked. “You must be nuts.”

“Fact one: the dead girl in your truck is a redhead. You had a redhead here yesterday, but you haven’t got one now.”

“We never had...”

“Fact two: my wife came up to take a shower early this morning. Later this morning, she got on a New-York-bound bus, accompanied by a blonde I’ll bet was our rabbit friend here.”

“Bunny!” the blonde corrected vehemently.

“Fact three: my wife is a redhead, and she was wearing a dress that didn’t belong to her.”

“What’s all that got to do with...”

“I’ll tell you, Hobbs. I think that dress belonged to the dead redhead in the pickup truck. I think that’s the same dress she wore coming into town, and on a number like her, it must have caused quite a stir. I think you slammed that dress onto my wife because you wanted to make sure everyone saw the dead redhead leaving town. That’s what I think, Hobbs.”

“You’re crazy! You’re...”

“I think you forced my wife to get onto that bus. Rabbit here probably had a gun in her purse. I think you took her off the bus somewhere between here and New York, and I think you’re holding her until you can ditch the redhead’s body someplace far away from here. That’s why she’s in the pickup, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know any redhead. Pickup truck or otherwi...”

“One thing I want to know, Hobbs. Is my wife still alive?”

“I don’t know where your goddamned wife is. I never...”

I swung the .45 up and down, catching Hobbs across the cheek bone, ripping the skin back in a wide, bloody flap.

“Is she alive, you bastard?”

“Go...”

I gave him another whack with the gun before he could complete his sentence. This time I caught him on the mouth, and he fell back against the wall, holding his splintered, bleeding teeth.

He began blubbering, and then he started cursing and swearing.

“Is she alive?” I shouted. “Where is she, you bastard?”

Hobbs lifted his head, and spit at me, and the blood and sputum hit my face an instant before I hit him on his skull with the gun. This time he folded against the wall, and then his knees went out from under him, and he fell face forward on the wooden floor.

I turned and walked toward Bunny.

“All right, sweetheart,” I said. “Your playmate’s out of the running. Now it’s your turn.”

She swallowed hard and looked at the .45 in horror. “You... you wouldn’t... you... wouldn’t...”

“Wouldn’t I though? Did you put my wife on that bus, you bitch?”

She opened her mouth wide as I raised the .45. “Yes, yes! I did! For Christ’s sake...”

“Where is she?”

“A rooming house about forty miles from here. Jesus, Mac...”

“She’s all right? Is she?”

“Yes. Yes, she’s fine. We... we were going to let her go later. We... we just wanted to get rid of the redhead first. We just wanted to make it look like the redhead left town.”

“Who killed the redhead?”

“Not me! Jesus, not me! I didn’t...”

“Zach?”

“Yes. Zach. He... he said he wanted to break her in. He told me to send her to the office. I guess... I guess she didn’t like... I guess she objected to what he... he killed her.”

“And then he had to make it look like she’d left town, so that when her body turned up, he’d be in the clear.”

The girl was blubbering now, just the way Zach had. “Yes. Yes, he... that’s what. That’s... Mac, I just work here. I just take orders. You don’t know, Mac. You don’t know. I swear... I just... your wife is okay. I didn’t harm her.”

“Who’s she with?”

“Zach’s sister. She... she runs the rooming house.”

“Where? What’s the address?”

She gave it to me, and I went to Hobbs’ phone and dialed the state police, and then tried to explain the whole thing. I told them everything that had happened, and I also told them the local police were probably in on the coverup, and that they had Hobbs’ truck with the dead girl in it.

I hung up and waited then, and a trooper’s car reached the office in seven minutes flat. They’d already radioed to have Anne picked up at the rooming house. Hobbs wasn’t talking to anyone when they came in. He was still huddled against the wall like a broken egg.

We drove back to the city that night.

Anne was silent for a long time. She kept smoking cigarettes, peering through the windshield until dawn spread across the sky in a pale grey wash.

“Was it bad?” I asked her.

“No,” she said.

“Then why... I mean...”

“I keep thinking of you,” she said. “With all those naked women running around.”

I took one hand off the wheel and hugged her close to me, and she buried her head in my shoulder.

“Did... did you look?” she asked.

“Sure,” I told her.

“You... you did?”

“Yes, but not very hard.”

She snuggled closer to me, and I added in explanation, “They didn’t have any redheads.”