The Naked Typist

11

Marcie Keller didn’t want to push it. The guy was interested, yeah, but it was a casual interest. Not like he was seriously thinking of picking her up.

Which was strange. Because David Castleton seemed like the playboy type. And if he was, Marcie should have been right up his alley. Blonde, slim, with a fashion model’s face. But in no way cold and distant. Laughing eyes, slightly bored expression-the completely indifferent ploy that usually drove men nuts. Hell, he should have been all over her.

Especially in a place like this. It was a singles bar on Third Avenue. High-class, but definitely a pickup bar. It was early evening and the place was jammed. It would thin out later when people made contacts and wandered off together. But most of them would have a few good drinks first.

David Castleton was on his second. So was Marcie, though she was trying to take it easy. After all, this was business. Marcie had bought the first drink herself. David Castleton had paid for the second.

She’d tailed him here from work, picked him up when he came out of the building on Third Avenue where Castleton Industries held their offices, recognized him from the picture one of Mark Taylor’s men had managed to dig up from the newspaper morgue. Newspaper pictures can be deceiving, but it was a good likeness, and she’d been ninety percent sure it was him. Still, ninety percent wasn’t good enough, and it had been a relief when she’d tailed him to an address on Fifth Avenue, an address that turned out to be that of Milton Castleton’s apartment. Which made it a hundred percent sure thing.

David Castleton had been in there for something over an hour, then come out and walked over to Third Avenue, then down to the bar, which was actually only a few blocks from the office.

They’d been there fifteen to twenty minutes. She’d played it cool, taken it slow. The place had been pretty crowded when they got there, so there was no danger of him spotting her right away, no chance of him seeing she had come in at the same time. David Castleton had pushed his way into the center of the bar and ordered a drink. She’d hung out at the far end and ordered one, too.

She’d waited until he was nearly finished with his drink before making her way down the bar and squeezing in beside him to hold up her empty glass for the bartender. It was the simplest of pickup routines. “Excuse me,” as she jostled his arm, was all she’d had to say.

She’d fed him some bullshit line about being an actress and a model. He’d shown only polite interest. And hadn’t opened up at all about himself. Hadn’t tried to impress her with the Castleton millions. Which would only have been natural for a young stud like him.

Which was annoying. This should have been an easy assignment. Instead it was like pulling teeth.

“So, what do you do?” Marcie ventured. It was the second time she’d asked.

He tugged at his tie. “I told you. I’m in business.”

“You didn’t say what business.”

He shrugged. “Hey, the way I see it, business is business.”

“A junkyard’s a business. You don’t look like you do that.”

“Naw. White-collar, I mean.”

David Castleton ran his finger under his white collar, unbuttoned it, loosened his tie. Marcie couldn’t tell if he’d done it to make a joke, or if he’d been totally oblivious of the connection. Not wanting to rock the boat, she let it go.

“Let me guess,” she said. “Advertising?”

“No.”

“Maybe I just want it to be advertising so you can get me a commercial.”

“Uh huh.”

He wasn’t really listening. He glanced at his watch, then at the door.

Marcie frowned. Shit. He was meeting someone. That’s why he wasn’t interested. Of all the rotten breaks. If she was gonna get anything out of him, she was gonna have to move fast.

Which wasn’t gonna work. She was gonna have to wash the evening out, come back and try again tomorrow. Providing he came to this bar. Then she could talk to him again. But if he went anywhere else, there was no way she was gonna get away with the coincidence of bumping into him there.

No, the way Marcie saw it, there was only one way to go. Take the bull by the horns and try the ‘you’re waiting for someone, aren’t you?’ routine.

She was just about to do that when he said, “Excuse me,” and moved away from the bar.

And that was that. Win some, lose some. Wash out this assignment. Even though it wasn’t her fault, Marcie felt bad. She was good at what she did, and she liked to deliver the goods. Well, not this time.

Marcie watched as David Castleton pushed his way through the crowd, making his way to the door. Shit. He couldn’t be leaving, could he? If he did she’d have to follow, and that’d be a bitch, following him without being spotted after trying to pick him up. Relax, she told herself. He couldn’t be leaving, he’s waiting for someone. That’s it. They just came in. They just came in and he’s meeting them now.

As she watched, David Castleton raised his hand, called and waved to someone standing near the door. He squeezed his way past a young couple and reached the doorway. There. The young woman. Of course. No wonder she couldn’t make any time.

A girl standing in her line of vision stepped to the side and she could see the woman clearly. So, that’s what she was competing with. Slim figure, large breasts, and-

Oh shit!

Marcie took a breath. Jesus Christ, it was her, wasn’t it? It was the woman she’d been told to look out for. Christ, what did she do now? If they stayed here, she’d already made contact, so maybe she could get close and listen in.

But what if they left? She couldn’t really follow. She would if she had to, but it wouldn’t be wise. She should call for backup.

Which wouldn’t be easy. The phone was in the back of the bar near the rest rooms. She’d already scouted it out. It would be a bitch to get to in this crowd. But she had no choice. If they stayed, she’d have to phone. If they left, she’d have to follow. Either way, she had to be ready.

She swallowed the rest of her drink, put the glass down and moved away from the bar. It was tough to see them through the crowd. It would be tougher still to get to the door, if that’s where they were heading.

But they weren’t. He was leading her through the crowd back to the bar.

Okay. They’re staying. Go for the phone.

Marcie threaded her way through the crowd. She reached the pay phone in the back of the bar, dropped in a quarter, punched in the number. It rang twice and the switchboard picked up.

“Taylor Detective Agency.”

“It’s Marcie. It’s urgent. Get me Mark.”

Marcie craned her neck, looked down the bar just in time to see David Castleton toss down his drink, throw a couple of bucks on the bar and pick up the check.

Shit. They were leaving. He’d gone back to get his bar bill.

Mark Taylor’s voice was just saying, “Hello?” when Marcie dropped the receiver and began fighting her way through the crowd.

Knowing it was futile. Knowing she could never get there in time.

She was right.

By the time she got to the front door, they were gone.