Part 11 (2/2)

I yanked out my gun. The door opened an inch. I aimed at the crack, almost ready to shoot right through it.

But then - so suddenly and loudly that I jumped again - a voice yelled, ”I'll be right back, honey.” It was a woman's voice. ”I'll only be a couple minutes.”

What in the h.e.l.l? I thought.

Now, with the door cracked, I could hear answering voices - male, more than one, and apparently from out in the Gardenia Room - but I couldn't distinguish the words, only what struck me as a horrible roaring sound. I could easily hear the woman, though, as she cried, ”Don't get in an uproar, honey. Mix me a drinkie - I'll be right back.”

I didn't know whether to try climbing out the window - too late for that now - or hiding behind the door, or desk, or bar, or what. There was just too much to contend with in the approximately two or three seconds at my disposal.

But at least it was a woman, and she wouldn't be out there yelling if she had a gun and was coming in here to shoot me. There was a dandy bit of logic. If she knew me, recognized me, I was sunk. But maybe she didn't know me.

Maybe she . . . The thought wavered, faded, came back.

I was in Sullivan's office - maybe she didn't know me or Sullivan. It was possible. h.e.l.l, anything is possible; some day I might be eating cheese on the moon. Some day I might go through a whole case without getting hit on the head. Some day - there wasn't time for any more of this mental diddling. Something had to be done; she was coming in.

All I can say is, it was inspiration. Something bigger than I guided me, moved me. Maybe part of it was the thought of Sullivan in my mind, part merely an attempt to cover my white hair, but in one bound I was behind the desk grabbing Sullivan's red beret out of the drawer and clapping it on my head, s.n.a.t.c.hing his stale cigar from the tray, turning with my back to the door - just in time, just as the woman came inside - cigar visible in my left hand, the c.o.c.ked Colt out of sight in my right.

I pulled my head left a little, rolled my eyes sideways so I could peer at her, see if she was alone. She was. She shut the door behind her - and giggled.

Well, that didn't sound menacing.

”h.e.l.lo,” she said. ”I saw your light under the door. You don't mind, do you?”

”Mind?”

”You're Sully, aren't you? Huh?”

I turned my head clear around and looked straight at the gal, but her expression didn't change one iota. It remained a sort of happy, expectant, hopeful, drunk expression. She looked and sounded as plastered as a stucco duplex. I slid the gun back into its holster and turned to face her as she said, ”Didn't you hear me? You're Sully, aren't you?”

”Ain't I seen you before?” I said, very friendly.

”No. Not yet, but you're going to,” she said kittenishly. ”I hope.”

I didn't know what the h.e.l.l that meant, but I asked the vital question. ”You mean you ain't seen old Sully before?”

She shook her head. ”No, I been wanting to. But my honey says he don't want me in s...o...b..z. But I want to be in s...o...b..z. I got talent, honest.”

s...o...b..z, talent. Comments I'd heard about Sully came back to me. Whatever it was that had moved me just kept on moving me, and I stuck the cigar between my teeth and said: ”Well, come on in, baby. Lessee what you got.”

She let out a little trilling squeal. Something had been bothering me until then, because she looked slightly familiar to me, but when she squealed trillingly I remembered. I'd seen her last night, sitting with Blister and Speedy and two other girls. She'd been the one without a partner, wearing a high-necked green dress.

Apparently she had a partner - her ”honey” - tonight, and tonight she was wearing another clinging, high-necked dress, of bright orange knit wool, which was stretched all into the same shape as the other one. It was a splendid sight, even though undoubtedly tough on the wool, since she had a lot more stretchers than it had stretch. The blonde hair, which had been worn long when I'd first seen her, was piled on top of her head this time.

As her squeal ended in a little fruity sound, like a cat's meow, she clapped her hands in front of her and cried happily, ”Oh, I was afraid you wouldn't let me.” Then she wriggled her hips and snapped her fingers a couple of times. ”I'm just going to warm up a little first,” she said.

This was moving too fast for me. Maybe that whatever, which I'd thought was guiding me, had really been misguiding me. All I'd wanted to do was pa.s.s inspection from this tomato so she wouldn't let out a yell and bring numerous boy friends and casual acquaintances in here to shoot me. And now I was remembering more that I'd heard about Sully - his hiring all the show's acts, the ”auditions” here in his office . . .

The blonde said, ”O.K. I'm ready. I'll just have to do it without music, I guess.”

”Ah, Miss, this won't do - ”

But she went right on, ”I'll have to do it real fast, before my honey comes in here and catches me.”

”Catches you?”

”He'd kill me if he knew I was in here.”

”Kill you?”

”I sneaked away - he doesn't sympathize with my desire for a career in the theayter. But I've got the whole act worked out, everything.” She was starting to emote already, but the theayter she was thinking about was not the Biltmore Theayter. ”I've even got the name for my dance,” she went on. ”The Dance of the Seven b.u.mps. Or is that too suggestive?”

”Baby, it's about as crude as the oil in the La Brea Tar Pits. But I guess that's what the public wants, hey?”

She didn't answer. Instead she was slinking about the room, reaching back to pull down a long zipper, starting to shake out of the orange dress. Shaking . . . shaking . . .

”Don't,” I said. ”Don't . . . do it.”

”What? Don't? Why?”

”Well, I'm - all choked up. I mean booked up. No more spots for new - new goils.”

”Oh, it'll only take a minute. I'm already started, and maybe you'll remember me when you've got a spot.” She smiled like a gal sitting on something that tickled.

I said, ”This won't do - ”

But she kept talking - and moving. ”I've got the whole act worked out, even my name. Vava. That's my new stage name.”

”Vava?”

”Yes, isn't it wonderful? Sort of smooth and hot and all. And the last name - Voom!”

”What happened? Are you all right?”

”Of course.”

”But you said - voom or something very - ”

”That's my last name. Voom!”

”Good G.o.d, not Vava Voom!”

”Yes, isn't it wonderful?”

”Good G.o.d, not Vava Voom!” I said again, unbelieving. ”Why, that's as bad as that Yaki gal, the j.a.panese dancer. What was it? Yeah, Suki. Suki Yaki. Good G.o.d - ”

”I thought it up myself.”

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