Part 22 (1/2)
”Shut the door quietly on the way out,” she retorted.
He stared at her, his face revealing nothing. He turned, went to the door, and opened it. He looked back. She had not moved. He left without a word.
Rhoda Kane lit another cigarette. She stared out across the East River at the expensive view that went with her high-rent apartment. She got up and went to the liquor cabinet and made herself a drink.
She was back on the sofa when a key turned in the lock. The door opened.
Frank Corson came in, walked to her and stood looking down at her. There was misery in his face, a beaten look in his eyes.
”You knew I couldn't do it.”
”Couldn't do what, sweet?”
”Walk out on you. I'm in love with you, G.o.dd.a.m.n it. If I stayed away tonight, I'd be back tomorrow.”
Rhoda set her gla.s.s down and held out her arms. ”Darling,” she whispered. ”You wouldn't have had to. I'd have been down in the Village after you.”
He kissed her hungrily and she pressed her hand against the back of his head, holding his mouth tight to hers. His hand slipped inside her blouse. She laid her own hand on it and held it firm.
”It's for your own good, darling, that I want you to contact this Taber and demand what you're ent.i.tled to. You have a right to know. If you don't find out, there might be a policeman at your door, any minute of the day or night.”
”I'll call him.”
”And if he tells you it's none of your business, stand up to him.”
”I will.”
She allowed his hand to go on with its exploring now. His finger touched her nipple, played with it. She closed her eyes as his mouth again sought hers. ”Darling ...” she murmured.
But she was speaking to a man who had come from nowhere and had identified himself only as John Dennis. She had no number at which to call him. She could only wait until he returned again, if he ever did.
She thought: _Oh, G.o.d, John Dennis. Why do you turn away from me? Why did you strip me naked and look at me as though I were a statue? Will you come back again? Please come back and make love to me._
She felt Frank Corson unsnapping her bra.s.siere. She closed her eyes and lay back and waited, and for all the effect he had on her, Frank Corson could have been a statue.
At the last moment she insisted, ”Remember, Frank, you've got to find out _everything_!”
9
The man had sallow skin; the look of a consumptive. He sat in a chair beside Crane's desk and dropped the ash from his cigar on Crane's wall-to-wall carpeting. Crane scowled, but let it pa.s.s.
”All right. Dorfman, what have you got to show for the money I've paid you?”
Dorfman, an old hand at confidential snooping, refused to quail before the much-publicized senatorial scowl. ”It's tough putting on a hunt when you're not quite sure what you're after.”
”I told you what I wanted. I wanted you to watch for any New York contacts Brent Taber might be using at the present time. That's simple enough, isn't it?”
”Taber contacts a lot of people. And he's a dangerous man to tail. He knows all the tricks.”
”Are you telling me he caught you following him? If he did, you're no longer of any value to me.”