Hard Case Crime - 46 - Baby Moll by John Farris

Author:John Farris
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9780857687661
Publisher: Titan Books
Published: 2011-10-12T20:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

The desk clerk at the Coral Gardens Hotel told me Owen Barr had left the hotel an hour ago. I walked through the sedate lobby to the basement steps and went downstairs, opened the door of Owen’s little retreat. I couldn’t find a light switch anywhere. Grayish light from the windows was pinned to the tarpaulin on one wall and a long bar of it slanted across the dirty floor and crept up one of the old sofas, affectionately grasped a girl’s small bare foot.

I shut my eyes tightly and waited for a few seconds. When I opened my eyes again I could see more clearly. Gerry was lying on the sofa on her back, sound asleep. She was mother-naked, but not like mother ever was. Her nudity irritated me somehow. I had nearly got my head knocked off while she slept comfortably down here.

I walked over to the sofa and smacked her with the flat of my hand on her bare thigh. She jerked awake and moved her legs. She put one hand on the assaulted leg.

“Hey! Wha — ” She struggled to focus her sleepy eyes on me. “Who are you?”

“Mallory.”

“Oh.” She winced. “What did you do that for?”

“Get up and get dressed,” I said. “People are looking for you.”

She slid her knees beneath her, kneeled on the sofa, facing me, raised her head. “That really stings,” she complained. She yawned huskily, touching her hair with her fingers, then raised her arms full-length. Her breasts swelled high.

I noticed her clothing on the table with Owen’s tubes of color. I turned around and picked up the red pants, underclothes, brief blouse. I tossed the clothing at her. “Put these on.”

“What for?”

“You’re going back to Stan.”

She slid her legs over the edge of the sofa, sat up. “I don’t think I want to go back,” she said stubbornly.

“You’re going back,” I promised her, “if I have to carry you out of here dressed the way you aren’t.”

She laughed incredulously. “You wouldn’t—”

I stepped toward her quickly, caught one of her wrists, brought her stiffly to her feet. She hesitated, then leaned against me, teasing me with a motion of her hips. Her eyelids drooped. “We don’t have to go back right now. We could—”

I wasn’t enchanted. She was a brat. But even feeling that way I had to get the weight of the lusty body away from me. I shoved her roughly, letting go the wrist.

“What’s the matter?” she said. “Don’t you like women?”

“You’re not a woman. You’re a shallow-brained little girl rattling around in a woman’s body. Get dressed, damn you.”

The scornful edge of my voice stung worse than the slap I had given her. She shifted her weight uncertainly from one bare foot to the other, then sniffed, then sat down on the sofa, still looking at me. She picked up her brassiere, fitted it to her breasts, fastened it. She stood up, holding her panties. Without turning away she stepped into them, pulled them up slowly over her legs, her full thighs.

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