The First Quarry (Hard Case Crime (Mass Market Paperback)) by Max Allan Collins

Author:Max Allan Collins [Collins, Max Allan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Hard case Crime
Published: 2011-04-19T12:00:00+00:00

SEVEN

We finished the four beers, though Dorrie had three of them, and had another enthusiastic fuck, this time on the couch with the curvy gal sitting on my lap facing me, and she was pretty drunk at that point and her face wasn’t looking so hot, no make-up and kind of saggy, but her body held up fine and anyway I hadn’t been laid in a couple months.

She gathered her clothes and padded into the bathroom to freshen up. I heard the shower going and thought about joining her, but my dick was as red as a radish and I thought the better part of valor was just to get my own clothes on and call myself lucky.

Her purse had been in there, so when she emerged she was fairly put together, and I suggested we go downstairs for a nightcap. I had an ulterior motive, which was to make sure she didn’t spend the night in my room—I needed more freedom than that—and I was pleased when she accepted my invitation.

She had a Vodka Collins and I had a gimlet while we sat in a booth and played PI and client. The “band”—a guy with a guitar and a gal with a keyboard doing horrific soft rock with drum-machine backing—was at least not very loud. The guitarist was perched on a stool and wore a velour jumpsuit and pink shirt; he smiled and sang back-up. The girl, in a gypsy-pattern peasant dress and seated behind her keyboard, did the lead vocals in a whispery folky voice just perfect for “Which Way You Goin’, Billy?” Perfect in the sense that “Which Way You Goin’, Billy?” would make great background music for driving off a bridge.

The tiny dance floor, however, was packed with couples in upright copulation mode, and they soaked up some of the sound, at least.

Dorrie was sucking on the orange slice from her Tom Collins glass. If I hadn’t just been fucked royal, twice, that might have been provocative.

I sipped my gimlet. “I’ll send you the photos.”

She shook the reddish tower of curls. “No. I want to see them. I want you to talk me through them.”

“Huh?”

“Tell what else you saw, you know, in relation to the photos.”

I frowned. “I really think it would be better if you went back to Connecticut and let me send you the photos and report to you over the—”

“I want to see those photos.” She stretched out a palm, like a child demanding candy. “I want to see them...right here.”

I thought about it. “Okay, that’s not a problem. They’ll be developed by noon tomorrow. We can meet in the coffee shop for lunch, and then you can check out and go home.”

The blue eyes, though a little bleary, tightened and grew hard. “No. I want to see that bastard. I want to rub the evidence in his goddamn face.”

“Not such a good idea. Listen, I’m experienced at this, or anyway Mr. Koenig is. I can tell you, with absolute certainty, that having contact with your husband, harassing him and so on, will only hurt your cause in court.

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