Angel Doll. Arlette Lees
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sure gets around.”
“No secrets in Little Ireland.” He nods toward the car. “Come on, you two, get in.”
“What about him?” I say, indicating the guy snoring under the awning.
“He’ll be fine. When he wakes up he won’t remember any of this.”
I grab my suitcase. The umbrella’s somewhere in Timbuktu.
We cross Dublin and Kildare Streets and he drops us off in front of The Rexford. We agree to get together for a drink once I’m settled. I sense the change in Angel Doll the minute we walk into the lobby of the hotel. A man seated in a chair against the wall looks over his racing form with eyes the color of bullets. Except for the white tie and hatband, he’s completely in black. He has high cheekbones and a nose that’s straight and sharp enough to cut paper.
Without a word Angel pulls away from me and takes the elevator to the second floor. The guy gives me a smirk. I’ve got plenty of time to knock it off his kisser so I let it ride.
The lobby of The Rexford looks like a million lobbies in a million towns. It has comfortable leather chairs on an oriental carpet sporting the requisite number of cigarette burns. There’s a scattering of potted palms, tables for magazines and newspapers, and several art deco sand buckets bristling with cigarette butts.
The men who sit in the chairs look like a million men in a million towns, boxers from the local gym, race track devotees, factory workers, and pensioners down on their luck.
Hank looks up from behind the reception desk and gives me a welcoming nod. He’s older and grayer than the last time I saw him. I walk over and slap him on the shoulder.
“You old son-of-a-gun,” I say. “Looks like you’ve done okay for yourself.”
“It’s not the Ritz, but it keeps me in brandy and cigars.”
My back cramps. I lean an elbow on the counter and blow out my breath.
“Some crazy s.o.b. blind-sided me with a sock of billiard balls.” I shake off the pain and straighten up.
“That’s Elmer Ganguzza’s game. He’s the town nut. His mother drank too much when he was baking in the oven. I can have Doc McBane here in ten minutes.”
“Let’s see how I feel in the morning. Right now I’m beat.”
“Take the weekend off and see how you feel on Monday.”
“Sounds like a plan. By the way, who’s the skeleton with the racing form?”
“That’s Axel Teague. As soon as you turned your back he followed the girl up the elevator. I wouldn’t turn your back on him again if you catch my drift.”
Hank opens his desk drawer. I recognize the envelope he hands me. It’s my termination check from The Department. I rip it open. It’s not like I’ve won the Irish Sweepstakes, but it’s enough to keep the wolf from the door.
“Want me to cash it?” asks Hank?
“Sure thing.”
I sign the back and he doles out the cash.
“I’d think twice about the girl if you want to keep your life uncomplicated,” says Hank. “Teague has his brand on that one.”
Who wants to think? I want to hold her close and slow dance in the smoky darkness. If Teague has similar aspirations we’re probably not going to be best friends.
CHAPTER TWO
NIGHT OF SMOKE AND SHADOWS
My key goes to a corner room with a small private bath. It’s comfortable and clean. The pink and purple neon from the movie theater across Cork Street reflects on the ceiling. After I loosen my muscles with a hot shower I wrap a towel around my hips, some of the tightness gone out of my back. I’m on my way to bed when there’s a knock on the door.
Angel says, “Jack, it’s me.”
I open the door. She steps inside and I lock it behind her. An angry bruise decorates her cheekbone.
I tilt her chin up and examine the damage.
“What’s his hold on you?” I say.
She draws a trembling breath and I kiss her lightly on the temple.
“I’ve been with Teague since I was thirteen. He showed up with legal-looking papers when my parents died and said I had to go with him, that he was a distant relative. By the time I realized what was going on, I was trapped. He lives off of me and the other girls from The Blue Rose who work the streets.”
“What room is he in? This is the kind of riffraff I’ve been hired to deal with.”
“It doesn’t matter. He won’t be back until Monday after he’s gambled his money away.” Angel turns toward the door. The wind is up and rain rattles the windowpane. “I have to go. If I don’t meet my quota, there’ll be hell to pay when he gets back.”
I block the door. I remove one of the larger bills from my wallet and put it in her beaded purse. “You don’t have to do this. I took this job so people can be safe here.” She turns to me and slowly begins unbuttoning the pearl buttons on her blue dress.
“No, Angel,” and I begin fastening her dress.
She presses her fingers to my lips.
“Don’t say a word, Jack.”
The dress slides off of her shoulders with the soft whisper of silk. She steps out of her shoes and I realize how very small she is. Another subtle shrug and she’s wrapped in nothing but the pale translucence of her skin.
She reaches out and pulls the towel from my hips, takes me by the hand, and leads me to the bed. A tremor runs the length of my body. Her perfumed hair falls over my face, her body warm and firm against my chest. She’s far too young or I’m far too old, however you want to look at it, but the chemistry is too strong to resist and it’s been a long time since anyone has wanted me in this way. I moan deep in my throat, a sound like honeyed gravel.
Her soft, full lips find mine, but when I close my eyes it’s another time, another place, even another woman. I try to get Sandra out of my head but she drifts between us like a ghost. I’m suddenly twenty-three again and she’s seventeen. We make love on a hillside beneath a summer moon, exhilarated and terrified at our recklessness. Sandra was my first and only love, until I ruined it.
Afterward I light two Lucky’s and watch the purple smoke dissolve in the shadows of the room. Lightning flickers beyond the window and thunder rolls across the roof. Angel turns on her side, one hand in my hair, the other holding her cigarette. Her sandy blonde hair spills across the pillow.
“Are you married?” she asks.
“She’s divorcing me,” I say.
“Did you cheat on her?”
“Only with Jack Daniels.”
She looks in my eyes and I look away.
“I think you’re still married under the skin,” she says, kissing me on the cheek. I sense her sadness, but she covers it with a smile.
* * * *
I wake to a rainy morning. Angel’s gone back to her room. She leaves a comforting warmth in the bedding, a whisper of rose perfume on the pillow.
The pain in my back returns in spades, running down my leg and into my toes. I soak in the tub and imagine shoving billiard balls down Ganguzza’s throat.
It’s Saturday. We want to be together, but it won’t work as long as Teague is hovering in the halls of The Rexford like dry rot in the walls. Hank tells me a guy like that must have a past...a record...a warrant...something. He shows me his rental application. He’s originally from Kansas City. The rest of the information is sketchy.
“I hired you to