turned in at The Furnace. It was a big barn of a place on a corner. There were dimly lighted booths against three walls and a raised runway bisecting a horse-shoe shaped bar in the center of the floor. The joint was packed with free spenders. A B-girl or a hustler was sitting on her living in every second booth and bar stool. The joint smelled like what it was.
I tried to find a stool at the bar but had to settle for one of the few unoccupied booths. A hatchet-faced waiter took my order. Beer was a dollar a bottle. An ounce of cut bar rye brought the tab to two dollars and a quarter.
I sat sipping my drink. A hot four-piece combo was playing It Must Be Love on a small raised platform at the wide end of the runway but no one was paying any attention to them.
The turn-over of girls on the stools was terrific. They came and went like busy little ants. It was the closest thing I’d seen to a wide-open parlor house since I’d been stationed in El Paso and spent most of my pay in Ciudad Juarez. I tried to visualize the little kid in the death house working in such a joint and couldn’t. She might stay with a guy she liked. She probably would and had. But I couldn’t see her putting it out for money, no matter how many confessions she’d signed, no matter what the State of Illinois had proved.
The framed picture of Mona in LaFanti’s apartment haunted me. I wished I knew more about women’s jewelry than I did. If I was right, something was awful screwball. Perhaps Mona’s attorney could tell me. Anyway, he could find out.
Someone blocked off the light in the booth and a not bad-looking little brunette in a tight black skirt and a crisp white shirtwaist sat down across from me.
“How are the chances of you buying a little girl a big drink, mister?” she asked.
I said the chances were good and told the waiter to bring her whatever she wanted. She ordered a double rye high. “Stranger in town, mister?” she asked.
I pointed to my suitcase. “Just got into town.”
“And out for a big time, huh?”
I lied, “That’s right.”
She raised her glass when our drinks came. “What’s your name?”
“Cole. Jim Cole,” I lied.
She wrinkled her nose at me and leaned forward a little, just enough so I could see she wasn’t wearing a bra. “I’m Maggie. My right name is Marguerite but everyone calls me Maggie.”
Her smile was as nice as her body. I touched my glass to hers. “Maggie sounds good to me.”
She felt her way. “First time you’ve ever been in here?”
I nodded. “Yeah. That’s right.” I lit cigarettes for both of us. “You work here long?”
Her smile turned wry. “Two years. I did a strip act up to a month ago. Then the guy who owns the joint went overboard for a little bleached blonde and I got the boot.”
“You like the work?”
She shrugged. “Anyway, it’s a living. What do you do?”
I said I was a construction man.
The waiter brought us fresh drinks without waiting for me to order and the size of the roll I was carrying seemed to impress the little brunette. She moved around and sat on the same side of the booth.
“You look like you’re flush, honey.”
“Yeah. It so happens,” I said.
I had an idea what her next move would be. I waited, wanting it to come from her. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “You just out to drink or are you looking for a good time, honey?”
I played dumb. “What kind of a good time?”
She pressed her thigh against mine. “You know what I mean.”
It was an idea. If she had worked at The Furnace for two years, the chances were she had known Mona. In a hotel room, just the two of us, it might be she could give me a new slant on the case.
Maggie persisted, “I’ll show you a good time, honey. Honest. I’ve always been crazy about big red-haired guys.”
“How crazy?”
She picked up my hand and slid it under the table. Her thighs were soft and cool. There was nothing under her skirt but her. “You’ll see.” She
I tried to find a stool at the bar but had to settle for one of the few unoccupied booths. A hatchet-faced waiter took my order. Beer was a dollar a bottle. An ounce of cut bar rye brought the tab to two dollars and a quarter.
I sat sipping my drink. A hot four-piece combo was playing It Must Be Love on a small raised platform at the wide end of the runway but no one was paying any attention to them.
The turn-over of girls on the stools was terrific. They came and went like busy little ants. It was the closest thing I’d seen to a wide-open parlor house since I’d been stationed in El Paso and spent most of my pay in Ciudad Juarez. I tried to visualize the little kid in the death house working in such a joint and couldn’t. She might stay with a guy she liked. She probably would and had. But I couldn’t see her putting it out for money, no matter how many confessions she’d signed, no matter what the State of Illinois had proved.
The framed picture of Mona in LaFanti’s apartment haunted me. I wished I knew more about women’s jewelry than I did. If I was right, something was awful screwball. Perhaps Mona’s attorney could tell me. Anyway, he could find out.
Someone blocked off the light in the booth and a not bad-looking little brunette in a tight black skirt and a crisp white shirtwaist sat down across from me.
“How are the chances of you buying a little girl a big drink, mister?” she asked.
I said the chances were good and told the waiter to bring her whatever she wanted. She ordered a double rye high. “Stranger in town, mister?” she asked.
I pointed to my suitcase. “Just got into town.”
“And out for a big time, huh?”
I lied, “That’s right.”
She raised her glass when our drinks came. “What’s your name?”
“Cole. Jim Cole,” I lied.
She wrinkled her nose at me and leaned forward a little, just enough so I could see she wasn’t wearing a bra. “I’m Maggie. My right name is Marguerite but everyone calls me Maggie.”
Her smile was as nice as her body. I touched my glass to hers. “Maggie sounds good to me.”
She felt her way. “First time you’ve ever been in here?”
I nodded. “Yeah. That’s right.” I lit cigarettes for both of us. “You work here long?”
Her smile turned wry. “Two years. I did a strip act up to a month ago. Then the guy who owns the joint went overboard for a little bleached blonde and I got the boot.”
“You like the work?”
She shrugged. “Anyway, it’s a living. What do you do?”
I said I was a construction man.
The waiter brought us fresh drinks without waiting for me to order and the size of the roll I was carrying seemed to impress the little brunette. She moved around and sat on the same side of the booth.
“You look like you’re flush, honey.”
“Yeah. It so happens,” I said.
I had an idea what her next move would be. I waited, wanting it to come from her. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “You just out to drink or are you looking for a good time, honey?”
I played dumb. “What kind of a good time?”
She pressed her thigh against mine. “You know what I mean.”
It was an idea. If she had worked at The Furnace for two years, the chances were she had known Mona. In a hotel room, just the two of us, it might be she could give me a new slant on the case.
Maggie persisted, “I’ll show you a good time, honey. Honest. I’ve always been crazy about big red-haired guys.”
“How crazy?”
She picked up my hand and slid it under the table. Her thighs were soft and cool. There was nothing under her skirt but her. “You’ll see.” She
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