cup of coffee?"
"No, thanks. I'm awash now." I pushed back my chair. "I'm going upstairs for some sack time. I feel as thought I've been on airplanes for a week."
I climbed the stairs to the north bedroom.
I'd met Hazel four years before when I was in South Florida, trying to find out what happened to my partner and the swag from a Phoenix bank job. Both had disappeared. Hazel was a twice-widowed lusty female running a tavern in the area where I was doing my looking. We found we had a common racetrack background, and we'd hit it off in other ways. It had been a good time.
Then I tangled with a police roadblock while I was making my move to avenge my partner and recover the loot. In the shoot-out a car's gasoline tank exploded in my face. I was in a prison hospital for eighteen months before I promoted a little Pakistani plastic surgeon into making me a new face. I'd refused permission for Hazel to visit me because she didn't deserve to be involved in my problems. She gave up trying eventually and came back to her homeplace, the ranch in Ely.
When the time was ripe, I crushed out of the prison hospital without benefit of clergy and drifted to the west coast after a couple of eastern bank jobs that went wrong. I hadn't seen Hazel for two years when I finally decided that things had cooled down enough for it to be safe for her if I looked her up. When I reached Ely I was surprised to find that Hazel had a sixteen-hundred-acre spread there plus stocks, bonds, and cash left her by her husbands. We picked up where we left off, and except for a side excursion to Cuba, which turned out to be a really wild affair, we'd been together ever since.
I shed my clothes, took a shower, and turned down the bed. For forty-eight hours all my sleeping had been done sitting up. I had just crawled between the sheets when I heard Hazel's step on the stairs, and I knew what was going to happen. She walked into the bedroom, and it was just as natural as any ace-six that ever rolled out onto a table.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled off her boots, then rose and peeled clothing from herself in a rainbow-hued shower. The big, warm, naked female body slid into the bed and snuggled up to me. I stroked her lazily, then not so lazily. We filled our roving hands with flesh until by mutual consent we threw the top sheet aside. I was so tired that it was a long, leisurely, and delicious ride before my boiler finally flared up and we sprinted down the homestretch together.
I fell asleep afterward as though I'd been clubbed.
***
When I awoke my watch had stopped. Hazel had drawn the shades before she left the bedroom, and I couldn't tell if it was daylight or dark outside. I stretched luxuriously, slid out of bed, and took another shower. Hazel heard the water running, and when I came out of the bathroom she was seated on the edge of the bed again, smoking a cigarette.
"The sheriff's office called just after I boosted myself out from under your dead weight and went downstairs," she announced. "I gave him the registration number of the plane, and he called back twenty minutes later." She consulted a slip of paper she had removed from her Levis. "The plane is registered in the name of Frank Dalrymple who operates the Colonial Airport, a small private field near Tucson."
"Dalrymple," I repeated. "A hired plane, for sure, but maybe this Dalrymple could tell me who hired him."
"There's really no need for you to involve yourself," Hazel pointed out. "You were my agent on the trip to New York with Larkin's money, and I feel responsible for any loss you had."
I didn't even bother to answer that one. The whole crazy expedition to Cuba had come about because I wasn't about to use Hazel's money. "How long was I asleep?"
"Twelve hours."
"Damned if I don't feel I could do it all over again."
She arched
"No, thanks. I'm awash now." I pushed back my chair. "I'm going upstairs for some sack time. I feel as thought I've been on airplanes for a week."
I climbed the stairs to the north bedroom.
I'd met Hazel four years before when I was in South Florida, trying to find out what happened to my partner and the swag from a Phoenix bank job. Both had disappeared. Hazel was a twice-widowed lusty female running a tavern in the area where I was doing my looking. We found we had a common racetrack background, and we'd hit it off in other ways. It had been a good time.
Then I tangled with a police roadblock while I was making my move to avenge my partner and recover the loot. In the shoot-out a car's gasoline tank exploded in my face. I was in a prison hospital for eighteen months before I promoted a little Pakistani plastic surgeon into making me a new face. I'd refused permission for Hazel to visit me because she didn't deserve to be involved in my problems. She gave up trying eventually and came back to her homeplace, the ranch in Ely.
When the time was ripe, I crushed out of the prison hospital without benefit of clergy and drifted to the west coast after a couple of eastern bank jobs that went wrong. I hadn't seen Hazel for two years when I finally decided that things had cooled down enough for it to be safe for her if I looked her up. When I reached Ely I was surprised to find that Hazel had a sixteen-hundred-acre spread there plus stocks, bonds, and cash left her by her husbands. We picked up where we left off, and except for a side excursion to Cuba, which turned out to be a really wild affair, we'd been together ever since.
I shed my clothes, took a shower, and turned down the bed. For forty-eight hours all my sleeping had been done sitting up. I had just crawled between the sheets when I heard Hazel's step on the stairs, and I knew what was going to happen. She walked into the bedroom, and it was just as natural as any ace-six that ever rolled out onto a table.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled off her boots, then rose and peeled clothing from herself in a rainbow-hued shower. The big, warm, naked female body slid into the bed and snuggled up to me. I stroked her lazily, then not so lazily. We filled our roving hands with flesh until by mutual consent we threw the top sheet aside. I was so tired that it was a long, leisurely, and delicious ride before my boiler finally flared up and we sprinted down the homestretch together.
I fell asleep afterward as though I'd been clubbed.
***
When I awoke my watch had stopped. Hazel had drawn the shades before she left the bedroom, and I couldn't tell if it was daylight or dark outside. I stretched luxuriously, slid out of bed, and took another shower. Hazel heard the water running, and when I came out of the bathroom she was seated on the edge of the bed again, smoking a cigarette.
"The sheriff's office called just after I boosted myself out from under your dead weight and went downstairs," she announced. "I gave him the registration number of the plane, and he called back twenty minutes later." She consulted a slip of paper she had removed from her Levis. "The plane is registered in the name of Frank Dalrymple who operates the Colonial Airport, a small private field near Tucson."
"Dalrymple," I repeated. "A hired plane, for sure, but maybe this Dalrymple could tell me who hired him."
"There's really no need for you to involve yourself," Hazel pointed out. "You were my agent on the trip to New York with Larkin's money, and I feel responsible for any loss you had."
I didn't even bother to answer that one. The whole crazy expedition to Cuba had come about because I wasn't about to use Hazel's money. "How long was I asleep?"
"Twelve hours."
"Damned if I don't feel I could do it all over again."
She arched
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