Jimmy and Fay Read Online Free PDF Page A

Frenchy was running short on beer. “He’s tapping a new keg now but wants to know if we should order more for the weekend. He’s counting on a big crowd Saturday afternoon because he’s been telling everyone that we’ll have the inauguration on the radio.”
    â€œYeah, we should be ready,” I said and then explained about the blackmail attempt, if that’s what you called it, on Miss Wray and what the studio lawyers wanted to do about it. At first, she was interested, but it didn’t take long for her to cross her arms across her chest and give me the cold look I’d been seeing so much lately.
    I thought she’d snapped out of it when I took her to the moving picture, but that was just about the only time she was like her normal self and it didn’t last. The rest of the time lately she tried to act like there was nothing but business between us. “Yes, sir,” she’d say. “No, sir,” she’d say. “Where do we store these new glasses?” she’d say.
    Sure, Connie worked for me, but there was a lot more to it than that. We’d been keeping each other company for some time. She considered herself to be a “good girl” and we’d had several long discussions about that and I thought we were getting a lot friendlier. You see, a few months earlier, six months to be exact, I got caught up in some dicey business involving a girl I used to know, a bunch of Nazi bastards and four crates full of money. Before all that, Connie lived in a nice hotel for women that Marie Therese had arranged. But one morning as this business was warming up, Connie happened to be waiting for me in my room at the Chelsea when some guys broke in and three of them got themselves killed. In the confusion of the moment, and to keep her out of it, I got Connie another room in the hotel. It was supposed to be for a few hours until the cops left. But then, somehow, without anybody saying anything or making a decision about it, she wound up living there. A few at a time, her clothes and things found their way to the fifth floor of the Chelsea. The hotel was closer to the speak than the women’s place, and it just felt better for her to be there upstairs. And, yes, I was footing the bill.
    For a while, it was pretty terrific. Even though neither one of us ever spent the whole night in the other’s room, we got more comfortable with each other. Not as comfortable as I might have liked, but I can honestly say that I wasn’t in a hurry and tried not to pressure her. Things were warming up nicely until about a week ago when she slammed the door, so to speak.
    That night in my office, I got fed up and asked her straight out. “What is it?” I said. “Why are you acting this way?”
    â€œI don’t know what you could be talking about,” she said and turned for the door.
    â€œNo, Connie, come on, I’m serious. What’s going on?”
    Then she cocked her head and gave me that big-eyed look that said I should know what was going on without her having to tell me.
    We stared at each other until I said, “All right. I give up. I guess you’ll tell me when you’re ready. I’m going out now. I may be able to get a line on this business for Miss Wray. If you or Frenchy need me for anything, you can reach me at Polly Adler’s place at the Majestic. Frenchy’s got the number.”
    At the mention of Polly’s name, Connie’s eyes narrowed and I swear I saw a little steam rising from her ears. She swore, “Goddammit, Jimmy Quinn—”
    â€œWait a minute,” I said, cutting her off. “It’s not that . If it was that , do you think I’d be telling you about it? No, this is for Miss Wray.”
    Polly’s place was such a high-toned establishment that nobody even called it a bordello, let alone a whorehouse. It was just Polly’s.
    Then I had another idea and said, “Do you think