The Death of Lorenzo Jones Read Online Free PDF Page B

Listen, I’m sorry about going too fast. I’ll slow down. Can I go? I’m in a hurry.”
    “Off to meet a dame, aren’t you?”
    Jimbo wrote him a ticket.
    “Drop around soon and maybe I’ll ‘fix’ it for you, Hook. I want to talk to you. Before I have to identify your body with a
     tag around its left toe in the morgue. You drop around. Okay?”
    Grumbling, Lockwood took the ticket and pulled away. He had promised to see Jimbo at the first opportunity.

CHAPTER
5
    “Thirty-five minutes late!” Robin cooly stated as he slipped into the corner booth beside her at 21. “Are you always late?”
    “I’d say that depends on the circumstances.” Lockwood took off his hat and threw it across the booth onto the rack.
    “Good aim. What circumstances? Or are you just playing hard to get?”
    “Another appointment, with a doctor—a check-up. Took longer than I expected. Then I got a speeding ticket because I was in
     such a hurry to meet you, my dear. That’s the truth.” Almost, he thought.
    “I don’t believe you.”
    Lockwood produced the ticket. She looked it over. “It appears genuine.”
    She had soft blond hair, shoulder length, and now that she shed her jacket, Lockwood saw an inviting pair covered by her silk
     blouse. He sighed. They leaned forward, and he tore his eyes away to smile back at her. She was young and fresh, and she looked
     as if no man had yet put his paws on her.
    The wavy blond hair fit better in the booth at 21 than keeping track of workmen in a blustery baseball stadium. Her long fingers—Lockwood
     bet she played piano—were cupped about a Black Russian on the rocks. She seemed to be slightly high, for her smile looked
     a bit crooked.
    Lockwood looked into electric green eyes. He felt aroused. Her soft creamy complexion, those perfectly formed questioning
     lips, that subtle chin—he wanted to run his hands over her.
    “I see you managed to change your outfit,” he said. “Green looks swell on you.”
    “Well, in that case, you’re forgiven for being late.” She handed him back Jimbo’s ticket. “What’s a Cord?”
    “I’ll show you, but first, I need a drink.” He called Joe, but as usual Sam, his assistant, hopped to it and came over, a
     towel on his arm. Like all the waiters here, Sam wore a black tie and tuxedo jacket. Gentlemen didn’t get in without a jacket
     and tie. That was why he had asked Robin to meet him here rather than O’Malleys. Classier.
    “Canadian and soda,” Lockwood ordered. “And another of whatever the lady’s drinking.
    “Now,” he continued, “what do you think of taking a spin in my Cord? Maybe a steak place I know out on the Island, and then
     dancing?”
    “Aren’t you moving a bit fast, Mr. Lockwood?”
    “Bill.”
    “Bill, then.” She paused, looking deep into his steel gray eyes, and her gaze lingered there. “Maybe I
will
go for a spin with you. Cheers.”
    She worked for Wade as a publicist and a secretary, a job that often gave her the day off, since Mr. Wade didn’t seem to want
     publicity or make many appointments. The pay was lousy. She was from a small town and lived with her aunt on 57th Street.
     Lockwood filled her in on his angle.
    “A private eye?” Lockwood sighed. “Not exactly. Actually, an insurance investigator.”
    “Maybe you’ll show me your gun sometime. I’m sure you have a big one.”
    Either she is a complete innocent or I’m being teased, he thought. He ordered-another set of drinks.
    Robin had a soft voice to go with her soft lips. She didn’t slurp her drinks, and she was intelligent. She was also holding
     something back. Whenever Lockwood brought the subject around to Wade, the conversation turned to gardening, the shops along
     Fifth Avenue, or—interestingly enough—Indian jewelry. Robin had a small collection of turquoise, so she said, and several
     rings made by the Zuni Indians from a trip to Arizona two years earlier.
    Indeed, she wore a large stone, mottled green on blue in