The Night People Read Online Free PDF Page A

before.
    He reached the Clinton Hotel ten minutes later, and walked into the bubbling maze of people milling about the bar with drinks in their hands and smiles on their faces. Jim didn’t know any of them really well, though one or two faces were familiar. His gaze settled on the women, and he found himself wondering which was the elusive Ida Spain. There was a striking blonde with a long cigarette holder, and a dignified business girl in a tweed suit, and a redhead in a tight sweater.
    Then he spotted Foster Hastings, lounging against the bar with an older man. “I made it, Foster. How are you?”
    “Swell, Jim, but I’m afraid your trip was for nothing. She left not five minutes ago. I tried to get her to stay, but it was hopeless.”
    “Oh, come on now, Foster. I think you’ve been kidding me all along.”
    “Honest,” he held up his hand, “ask Pinky here. He knows her.”
    The man named Pinky nodded in agreement. “If you mean Ida Spain, she’s the nicest thing this town’s seen in a long time.”
    “Well, where does she live?” Jim asked while he signaled the bartender for a drink.
    “Who knows?” Foster Hastings answered. “She doesn’t entertain in her home. From what I hear, she prefers a little motel just outside of town.”
    Jim grunted. “She really goes around picking up men?”
    Pinky laughed. “She’s a real nympho, man. Reminds me of a girl I knew down in New York once.”
    Jim downed a shot of scotch and followed it with water. “Well, maybe I’ll get to meet her someday. I’ve got to be heading for home now, fellows.” He set down his glass and nodded to Pinky. “Glad to have met you,” he said, even though they hadn’t really been introduced.
    He left the hotel and went in search of his car. The whole trip had been a waste of time, really, and he wondered what queer quirk of his mind had even led him there. Whoever Ida Spain was, whatever she did, it didn’t concern him. But somehow the thing did bother him. He stopped at a corner drug store and looked up her name in the city directory. There was no Ida Spain listed. But of course she could easily be living in one of the countless suburbs outside the city limits. What difference did it make, anyway?
    It was dark when he reached home, and Doris was at work in the kitchen. “You’re late, dear.”
    “I had to stop someplace.”
    “How was the trip?”
    “Good. Same as always. Dull, but good.”
    She kissed him lightly and then went back to the kitchen. “I’ll have supper ready in a minute, dear.”
    He picked up the evening paper and glanced at the front page. “What did you do while I was away?”
    “Oh, the usual things. Bridge with a few of the neighborhood girls, a movie at the Strand.”
    “You know, I’ve been thinking, Doris. You’re right when you say you never get out very much. I’ll bet you haven’t even been downtown in weeks. We visit the neighbors and one or two other people and that’s it. Why, you’ve never even met any of the people I work with, or any of my friends downtown.”
    She reappeared from the kitchen and smiled bravely. “I know, dear. I’ve been telling you that for years—or months, at least. I’m glad you finally agree that a salesman’s wife has a dull life.”
    “Well, I’m going to make up for it, starting tonight. I’m going to call Foster Hastings and his wife. I just saw him today and I know he’d like to go out with us.”
    “Foster Hastings?”
    “You’ve never met him, but I’m always talking about him. Swell fellow.”
    “Oh, not tonight, Jim. I just don’t feel up to it tonight.”
    “Okay. Don’t say I never suggest it, though.” He joined her at the table and inhaled the warm odor of soup. “Smells good. You always were a good little cook.”
    “I’m glad I’m a good little something.”
    “Oh, you know that girl, Ida Spain?”
    “Yes?”
    “I almost met her today. Didn’t miss her by five minutes.”
    “Why are you so anxious to meet her,