as Joe approached he rose. Opposite him was a girl who was all eyes and mouth. Raleigh said, “You’re Mr. South, aren’t you? I’m Raleigh.” They shook hands. “And this is Miss Evans,” Raleigh added.
The girl acknowledged the introduction with a giggle. She wore long straight black hair in a braid over her head. On closer inspection she had more than just eyes and mouth to recommend her. So this must be the little “momma and poppa” gal the guy was trying to horse up with. She had things all right—maybe net the kind it takes to get a bid to a brass-hat frolic—not by the front deer, anyway—but things.
Richard Raleigh waited for Joe to be seated. He was about five-feet-eleven and well built. His hair had begun to thin back over an onion-shaped forehead that made him look several years older than his twenty-six years. A wispy mustache partially concealed a weak mouth. There was nothing about him to suggest kinship with Parker Raleigh. The waiter pulled up a chair for Joe and they sat down.
The Evans girl studied him over the rim of her glass. She raised it as she caught his eye and smiled through the liquid. She rested her cheek on a palm and inspected him with appraisal. She said, “Let me think. Who do you remind me of? Um-m . . . Oh, I have it. Jack Oakie. That’s who you look like. Jack Oakie.”
Joe grinned uncomfortably.
The ends of Raleigh’s mustache came up in what was meant for a smile.
“That’s the first time I’ve known Milly to be right. She’s always telling people they look like someone on the screen. However, you do remind me of that clown.”
Joe didn’t like the tone of the last remark. In fact, he didn’t think he was going to like Richard Raleigh. Raleigh changed the subject.
“Uncle Park tells me that you and he did some work together out in Montana. I’m sure he’s glad to return some of the hospitality you showed him. Too bad you found him laid up.”
He took out a fountain pen and scribbled on a pad and handed the pad and pen across to Joe.
“We’ve been drinking daiquiris,” he said. “You write your own ticket.”
The pad said “Table 42.” Underneath in Dick’s scrawl was written “2 daiquiris.” Joe added “1 double Scotch and soda.” Raleigh crooked a finger at a waiter and gave him the pad. The floor by this time was crowded with dancing couples. A red-haired girl in a stainless steel evening gown and slippers was dancing with a man twelve inches shorter than she. Everything about him said “coats and suits.” He appeared to be having a good time and looked sober. When they turned the girl nodded to Joe. She was one of the most striking redheads he had ever seen. Something vaguely familiar stirred Joe’s memory. He managed to catch himself in time to ignore the greeting.
Richard had also seen the girl’s gesture. He smiled and leaned forward. Elbows on the table, chin on clasped hands he watched Joe. He said, “What do you think of New York weather? Kind of takes the wild out of the woolly West, doesn’t it?”
Joe played with the fountain pen. He didn’t like the way young Raleigh was studying him.
“Not particularly. This is the kind of weather we look forward to back home. It’s the kind we hope for on our vacations. You’ll probably not believe me, but back in Montana I’m awakened every morning at six by an earthquake.”
Milly giggled. She was good at it. “Oh, Mr. South, you’re a scream.”
The waiter came with the drinks. The quality of the Scotch wasn’t bad. Joe had no complaint to make about the quantity. The Timbuctoo did right by its patrons.
Richard rose. So did the ends of the mustache. Joe decided the mustache was like a trained seal.
“Will you two please excuse me? I see some friends I’d like to speak to.”
Milly leaned forward and put her hand on Joe’s sleeve, looking at Dick.
“Don’t stay long, Dick. I’m afraid to be alone with these strong, silent men from the West.”
“So I see,” was all he said, as he moved through the crowd on the dance floor to a table in the far corner where two men were sipping coffee. They hadn’t been there when Joe came in. Both were in evening clothes.
One was fat. So fat he had trouble reaching the table with his elbows. What hair he had appeared to rest on his shoulders. There was almost no neck. Blonde, almost albino brows hovered over colorless eyes. His fat sensuous lips drooled over a well-chewed cigar.
The other, in comparison, was well built. His shining black hair waved in a perfect marcel and his mustache was Waxed and pointed. Joe caught his eye across the room suddenly and was startled at the intensity of the man’s stare. Neither of the men rose as Richard joined them. His presence was taken for granted.
Joe and Milly finished their drinks. Then they drank Richard’s. He saw that she was beginning to feel the effects of the cocktails. She watched him under sultry lids. There was no giggle this time.
“You know, Mr. South, I could go for you in a big way.”
“Most of them do,” he answered idly. He was wondering how much she knew about Richard’s business. He decided to find out. He said, “We’d better watch our step though. Dick’s got some tough friends.”
“Afraid?” she pouted.
“Not afraid—only careful.” He motioned toward Dick who was still at the table with the two men. “He might get tough. Looks like he has some pretty hefty playmates.”
The pout left the girl’s lips and for a moment a frightened look showed in her eyes. Then she shrugged.
“Oh, them. They may get by with telling Dicky when to change his diapers but they can’t kick me around. Me and Dicky understand each other.” She pressed her lips together and an angry light chased fear from her eyes. “Dicky’s smarter than they are. Just wait till . . .” She clapped her hand over her mouth suddenly and gave a small gasp. “What am I talking about? Come on. Let’s dance.”
“All right,” Joe agreed. He knew he wouldn’t get any more out of her now. “But no jitterbug stuff.”
Young Raleigh’s back was to them as they edged onto the floor. Joe put his arm around her waist. Her bare back felt warm and sleek under his touch. Brushing stray hairs from his cheek he whispered into her ear, “Just call me Joey.”
The floor was jammed. Milly was taller than she looked when seated.
She slid up on her toes, clinging to him with a sinuous sway of her hips. Her firm, slender body snuggled softly to his and he felt the rise and fall of pulsing breasts as she followed him expertly. Boy, young Raleigh knew how to pick them.
The man with the mustache was following him with hot, intense eyes. Presently Richard turned. Joe knew there was suspicion in his glance. He pretended not to notice. The music stopped and Milly still clung to him. He released her hold gently. She was definitely intoxicated. So it wasn’t altogether his personality that had made her so warmly responsive. They returned to the table, Joe steadying her into her chair. He said, “Excuse me. I just remembered a call I should have made the minute I got off the train.”
The girl’s giggle was alcoholic.
“Oh,
