Read Online Nightmare in Pink by John D. MacDonald - Free Book Online
Authors: John D. MacDonald
Tags: Crime
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the slots labeled with the names of the users.
"You won't find Thayer on there," the old man said.
"You've convinced me of that, friend. Which Armister is this?"
"Mr. Charles Armister."
I spotted another slot labeled Mulligan, not far from the Armister slot. Both had the apartment number beside the name. 9A.
My inspection of the chart was making him uneasy. I tried my call again. I hung up and said, "This is ridiculous."
His house phone rang. He picked it up and said, "Garage. Yes sir. Right away, sir." He hung up and called to the Negro. "Dobie, run that Highburn Cad around front on the double." He turned to me and said, "If he can start it. They haven't used that thing in six weeks."
That's what you wait and hope for, the opening the other man makes.
"Unless you have a chauffeur, a car is a nuisance in this town."
"We got about fifteen chauffeur-driven here. They're the ones get the use."
The Cadillac moved up the ramp, belching, missing a little.
"But that takes a lot of money."
"There's money in this house, mister. A man would like to cry, the amount of money there is in this house. Just take that name that caught your eye, that Armister. He could have ten chauffeurs and it wouldn't cramp him."
"But he struggles along with one, eh?"
"That's right. He's got Harris, the meanest son-of-a-bitch I ever…" He stopped abruptly, hearing himself talk too much. He narrowed his eyes. "Isn't there any address for Thayer in that book?"
"Unlisted number."
He shifted in his chair. "They don't like people hanging around here, mister."
"Okay. Thanks for your help."
"Good luck to you."
* * *
I walked all the way down to Nina's Park Avenue office building. It had an echoing Saturday silence. I had my choice of automatic elevators. The music was turned off. After I had pounded on the corridor door a few times, a scrawny, smocked redhead let me in. She was smoking a small cigar. She led me back to Nina, to the cluttered workrooms where squeeze bottles germinate. Nina had a smutch on her chin. WQXR was blasting over a table radio-something dry, stringy and atonal. I watched her work until she told me I made her nervous, and then I went off and drank tepid beer out of paper cups with the redhead, and we talked about new realism, using bad words.
Nina gathered me up and we went out into a day which had turned colder, the late afternoon sunlight showing a watery weak threat of winter. We went to the hotel lounge where we had first talked, and because we had become different people to each other, it made it a different place. It was nearly empty. We sat at a curve of the padded bar. My bourbon girl, unsmutched, with eyes of finest blue.
It astonished me that she could not get enough of Teresa Howlan Gernhardt Delancy Drummond. Voice, hair, clothing, every nuance of conversation. "You said that to her!" Horror. Consternation.
At first it amused me, and then it irritated me. "She didn't step down from Olympus, honey. She's just another restless woman, that's all. She never had to grow up. She was one hell of an ornament for a long time. Now not so much. And when there's no more studs, there'll be nothing left but green eyes, money and gin. She's going to be a very tiresome, bad-tempered old woman."
"Why do you have to try to cut her down?"
"I'm not. Nina, really, don't act like a school girl reading about a movie queen. Terry isn't worth that kind of awe."
"Stop patronizing me. Maybe I don't have your advantages, McGee. I'm just a simple thing from Kansas with a degree from Pratt Institute. I'm naive about the glamorous figures I read about in the papers."
"What are we quarreling about?"
"Just because I have a perfectly understandable curiosity…"
"She wore an emerald as big as a tea bag."
"What? With slacks?"
"In her navel, honey."
She stared at me and then laughed abruptly. "Okay, Travis. You win. I'll try to stop acting awed."
Cocktail-lounge business began to improve. I told her about checking the Armister
"You won't find Thayer on there," the old man said.
"You've convinced me of that, friend. Which Armister is this?"
"Mr. Charles Armister."
I spotted another slot labeled Mulligan, not far from the Armister slot. Both had the apartment number beside the name. 9A.
My inspection of the chart was making him uneasy. I tried my call again. I hung up and said, "This is ridiculous."
His house phone rang. He picked it up and said, "Garage. Yes sir. Right away, sir." He hung up and called to the Negro. "Dobie, run that Highburn Cad around front on the double." He turned to me and said, "If he can start it. They haven't used that thing in six weeks."
That's what you wait and hope for, the opening the other man makes.
"Unless you have a chauffeur, a car is a nuisance in this town."
"We got about fifteen chauffeur-driven here. They're the ones get the use."
The Cadillac moved up the ramp, belching, missing a little.
"But that takes a lot of money."
"There's money in this house, mister. A man would like to cry, the amount of money there is in this house. Just take that name that caught your eye, that Armister. He could have ten chauffeurs and it wouldn't cramp him."
"But he struggles along with one, eh?"
"That's right. He's got Harris, the meanest son-of-a-bitch I ever…" He stopped abruptly, hearing himself talk too much. He narrowed his eyes. "Isn't there any address for Thayer in that book?"
"Unlisted number."
He shifted in his chair. "They don't like people hanging around here, mister."
"Okay. Thanks for your help."
"Good luck to you."
* * *
I walked all the way down to Nina's Park Avenue office building. It had an echoing Saturday silence. I had my choice of automatic elevators. The music was turned off. After I had pounded on the corridor door a few times, a scrawny, smocked redhead let me in. She was smoking a small cigar. She led me back to Nina, to the cluttered workrooms where squeeze bottles germinate. Nina had a smutch on her chin. WQXR was blasting over a table radio-something dry, stringy and atonal. I watched her work until she told me I made her nervous, and then I went off and drank tepid beer out of paper cups with the redhead, and we talked about new realism, using bad words.
Nina gathered me up and we went out into a day which had turned colder, the late afternoon sunlight showing a watery weak threat of winter. We went to the hotel lounge where we had first talked, and because we had become different people to each other, it made it a different place. It was nearly empty. We sat at a curve of the padded bar. My bourbon girl, unsmutched, with eyes of finest blue.
It astonished me that she could not get enough of Teresa Howlan Gernhardt Delancy Drummond. Voice, hair, clothing, every nuance of conversation. "You said that to her!" Horror. Consternation.
At first it amused me, and then it irritated me. "She didn't step down from Olympus, honey. She's just another restless woman, that's all. She never had to grow up. She was one hell of an ornament for a long time. Now not so much. And when there's no more studs, there'll be nothing left but green eyes, money and gin. She's going to be a very tiresome, bad-tempered old woman."
"Why do you have to try to cut her down?"
"I'm not. Nina, really, don't act like a school girl reading about a movie queen. Terry isn't worth that kind of awe."
"Stop patronizing me. Maybe I don't have your advantages, McGee. I'm just a simple thing from Kansas with a degree from Pratt Institute. I'm naive about the glamorous figures I read about in the papers."
"What are we quarreling about?"
"Just because I have a perfectly understandable curiosity…"
"She wore an emerald as big as a tea bag."
"What? With slacks?"
"In her navel, honey."
She stared at me and then laughed abruptly. "Okay, Travis. You win. I'll try to stop acting awed."
Cocktail-lounge business began to improve. I told her about checking the Armister
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