would you seduce me, or just ask me a lot of silly questions?”
I said, “I’ll be honest with you, Mrs. O’Leary. At the moment you interest me, biologically, just about as much as that chair over there. For seduction, you’d better come back tomorrow or the next day.”
There was curiosity in her look now. “You mean… you mean killing somebody affects you like that? Oh, I heard Tony-boy talking on the phone about what a trigger-happy character you are. But I always thought a man wanted sex after blood, so to speak. Is it because you made a mistake, or because it was a woman you shot?”
I said, “O’Leary, you’re a ghoul.”
Her greenish eyes were watching me intently, back in the shadow of all that hair. “Oh, I see! It’s not
that
woman that bothers you, it’s the other one who got killed tonight. The one you went for in a big way, so they said. Mr. Helm, is this your quiet way of mourning the dead?”
I grinned. “You bitch,” I said. “You need another drink.”
When I came back with it, she was sitting on the end of one of the beds with her shoes off. “How long does the effect generally last, dad?” she asked, taking the glass. “I mean, do you lose your manhood with every dame who dies or goes off and leaves you, and if so, what brings it back and how much later?” She studied me in a speculative, malicious way. “I bet I could bring it back. Tonight. If I really wanted to. And I’ve never slept with a killer. It might be fun. Cool. At least you don’t spend half the day combing your peroxide locks, like the other one. God, I can’t stand a man who keeps fussing with his lousy hair.”
I laughed. “You know, I’m going to miss you if I have to shoot you. You’re quite a girl. Well, let’s hope nobody pushes me into a spot where I have to use the gun. Which reminds me—”
I sat down on the other bed and took out Vadya’s automatic and checked it over. I don’t ever really trust a weapon that’s been loaded by somebody else, even by a pro like Vadya. I heard the redhaired girl make a small sound, like a sigh. She finished off her drink abruptly.
“You win, dad,” she said softly. “I was trying to needle you, but you topped me. Put the damn thing away, please… Helm?”
“Yes?”
“I’m scared. Do you know that? I’m scared silly. What the hell have I got myself into, anyway? Please put it away.”
“Sure, Mrs. O’Leary.”
“Don’t keep calling me that. It makes me think of the lady whose cow burned up Chicago. Call me Netta, if you’ve got to call me something.”
“Sure, Netta. I’m Matt.”
“Hit me again, will you, Matt,” she said, holding out her empty glass. “I might as well be good and drunk as the way I am. And if you really have some questions you’d like answered, go ahead and ask.”
Bartending again, I said in what I hoped was a casual tone of voice, “Okay, if you insist. Just what the hell did you see out there on the water that’s so damned important?”
“Your prune-faced girlfriend has already taken that story down on tape. Why make me repeat myself?”
“Because some gents in Los Alamos have that tape by now, and I don’t really expect them to play it for me,” I said. “And I’m getting kind of curious about what kind of a yarn you spun for them. Try it on me.”
She looked up at me as I returned with her drink. “You don’t sound very much as if you were planning to believe me.”
Again, it seemed like a situation in which skepticism might be more productive than faith. I said, “Well, I’m not much for ghost stories. Or science fiction, either. But I’m willing to be convinced.”
Resentment showed in her small, freckled face. She said sharply, “Well, believe it or not, what I saw was a flying saucer after it had broken down and stopped flying. I saw it right up close, as close as anybody has.”
“Don’t give me that,” I said. “I’ve read plenty of reports of wild-eyed citizens who’ve claimed to
I said, “I’ll be honest with you, Mrs. O’Leary. At the moment you interest me, biologically, just about as much as that chair over there. For seduction, you’d better come back tomorrow or the next day.”
There was curiosity in her look now. “You mean… you mean killing somebody affects you like that? Oh, I heard Tony-boy talking on the phone about what a trigger-happy character you are. But I always thought a man wanted sex after blood, so to speak. Is it because you made a mistake, or because it was a woman you shot?”
I said, “O’Leary, you’re a ghoul.”
Her greenish eyes were watching me intently, back in the shadow of all that hair. “Oh, I see! It’s not
that
woman that bothers you, it’s the other one who got killed tonight. The one you went for in a big way, so they said. Mr. Helm, is this your quiet way of mourning the dead?”
I grinned. “You bitch,” I said. “You need another drink.”
When I came back with it, she was sitting on the end of one of the beds with her shoes off. “How long does the effect generally last, dad?” she asked, taking the glass. “I mean, do you lose your manhood with every dame who dies or goes off and leaves you, and if so, what brings it back and how much later?” She studied me in a speculative, malicious way. “I bet I could bring it back. Tonight. If I really wanted to. And I’ve never slept with a killer. It might be fun. Cool. At least you don’t spend half the day combing your peroxide locks, like the other one. God, I can’t stand a man who keeps fussing with his lousy hair.”
I laughed. “You know, I’m going to miss you if I have to shoot you. You’re quite a girl. Well, let’s hope nobody pushes me into a spot where I have to use the gun. Which reminds me—”
I sat down on the other bed and took out Vadya’s automatic and checked it over. I don’t ever really trust a weapon that’s been loaded by somebody else, even by a pro like Vadya. I heard the redhaired girl make a small sound, like a sigh. She finished off her drink abruptly.
“You win, dad,” she said softly. “I was trying to needle you, but you topped me. Put the damn thing away, please… Helm?”
“Yes?”
“I’m scared. Do you know that? I’m scared silly. What the hell have I got myself into, anyway? Please put it away.”
“Sure, Mrs. O’Leary.”
“Don’t keep calling me that. It makes me think of the lady whose cow burned up Chicago. Call me Netta, if you’ve got to call me something.”
“Sure, Netta. I’m Matt.”
“Hit me again, will you, Matt,” she said, holding out her empty glass. “I might as well be good and drunk as the way I am. And if you really have some questions you’d like answered, go ahead and ask.”
Bartending again, I said in what I hoped was a casual tone of voice, “Okay, if you insist. Just what the hell did you see out there on the water that’s so damned important?”
“Your prune-faced girlfriend has already taken that story down on tape. Why make me repeat myself?”
“Because some gents in Los Alamos have that tape by now, and I don’t really expect them to play it for me,” I said. “And I’m getting kind of curious about what kind of a yarn you spun for them. Try it on me.”
She looked up at me as I returned with her drink. “You don’t sound very much as if you were planning to believe me.”
Again, it seemed like a situation in which skepticism might be more productive than faith. I said, “Well, I’m not much for ghost stories. Or science fiction, either. But I’m willing to be convinced.”
Resentment showed in her small, freckled face. She said sharply, “Well, believe it or not, what I saw was a flying saucer after it had broken down and stopped flying. I saw it right up close, as close as anybody has.”
“Don’t give me that,” I said. “I’ve read plenty of reports of wild-eyed citizens who’ve claimed to
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