"Tooky Ween speaking," he rumbled. "Make it fast. We got headaches."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Ween. That man made a mistake. I want Jordan Lennox."
"Lennox!" Ween roared. "That lousy, chiseling son of a—He wouldn't have the crust to show his crust here. If he did he'd be dead and couldn't answer the phone anyway."
Ween hung up. Gabby considered, then called the Grabinett office. It was after hours and only the line to Grabinett's desk was open. Blinky took the call himself.
"Is Jordan Lennox there?" Gabby asked.
"No," Grabinett snarled. "I only wish he was. I'd kill him with my naked hand. I'd kill him dead and do a repeat for the west coast, that—" Grabinett caught himself. "Excuse me. Are you a relative?"
"No," Gabby said. "I wanted to leave a message."
"Not here!" Grabinett shouted. "Not with this office. I wouldn't do that Almighty vandal a favor if I was to get paid for it."
Blinky hung up. Gabby made one last try and called me. When I answered the phone, Ned Bacon was in our living room, murdering our Bourbon and Lennox. Gabby could hear him cutting Jake to pieces while she gave me the message. I wanted to ask her up. I'd seen enough of her at the Rox Record party to be interested, and I had about twenty-seven questions to ask her, but there was no way of getting Bacon out of the house and we couldn't have the two of them there together. So I promised to deliver the message, if possible, and let her hang up.
That was about seven o'clock. She wandered east to the 59th Street Bridge, cutting through some of the toughest sidestreets on The Rock. She went through those streets unmolested. Gabby had a miraculous quality of escaping the common dangers that make every woman think twice. Perhaps it was because she never thought of them once. Perhaps it was her candid, virginal manner that forced the world to give her extra special treatment ... the way men are reluctant to swear before a child, unwilling to be the first to teach it what they know it must inevitably learn.