Doolin went over to the table and picked up his drink. “I ain’t had a chance,” he said. “She works at Dreamland downtown, an’ it ain’t open in the afternoon.” They drank.
Halloran’s mouth was curved to a small smile. He picked up a folded newspaper, pointed to a headline, handed it to Doolin.
Doolin took the paper, a late edition of the Morning Bulletin, read:
MURDERED GIRL IDENTIFIED AS TAXI-DANCER The body of the girl who was found stabbed to death on the road near Lankershim early this morning, has been identified as Mazie Decker of 305 S. Lake Street, an employee of the Dreamland Dancing Studio. The identification was made by Peggy Galbraith, the murdered girl’s room-mate. Miss Decker did not return home last night, and upon reading an account of the tragedy in the early editions, Miss Galbraith went to the morgue and positively identified Miss Decker. The police are...
Doolin put the paper down, said: “Well, well... Like I said...” There was a knock at the door, rather a curious rhythmic tapping of fingernails.
Halloran called: “Come in.”
The door opened and a woman came in slowly, closed the door. She went to Halloran and put her arms around him and tilted her head back.
Halloran kissed her lightly. He smiled at Doolin, said: “This is Mrs. Sare.” He turned his smile to the woman. “Lola — meet Mr. Doolin — my bodyguard.”
Lola Sare had no single feature, except her hair, that was beautiful; yet she was very beautiful.
Her hair was red, so dark that it was black in certain lights. Her eyes slanted; were so dark a green they were usually black. Her nose was straight but the nostrils flared the least bit too much; her mouth red and full; too wide and curved. Her skin was smooth, very dark. Her figure was good, on the slender side. She was ageless; perhaps twenty-six, perhaps thirty-six.