‘Careful there’re no cops around.’
We went down the steps into the sunshine. There were no cops around.
I laid the unconscious girl along the back seat of the Buick and closed the door.
‘Well, thanks again. It wouldn’t be an over-statement to say you saved my life.’ I gave Perelli my card. ‘Don’t forget; anywhere, any time, I’ll be glad to even the score.’
An easy thing to say, but the way it worked out I was scrabbling around like a monkey with a can tied to its tail, three weeks later, trying to make good my promise.
III
Jack Kerman, long, lean and dapper, lay full length on my divan; an immaculate figure in a bottle-green flannel suit, cream silk shirt and brown buckskin shoes. On his chest he balanced a highball, while he beat time a little drunkenly to the swing music coming from the radio.
Opposite him I relaxed in one of those down-to-the-ground easy chairs, and looked through the open windows at the moonlit Pacific, while I tried to make up my mind whether to go in for a swim or mix myself another drink.
Wingrove’s daughter was an almost forgotten memory; Perelli just another name. Ten days had gone past since I had returned the unconscious little junkie to the bosom of her family, and so far as I was concerned the case was closed.
‘It’s about time I had a vacation,’ Kerman said suddenly. This continual grind is giving me ulcers. What we should do is to shut up the office for a couple of months and go to Bermuda or Honolulu. I’m bored with the local talent in this burg. I want a little more fire; grass skirts instead of lounging pyjamas: something with a little zing in it. How about it, Vic? Let’s do it. We can afford it, can’t we?’