Loot for the Unlucky Lady

“Coffee?” he said, smiling. She found that she liked his smile. Yet it was hard to know what he was thinking. He had a... well, a masked looked about his eyes. If she refused, the two drunks might give her more trouble.

“Good idea,” she said.

They sat at the long bar in the coffee shop. Her coat was uncomfortably warm. She threw it back off her shoulders, and he took it and hung it up for her.

He was very polite and very nice, she thought. And he certainly looked more muscular than she had imagined any commercial artist would look. She had a vague idea of men with thick glasses and hair worn a little too long, and high nervous voices.

Funny, she thought, how a person’s mind can be split into two parts. One part of her mind was dark and miserable with thoughts of Al, and what danger he must be in. With another part of her mind she was enjoying the excitement of the trip, enjoying Steve’s warm smile and his quiet courtesy. She half decided that she was merely shallow.

Steve said, “This delay is just the wrong length. If it had been two hours, we could have taken a run into town. An hour is just long enough to stand around and fidget.”

At that moment a heavy hand landed on Steve’s shoulder, and a booming voice said, “Steve Harris! What the hell are you doing in town?”

She saw the faint annoyance flicker across Steve’s face, but he got up and pumped the big hand of a tall man in army uniform, silver eagles on his shoulders.

“Nice to see you, Bill,” Steve said. “Miss Quinn, may I present Colonel Grydon, the guy who made my military career miserable.”

Colonel Grydon was a tall, balding man with a wide mouth and small eyes. “Glad to meet you, Miss Quinn. We professionals had to keep amateurs like Steve in line. I got him so he was almost earning his pay.” He turned to Steve. “I heard from one of my New York friends, boy, that as a private gumshoe, you’re doing okay.”

Gloria felt cold all over as she grasped the implications of his words. Steve laughed heartily. “No gumshoe, Bill. Art gum eraser. Have you been watching the famous Harris touch on you-know-what-cigarette ads?”

She was watching Colonel Grydon’s face, saw the almost imperceptible narrowing of his eyes. “Hell, yes, Steve,” he said quickly. “They’re good, too. And don’t forget, you got your training in the army. I ought to take a cut on the dough you must be getting.

“I’ll mail you a dime tomorrow.”

The colonel glanced at his watch. “Got to run, Steve. Nice to have met you, Miss Quinn. When you’re in training, Steve, drop in at my office at the Pentagon and look me up.”

He went off through the wide door into the waiting room.

Steve sat down on the stool, chuckled and said, “He was in charge of one of the propaganda outfits. I did poster work for him.”

“It must have been very interesting,” she said. Her lips felt numb. She felt as though she had been running blindly toward a vast pit and had slid to a stop on the very brink. Now she was cautiously picking her way back from the edge. It was important to smile, to be natural. “I’d like more coffee,” she said...

As they walked back to the plane, Steve Harris spent a long thirty seconds mentally cursing Bill Grydon. Such an incredibly stupid break. And he couldn’t tell whether or not Gloria Gerald had caught on.

He sat beside her once more, pulled an envelope out of his pocket and, with a soft pencil, quickly drew a caricature of Bill Grydon. His anger at Grydon was such that it was even more biting than his usual efforts. It was a knack he had developed many years before, and it was all tied up with his ability to remember a face forever after having only seen it once. With that knack, he had amused countless people at parties, infuriating some, and sending others into spasms of helpless laughter.

He showed Gloria the drawing. She giggled. That was a good sign. Maybe the drawing would dispell any doubts Grydon might have given her.

“You did it so quickly!” she said. “I’d hate to have you do that to me. You’ve made him look like — I don’t know what. Just awful!”

He began to relax a little. He smiled to himself as he realized that part of his horror at being found out was based on a childish desire to have her think well of him.

The plane rumbled and lifted off the runway and made a long swing and headed south once more.

His fears were sufficiently allayed so that when, at Atlanta, she went off by herself, he did not worry. The early afternoon sun was pleasantly warm. The stop-over was short and he looked for Gloria in the crowd as, piecemeal, they strolled back to the ship. Her folded coat was on the seat. He saw her luggage stacked and tied with the others.

She still did not arrive. The stewardess was at the open door, looking worriedly across the apron. He could hear the metallic voice of the P. A. system in the terminal proper paging, “Miss Quinn, please! Miss Quinn! Your flight is ready for takeoff. Miss Quinn!”