Well Now My Pretty

"Okay . . . the uniforms are fine . . . the truck is fine . . . now let's look at the schedule."

Maisky smiled.

"Of course."

He led the way back to the bungalow.

Three

THREE TIMES, during this hot Saturday morning, the telephone bell in Lana Evans' one room apartment rang continuously for several minutes. The nagging, persistent sound disturbed the Persian cat who still sat obstinately before the refrigerator, every now and then emitting a yowl of impatient indignation.

The first caller, around ten o'clock, was Terry Nicols, Lana's boyfriend. He listened to the steady, unanswered burr-burr-burr with exasperation. He knew Lana never got out of bed before ten. She couldn't still be sleeping with the telephone bell ringing like this! He wanted to make a date with her for Sunday night which was her night off. The two students who were his friends and who were waiting outside the telephone booth, kept showing him their wrist-watches through the sudty glass door. The time for the first morning's lecture was nearly due. With the exaggeration of youth, they began an elaborate count-down, and finally when they reached zero, they exploded into a pantomime of panic. Terry slammed down the receiver and raced with them across the corridor to the lecture room.

At eleven o'clock, Rita Watkins phoned from the Casino. She listened to the unanswered ring, then, frowning, a little worried, she replaced the receiver.

At one-thirty, Terry, munching a sandwich, again tried to contact Lana, then, failing again, he decided she must be on the beach, sunbathing. Irritated, he hung up. At little after two o'clock, Rita Watkins called again. Maria Wells hadn't been a success in the vault. This was understandable. The work was exacting and had to be done at high speed. Maria just hadn't the experience. Rita quailed at the thought of having her on this Saturday night when the pressure would be on. She just had to have Lana Evans back on the job.

What could have happened to the girl? she wondered as she replaced the receiver. She had a couple of hours to spare and she decided to drive over and find out for herself.

Mrs. Mavdick owned the apartment block. She was a large woman with jet-black dyed hair and an enormous floppy bosom which she held together under her soiled cotton wrap.

She regarded Rita's trim figure with disapproval. Those firm breasts, that flat stomach, the long shapely legs were to Mrs.

Mavdick the symbols of sin.

"She's on the third floor," she said. "Seen her? No . . . I've things to do. I don't see people unless they come to see me. What's the excitement about?"

"There's no excitement. I have tried to contact her on the telephone . . . she doesn't answer."

Mrs. Mavdick thumped her floppy bosom. She had difficulty in breathing.

"Well, you don't have to answer the phone, do you?"

Rita climbed the stairs and rang Lana's front-door bell. She saw a bottle of milk and a copy of the Paradise City Herald by the door. She waited, rang again, then with a feeling of frustration, she descended the stairs.

Mrs. Mavdick was still propping her gross body against her door.

"She isn't there," Rita said.

Mrs. Mavdick smirked. Her long, yellow teeth made her look like a cunning horse.

"Well . . . we're only young once," she said, fighting for her breath. "Girls like boys . . . it's not my business . . . I never worry when my folk aren't at home."

Rita regarded her with disgust and then went out into the hot sunshine to her car,

* * *

Detective 2nd Grade Tom Lepski was considered to be the toughest officer attached to the Paradise City police force. He was tall, wiry, with a lined, sun-tanned hawklike face and ice- blue eyes. He was not only tough, he was also ambitious.

At seven o'clock, he strode into the station house wearing a sharp-looking tuxedo, a blood-red bow tie and his shoes were of black reverse calf.

Charlie Tanner gaped at him.

"Well, drop me down a well!" he exclaimed. "If it isn't our Tom, got up like a goddam movie star!"

Lepski adjusted his bow tie. There was a smirk of satisfaction on his lean face.

"What's wrong with being a movie star? Let me tell you something, Charlie . . . if Hollywood could see me now!"

Charlie Tanner paused his thick lips and made a loud, rude noise. "If Hollywood saw you now, they would give up making movies. What's the big idea?"

"You ask the Chief . . . if he wants you to know, he will tell you . . . perhaps," and with a jaunty stride, Lepski went through the charge room and up the stairs to Terrell's office.

Here Terrell and Beigler regarded him, careful not to show their startled surprise.

"Reporting, sir," Lepski said, his lean face dead pan. "I'm taking four men to the Casino right away. Any orders, sir?"

Terrell's fleshy face creased into a grin.

"Does you credit, Tom. That's a nice outfit you've got there."

"Very fancy," Beigler said. "Do you own it or have you rented it?"

Lepski stiffened and Terrell said quickly, "Who cares? Okay, Tom, watch it. Are you wearing a gun?"

Lepski gave Beigler a sour look, then nodded.