Infamous

George placed his burning cigarette in her mouth. And it was all like that, slow and steady, with the hot wind and bleeping cars from the open window, until they were sweaty and tired and lazy-boned in the silk sheets.

The phone rang, and George said “Yep” a couple times before hanging up.

“You ever heard of the Mystic Caverns?” George asked.

“What is it?”

“A club.”

“In some caves?”

“Ca

Kit flipped over on her stomach, nude as Eve, and rocked her legs up to her butt and down again in thought. George had the ashtray on his hairy chest, and she thieved his cigarette and thought for a long while.

“You think we could do this again?”

“What’s that?”

“What’s that? The kidnapping, you dumb mug.”

“I don’t see why not.”

“You pull five of these, George, and we nab a million… You know, the Kellys just might be somebody.”

“He wants us to bring the money.”

“All of it?”

“Yep.”

“What if we’re robbed?”

“Whatta you think I am?”

Kathryn flipped over again and stared at the ceiling. “I got an idea.”

THEY SHOOK HANDS IN THE MOUTH OF THE APE-FANGS AS HIGH as a picket fence; huge eyes, crazy and wide; with flared nostrils and a red carpet for a tongue. Kid Ca

“What about the winter?” Harvey asked, following the Kid down a long tu

“We’re a hu

A floor show had started at the end of the cavern, more tu

“You know who that is?” asked the Kid. His hair looked wet from all the oil, slapped down tight on his skull, with an inch part down the middle. He was wide-eyed and weak-chi

“Perfect tits,” Harvey said. “Wonderful tits.”

The Kid nodded and leaned in a bit toward Bailey. A foot shorter, he looked up, and played a bit with his black bow tie. “How much we talkin’?”

Harvey told him, and the Kid’s eyes grew big.

“Where you boys gettin’ all this money?”

“You talkin’ about Kelly?”

The Kid didn’t say anything, only twirled the fat cigar in his big lips, hoping the Arabian music would fill up the silence. He shrugged and puffed and puffed, spilling the smoke from the side of his mouth. Miss Sally Rand flitted around on that big white stage, the darkies not seeming to notice as they boomed their drums and played their horns, the white woman covering up her cooch with one fan of feathers and her ta-tas with the other, then switching the two so goddamn fast you weren’t sure if you saw the ta-tas or the cooch or even a little ass, and it stayed with you like a drunken memory.

Harvey smiled. “Kelly’s with us.”

“He didn’t mention it.”

“Well, he should have. Is he here?”

“I don’t want no trouble,” Kid Ca

“He’s not trouble.”

“Last time I saw him, he broke my tooth with a.45.”

“But he didn’t kill you,” Harvey said. “That’s gotta count for something.”

The men stood there facing the first tu

“What’s a fella got to do for a drink?” Bailey asked.

Kid Ca

The Kid laughed and muttered, “Christ,” and walked to the bar, snapping his fingers at the barman, and the barman reached under the till for a crystal decanter of what would be the good stuff. He poured out two thick measures in crystal glasses, and Harvey pulled out a cigar from his linen suit that he’d taken from Sawyer at the Green Lantern. There was a big painting above the bar all done up in oils and canvas, and Harvey had to do a double take before realizing that was Nina herself, thinking back on times when he’d poked her.

“Switchin’ money ain’t a problem,” the Kid said, before taking a sip, swishing the glass around in his hand. “But I want to shake hands with you and Kelly on twenty percent.”

“You’re killing me.”

“That’s a lot of dough.”

“I had ten percent in mind.”

“A man has to think about the heat that will come with that kind of cash.”

Harvey nodded and glanced away from Kid Ca

Harvey offered his hand, but the Kid shook his head.

“Let me know when Kelly gets here,” Harvey said, and knocked back the whiskey. “Verne’s already left my stash with your boy, Barney what’s his name.”

“Why you need Kelly’s dough?”

“Because we got a deal. You really want me to answer all these questions? That would make you an accessory. Now, how ’bout another drink? I want to get back and watch Sally Rand tickle her cooch with a feather.”

Little Kid Ca

KATHRYN WORE THE RED DRESS, LOOKING LIKE SHE BELONGED on the cover of Photoplay, the wide, regal collar high on her neck, the padded shoulders, the silk material that hugged her ass and legs and draped down past her knees. Most people didn’t even seem to mind the big bump on her belly and even moved out of her way and bent over backward to be polite. And she’d smile and touch her protruding stomach and newly done hair. The hotel had sent up a couple women to wash and style while another gave her a manicure. George sitting by the radio the whole time in a hotel bathrobe, listening to Buck Rogers with real interest, occasionally nodding to some twist and turn in the plot. But he’d allowed one of the women to cut and oil his hair proper, even giving him a close shave and slapping him down with some sweet-smelling bay rum. He had a new suit, new dress shirt, and a pair of class A two-tone shoes.

She held on to his strong arm as they moved from the sluggish heat off the river and into the big ape’s mouth, Kathryn thinking instantly about that monkey Kong and feeling like she was being swallowed whole in the beast. Fay Wray slapping away those big fat fingers that groped her day and night. But Wray knowing that the big beast was just lovestruck over her and that he’d protect her from those crazy darkies with spears, and damn well even climb up the Empire State Building for her. She patted George’s hairy knuckles with her free hand, and they were out of the gorilla’s soft throat and into the belly, and the whole joint was hopping. A nigger orchestra had the room on its feet, and women danced on white-linened tables, kicking plates and champagne bottles, and men knocked back whiskey and smoked, while a ball of excitement grew in Kathryn’s stomach. You felt that way when you were in the place that you were meant to be. This was the heat, this was the action. The bee’s knees in the belly of the beast.