Free Too Darn Hot by Sandra Scoppettone Page B

Bleecker on Leroy Street.
    For all I knew I’d find Charlie Ladd in her bed.

EIGHT
    C
ollier’s place was one in from the corner. The building was brick and looked slightly off kilter, like a broad with her slip showing.
    I went up the steps to check the names and see what floor Collier was on. I found it. She was in the basement apartment so I hadda go down the steps and to the left, through a wrought-iron gate, and down three steps more. The shade was pulled on the window and why not? Open, anyone could see in.
    I rang the bell. Waited. Rang it again. Waited. Once more.
    “Hold your horses,” a woman’s voice said. The door opened a crack and a pair of sleepy eyes looked out at me.
    “Are you Ida Collier?”
    “Whaddaya want?”
    “I wanna speak to Ida Collier.”
    “That’s me. Who’re you?”
    I told her.
    She laughed. “A private eye? C’mon.”
    I showed her my license. “I’d like to come in and talk to ya.”
    “About what?”
    “Charlie Ladd.”
    “Who?”
    Either she was a good actress or she didn’t remember him.
    “You were with him last Friday. A private in the army.”
    “I know lots of privates in the army.”
    I bet she did. “Look, can ya let me come in? It’s hotter’n Hades out here.”
    “You think it’s cooler in here?”
    “You got a fan?”
    “Yeah.”
    “I’ll sit in front of it.”
    She let out a sigh the size of the Chrysler Building and opened the door wider so I could go in. The room was dark. I could barely make out what was what.
    “Lemme put on a light,” Ida said.
    When she did, I saw she was in her bathrobe, which she wore over a long pink nightgown.
    “Excuse my appearance. I had a late night.” She gave me a knowing look.
    There was an unmade bed in the corner and the rest of the room had a few chairs around a coffee table. There was a galley kitchen and a door that musta led to the bathroom. Unless Ladd was in there he wasn’t with Ida Collier.
    I looked around for the fan but didn’t see one. The air was thick and hot.
    “I need coffee,” she said. “Want some?”
    “Sure.”
    She went over to her little kitchen and lit the gas under the coffeepot.
    Then she turned around to face me. She had wavy platinum hair like Jean Harlow, cool blue eyes the size of quarters, a straight nose, and full lips. The kinda girl a soldier on leave might wanna make hay with. After lighting up she put a hand on her hip.
    “So, what can I do ya?”
    I took out a Camel and lit it. “What about that fan?”
    “It’s broke.”
    “But ya said . . .”
    “I said I had a fan and I do. You didn’t ask me if it worked.”
    How’d I get so lucky playing games with a wiseacre in a room the size and temperature of a pizza oven?
    “Can we sit down?” I said.
    “Why not?”
    We sat in chairs that weren’t too steady.
    “Miss Collier, I . . .”
    “Ida. Call me Ida. What’s your handle again?”
    “Faye.”
    “Oh, yeah. So you were sayin, Faye?”
    “Do ya remember meetin Private Charlie Ladd? It was Friday night.”
    She blew a smoke circle into the room. “A bell is ringin. He with a few other guys?”
    “Yeah.”
    “A looker as I recall. Yeah, Charlie.”
    “Have ya seen him since then?”
    “Nah. It was just one night.”
    “And where was that?”
    “Jazz club. Village Vanguard on Seventh Avenue.”
    I knew it like I knew myself.
    “So that was it then. In the club.”
    “And here. Later. I don’t wantcha gettin the wrong idea about me. Me and Charlie was havin a deep discussion and when the others wanted to leave, well, me and Charlie wanted to go on with it. So that’s what we did. I think the java’s ready.” She got up and swung her way to the stove.
    So why did she pretend she didn’t know who Ladd was?
    “Meanin you left with Charlie and the other private?”
    “Not quite. How d’ya take your coffee?”
    I told her. “What’s
not quite
mean?”
    “The other guy left with my friend Gloria. A great gal.”
    She handed me my coffee.
    I