Free The Sleepwalkers by Paul Grossman Page B

you know that.”
    She stopped laughing. “I suppose there are.”
    A new respect suddenly gleamed in her eyes. She smiled, with some trepidation. “I do know people. I could try to arrange something.”
    “I’d really appreciate that. I want to put a stop to this nightmare. Before any more Ginas go missing.”
    “You know, I honestly believe you do.”
    Outside, the freezing rain had turned to sleet. A thick layer of slush already covered the ground.
    Willi couldn’t just dump her on the sidewalk. “Come on. I’ll hail you a cab home.”
    “But I haven’t made any money.”
    He reached in a pocket and yanked out a fifty, for her a half month’s salary. “I used enough of your time.”
    A long, black cab pulled up. Willi opened the door, and as she got in, her green eyes lit with a gratitude that penetrated right through the armor he’d carefully riveted around his heart.
    He tried to close the door.
    “Please.” She blocked him, sounding more like a lonely young woman than a boot hooker. “Not for you. For me,” she whispered. “I promise.”
    Despite every logical impulse still at work in his brain, he slid in.
    And they drove off together.
    Detektiv and whore.

Eight
    The attic room, two flights up from her mother’s apartment, was not much bigger than a prison cell and pretty much as drafty. A small coal stove in the corner served as both heat and kitchen. The single bed had an eiderdown cover of faded red roses. A window with a box of dead geraniums looked deep into a courtyard crisscrossed by laundry lines.
    That was about as far as he saw before she pulled him into bed.
    His own need shocked him.
    In an irresistible explosion, the libidinous animal in him leapt awake from its hibernation, and with a primitive ferocity he’d forgotten he even possessed, he ravished her, heedless of all but his own overwhelming hunger. When he released, it seemed to never end.
    Afterward he tried not to but couldn’t help weeping softly in her arms. It had been such a long time.
    A long, empty, painful time.
    She stroked his hair and kissed his forehead and whispered, “It’s okay, Willi. People need each other.”
    He felt guilty and ashamed.
    And thrilled beyond belief.
    He couldn’t get close enough to her.
    “Your turn next.” He ran his nose along her velvety shoulders.
    “You’d better believe it, lover.”
    She was naked except for the little, black demi-gloves, which he found unbelievably erotic.
    “Give me a sec. I’ll be right back.” She kissed him.
    For a few minutes she was gone in the bathroom, and when she climbed into bed again, it was in the most wistful, dreamy mood.
    “What choice was there for a girl like me?” She told him about her life as they lay in each other’s arms. “A factory. A go at show business. I tried both. Believe me. Can you picture me at sixteen standing ten hours a day twisting yarn into mop heads? For two years I did it. Until the Depression. Then I was out on my ass like everyone else. I figured I’d better use it. What did I know about dancing? Well, it wasn’t my skills in tap or ballet that got me in the chorus line,
Liebchen
.”
    “Now, now, I’ve no doubt you were the most stunning girl in the show.”
    He took her breasts and kissed each one.
    “I was pretty darn fantastic, actually.”
    “You don’t have to convince me.”
    She seemed to ponder, then sat up, apparently deciding to prove her point. “Want to see?”
    He had no chance to answer before she’d leaped from bed, pulling the cover with her, leaving him there stark naked. Crankingup a phonograph with great determination, she wrapped the coverlet around her waist and began raising and lowering her hip in time to the syncopated music launched into the popular hit, “Naughty Lola,” the wisest girl on earth, whose pianola got “worked for all its worth.” Holding out her arms as if embracing girls on either side she kicked first one leg than the other, Can-Can style. Up, down. Round and