Free The Corpse Without a Country by Louis Trimble Page A

change her mind.
    She said thoughtfully, “You must think a great deal of Miss Rasmussen.”
    “Because I didn’t want your friend hurting her? She’s just an acquaintance. I’d do the same for you or any woman.”
    She mocked me. “How gallant, Peter. May I call you Peter now?”
    I said, “Sure,” wondering just what she was leading up to now.
    She said, “But you know her well.”
    “I knew her father well,” I said. “And I knew her when she was a kid. I haven’t seen her for years until recently.”
    She stood up, leaving the gun on the bed. “If that is so, then perhaps we can be friends.”
    She was within a few feet of me. I could smell her perfume. It wasn’t like Jodi’s, but it was nice and expensive. I started to wonder what she had in mind, then I realized I had no need to wonder. What she was thinking was plain on her face and in her eyes.
    I said, “Do you use a gun to get all the men you want to be friends with?”
    “I have no men friends.”
    “What about Mr. Ghatt?”
    “He is a business colleague.”
    She took a final step that brought her very close to me. I could feel myself sweating a little. The ear Willie had banged began to throb.
    I wondered where Maslin had got to. Right now, I was actually anxious to see him.
    She ran her fingers along my cheek and then rested them just under my eyes. “I can see here that you are a very suspicious man, Peter.”
    I said, “My friend is in the hospital with a broken head. You were out on the Sound near where he got hurt. Shouldn’t I be suspicious?”
    A brief, momentary flicker of hesitation came into those beautiful eyes. Then it was gone and she was all warmth. Not the soppy kind of warmth Emily had displayed in the elevator, but real heat, generated by a very efficient furnace.
    She oozed so closed to me that I could feel the rise and fall of her breathing against my chest. It was quite a sensation. Her fingers stopped stroking my cheek and slipped toward the side of my neck.
    “I like men with big chests,” she said.
    Whatever she was after, she might have got—had I been able to give it to her. She might have got it because I was very susceptible to beautiful women. Only when she ran her fingers up the side of my head to draw my mouth down to hers—waiting warm and inviting—her fingers found the ear Willie had nearly torn off with her sap.
    I yelled, “Jesus!”
    And that broke up the party.
    Ilona bounced away from me as if I’d blown garlic breath in her face. I said, “Sorry, but you grabbed my sore ear.”
    I doubt if she even heard me. She was going for the gun on the bed, apparently on the premise that if she couldn’t get what she wanted one way, she’d get it another.
    When she reached for the gun I reached for her. I got a handful of slim, silk-covered leg and pulled. She jerked to get free and landed in a sprawl on the bed. I reached for the gun. She rolled over, lowered her head, and sank her teeth into the fleshy part of my palm.
    I forgot she was a lady and therefore possibly fragile. I twisted around and came down on top of her. She kept her teeth in me like a determined bulldog. I tried getting a grip on her hair but my fingers kept slipping through its soft, silky texture. I made a try at gripping a few other places. She didn’t seem to mind. She had her teeth in me and she was going to keep them there.
    I finally clamped my fingers on her lovely nose. She had to let loose to get air. I rolled free, taking my chewed hand with me. She made a dive for me and we went to the floor in a complete tangle.
    Ilona was oblivious to the fact that she was supposed to be a lady and so handicapped for a rough and tumble. She had her legs wrapped in a scissors grip around my waist and she was punching at me with both fists. I finally caught her wrists and held her hands away from me. We lay quietly with her on top, spitting down into my face.
    “You are no gentleman! Release me!”
    It was said with such honest