Free The McBain Brief by Ed McBain Page B

sunlight, entered the room. It was a pale light that bounced from the brick walls of the tenement not four feet away, leaping the airshaft between the buildings. The girl turned.
    â€œI . . . I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I’ve never done this before.”
    â€œNo?” he said, and there was a trace of sarcasm in his voice.
    â€œNo. Could . . . could we talk a little?”
    â€œWhat about?”
    â€œI don’t know. Anything.” The room grew silent. Patiently, Randolph waited.
    â€œI’m . . . I’m sorry the place isn’t nicer,” the girl said.
    â€œIt’ll do.”
    â€œI meant—” She shrugged.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI don’t know. A girl likes to think—” She stopped, shrugging again. “Would you like a beer or something? I think we have some cold in the frigidaire.”
    â€œNo, thanks,” Randolph said. He grinned. “We’re not allowed to drink on duty.”
    The girl missed his humor. She nodded and then sat opposite him at the table. Silence crowded the room again.
    â€œHave you been a cop long?” the girl asked.
    â€œEight years.”
    â€œIt must be terrible. I mean, being a cop in this neighborhood.”
    For a moment, Randolph was surprised. He looked at the girl curiously and said, “What do you mean?”
    â€œAll the . . . all the dirt here,” she said.
    â€œIt . . .” He paused, studying her. “You get used to it.”
    â€œI’ll never get used to it,” she said.
    She seemed about to cry. For a panicky instant, he wanted to bolt from the room. He sat undecided at the table, and then he heard himself saying, “This isn’t so bad. This is a nice apartment.”
    â€œYou don’t really mean that,” she said.
    â€œNo,” he answered honestly. “I don’t.”
    The girl seemed to want to tell him about the apartment. Words were perched on the edge of her tongue, torrents of words, it seemed, but when she spoke she only said, “I haven’t got my own room.”
    â€œThat’s all right,” he said. “We can use . . .” And then he stopped his tongue because he sensed the girl had meant something entirely different, and the sudden insight surprised him and frightened him a little.
    â€œWhere do you live?” she asked.
    â€œIn a hotel,” he said.
    â€œThat must be nice.”
    He wanted to say, “No, it’s very lonely.” Instead, he said, “Yeah, it’s all right.”
    â€œI’ve never been to a hotel. Do people wait on you?”
    â€œThis is an apartment hotel. It’s a little different.”
    â€œOh.”
    She sat at the table, and he watched her, and suddenly she was trembling.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?” he asked.
    â€œI’m scared,” she said.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause of . . . of what I almost did. What I almost became.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œI’m glad you arrested me,” she said. “I’m glad I got caught the first time. I don’t want to be—”
    She began crying. Randolph watched her, and he felt inordinately big, sitting across from her, awkwardly immense.
    â€œLook,” he said, “what do you want to bawl for?”
    â€œI . . . I can’t help it.”
    â€œWell, cut it out!” he said harshly.
    â€œI’m sorry.” She turned and took a dish towel from the sink, daubed at her eyes with it. “I’m sorry. Let’s . . . let’s do it.”
    â€œIs this really your first time?” he asked suspiciously.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat made you . . . well . . . I don’t understand.”
    â€œI got tired,” she said. “I got so damned tired. I don’t want to fight any more.”
    â€œFight what?”
    â€œFight getting dirty. I’m tired of fighting.” She sighed wearily and held out her hand. “Come,”