“Ephraim. I guess people haven’t been made cognizant he’s one of the populace again. The Grant chick ambled out of the head back there and sort of turned sallow when she spotted him, you know? Real shook up.”

I had put down the bottle. “Then what?”

“Well, man, I was sort of more interested in your small brawl. She’s still yonder, I presume. I saw Ivan Klobb back there, but whether or not they made words I cannot avow.” He looked at me, puzzled, then whistled softly. “Hey, like I see some light. If Ephraim is out, some other cat is due to go in, no? You think the sight of him gave the Grant chick some ideas? Like maybe, since it ain’t Eph, she’s got a hunch who?”

I was staring at him.

“Although on third hand I could be blowing hysterical,” he decided. “Missing the whole beat. The chick might have just had heartburn, you know?”

“A brunette,” I said. “What was she wearing?”

“Man’s T-shirt.” Henshaw giggled obscenely. “I am not as observant as many, but the Grant chick in a man’s T-shirt I would long remember. Like better men than I have left hearth and home for dream of what lies beyond yon distant hills, you dig me?”

He was smirking into his glass. I left him with it, heading back toward that corridor.

CHAPTER 15

The corridor was roughly the length of a bowling alley. There were four closed doors along its left-hand side, and evidently it turned at the rear. The dim rose glow of the kerosene lamp made it hard to be sure. The sudden proximity of Dana O’Dea made it harder to be interested.

She swam up in front of me just as I reached the doorway. I stopped, and not just because I remembered that she lived with Audrey Grant. That red dress had made her noticeable from a distance, but at close range she would have been noticeable in a diving rig.

She was a big girl. Her fall breasts swelled up out of the sheath into a pair of fleshy shoulders as sensuous as heavy cream, and there was enough ripe womanhood in her bare arms alone to melt nonferrous metals. She had boldly painted lips and flashing dark eyes, and her hair was so brilliantly black that it looked almost wet. She was as luxuriously molded as the hull of a yacht.

She was also drunk as a tadpole.

She pulled up short a foot in front of me, swaying, and then she almost fell. She took a fall breath. “Wow,” she said.

“Wow,” I told her. She swayed some more. Those milky shoulders were unbelievable. I reached out with a finger and touched the dress where it turned beneath the fold of her arm.

She eyed me speculatively. “Excuse me,” I said. “I just wanted to see if it was painted on.”

She gave me a smile that could have paid her rent for a year. I grinned back at her. I would have liked to spend a year doing it.

“You know where your roommate is?”

“Audrey?” She frowned. “You know Audrey? Audrey know you? Whore you?”

Her voice was no thicker than bread pudding. She steadied herself with a hand on my sleeve, looking at me more intently.

“Audrey doesn’t know you,” she said. “You know something? I’m glad. Don’t even care what your name is.” She nodded profoundly. “Don’t care ‘tall. Like you anyhow. You know my name? My name’s Dana ‘Dea. You know something else? I’m drunk. Been drinking since three ‘clock this afternoon. Home all alone. You ‘magine that?”

“You could do better,” I told her. “Why don’t we find Audrey? The three of us can get drunk together.”

“Sure. Find Audrey. Good old Au’rey. Swell idea.” She turned back into the corridor, took two steps and then almost went over again. I caught her by the wrist, so she decided to play. She hung away from me, balanced on her heels, and let me take all her weight. She had a few more pounds of it than the boys in the fashion business would have allowed, but then the same guys would design a blanket roll without ever spending a night in the woods. She was as yielding as gelatin. I hauled her back onto a level keel, so then she tittered and poked a finger into my chest. “Nope,” she said emphatically, “don’t know you. Wish I did.”

“Audrey, huh? Like a pal?”

“Abs’lutely.”

She had slithered away from me once more when a girl with a face like a wedge of cheese stepped past us into the hall. She was a mousy, intellectual sort, hiding a concave chest behind a bulky yellow sweatshirt. She glanced at Dana, then paused, lifting an eyebrow. “My heavens, girl,” she said.

“It’s disgusting, isn’t it?* Dana agreed. “Started drinking at three ‘clock. You ‘magine that?”

“I don’t have to imagine,” the girl said. “You’re a mess.”

That disheartened Dana briefly. “I am?” She glanced down into the pasteurized cleavage at the top of her dress. Then she looked back to the mousy girl, lifting her gaze to approximately the same anatomical vicinity. It wasn’t being very fair. Several seconds passed. Then Dana snickered.

“Well, of all the—” The girl whirled and stomped off.

Dana sighed. “All I said was I was drunk. She didn’t have to call me a mess. You think I’m a mess?”

“You’re no mess,” I said. She wasn’t. She had too much raw sensuality to move sloppily. She just swelled and receded, like surf.

“I’m glad you say that,” she told me. “Been drinking all day, you know?”

“Audrey,” I said.

“Oh, sure, Audrey.” She brightened up again, nodding toward the first closed door. She beckoned. “Shhh—”

I followed her over. She twisted the knob, then pushed in the door silently. The room was dark and I reached past her and fumbled for a switch. A muffled masculine voice changed my mind.

“Let’s just leave it be, shall we?”

“Oops!” Dana fell against me. I could see the vague form of a bed in the gloom as I eased her out of the way.

I got the door almost back where it belonged, then stopped again. There were two pair of shoes on the floor, both at least size twelve.

“Not Audrey,” Dana told me with assurance. “Not Audrey ‘tall.”

I closed it, then stood there shaking my head. It didn’t rattle. There had been two motorcycle crash helmets inside also.

Dana was already lurching onward, undismayed. She turned and winked at me from the next door, then threw it inward gleefully. This time there was a light on. I followed her in, a little grimly.

Furniture was not one of McGruder’s passions. The room contained a single uncovered cot set about a foot away from a side wall, a straight chair under a high barred window, a telephone on the floor. I supposed we would have to make the grand tour. I turned back, but Dana had slipped around me to the door.

She was being playful again. She pushed the door shut and leaned against it, peering up at me slyly from under her dark brows. That made her about as coy as Mae West. The girl would have been bringing out the eroticism in every man who had run into her since she was fifteen, and I had to wonder what she would be like when she was sober. I pressed a fist along her cheek, then gestured toward the outside.

“Uh-huh.” She nodded sincerely. “Find Audrey. Lil while. That’s a promise.”

“The faster we find her, the faster we get drunk.”

“Drunk already. Started to get drunk at—”

“I know. Three o’clock. You were home all day.”

“I tell you that?”

“I think so, yes.”

She frowned. “You’re not drunk ‘tall, are you?”

“Things keep coming up. You know how it is.”

“Shame,” she said. “Guy like you.” Her eyebrows had knit. Then suddenly she beamed. “Got it,” she told me brightly. “Doesn’t matter if you’re drunk or not.”

“I’m glad. You’ve got what?”

“Nope, doesn’t matter ‘tall. Got something better. Was going to save it, but it just makes me sick when I’m drunk myself.”

I had a pretty good idea what she was talking about. I waited while she hunched those lush shoulders and reached into her bosom, showing me the top of her gleaming dark oblivious head. It was folded into a small tube of white tissue, and she had difficulty unwrapping it. Finally she held out the thin marijuana reefer.