Page:Levenson - Butterfly Man.djvu/80

78 walked much farther he would lose his way. He laughed bitterly. This, then, was the end of love.

He retraced his steps. The same slant-eyed Mexican moved toward him, passed him. The first glazed lamp shone above a narrow green door. Ahead of him was the second glazed lamp.

From ebony darkness came a woman, blonde, frail, in a scanty black dress. She cut across his path.

"Hello, buddy," she said.

He stopped.

"Lookin' for a good time?"

Her eyes were shot through with blood, sharp lines cut her face, converging at the corners of her mouth. On her lip was a tiny sore.

"No, I'm not." He strode on.

"Guess I made a mistake, Kewpie," she cackled, her words evaporating in a thin high laugh.

Ken's long legs moved in wide strides, but the laugh seemed to follow him, even to the threshold of his hotel.

The motor bus sped westward on the valley road. Soon they would be back in Los Angeles.

"You're no longer a child, darling," Anita said. "I can tell by the way you act."

"I know it," Ken said. "That's why I'm going to tell you I know you had Feinberg in your room the other night."

"And you didn't break down the door?"

"I didn't."

"Why not?"

"I didn't care."

"You lie, you idiot."

"No … I'm telling the truth."