He was about forty, she thought, and well-dressed. Of middle height, no
hat, balding slightly, dark clipped mustache. Not bad-looking. Slightly
heavy-set. A big ring on the middle finger of his left hand.
He was holding out an unlit cigarette. In a suave voice he said,
"Pardon me, Miss. My lighter doesn't seem to be working. Could I
trouble you for a light?"
"No trouble at all," Laura said, making her voice husky. She stood up,
opened her handbag, took out a matchbook, struck one for him. He puffed
busily for a moment.
"Thanks," he said, when the cigarette was lit. He hesitated a moment,
as though still trying to size her up. She wondered numbly whether it
would all fizzle, whether he would now puff on his cigarette and stroll
away. But he said at length, "Maybe you could do me one more favor. I'm
looking for some congenial companionship for the next half hour or so.
Are you free, or are you waiting for somebody here?"
"I'm waiting," Laura said, as Marilyn had instructed her. "But it
doesn't look like the fellow is going to show up, so to the deuce with
him." She smiled warmly. "My name's Lois. I've got a place a couple of
blocks from here, if that's what you're interested in."
He smiled. The formalities were over. It was a straight business
transaction now. "Interested? Yes, I'd say I was. Depends, though, on
what it's likely to cost me."
"Ten," she said.
"For the next half hour?"
"That's right. Without any specialties." The cold words rolled glibly
off her tongue.
He eyed her, looking her over from head to toe. "Ten is a little higher
than some charge, Lois."