Death Is My Comrade Read Free Page B

won’t take a look.”
    â€œI didn’t say that!” Marianne gave me an exasperated stare; then we both smiled. “You’re supposed to coax me, darn it.”
    â€œWant to take a look at the envelope?”
    â€œImplacable. I knew it.”
    Marianne got her pocketbook off the hall table, sat down again next to me and opened the purse on her lap. The envelope was white, legal-sized, sealed. There was no writing on it. Marianne held it up to the light. We could see a single sheet of paper inside.
    â€œGosh, Chet, I don’t know,” Marianne said.
    â€œWell, look. You have four choices. Make that five. You can just hold it here until Eugenie or someone comes for it. Or you can turn it over to Central Intelligence, figuring there’ll be something in it for them. Or you can turn it over to the boys down at Foggy Bottom. I’ve got a friend in the State Department.”
    â€œI know. Jack Morley. I’ve met him.”
    â€œThat’s three. Or we can open it here, right now, and find out, maybe, you’re getting all worked up over nothing.”
    â€œThat’s four.”
    â€œI know. The build-up’s for number five. I’m trying to sell it.”
    â€œI’m listening.”
    â€œLet me have the envelope. I won’t open it unless you say so. I’ll put it in my office safe and we’ll sleep on it.”
    â€œChet, you want to know something crazy? It—it scares me for some reason. Crazy, isn’t it? I don’t know why, but I’m afraid to open it.”
    I took the envelope out of her hand. “Then it’s settled. I’ll hold onto it and call you tomorrow. All right?”
    â€œI guess so. Why should I be scared of it, though?”
    â€œEugenie,” I said. “Maybe you got to wondering what a girl who’d holler rape because, of several possible ruses, it seems the most fun, would have in an envelope she gave to you for safekeeping.”
    â€œYou left out choices six and seven.”
    â€œDid I? Shoot.”
    â€œSix: we destroy the envelope, right here, right now.”
    â€œBut you wouldn’t want to do that.”
    â€œNo. I wouldn’t. Seven: I deliver it to Mike Rodin.”
    I shook my head. “You don’t want to mess with Rodin. If you do want it delivered, tell me in the morning. I’ll be the messenger boy. Fair enough?”
    â€œFair enough,” Marianne said. She looked relieved.
    â€œLook at the twins before I go home and crawl into the sack?”
    â€œBut of course,” Marianne said lightly, then squeezed my hand. “You’re their godfather.”
    We tiptoed into the nursery, past Mrs. Gower’s door. Mrs. Gower was snoring serenely.
    Twin white cribs for twin sleeping boys. I could never tell them apart. By the light of the dim night lamp I could see their plump rosy cheeks. I thought they looked like Wally, but they had Marianne’s silver-blond hair.
    â€œWhich is which?” I said.
    â€œYou mean you still can’t tell them apart?”
    I shook my head.
    â€œChester’s in the left-hand crib.” Marianne laughed softly. “I think.”
    She walked me to the front door. I opened it. The air was cooler now, and a mist had drifted in off the river. I turned and kissed Marianne lightly on the lips. As I drew away, her hands tugged at my lapels. She drew my lips down to hers again, and her own lips were soft and moistly parted.
    I felt a quickening in me as I slid my hands down to her waist. She was taut and firm-fleshed and I could feel the flat firmness of muscle move under my hands as she stood on tiptoe, her hips moving forward against me. Her hands laced behind my neck and I felt her teeth against my lips; then she broke a little away and turned her head, and my mouth was on the nape of her neck. She sighed and the moment of stiffness was gone. She nestled against me again, sideways now, and my hand touched the softness