Hunter and the Trap Read Free Page B

greeted him with pleasure. Afterwards, I learned that they were two of the top wheels in the Mafia; Andy had met them some years before when they had helped him to arrange a wolf hunt in Sicily.
    The party had started early, and now, long before post time, there were already two dozen people in the room. The buffet table had been set up, and Norma Smith, the redhead, was stuffing herself with good, nourishing food, namely toast and imported caviar.
    Jane Pierce whispered to her, icily, “That, darling, is thirty-six dollars a pound.”
    â€œThen it’s hardly the best, is it?” the belly dancer replied.
    Max Golden arrived, with two small, blond go-go girls, one hanging on to each of his arms. Their party dresses were six inches above the knee. “They’re a present to you,” Max said to Andy.
    â€œWhat are their names?”
    â€œDamned if I know.”
    Then Max saw Norma Smith, and he dropped the little go-go girls and made a beeline for the big redhead. The two kids gravitated to Jose—they thought he was “darling”; and I steered Andy over to meet the senator. You couldn’t have a party like this without the senator’s wife, and she had to have him with her as a door opener. The senator read books and he was really excited to meet Andy, but when he tried to talk about African politics, Andy broke away.
    â€œHe won’t talk politics,” I explained to the senator. “That’s because he won’t think politics.”
    â€œYears ago—”
    â€œWell, that was all years ago. Things have changed.”
    The ambassador to the U.N. came in then, and the senator had someone to talk politics to. The management had finally produced a record player, and I had them put it out on the terrace. It was getting hot in the living room anyway, so we folded back the big double doors to the terrace and eased the increasing congestion in the living room. Jock Lewis, the radio disk jockey, was persuaded to run the phonograph, and Jose tried to teach the go-go girls some flamenco steps to the beat of rock and roll. Then I saw my wife, Liz, and I had to push people aside to reach her. She was with two pugs, one an ex-lightweight and the other an ex-heavyweight, both of them Negroes, and she yelled across to me:
    â€œI brought some quality to your crumby party.”
    She was lit already. The Negro pugs embraced Andy and Jacky Minola, and they formed a little circle to talk about the fight game. The circle grew bigger.
    Jane Pierce pulled me aside and demanded, “Monte—what about this? What do we do?”
    â€œWhat about what?”
    â€œThis crazy party. There are already ninety-one here by head count, and look at the doorway.”
    It was something to think about. They were coming through the door now in almost a steady stream. I recognized two movie stars, a member of “What’s My Line?” and the new parks commissioner. The quality was good.
    â€œIt’s quite a party.”
    â€œIf you look on it as a competition, I suppose so. I just hate to think of what the price per minute is at this moment. I didn’t have time to go out and shop for bulk liquor or anything like that. It’s all hotel rates, and have you ever looked at the catering sheet of this hotel?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou should. And where do we put them?”
    â€œWhen it banks up solid, they can’t get in. That’s all.”
    â€œThat’s all?”
    â€œLook, Jane, you can’t do anything and I can’t do anything. That’s the way it is. Let it run its course.”
    â€œThe thing that puzzles me,” Jane said, “is this. A few hours ago, Andy decided to have a party. Now everyone in the world knows about it. How does that happen?”
    â€œWord of mouth.”
    â€œYou’re a help.”
    â€œWell, what do you want me to do?”
    â€œDrop dead,” she said pleasantly. “When I think of something