I give a good impression of looking really surprised. "Wow. No kidding?"

"They told me ink poisoning did her in."

I make a good joke here. "Listen, I promise not to take any fountain pens in there with me." I open my jacket wide and, grinning, let the woman see that I have absolutely no pens in my inside pockets. "See? I'm unarmed."

The joke causes the woman to start coughing and hacking, and I pat her bony little hand. "No more jokes. I promise."

After watching late night television in room eight for about half an hour, I hear a timid knock at the door. I have switched on the lamp, and the red hue from the new bulb they screwed in gives the room a powerful, near mystical aura. I flick the remote and kill the sound on the television.

"Yeah?"

"Douglas? It's Betty."

I get up from the bed, walk to the door, and open it. Betty is dressed in a cream-and-tan patchwork blouse, and her beige skirt stops just above the knee. I realize that she must have gone home and changed, just for me.

I step aside to let her into the burning scarlet light of the room. She seems reticent as she scans the room, and I note that she grips her purse tightly to her.

"It's okay, there's no Mexican muggers in this room. I've checked all over." Betty nods as I pick up the remote and gesture to the television. "Are you interested in bats? The Nature Channel is devoting an entire evening to them."

Betty gives a small shake of the head, and I turn off the television. I go to the cabinet at the side of the double bed. There are two gla.s.ses there and a bottle of Scotch. I start pouring two healthy measures.

"Incredible creatures. They use sonar to see in the dark."

"I know, I've read a few books on them."

I tut to myself, I should have guessed.

"Water?" I show the gla.s.s of Scotch to Betty, and she nods.

"Just a splash."

I cross to the stained sink in the corner of the room, and after a big struggle with the rusty faucet, I manage to turn it on. Betty gets more than a splash, and I hope she doesn't notice. I return to her, hand her the Scotch and water, and then collect my own gla.s.s of neat Scotch from the cabinet.

"Well . . ."

Betty gives a tiny smile. "Well."

"Here's to, uh . . . well . . . here's to Cher. Wherever she is." I clink my gla.s.s against Betty's and take a small mouthful of the Scotch.

"To Cher . . . I'm going to miss her . . ."

Betty's voice suddenly trails off. She freezes, her mouth falls open, and she looks utterly stunned and bewildered. "Oh my . . ."

"What? What is it?"

"Uh . . ." Betty looks at me, tries to calm down. "Uh . . ."

"Sorry, I didn't realize you and Cher were so close."

Betty takes a big mouthful of her Scotch, and I must have got the mix just right, because she immediately takes another stiff drink and empties her gla.s.s. I take the tumbler from her and fix her another drink.

"So . . . what made you want to meet me?"

Betty still seems a little bewildered, and I can see this is going to be tough for her. "Uh . . . I was going to talk to you about Tony. You see . . . I can't kill him, Douglas."

"No?"

Betty's voice is tiny, distant, caught in the back of her throat. Her chin trembles, and I know that despite her best intentions, she really cares for Tony. "No . . ." She swallows hard. "I just can't."

She finishes her drink and hands me the empty gla.s.s. As I fix her a third Scotch and water, I hear the springs of the bed as she sits down, and when I turn she is staring hard at me. She takes the drink from me without a word. I try to put her at ease. "If you're not up to it, then I'm sure I can manage it on my own."

Betty sips at her drink, gripping the gla.s.s tightly in both hands.

"I'll make it as painless as I can."

"Hold me."

I stop, look at Betty, don't know what to say. She looks up at me with those big, appealing, watery blue eyes. "Hold me, Douglas. Please. . . ."

I look around for somewhere to put my gla.s.s.

"I need to be held."

My heart rate is increasing tenfold. My mind is going blank, but somehow I manage to drain the neat Scotch, and despite the horrendous burning sensation in the back of my throat, I put down the gla.s.s and then sit beside Betty. She turns to me, and I get a blast of whiskey from her breath.

"You know what I do to men, don't you?"

"This'll be different, I know it."

"I have to sleep with them first, Douglas."

"Won't hear me complaining. . . ." I smile gamely, not believing my luck.

Betty drains her gla.s.s, and I get up to retrieve the bottle of Scotch when I feel her hand on my thigh as she pushes me back down, keeping me close by her. "I need that hug."

My heart is going like a jackhammer. I raise an arm and then pause. I'm not sure how to do this right. Her bosom seems to be everywhere, and I have difficulty in sliding my arms around her without touching it. Eventually I manage it, and I feel her nestle into me, her arms wrapped around my waist, the top of her head resting just under my chin. We stay like that for maybe ten minutes, and her hair tickles my nostrils so much that I sneeze. Twice. Betty pulls away, but I won't let her go, not now, and I grab her back to me.

"I'm holding you, Betty. I'm holding you. . . ."

One of my wristbands slips as I clamp an arm under Betty's chin. Her eyes are drawn to the strange tattooed dots that are now revealed to her. She frowns.

"How'd you do that?"

I look down at my arm and remember the savage struggle I had with Tallulah Bankhead. I gently let Betty's head go, and she sits upright again.

"It's an army thing."

"You were in the army?" Betty is genuinely surprised. In fact, we both are.

"Uh, yeah. I, uh . . . I did a few years. Marines, mostly."

Betty looks at me as if she doesn't know whether I'm joking or not. "You got into the marines? What were you, their mascot?"

I laugh heartily but completely falsely at this.

Betty seems reticent, is becoming more withdrawn by the second. "So what do those dots mean?"

"There's, uh . . . there's one for every kill."

Betty is curious. "What war was this?"

"I dunno. I forget the name they gave it. It was on TV, though."

Betty looks up at me, searches deep in my eyes, and then before I can react her mouth finds mine and crushes it with her lips. She kisses me long and hard, and I feel like I'm in heaven. She finally breaks away and looks hungrily at me-the lioness in her coming to the fore, and I swear she's going to growl at any moment.

"I want you, Douglas."

"You've got me, Betty."

"My place. Sunday."

"What's wrong with now?"

"I, uh, need to do things first."

I shrug. I guess I can just about hold off for six days. It'll give me time to buy some new underwear and body spray. "I'll be there."

Betty pauses, glances down at my wrists again. "That letter you gave me last week-with the photo of Tony and Burt. You said you really missed Cher."

"I do, G.o.d knows I do. She was something, wasn't she?"

"Yeah . . . she was." Betty gives me another ferocious kiss and meows like a wildcat at me. "I'm gonna make you so hot."

Betty grabs her bag and strides out of the motel room. I sit there in amazement. I knew I had a lot going for me, but this is unbelievable. One minute Betty's this meek and mild-mannered librarian and the next I've turned her into this s.e.x-starved s.l.u.t. I shake my head and blow out my cheeks, really unable to take it all in. G.o.d, I feel like a million dollars.

I lie back on the bed and let it all sink in. I glance at my watch and wonder if I should maybe wear a suit for the occasion. First thing tomorrow I'm going to find the best mustard-colored garment money can rent.

I reach for the bedside phone and cradle it to my ear. I fish around in my wallet for the card of the suit rental company but find Hanna's calling card instead. I study it for a moment, think, What the h.e.l.l, and start dialing. Boy, I'm on a high right now. My thumb covers one of Hanna's b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and as I listen to the phone ringing at the other end, I swear I can feel Hanna's cartoon nipple hardening under my thumb.

"Yo, wha' you want?" The voice on the other end of the line surprises me. It is deep, manlike, and I can't really be certain what s.e.x I am talking to. I blame the bad connection.

"Uh . . . Hanna? Is that you?"

"Wha' you want?"

"It's Douglas, Dougie . . . Just thought I'd say h.e.l.lo, you know. . . ."

"Wha' you want?!" The voice hardens, is impatient.

"So . . . how are things with you?"

"Wha' you want, f.u.kka?"

I feel all-powerful, completely omnipotent, thanks to Betty.

"Listen to me a minute, Hanna. Just listen, okay? You tell those two Mexican guys, those muggers, that I'm going to light a candle for them. You understand what I'm saying here? That's one candle each. You tell them that, okay? You tell them I'm leaning over and lighting those candles. Right as we speak." Hanna hangs up on me. I debate pressing redial, but I know I've made my point.

I put down the phone and then make a fist, curling my arm and making my bicep bulge. I run a hand over the bicep, feel it, press it, admire its sinewy hardness. Hercules, if he were alive today, would be impressed.

I tear Hanna's calling card into little pieces and toss them into the air above my head. They sprinkle down like winter snowflakes, and I can't help grinning from ear to ear. Christmas is coming.

THE LAST LIST.

TALLULAH BANKHEADRICHARD BURTONCHERTONY CURTISDOUGLAS FAIRBANKS JR.BETTY GRABLEWILLIAM HOLDENBURT LANCASTERJAMES MASONCHUCK NORRISMYRNA LOY.

AGENT WADE studies the list and isn't at all happy. studies the list and isn't at all happy.

"Where the h.e.l.l did she come from?"

"She works at Grillers."

"This puts everything out!"

"I didn't invite her."

"I hadn't allowed for this, Dougie. We're just going to have to double up. You take James Mason, I'll take Betsy."

I need to think-and fast.

"What's the big rush? KK's going to turn up to a Club with no members."

Agent Wade pauses, glances at me, and for the first time I think I may have said something that has gotten through to him. He grins. "Hanging around me must be rubbing off on you."

I am so relieved. "So what do we do?"

"We've definitely got to kill one of them. Betsy gets my vote."

My breath catches in my throat. "Thinking about it, James is actually two killers. It's him and his mom. That, uh . . . that might make more sense. To kill him first, I mean. He's easily the more dangerous."

"His mom?"

"She's imaginary."

Agent Wade lets out a long sigh, shakes his head. "These people, Dougie . . . sheesh."

"Maybe I should do him."