Dark Maze

I said. “I’ll just have a red, before she gets here.”
    “Oh, so that’s what’s got you dressed to the nines tonight—a she, is it?”
    “I forgot. You haven’t met Ruby yet.”
    “Ruby’s her name, is it?”
    “You’ll be seeing a lot of her.”
    “What, you’re getting married again, Hock?”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “And did I say anything against it? I happen to believe marriage is a fine institution. After all, it’s a friendship recognized by the police.”
    I changed the subject by looking up at Charlie Furman’s painting of his late wife Celia chatting with Angelo. I was surprised to see it still hanging up behind the bar. Angelo followed my gaze with his own as he turned and poured out my drink.
    “Me, I would have thought that picture was bad luck,” I said. “But I notice it hasn’t scared off any business at all.“
    “Every night we got a full house since the murder,” Angelo said. “The ones who were here that night, they come back the very next night. And the next. And they brought more of their friends with them. I don’t know if I can take it much more.”
    “You can’t take what, success? Stop complaining. The Ebb Tide’s a hit.”
    “With this kind of bad crowd, sure. But you know how come?”
    “No, I don’t.”
    “They’re packing my place because there was a splashy murder of a lady that made all the papers and the TV. So now they all got something to talk about besides real estate and what other joints they go to.”
    My stomach rumbled.
    “You say something?”
    “I said I haven’t eaten anything since this morning.” I looked at my watch. Ruby was late. Which was good. I had begun suspecting her of perfection. “How about getting me a table, Angelo.”
    “Stay up front here with me, so I can see the missus. You can take the table over there by the phone booth.” Angelo signaled a busboy. “There’s two guys there now waiting to pay their check.”
    “I’m really hungry, I want to order before she even gets here.”
    “What’ll it be? I’ll tell the kitchen myself.”
    “The hamburger platter.”
    “I’ll have them toss on lots of extra stuff.”
    I finished my drink and thanked Angelo for the treat. Then when the table was clear, I sat down by the phone booth.
    Which was when Ruby arrived.
    I can say with confidence that every man in the place agreed with me at that moment: Ruby Flagg knows how to make an entrance. She was dressed all in black. Black dancer’s slippers, black tights, black skirt, black blouse that dipped nicely in front, even a black raincoat. She stopped just inside the door, took off a pair of Ray-Bans, and smiled when she spotted me.
    Ruby crossed through the bar, looking at nobody but me. She sat down and stretched her arms over the table and I touched her fingertips. I said, “Mind if I say wow?“
    “You’d better,” Ruby said. “I just showed all your pals in here that you have got your sorry self a sweetie.”
    “You think anybody’s looking?”
    “Take a look at that one.”
    Ruby pointed to Angelo standing behind the bar with his mouth open. When he saw me, Angelo made a circle with his thumb and forefinger and said, “You get one of these, Hock.” We could hear him perfectly well since everybody at the bar had pretty much stopped talking to look at my sweetie and sorry old me.
    “That’s Angelo Cifelli, the best bartender in New York City,” I told Ruby. “He owns the place. Also, he’s something of a mother-man tonight.”
    “A what?”
    “He thinks I ought to get married.”
    “Oh, then he’s seen your apartment?”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Bachelors live like bears with furniture.”
    A waiter stopped by our table. Ruby ordered a salade Niçoise and a glass of red wine. I impressed her by ordering a seltzer.
    “But right now, Hock, you don’t look like a bear at all,” Ruby said. “What’s with the suit? I thought you said it was casual tonight.”
    “Casual for you. I’ve got someplace to go later.”
    “I thought as much. The Johnny Halo murder is all over the news already. Did you know?”
    “I thought as much.”
    “Which is why I’m trying to get your mind off the case. You should have two or three minutes of every day when you don’t think of dead bodies and paintings and psycho artists who send out Polaroids of their latest works. That would be healthy.”
    “Healthy is when you eat what you don’t want, drink what you don’t like and do what