Death Turns A Trick (Rebecca Schwartz #1) (A Rebecca Schwartz Mystery) (The Rebecca Schwartz Series)

enough, the unmarked cop car was parked next to my Volvo. There was no one in it. “He must have followed us to the bridge and then turned back.” I said. “Maybe they aren’t allowed to go out of the jurisdiction.”
    “Looks like he’s taking a coffee break. Probably thought you’d be out a lot later.”
    I got a certain amount of pleasure out of that. I was about to go in, get the money, and drive right to the Hall of Justice with it. It would be amusing to have him miss me on that particular mission.
    Mickey and I said good night, and I went inside. First I made sure the money was still in the asparagus fern, then I got the telephone book and sat down on the sofa to look up the number of the police department. I figured I’d get a warmer welcome if I didn’t arrive unannounced.
    Putting my finger on the number, I stared into space for a minute, committing it to memory. I’m not sure now whether I heard the noise of someone stepping out of the kitchen, or caught the motion out of the comer of my eye. Maybe both. Anyhow, I knew I wasn’t alone.
    “Hello, Portia,” said a male voice, a voice that came out of a face that missed being handsome because it was florid and a little on the mean side. The face that belonged to Frank, the man I’d met at Elena’s and again at the Washington Square Bar and Grill. He was holding a gun.

Chapter Fifteen
     
    This time I did scream. At least I went through the motions, but no sound came out.
    For a big man, he moved fast and well, like one of the centaurs from
Fantasia
. He was around the coffee table before I had time to close my mouth. A stifling, sweaty hand went over it, and the gun barrel connected rudely with my ribs. Being a sissy when it comes to pain, I jumped like I do when the dental hygienist hits a sensitive spot with one of those evil little scrapers.
    “I expected better from you,” said Frank. “Big deal lawyer and you scream like any other broad.”
    That made me mad, of course, so I tried to give him a smart answer. But I couldn’t with that slab of beef over my mouth. He gave me another punch with the gun, and I jumped again. “No screaming, okay?” said Frank.
    I nodded as well as I could, hoping it would induce him to stop smothering me. He let me go and started to sit down on the coffee table, but I stopped him. “You’ll break it.”
    Something his mother taught him must have sunk in, because he sat down next to me instead. His eye fell on the phone book, still open at “City and County of San Francisco.” Anybody knows there’s only one county office open at midnight on a Sunday, so I guess he figured out what I was doing.
    “Calling the police?” he asked, almost idly.
    I shrugged. By that time, I’d put a couple of things together, and one of them was that that orangutan was there to kill me. As a matter of fact, I figured I was as good as dead, but I wasn’t going to run off at the mouth for his amusement. I had to save my breath to try to talk my way out of it.
    For the moment I concentrated on figuring out why he hadn’t done it yet.
    Then Frank answered that question for me. He put the gun away and chucked me under the chin: “You know you’re real cute?” Very self-satisfied, almost purring. He reminded me of a cat tossing a mouse around just for fun, feeling its oats as a mighty hunter, relishing its victim’s agony. Frank was going to play with me before he sank his teeth in. But I didn’t know yet if it was going to be mental or physical torture. Dear God, I thought, am I about to be raped? Somehow it’s not easy to imagine yourself dead, even though your ribs already hurt from being pummeled with a gun barrel. Rape seemed eminently more believable, and therefore scarier.
    Apparently Frank hadn’t made up his mind on that one, though. He curled his thick fingers around one of my breasts as if it were an apple. “Know what I’d like to do?” he said. Again I didn’t answer. But he told me anyway. In some detail.
    Getting that stuff off his chest seemed to clear Frank’s mind. It was going to be rape, all right.
    He took his hand off my breast, grabbed my arm, and pulled me on top of him. I started to flail my other arm, but he had it before I could get going. I kicked, hitting only sofa pillows, and I wriggled like a lizard. The pressure on my arms didn’t increase, and Frank showed no signs of strain. I was so busy trying to use my elbows as deadly bludgeons I didn’t notice at first that he was