I drove down a curving lane of trees on the blind side of the house.
The lane opened on De Cazens Boulevard, the main drag of Las Olindas.
We passed under the ancient sputtering arc lights and after a while there was a town, buildings, dead-looking stores, a service station with a light over a nightbell, and at last a drugstore that was still open.
"You better have a drink," I said.
She moved her chin, a point of paleness in the corner of the seat.
I turned diagonally into the curb and parked.
"A little black coffee and a smattering of rye would go well," I said.
"I could get as drunk as two sailors and love it."
I held the door for her and she got out close to me, brushing my cheek with her hair.
We went into the drugstore.
I bought a pint of rye at the liquor counter and carried it over to the stools and set it down on the cracked marble counter.
"Two coffees," I said. "Black, strong and made this year."
"You can't drink liquor in here," the clerk said.
He had a washed-out blue smock, was thin on top as to hair, had fairly honest eyes and his chin would never hit a wall before he saw it.
Vivian Regan reached into her bag for a pack of cigarettes and shook a couple loose just like a man. She held them towards me.
"It's against the law to drink liquor in here," the clerk said.
I lit the cigarettes and didn't pay any attention to him.
He drew two cups of coffee from a tarnished nickel urn and set them in front of us.
He looked at the bottle of rye, muttered under his breath and said wearily:
"Okey, I'll watch the street while you pour it." He went and stood at the display window with his back to us and his ears hanging out.
"My heart's in my mouth doing this," I said, and unscrewed the top of the whiskey bottle and loaded the coffee. "The law enforcement in this town is terrific.
All through prohibition Eddie Mars' place was a night club and they had two uniformed men in the lobby every night — to see that the guests didn't bring their own liquor instead of buying it from the house."
The clerk turned suddenly and walked back behind the counter and went in behind the little glass window of the prescription room.
We sipped our loaded coffee.
I looked at Vivian's face in the mirror back of the coffee urn.
It was taut, pale, beautiful and wild.
Her lips were red and harsh.
"You have wicked eyes," I said. "What's Eddie Mars got on you?"
She looked at me in the mirror.
"I took plenty away from him tonight at roulette — starting with five grand I borrowed from him yesterday and didn't have to use."
"That might make him sore.
You think he sent that loogan after you?"
"What's a loogan?"
"A guy with a gun."
"Are you a loogan?"
"Sure," I laughed. "But strictly speaking a loogan is on the wrong side of the fence."
"I often wonder if there is a wrong side."
"We're losing the subject.
What has Eddie Mars got on you?"
"You mean a hold on me of some sort?"
"Yes."
Her lip curled.
"Wittier, please, Marlowe.
Much wittier."
"How's the General?
I don't pretend to be witty."
"Not too well.
He didn't get up today.
You could at least stop questioning me."
"I remember a time when I thought the same about you.