I rang him back.

  ‘Mr. Lantry?’ The voice was smooth with the tiredness of age. Not a cultured voice, not a harsh, too-smart voice, just the voice of a decent man who was getting tired of trying to make ends meet.

  ‘That’s right. You wanted me?’

  ‘I’ve got something which belongs to you, a wallet. Is it yours?’

  ‘Could be.’

  ‘It’s got your card in it, and a shield, and a licence and some other stuff. Would you like to collect it?’

  ‘I’m busy right now,’ I said. ‘Could you fetch it to me, you have my address?’ I sensed his hesitation. ‘I’ll make it worth your while. Can you?’

  ‘In an hour,’ he said. ‘Will that be all right with you?’

  ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Just fine.’

  From the bar I went to a post office where I sent off ten dollars to Fred and the fifty I owed to Smith. I like to settle my debts while I’m still alive. I didn’t owe Smith fifty, but the extra ten was for having kept him waiting, and I thought that he’d earned it. From the post office I dropped off at the Tribune building, smiled at the sour-faced receptionist, and asked for admittance to the morgue.

  This time she didn’t argue.

  Harry blinked at me when I told him what I wanted.

  ‘Hard to tell,’ he said. ‘If she was in the news, yes. If not, no. It’ll take a little time.’

  ‘How much time?’ I glanced at my watch. ‘Couple of hours?’

  ‘At least. I’ll have to contact the wire services and scout around. This business or private?’

  ‘It could be both.’ I grinned at him. ‘You know me?’

  ‘Sure I know you, why?’

  ‘Nothing. You want fifty?’

  ‘Who doesn’t,’ he said, and grinned back. ‘Okay, I’ll get on to it.’

  I left it at that.

  Jelkson was a thin, dried-up little man with a head too big for his shoulders and a worried expression. He was waiting outside the office when I arrived and began to speak as soon as I opened the door.

  ‘It’s this way, Mr. Lantry. I found this wallet and took a look inside. I saw your card and thought that maybe you’d want it back.’

  ‘You thought right.’ I held out my hand. ‘Give.’

  He gave.

  I checked the wallet. My licence, the badge, some cards, the usual stuff. No money. I looked at him.

  ‘It was clean when I found it,’ he said unhappily. ‘I hope that you don’t think I’d take any money if it was there?’

  ‘I know it wasn’t there,’ I said. I looked at him. ‘Why didn’t you post it?’

  He wriggled at that one and I could tell the answer from the expression in his eyes. He was decent all right, and he didn’t like what he was doing, but sometimes a man has to take what he can. I reached for my pocket and took out some money.

  ‘So you want to be paid. How much?’

  ‘I—’ He swallowed again. ‘I thought—’ He gave it up. I was deliberately curt.

  ‘Come on, man. You want it, ask for it, how much?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he said, and with the refusal he seemed to recover his lost dignity. ‘Take it as a favour.’

  ‘No,’ I said, and waved for him to sit down. ‘Married?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Kids?’

  ‘Three.’

  ‘Wife sick?’

  ‘How did you know?’

  I didn’t bother to tell him. I’ve been around and I can recognise the signs when I see them. Shabby clothing, a summer overcoat in winter weather, the too-big eyes, and the waxen skin. The guy was starving himself and it was easy to guess why. I hefted the wallet.

  ‘This, in itself, isn’t very valuable,’ I told him. ‘You saved me the inconvenience of having to get a duplicate licence and badge, but that’s about all. Where did you find it?’

  ‘In a trash can. Sam’s pool rooms, down on the East Side.’

  I nodded, not asking him what he was doing prowling around trash cans, but he told me just the same.

  ‘I’m a garbage collector,’ he said. ‘On that job you get used to sorting the trash in case there’s anything of value. You’d be surprised at some of the things we find.’ He flushed. ‘Don’t think that I’m a crook or anything like that, but the city pay’s pretty low wages and—’

  ‘I understand. So you try to make a little on the side.’ I nodded. ‘So you found this leather dumped in a trash can belonging to Sam’s pool rooms. Give me the address.’

  He gave me the address.

  ‘Does anyone else know about this?’

  ‘No,’ he said, and flushed again. For a garbage collector he was quite a sensitive guy.

  ‘Good.’ I reached for my money. ‘The cost of replacing the stuff in the wallet would be about ten dollars.’ I gave him ten dollars. ‘The wallet itself another five.’ I gave him five more. ‘And the information as to where you got it and for buttoning your lip now and forever is worth the balance of fifty.’ I counted out more money and pushed the half-century towards him. ‘Okay?’

  ‘Gee, thanks, Mr. Lantry.’ He hesitated, one hand almost touching the money. ‘You don’t have to do this, you know. I was hoping for maybe a dollar for my trouble, but this is too much.’

  ‘Not to me it isn’t.’ I flicked him one of my cards. ‘If ever you’re in trouble, or if ever you think you can help me in some way, let me know. If the information is worth anything, I’ll pay you. Fair enough?’

  He nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and I guessed that he’d already decided how to spend the money.

  I hoped that he’d treat himself to a new coat but, knowing his type, I guessed that himself would be the last thing he’d think about.

  I stood at the window watching him scuttle down the street. It was getting dark again, and more snow was on the way. I sighed as I stared after him. In my business you meet all kinds, and you have to meet all kinds to stay in business. Some try to use you, others you can use, but I tried not to make enemies unless I chose them.

  A garbage collector wasn’t much, but he was two eyes and two ears and a mouth. He got around. He was grateful to me and, if he heard anything, he’d let me know. Little things? Sure, but that’s the way big agencies are made.

  I intended to get a big agency one day.

  If I lived long enough.

  The phone jarred and I answered it. It was Constance, trying the office before leaving word at the agency or maybe she wouldn’t have left word anyway.

  ‘Mike, you chiseller. What gives with Harry?’

  ‘He told you?’

  ‘Some, not all. What are you after?’

  ‘A hunch.’

  ‘In Texas? Who are you trying to kid?’

  ‘No one.’ I grinned into the phone at her snort of disbelief. ‘Look, Constance, we’ve an agreement. Play it my way and you won’t lose on it. Gum it up and neither of us gets anywhere. Did Harry get it yet?’

  ‘Give him time.’ She became thoughtful. ‘Rhoda Fleming, have I heard that name somewhere?’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘You’re a close-mouthed operator, Mike. I don’t get you. Built like a bruiser and with the face of a battered saint.

  What are you trying to do now? Find a murderer?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘This way?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Don’t want to talk, eh?’ She chuckled. ‘Okay, Mike, I won’t jam the works. I’ll expect to hear from you though.’

  ‘You’ll hear from me,’ I promised, and hung up. I looked at the phone then, on impulse, I dialled a number.

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  The voice was smooth, polite, too polite, the voice of a heel.

  ‘Is that the Purple Orchid?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I’d like to speak to one of your young ladies. I met her the other night, Georgette her name is; will you connect me please.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ the voice remained smooth, but now there was the hint of a bite in it. ‘Our hostesses are not allowed to receive personal messages.’

  ‘No? Well give me her home number then and I’ll contact her myself.’

  ‘We are not allowed to do that.’

  ‘No? What sort of a crummy joint is that? Put me on to the boss and I’ll ask him myself.’

  ‘I’ll try, sir, who is speaking, please?’

  ‘John Weston,’ I said. ‘Look, forget the boss, just tell Georgette that her friend, the one she met last night and who offered her a nice vacation, wants to see her. Will you do that?’

  ‘Well—’ The voice struggled to remain polite. ‘I’m not sure that—’

  ‘Skip it!’ I thickened my voice to a growl. ‘Save the syrup for the suckers. Give the dame my message, she’ll understand, and I’ll expect her to phone me. If I don’t hear from her, I’m coming up there, and if you haven’t given her the message I’ll rip your ears off. Get it?’

  ‘A tough guy, uh?’ Now the voice was no longer polite. No matter how you dress a heel, he’s still a heel. Rub him the wrong way and his true nature sticks out a mile. I grinned into the phone.

  ‘Tough enough to take you, fellow,’ I growled. ‘You and that fancy layout upstairs. Do as I say or I’ll see what a little persuasion will do. Now get the lead out of your pants and tell the dame she’s wanted.’

  ‘She ain’t here,’ the voice snarled. ‘It’s early yet.’

  ‘Okay. Then pass her the word, or else!’

  I hung up before he could break my eardrum.

  I sat for a while staring at the phone, but not really expecting an answer. Maybe they would tell Georgette, or maybe they wouldn’t. Thornedyke must have had plenty of experience in handling the would-be tough boys who had a big mouth and nothing else. Still, they might ask her who John Weston was supposed to be and, if she had any sense at all, she might guess who had called. I hoped so.

  After a while I rose and checked the Browning. I tucked my money into my newly recovered wallet, and put the wallet into my pocket. I took a last look around the office, made sure that the bottom drawer was really empty of Scotch, and went out into the corridor.

  I didn’t send for the elevator, I wanted to try Bresholm’s theory, and I felt a little sorry for the old janitor.

  So I let him sleep as I stepped out of the building. I wasn’t in a hurry anyway.

  I was going to play some pool.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Sam’s pool rooms consisted of a couple of plate-glass windows, a swing-door, and an uneven floor on which stood a dozen tables. A bar to one side sold hot-dogs, coffee, candy bars, and similar junk. A man leaned behind the counter, with a wooden board close to him against one wall on which he kept the tabs of those who were playing. A marker, a broken-down jockey by the look of him, shuffled about and kept the cues in order.

  On the surface the pool room looked like any one of a thousand others, a place to play pool, billiards, or even a little crap if no one was looking, but I knew that I only saw the half of it.

  There was a back room where they would have a line to the race track. There were other rooms where hard liquor was sold and private poker games held. It was a collecting point for the numbers game and similar rackets. It was the hang-out of adolescent heels, muggers, and heist boys, a place where you could buy a gunsel to kill a man, a couple of toughs to beat up someone you didn’t like, the sort of dive where youngsters took their first steps towards the electric chair.

  I let the doors swing behind me and looked the place over. The few men in the place looked me over too, halting their play while they watched me from the shadow of hat brims, their eyes narrowed and sharp like those of the rats they resembled. I walked over to the counter and bought a thick mug of slimy coffee. I sipped it, spat, and glared at the counter-man.

  ‘What’s the matter with this dump? No liquor?’

  ‘Not allowed to sell it.’ He peered at me from scarred eyes obviously trying to place me. ‘Fresh in town?’

  ‘Maybe.’ I fumbled out a cigarette and blew smoke towards him. ‘Seen Lefty?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Or Spike?’

  ‘Never heard of them.’

  ‘No?’ I shrugged. ‘Too bad. They told me to look them up whenever I hit town. Anything going on in the back room?’

  He didn’t answer that one and I didn’t expect him to. I jerked a thumb towards the tables.

  ‘Book me up.’

  ‘That’ll be fifty cents,’ he said, not moving. I threw him a dollar.

  ‘Let me know if Lefty or Spike comes in,’ I said. ‘I’ll be catching up on my pool.’

  I found a partner, some slant-eyed youngster who could have made a fortune playing in competitions if he hadn’t thought it smarter to hang around the fringe of the underworld. He let me win the fall-game, and then upped the ante for the next. I won that too, which surprised him, and agreed to play for double or quits. He won, easily but not by too big a margin, and looked at me as he chalked his cue.

  ‘Make this a real one?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘A sawbuck?’

  ‘I thought you said make it a real one?’ I squinted at him through the smoke of my cigarette. ‘A grand?’

  He hesitated. He could win and he knew it, but he didn’t know me. He decided to take a chance.

  ‘Sure, if you say so.’ I stopped him as he was about to break.

  ‘Hold it, pal. You got that kind of money?’

  ‘Sure.’ He tried to bluster and I knew that he was lying. I changed my voice for a growl.

  ‘Listen, sonny! If you play with me, you’ve got the moola to pay if you lose or else. Get me?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said, and his eyes scurried around in his head like a couple of white mice. ‘I ain’t no welcher.’

  ‘No? Then show the coin.’

  I watched him while he sweated.

  ‘Okay. We’ll make it a sawbuck,’ I said. ‘I ain’t got no time to argue.’

  He was so rattled he lost hands down.

  I tucked the greasy bill into my pocket and licked my lips.

  ‘Hell, ain’t there no place where we can get a snort around here? Lefty told me this was a right joint.’

  ‘Lefty?’

  ‘Yeah. You know him?’

  ‘Some.’ The guy, like all of his breed, was eager to bask in reflected glory. He glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. ‘I might be able to fix an “in” for you. You look a right guy and this is a right place. Where you from?’

  ‘Leavenworth,’ I said and didn’t smile as I mentioned the prison. ‘Don’t play patsy with me. Lefty knows me, Spike too; if there’s an “in” I want it.’ I took out his ten-dollar bill, screwed it into a ball, and tossed it towards him. ‘Here, buy yourself a candy bar.’

  He glared at me as he stooped for the bill. He didn’t like me and yet he envied me. Guys like that always envy a man who acts big and talks big and has money to flash around. He lowered his voice and sidled up to me.

  ‘Wait around a while. If I get you in, what’s it worth?’

  ‘A century.’ I turned away from him and began hitting balls across the table. I concentrated on some tricky shots and was just getting my hand in when I felt someone standing behind me. I turned, slowly, and stared at him.

  ‘Hello, shamus.’

  The purr was the same, the big hand with the big ring was the same, the mad, animal-gleam in the eyes. I looked at him, then glanced around. We were alone, the others had sensed something was up and had vanished. Even the marker was out of sight, probably behind the counter. Only the ex-fighter who ran the joint was visible. He walked towards us, a short club swinging from one hand.

  ‘Take it easy, Lefty.’

  ‘I thought that you didn’t know him?’ I said.

  ‘Button your lip, wise guy.’ He didn’t look at me and I could see little beads of sweat on his upper lip. He stared hard at the gunsel. ‘You heard what I said, Lefty?’

  ‘I heard you, Sam.’

  ‘Lefty is hot,’ I said calmly. ‘He’s liable to cut loose at any moment, aren’t you, Lefty?’

  ‘That’s right, shamus.’

  ‘See.’ I flicked my eyes towards Sam. ‘He runs the joint, not you. Right, Lefty?’

  ‘Right, shamus.’

  ‘Where’s Spike?’

  ‘Waiting for you.’ He grinned, showing me his blackened teeth. ‘He’s all cosy in the back room. Come and join us, copper!’

  ‘That’ll be lovely,’ I said. ‘Music too?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Lefty drew his hand from his pocket and I saw something in his hand. He pressed a switch and five inches of steel flashed out towards me. I tensed and he grinned as he looked down at the switch-knife.

  ‘Neat,’ I said. ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘Out of a Christmas cracker.’ He gestured with the blade. ‘Come on, shamus. Nice and easy now; you wouldn’t like to get this in your kidney now, would you?’

  I got the point.

  So did Sam.

  He stepped forward, the club poised in one big hand, and his eyes looked scared.

  ‘I’ve told you before, Lefty,’ he gritted. ‘No rough stuff in here. Take him outside if you want to beat him up, but not in here.’

  ‘Pipe down,’ said Lefty.

  ‘I’ve told you—’

  Lefty hardly seemed to move but suddenly Sam squealed and stared down at his shirt front. It was slit from side to side as neatly as though done with a pair of scissors. Lefty grinned.

  ‘Button your lip, Sam, and go peddle your coffee. I’ll take care of the shamus.’ His purr deepened as he looked at me. ‘I’ll take care of him but good.’

  Spike was sitting at a small table nursing a bottle of Scotch when we entered. Lefty was taking his time, enjoying every moment of it, and I could see that Spike didn’t like what was going on a bit. He was scared of Lefty, yet he didn’t have the guts to break loose from the big man’s dominance. He gulped Scotch and tried to make out he wasn’t there.

  Lefty chuckled and prodded me with the tip of the knife.

  ‘Okay, shamus, start something.’

  I did.

  I took a step forward and sent my left hand, the one holding the billiard ball I’d just picked off the table, swinging towards his face. I let the ball go at just the right moment and it smashed against the bridge of his nose with a satisfying thud. He squealed, his hands flying up to his ruined nose, the knife falling to stick point-down in the floor.