Figure it Out For Yourself (16 page)

His mouth fell open and his eyes popped.

'Why, Souki told me…'

He stopped; a little late. A faint flush rose to his face: but he was too old to be really angry.

'Your hat, sir.'

I took it and slapped it on the back of my head.

'Sorry about that,' I said, and meant it. 'Think no more about it'

He closed the door behind me. Looking back, I could see him watching me through the glass panels. I felt he was still watching me by the time I reached the end of the terrace.

If Souki had told him, Souki had also told Marshland. I wasn't getting ahead very fast, but I was making progress. I got into the Buick, started the engine and stared across the garden at the Pacific. I couldn't go on like this. I would have to do something that would bring the secrets out into the open. But what?

I lit a cigarette and flicked the match out of the car. Then I drove slowly down the private road, thinking.

Perelli had told Francon he was playing card with Joe Betillo at Delmonico's bar on the night of the kidnapping. He had said he left Betillo at ten-thirty. Betillo had said it was nine-thirty. Why? Was Betillo in this or was bribed. If who was bribed, who had bribed him? The evening was before me. Maybe it might be a good idea to check Perelli's alibi. I was in the mood for trouble. Two girls had been murdered this day. A tall, unknown gentleman in sunglasses had tried to lay me among the sweet peas. The fourth richest woman in the world had told me a number of lies. It might be an idea to top off the day with a visit to Delmonico's Bar, the toughest dive on the Coast.

I felt in the mood to be tough. I decided to go there.

Paula's cool voice floated over the line: 'Good evening. Universal Services.'

'Are you all alone there?' I asked, pushing my hat to the back of my head and wiping my forehead. The call-box was as hot as a circus tent, and the last occupant had fallen in a vat of Night and Day, the aristocrat of perfumes, to judge by the smell she had left behind

'Oh, Vic; yes, I'm alone. How did you get on?'

'Nothing to get excited about. Promise me something, will you?'

'What?'

'Never wear Night and Day perfume. It's horrible stuff.'

'Why bring that up? I wouldn't wear it if they gave it to me.'

'That's fine. This call-box stinks of it. I'm feeling stifled.'

'What happened, Vic?'

'Marshland has suddenly rushed off on a vacation in Europe. That's what Serena tells me. It's my bet he was lurking upstairs somewhere, probably biting his nails. I told her he was possibly at the bottom of the kidnapping. She chucked an ingbing and ran off, piping her eye.'

'Seriously?'

'Well, she looked scared. I think she's thought that all along. These rich, well-connected families have a horror of being lagged out of their shells. The butler was revealing too. Nice old boy: one of the old school. I jumped him about Souki, and before he could stop himself he admitted Souki had told him Dedrick was a smuggler. How do you like that?'

'It doesn't help Perelli very much, does it?'

'You're quite right It doesn't help him a bit. I'm going to do something about him right now. There's a small point you might take care of. Will you send a cable to Jack and tell him what I've found cut about Dedrick? Tell him to get hustling.'

Paula said she would get the cable off right away.

'When you've done that, shut up and go home.' I told her.

'What are you doing ?'

'I'm digging a little more. The night's young yet.'

'Don't be reckless, will you, Vic?'

I said I'd handle myself as carefully as I'd handle a Ming vase, and hung up before she could ask any more questions.

I got into the Buick again and drove to Monte Verde Avenue. No. 245 was, as Myra Toresca had said, a small, painted bungalow with crazy paving where the garden should have been and a high, overgrown hedge to foil inquisitive neighbours.

I parked the Buick outside, pushed open the low wooden gate and walked up the path. A light showed in one of the windows; a shadow crossed the blind as I rapped on the front door.

The door opened a few inches. Myra asked, 'Who is it?'

'Malloy.'

She slid off the chain, opened the door. The passage behind her was dark.

'Come in. I was wondering when you were coming.'

I followed her into the lighted sitting-room. I was surprised to see her taste ran to frilly cushions, china masks and ornamental dolls.

She was wearing her windbreaker and slacks. Her eyes were heavy-looking and her face pallid. She didn't look as if she had had much sleep since last I saw her. .

'What's cooking?' she asked as she fetched out a bottle of Scotch, glasses and ice. I've been walking the floor since last night.'

Last night! It didn't seem possible that so much had happened in twenty-four hours.

I dropped into an easy chair.

'Plenty, but I'm not sure that it does us any good. I've a little job on you might like to help me with, but before I go into that, I'll get you up to date on what's happened so far.'

She stood before the empty fireplace, her hands in her trouser pockets, a cigarette between her lips, her face set and cold while talked.

I didn't leave out any of the details, and the story took the best part of a half an hour.

'I have a lot of facts,' I concluded, 'but no proof; and it's proof We must have. I must build up a case that'll stand up in court. What I've told you makes a good yarn, but Francon couldn't use it as it stands. The next move is to get the proof, and the only way we can get it is to fight Barratt with his own wea-pons. The first and easiest move is to try to establish Nick's alibi. He told Francon he was playing cards with Joe Betillo from eight-thirty to ten-thirty. Betillo said he left Delmonico's at nine-thirty. Betillo is a notorious character in Coral Gables. He'd sell his own mother for a dollar. I'm going out there to-night and see if I can find anyone who saw Perelli leave. Maybe someone did, but is scared to get in bad with Betillo. If I can't find anyone, then I'm going to get hold of Betillo, bring him here and persuade him to change his mind about the time Nick left. That all right with you?'

She gave a hard little smile.

'That's fine,' she said. 'If you can't make him talk, perhaps I can.'

'We'll both try. Has Nick any friends? Anyone big and tough who'd help me handle Betillo?

He'll need a lot of handling.'

Myra shook her head.

'Nick doesn't make friends easily. We haven't long been here. I'll help you.'

'No. This isn't the kind of outing you take a girl on. Never mind. I'll get hold of Mike

Finnegan. He's always ready for trouble.'

'I'm doing it,' Myra said. I'm a little tired of sitting here, doing nothing. I can handle a gun. I have more incentive than your friend; a lot more incentive. Tell me what to do, and I'll do it.'

I studied her, decided to take a chance.

'Look, don't let's have any misunderstanding. We don't want to kill this guy: we just want to make him talk.'

She gave me a look that sent a prickle up my spine.

'Get him here, and I'll make him talk.'

I stood up.

'Well, come on. Let's go.'

She pulled open a drawer and took out a .25, checked the clip and pushed the gun into her hip pocket. She finished her whisky, glanced at herself in the mirror.

'Jeepers! I look a fright. I'm glad Nick isn't here to see me.'

'He'd be glad to see you however you look,' I reminded her and went to the door.

She turned out the light, and together we walked down the garden path to the Buick.

'Suppose we collect Barratt and make him talk,' she said as she settled herself in the car beside me. Wouldn't that save a little time?'

'I'm not too sold on the idea of forcing a guy to talk,' I said driving towards the water-front. 'It might work with Betillo but not with Barratt. He's too important. He could give us the works, then swear we forced him to confess under torture when he got in the box. That kind of evidence doesn't stand up.'

'If you don't save Nick, I'm going to get Barratt,' she said in a hard, tight voice. 'That's something I've promised myself.'

I parked the car in the shadows, a few yards from Delmonico's Bar.

'Let's concentrate on saving Nick,' I said. 'There'll be plenty of time to take care of Barratt if we can't do it the legal way. Have you ever been in this joint?'

'Of course I have. Nick used to come here practically every night.'

'I want to look at the room in which Nick and Betillo played cards. Can you swing that?'

'I can if no one's using it'

'Let's go in and find out.'

We walked up the five wooden steps that led into the bar. Inside was brightly lit and full of people. A juke-box was churning out the Ha
rry Lime Theme. Bi
g, tough-looking men propped up the bar. At the tables scattered around the room girls in halters and shorts were trying to convince their male companions that there was more fun upstairs than sitting in smoke-laden room, drinking rot-gut whisky. They didn't seem to be getting anywhere.

It was the kind of scene you can see in any Warner Bros movie. All you needed was a tracking shot up to Humphrey Bogart and you'd feel at home.

Myra seemed to know her way around. She walked across sawdust-covered floor up to the bar and crooked a finger at one of the barmen.

I stood behind her, waiting for trouble.

Four or five men, as wide as they were tall, who were up at the bar, stopped talking and looked at her.

They looked over their shoulders at me, sneered, turned their attention to Myra again.

'Hello, girlie,' one of them said softly.

This, of course, I thought, is where trouble starts. I was a fool to have brought her here. Instead of getting evidence, I was going to get into a fight with a bunch of toughs as big as Carnera.

Myra turned slowly, looked the four men over, said four words with unbelievable viciousness that froze them in their tracks, turned back to the bar again.

Silently, as if they had peeped into a room in which something was going on that shocked even their unshockable minds, they drifted away from the bar and sat at one of the tables.

Myra whispered to the barman, who looked at her narrowly, nodded his head and jerked his thumb to the stairs.

'Come on,' she said to me. 'We can go up.'

We pushed our way through the crowd to the stairs.

'You have quite a way with you when you're aroused,' I said as we mounted the stairs.

I can take care of myself. The bigger they are the softer the centre. I haven't kicked around with men all my life for nothing.' There was a cold, brooding look on her face. The barman says Betillo's got a poker game up here in half an hour.'

'Will he tip him?'

She shook her head.

'He's a friend of mine. What do we do? Wait until he shows and grab him?'

'Let's look the territory over first.'

We reached the head of the stairs. Before us stretched a long passage, lined on either side by doors.

'Room 15,' Myra said, walked along the passage, paused outside a door, turned the handle and pushed the door open. She groped for the light switch, turned it on and we went in together.

The room was big. Under green-shaded lights was a round table, equipped with decks of playing cards and two wooden racks containing poker chips. There were about ten chairs grouped round the table; a couple of brass spittoons completed the furnishing.

'Okay,' I said. 'Now where's the back exit which Nick used?'

She turned out the light and we went to the far end of the passage. A door opened on to a veranda, overlooking an alley. A steep flight of wooden steps linked the veranda with the alley.

'Right. We'll wait for him inside. If he shows fight, I'll rap him on the dome, but if we can, we'll try to persuade him to walk. He's no light weight.'

We moved back into the passage again.

'Any of these other rooms empty, do you know?'

'Look and see,' she said, opened the first door she came to and groped for the light switch. There was an angry yell, and a flood of violent language, and she turned off the light hurriedly.

'That one isn't,' she said, moved to the next door.

'Wait a minute,' I said, grabbing her arm. 'We'll have a riot up here if you keep doing that. Let's try the door opposite 15.

We went farther down the passage and paused outside the door opposite 15. I rapped gently. There was a sound of movement and the door opened.

A tall, tired-looking blonde in a none-too-lean wrap peered at me. Her painted face brightened a little, the smudged lips forced a smile.

'Hello, honey, looking for me?'

Then she saw Myra and her face turned to stone.

'What do you want?'

Her face was familiar. My mind groped back into the pa remembered a night when I'd been in trouble, had come through the skylight into this passage and the blonde had saved me.

'Remember me? We had a little fun about two years back,' I said, moving so the light from her room fell on my face. I went out of the window with half the cops in Coral Gables after me.'

She stared, frowned, then her face brightened again.

'Jeepers! I'd forgotten you. I remember. You spoilt one of my best sheets, sliding out of that window. What are you doing here ? More trouble ?'

'Could we come in and talk?'

She looked at Myra.

'She too?'

'Yeah; this is business.'

She must have remembered I hadn't been tight-fisted last time we met, and she stood aside.

'Well, come on in. It's not much of a place for visitors,' she meant Myra.