Kim said, “Baldy is the man I stood on during the war, when I tromped on his left shoulder, the tank went to the left. When I stepped on his right shoulder, it went to the right — usually.”
“Had fallen arches ever since,” Baldy said cheerfully.
“And you charming people got me out of bed to tell me about the war?”
“Baldy is my new assistant on this case, Hank,” Kim said. “It appears that I will find it necessary to sleep and also conduct a spot of research. During those periods, he will be your constant admirer. And should you meet up with a certain chauffeur, Baldy has my permission to do some amateur dental work on him.”
Baldy looked a bit frail. Suddenly the light dawned. I said, “Baldy Owen! Of course! I saw you take Moose Gainey at the Garden a month ago.”
“Nice fight, wasn’t it?” he said complacently. “Seems I busted a little bitty bone in my left hand on his thick skull. Can’t even train until it knits solid.”
For the first time I noticed the taped hand.
“How much does he know?” I asked Kim.
“Just that somebody is trying to knock you off in a lot of trick ways, Hank. He isn’t going to worry about who it is, just about how it might happen next.”
“I’ve been to so many movies I’m going nuts,” Baldy said. “This’ll be a nice change. Anybody got a claim on that nice chubby little redhead that let us in?”
“Keep your mind on your work, Baldy!” Kim said.
“Sure, sure. You go back to bed, Hank,” Baldy said. “Me, I’ll help the redhead. Kim says she works here. I wash a mean dish.”
As I was going back to sleep I heard the two of them giggling in the kitchen. When I got up again at two, Betty asked me if it was okay if Baldy had lunch with us. Her eyes were bright. I began to wonder if I had lost Betty.
Chapter IV
Baldy took me to the door of Lazardo’s Bar at six and, when he saw through the glass that Kim was sitting at the bar waiting, he said, “Owen to Hale. Over.”
He drifted off into the crowd and I went in and sat at the bar with Kim, sliding up onto the stool before he saw me coming. He bought me a Martini and told a waiter to bring his drink and mine over to a corner table. The next-door booth was empty so we could talk freely.
I had a thought that I had been working on most of the afternoon and I told him. The substance of it was that with Baldy on the job as well as Kim, I was being so well protected that whoever was after me would slide off over the horizon and twiddle his or her thumbs until the mob scene ceased.
He slowly twisted his glass on the black plastic tabletop. “Maybe yes, but just as probably no. The pixie we’re after has been clever up until now. You’ve just been lucky that not one of his tries has worked. A murderer who goes about it the way this one has is probably a shade psychopathic. Guessing at the type of mentality involved, I’d say that all this protection would be considered a challenge. I have a hunch the pixie would very much like to knife in between Baldy and me and rub you out.”
He paused to light my cigarette.
“I’ve been working, Hank,” he went on then. “All morning and all afternoon. I have one or two little items that might interest you. Of course, I didn’t meet Johnny France or your agent, Carl Hopper, yet. I worked on the others. Before I forget, did you see Wint’s column?”
I laughed. “When is the happy day, lover? Or haven’t we decided?”
“What I liked was that business about ‘brilliant young attorney.’ You know, this case may do me some good yet.”
“Get on with the dirt, Kim.”
“How did you know it was dirt? I looked up the ownership of the building where the Staccato Club is located. It’s owned by two brothers named Zachik. I paid a visit, told them I represented somebody who wanted to lease the whole building. They said that the lease of one tenant would run out in six months. I guessed that they meant Sam Lescott. I asked if he’d renew. They said that he would unless my client could offer a startlingly large sum to buy him off his option to renew. I said good-by and checked Sam’s credit. He is more flush than you’d expect. Any competition eager enough to get you out of the way in order to break him would be smart enough to know that getting rid of you wouldn’t do it. So, for a time, we’ll cross any mysterious business interests off our list.
“But checking the credit of Lescott, I also checked this former agent of yours, Roger Blate. He is in rough shape. When your friends worked him over, they also dropped a few words in the right places and a lot of his business has gone elsewhere. Johnny France is the best client he has left. Last month he had to move out of his apartment. Two ex-wives are into him for alimony and he will probably be dodging a process-server one of these days. He has every reason to hate you, but killing you will not, of course, restore his bankroll.
“Now for Donald Frees. His mother spent a lot of her life in and out of sanitariums. There is always the chance that Donald may have inherited a little of his mother’s lack of balance, but it is hard to see what he’d gain by killing you while trying to talk you into marrying him.”
I was impressed. “You get around, don’t you?”
“You are paying for it, Hank. Eager attorney doing job eagerly.”
At the break just after midnight I got Johnny France to come over to the table and meet Kim. Johnny’s real name is Juan Francisco and he’s a good boy to work with. At times he is moody and at other times entirely too gay, but neither emotion affects his singing. Like most people in our business he has had his lean times, and it has taught him a certain amount of humility.
He was in one of his down moods and spent most of the time at our table staring at the tablecloth while Kim’s conversation and mine floated over his sleek head.
After he left the table Kim said, “Moody kid, isn’t he?”
“Up and down. But no matter how happy he is, those big dark eyes of his always look sad.”
Kim was waiting in the alley when I let myself out the side door. The glowing end of his cigarette arced over through the darkness and he stepped out into the light, smiling up at me.
I started down the steps, smiling back when an unseen sledge hammer caught me in the side. It smashed the breath out of me and drove me off the steps, the echo of the shot roaring in the narrow canyon of the alley.
I fell on my side, gagging and straining to get my breath back. Another shot sounded — Kim’s gun. I heard the slap of shoes against the pavement. My side ached and I touched it with my fingertips, feeling for the blood that should be there.
Kim came back, dropped on his knees beside me. He was breathing hard and his voice was hoarse.
“Where is it, darling?” he asked. “Where did it hit you?”
“My side,” I gasped, touching it with my right hand.
The cop who had talked with us the night before came running down the alley.
“Where was that shot?” he demanded.
Kim pointed toward the street. I let myself fall back against the pavement. Kim’s quick fingers unbuttoned the jacket to my suit. He pulled the blouse up out of my skirt, rolled me gently so that the light touched my side. As his fingers probed at my ribs, I fainted.
When I swam back up through the layers of darkness, I was on the couch in my dressing room. A stranger, the light glistening on his bald head, was stripping wide adhesive off a roll and taping my ribs.
When I moaned, he looked at my face and said, “Hello, young woman. Exhale, please.”
I did so, and he taped me up. We were alone in the room. I could hear voices out in the hall. I suddenly realized I was bare from the waist up, but, as I reached for one of the couch cushions he said, “If you feel strong enough, you can slip into your clothes now.”