No doubt Nolan had recognized Ralph, Morrie thought. But maybe he wouldn’t remember. Sometimes people couldn’t remember what had happened for hours before they got knocked out. But you couldn’t depend on that. No. You could depend on Nolan remembering. And of course the police would stay with him. The police would want a statement from him as soon as he could waggle his tongue.
The coppers were good here in Las Vegas, Morrie had heard, smart police officers.
Well, he had three thousand bucks of Nolan’s dough. It didn’t seem right to hand it back — not to a guy like Nolan. But that’s what Myrna wanted, and it had to be done.
But Ralph had certainly overlooked everything. There should be an angle that might work the other way, too, but Ralph would never be able to think of it.
For instance, Ralph had heard Nolan say he’d leave the Monte Drake by the back way. That hadn’t meant anything to Ralph except a chance to get Nolan alone in the alley. But why leave by the back way?
That wasn’t so difficult to figure. Nolan would go out the back way because he wanted to avoid somebody. Who would he want to avoid? A sucker. What kind of a sucker? One whose cash he had already acquired. Why would he want to avoid the sucker? Because the sucker had woke up, sore, and wanted to start something.
Well, now it was necessary to get to Nolan, fix up the cash angle, and keep him from tweeping to the police. From here on it would take a bit of doing.
On the way to Nolan’s hotel, Morrie stopped at the newspaper office and went through the files. While he was there he bought a paper.
At Nolan’s hotel, Morrie told the clerk: “I want to see Hank Nolan.”
“I don’t know about that, sir,” the clerk said. He was looking past Morrie at someone beyond, but Morrie didn’t look around. “You heard what happened to Mr. Nolan, sir?”
“I heard,” said Morrie. “Has he come around yet?”
“Not that I know of, sir.” The clerk was talking loud. “No, sir. You ask about Mr. Nolan, but I can’t say, sir. The orders—”
“Excuse me.” The voice was at Morrie’s shoulder. The man was large and he was dressed in a dark suit, something like a uniform, only it wasn’t. An officer, Morrie knew: one of those good Las Vegas coppers, a very fair guy but tough. “I heard you ask for Nolan,” the man went on. “I’m Macy of the police. You know this man Nolan?”
“I know him quite good,” said Morrie. “I knew him back in Chi and other places. I’ve only been in town a couple of days. I’m Morrie Random. I just heard about Nolan getting bopped. Thought maybe I could help.” Morrie looked at Macy. He was a smart copper, all right, easygoing but shrewd. “How is he?”
Macy shrugged. “Not serious, I guess. The doc says he should be O. K. quick now. How did you think you could help?”
“Well, I don’t know.” Morrie grinned. “I know Nolan. He maybe won’t talk. You know how it is. But if he ain’t hurt much, you boys won’t be interested.”
“I think we will. There’s some cash missing.”
Morrie lifted an eyebrow. “Robbed, huh? How’d you know?”
“Nolan’s partner, Jake Harber, says Nolan had several grand on him. It was gone.” It seemed to Morrie that Macy had his eye fixed on Morrie’s coat. It was there, in the inside pocket, that Morrie had Nolan’s money. Macy added: “You know Jake Harber?”
“Not very good. Nolan picked him up lately. I’ve seen him but I don’t know him. Could I get up to see Nolan?”
Macy considered. “You’ll help get him to talk?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” said Morrie.
There was no reason why Morrie should want Nolan to talk, and Morrie knew that Macy would think of that. Still, the officer didn’t know that Nolan was more likely to talk than not to, in this case. Anyhow, the police would want Nolan to talk, more than anything else. It was more than just finding out who bopped Nolan, or if he had been robbed. The Las Vegas police wanted to know who was who around the town, and what was going on.
Macy said: “Let’s go up.”
Nolan had a small suite, two rooms with a bathroom between. His stooge, Jake Harber, occupied one of the two rooms.
Harber and a young man nurse were in the room with Nolan when Morrie and Macy went in. Harber was a thin scraggly man with thin hands and large dreamy eyes.
Harber stared. He recognized Morrie and said: “Hello, Random.”
“Hello, Harber,” Morrie said affably. “It’s too bad about what happened to Nolan.”
“Sure.”
Morrie nodded. Sure, Harber would have a very good idea what had happened, but he wouldn’t talk — not before Nolan did. And Nolan wasn’t ready to talk yet. Nolan was lying on the bed, and there were bandages wrapped around his head.
He was a short heavy man and his fat jowls were dark with the whiskers that showed through the pale skin. With his head on the, pillow, his face looked like an upside-down chocolate pudding, Morrie thought.
The young man nurse was sitting on the bed. “Glad you came up,” he said to Macy. “I think this bird will come around soon.”
Macy said that was very good and sat in a chair near the bed. Morrie sat in a chair, too, close to the bed, near the head end. Nobody made much noise, just waited for Nolan to show some signs of life.
Morrie pulled his newspaper from his pocket and sat there reading it. He did not open it out, just read the back page. There was nothing on the back page except vital statistics and legal notices, but that’s all that seemed to interest him at the moment.
Presently Nolan groaned. His eyes opened. It took a little time to figure out where he was, and then he whined: “A drink!”
The nurse gave him a drink and he looked around. He saw Macy and Morrie. He understood Macy’s being there but Morrie puzzled him.
Macy started right in: “You sure got a sweet wallop, Nolan.”
“Yeah,” mumbled Nolan.
He looked at Morrie again. He was certainly puzzled about the presence of Morrie.
Macy said: “Can you talk, Nolan? Somebody whammed you hard and took your dough. Maybe we can get the guy if you talk fast.”
Nolan’s ugly little eyes gleamed. Sure, he wanted to talk. Morrie could see that. But he was still looking at Morrie.
Macy urged: “Better tell what you know.”
Nolan worked his tongue and started: “Well, I—”
“Better tell it right,” put in Morrie, very softly.
Nolan looked at Morrie again. Morrie was still holding his newspaper in front of him, looking over it at Nolan. The front page of the newspaper was facing Nolan. Gently, Morrie’s forefinger, as he held the paper, was working up and down. It was caressing the first column on the front page.
Nolan put his hand to his head. “I dunno,” he said vaguely. He looked up at Macy. “You know how it is. It was hard to see—”
“Oh, I wouldn’t talk that way, Nolan,” Morrie cut in again. “Macy needs something definite. You should give it to him. Now, try to remember. Some guy bopped you. Was he tall or short or maybe in between?”
Nolan said: “Huh? Aw, I guess he was sort of in between. Yeah, he was a kind of stocky guy.”
“Now, about his color,” prompted Morrie. “Dark or fair, or maybe redheaded?”
“Huh? Well, I dunno. I couldn’t see very good, but my guess is he was a red-head.”
Macy grinned. He was getting somewhere now. Morrie grinned, too, but Macy didn’t notice that.
“And how was he dressed?” said Morrie. “I mean, good or bad?”
“Pretty bad,” said Nolan. “Yeah, like a bum.”
Morrie leaned forward. “Did you recognize him?”
Nolan swished down another drink, a small one. He said: “I never saw the guy before in my life.”