Once upon a time, the Princess was a reputable second-class hotel. I could see from the lobby that it was now running about seventh. It smelled of stale cigars and cheap disinfectant. The sodden furniture and the greasy tile floor held the memories of ten thousand traveling salesmen.
There was one light in the deserted lobby. It was over the desk. A young citizen with a bald head, oversized teeth and a vile necktie gave us a quick glance as we walked up.
“Double room, sir?” he said with a faint leer, spinning the register around.
Jerry frowned at him and I said: “Wrong guess, friend. I got a present for you.” I took out a five and creased it lengthwise and set it on the marble counter. It stood up like a little tent.
He reached for it and I tapped him on the back of the hand with my middle finger. They say that concert pianists can bust plate glass with their little finger. I can rap pretty good with my middle one.
He snatched his hand back and rubbed it. “Funny guy, hey?”
“Not at all. I just want to be understood before you fasten onto my dough. I got some curiosity about a guy who lives here. I want to know who comes to see him.”
“Maybe I can tell you and maybe I can’t. Some of the... uh, guests, pay a little extra so they won’t be bothered with guys who are curious. Maybe the guy you want to know about has paid us some insurance.”
I tried to think quickly. I decided that time was so short, it wouldn’t hurt to let him know. “Jake Thomason.”
“Let me see. Thomason. Thomason.” He riffled through a visible file that hung on the side of the cashier’s cage. “Room two-eleven. No insurance. Now what is it. you want to know?”
Just then I heard steps clacking across the tile toward the desk. I winked at the desk clerk and slipped my arms around Jerry’s waist. I edged her down the desk into the shadows and murmured in her ear: “Make out tike you go for this.” She put her hands on my shoulders and I went just a little bit dizzy.
I heard the man behind me say: “Give two-eleven a buzz. Tell him Joe is here.”
The clerk stepped over to the switchboard. “Mr. Thomason? Desk. Man named Joe wants to come up. O.K.?” He yanked out the plug and said: “O.K., go on up. You’ll have to use the stairs. Elevator man’s across the street getting some coffee.”
I felt Jerry stiffen a little in my arms. When the man had clumped up the stairs, she drew me away from the desk and pulled my head down so she could get her lips close to my ear.
“Hey, I know who that was. Mr. Sellers. He runs the Western Inn. I tried to get a job there just before Mr. Browne hired me.”
I turned back to the desk. “You can keep the five. I changed my mind. I’m not curious any more.” I tossed it onto the marble counter.
He snatched it up. “Sure, mister, sure. And don’t bother telling me to keep my mouth shut. You’re a five-dollar friend. I don’t get so many of those. Maybe I can sell you something sometime.”
I walked slowly out with Jerry on my arm. I walked back to the car and we sat and had a cigarette. She tried to ask me questions but I shushed her while I did some thinking. It had to be more than a coincidence. Night club managers don’t go calling on other night clubs’ dishwashers. It fitted in with the shoes.
I could tell by the set of Jerry’s shoulders that she was getting annoyed with me. “Hey, Jerry. Wait up. I had to do some thinking. The way I figure it, this guy Sellers is running the shakedown. Jake has to be his plant out at the Howler’s place. Now all I got to do is tell the Howler and we’ll have the cops give Sellers a going over. But something may go on here. Do you think you can do something for me? Alone?”
I grabbed her hand again and she softened. “I guess so, Bud.”
“You saw that all-night cafeteria across the street and down a ways from the hotel? It’s got a big window in the front end. You go on in there and sit where you can see the front of the hotel. Nurse some coffee along and get nasty if they try to charge you rent for file table. I’ll be back after you.”
She didn’t want to be left alone. She said ho twice, and finally yes. I let her out and headed on back for the Quin Pines. I was restless and excited. I tried to shove my foot down into the motor.
I skidded into the parking lot in a shower of gravel. The club was dark. I slammed the door and sprinted over the knoll toward the Howler’s house. I knew he would be glad to hear the new angle.
After about three minutes of leaning on the bell and banging the door, Mrs. Browne came and opened it a crack. Her hair was in curling gadgets and her eyes looked sleepy.
“Why, hello, Bud. What’s the matter? Where’s Stephen?”
I had to adjust to that. Finally I remembered that it was the right name for the Howler. I gasped. “Isn’t he in there? Isn’t he asleep?”
“He hasn’t come back from the club yet.”
I stood on one foot and then on the other. I had seen that the club was dark. I didn’t know what to say. She looked anxious and less sleepy. Then we both heard it — the thin sharp crack of a shot. Small caliber. From the direction of the club. I turned without a word or a look and raced back faster than I had come. I had to go over the knoll, across a corner of the parking lot and across the back yard of the club.
I was making such good time that I skidded and almost fell when I hit the gravel. As I raced onto the dark lawn, a dim shape loomed up in front of me. I swerved and stopped. I must have looked as dark and mysterious to him as he did to me. The fact that he didn’t look big enough to be the Howler decided me. I hesitated a fraction of a second and then dove at his knees. It is the last time in my life that I shall ever dive at anyone’s knees — even a four year old child’s.
You leave the ground with your hands spread out. You can’t turn in the air. All the opposite party has to do is sling a large fist in between your paws. Automatically it will catch you in the lower half of the face.
The world exploded in a ball of red fire and I lay on my back. The dank grass tickled the back of my neck. I heard footsteps hurrying across the gravel. I didn’t want to sit up. I didn’t want to move. I wanted to rest in peace.
I found something in my mouth. It turned out to be a small chunk of tooth. I sat up and grabbed the grass to keep from falling off the lawn. In the distance, a car roared away. Some late crickets cheeped at me. I got to my feet just as Mrs. Browne came up. Her terry-cloth robe was white against the shadows.
“Mrs. Browne,” I said softly and she hurried over to me. “I just got slugged by somebody who was leaving in a hurry.” I didn’t talk so well with a piece of my front tooth missing. The cold air hurt it. It made me whistle on the letter s. My chin was damp and sticky with blood. “Maybe the Howler’s around here someplace.”
She held onto my arm and we circled the joint. We found him half in and half out of the side door. He moaned and I stumbled over him. I lit a match. He was face down, his hand opening and shutting against the concrete. Mrs. Browne moaned and slipped down beside him. I caught her before she hit her head. I slapped her conscious and made her wait while I brought my car over. We wrestled him into the front seat. She sat and held him up while I drove back across the field to their house. It strained me to get him in onto the day bed in the study. While she was phoning the doctor, I pulled his bloodstained shirt out of his pants and took a look. He had a small hole right in the center of the plump mound of his tummy. It looked bad.