“A cozy situation,” I said. “If Marcus did go for the broad he could have arranged Hilquist’s accident, then took his time about moving in so no finger gets pointed at him.”
“You’re forgetting one thing,” she said.
“What?”
“The wheels in the Syndicate don’t like intramural rivalries. They’d go after anybody acting independently of their instructions, especially if it would jeopardize their operations.”
“That only leaves two conclusions then,” I said. “Either it was an accident or they arranged for it to happen.”
“What do you think, Regan?”
“I don’t know. It’ll all too damn pat.”
Before we could get into it deeper the waiter brought the lunch in and set down the plates. At the same time a foursome drifted by, picked the table next to us and sat down, so we relaxed into casual conversation, finished and went back out to Forty-fourth Street, where we waited for a cab.
I flagged one down and helped her into it, keeping my eyes off the flash of white that showed above the nylon hose momentarily, and she grinned when she spotted my prudishness. I said, “Check it out further if you can. I’ll be at the apartment this evening and you can reach me there.”
Madaline made a kiss of her lips and nodded. “Sure. I like to pay off my obligations.”
“Go...”
“Uh-uh... none of that talk,” she laughed.
Popeye Lewis and Edna Rells had been playing at the common-law marriage game for a long time. In the beginning they had been part of the freedom loving sect who had a distaste for permanent ties and decided to try it on for size until it was over, but after four years it still wasn’t ended and they had taken on all the semblance of old married couples without the benefit of law.
The building Popeye had bought with the millions he inherited was the only dip into the estate his father had left him. The renovations came out of his earnings as an oil painter and it was hurting him to be successful. He and Edna would rather have lived as true peasants. Between the two of them they had a five-figure annual income, a crazy sex life and were the envy of the phonies who ran down their talents at the same time they cultivated them for their whiskey handouts and fabulous parties.
Popeye waved me in, a brush between his teeth and his beard clotted with paint. Edna was studying a half-finished canvas, standing beside a full length mirror with a smock thrown over her hastily. I knew she had nothing on under it. The picture was a profile nude of herself and she was her own model. She was irritated at the interruption, stamped her foot with impatience and grinned, “Why the hell should I be bashful on your account, Regan? You know what a naked woman looks like?”
I glanced at the picture. “Now I do.”
“Then go talk to Popeye,” she told me. With a hitch of her shoulders she tossed the smock off and went back to studying herself in the mirror and putting the impression down on the canvas. She was quite a woman. Quite. But somehow there was no indecency to it at all. It was like looking at a bowl of fruit. Not really... but something like that.
Popeye ignored it all and popped open a can of beer and held it out to me. “I was going to send a card of congratulations, Regan. I didn’t know if you’d appreciate the joke.”
“Wouldn’t have mattered.”
He pushed over a bar stool and wiped it off. “Sit down. What’s the word?”
“The redhead.”
“Ah, yes, the redhead.”
“It didn’t come out at the trial.”
“One of many that night, my boy. What about her?”
“She’s dead.”
“So I heard. Spud mentioned it in passing this morning.”
“You saw the papers?”
“I did and she was there.” He drank half the can off without a stop, took a deep breath and went on. “You were riding high, that night, buddy-o. I played it down on the stand... just answered the questions, but if I didn’t know you better I’d say you were mainlining for the first time. I never saw you like that before. What the hell happened?”
“You think I killed Leo Marcus?”
“Regan, I couldn’t care less... but no. You talked it up a lot, but you’re too square for that kind of action. Where’d you really get the load?”
“Somebody goosed me with a mickey.”
“Who? That kind of stuff doesn’t go at the Climax. Not with a cop, even for a joke.”
“It wasn’t a joke.”
Popeye dumped the rest of the beer down, opened another can and offered me one. When I shook my head he said, “Why were you there, friend? That wasn’t your beat any more.”
“Al Argenio used to go with a hatcheck girl from the place.”
“Ah, Helen the Melons. Quite a spoonful. Size forty-four chest. They weren’t simpatico, kiddily. He used his badge to bump the opposition out of the way and that old Helen the Melons didn’t like. She craved attention and appreciation of her superabundant mammaries. That was her come on, her stock in trade, her excuse of the un-necessity of education and her hope for the future. She did great with casual trade, but to get close to her you’d have to stand behind her or be crowded out of the way. Now you give me Edna there, who is only a simple thirty-eight...”
“Go up a stick,” Edna said without taking her eyes off the mirror.
“True artist type,” Popeye smiled.
“What happened to the melons?”
Popeye nursed his beer again and grunted. “Too much Al Argenio. She asked for a transfer. Nobody told poor Al... he wasn’t the popular type... but she’s over in Brooklyn at the Lazy Daisy inhaling at the natives.”
“What’s this transfer bit?”
He put the can down and picked up a cigarette. His eyes were suddenly sober. “You know the Climax?”
“How?”
“Check the ownership. Like it’s a Lesbian joint mostly and the squares come in for a look and pay the freight. It cracks a big nut. One of the many holdings in the hands of that abstraction you people call the Syndicate.”
“Who passed that on?”
“My lawyer who’s beating his balls off to get me straightened out. He has me followed, tries to prove I lead a life not conducive to a solid citizen who owns most of three corporations and can draw on a fat bank account. He just don’t know, man. He shows me where I hang out in a den of iniquity run by a nest of thieves. He wants me back in grey flannel suits attending board meetings.”
“I thought Stucker owned the Climax.”
“You aren’t hep, old boy. Maybe it looks like he does, but he pays off to some funny people then. I’ve been around there a long time and it was Leo Marcus’ boys who made those weekly visits. But just don’t try to buck the system. It’s liable to explode on you. They have accountants and machines and front men all making up to a tidy little sub rosa government that pulls a lot of weight. You see what it cost you for prying.”
“You seem to know a lot, Popeye.”
“I got big ears, a lot of talkative friends and a sharp insight into this wild world of money-hungry denizens. Why do you think I pulled out of it?”
“Everybody to their own taste.” I looked at him, flipping the empty can into a trash basket. “You never finished with the redhead.”
“So she was there. So were a lot of others. You were quite a card.”
Edna Rells stepped out from behind the canvas, a lovely naked figure with a paint streak just above her navel and a brush tucked in her hair. “With all the crowding, Spud couldn’t get to the table. She took the tray and served the drinks. One belt later and you were all over her.”