Rivera coughed again and nodded jerkily. “And it’s the truth. What’d you think I could say. Hell, Mr. Regan, why’re you picking on me, now. You got off. You...”
“I said I wasn’t on your back.”
“Then whatta you want from me?”
“A couple of minor things that never came out at the trial. Let’s ask them now.”
“Sure.”
“You remember everything that happened?”
“How you expect me to forget? Here I drive you out so you can...”
“Drop it. Let’s start at the beginning. Where were you when I got in the cab?”
“In the front spot. Chick and Dooley were right behind me.”
“And I came out and got in the cab?”
“Yeah.”
“I was supposed to have been pretty drunk.”
He fidgeted in his seat and tugged at the shift lever. “Well, you got in. The place was closing up. You weren’t the only rum dum coming out.”
“Think hard, Guy. Who put me in the cab?”
“How do I know! Hell, you know how it is. Drunks all over the place. Somebody gives them an arm in. All the time it happens.”
“I never get that soused, friend. Who was doing the favors?”
He shoved the lever away from him and twisted around. Worry and fright were stark things that drew thin lines down the lean cheeks and a fine bead of sweat wet his forehead. “I don’t want to make trouble, Mr. Regan.”
“You won’t.”
“Well... they didn’t let me say much at the trial. Just asked a few questions. But when... that... happened I kept thinking about it, me being so close to it. Hell, I could even have stopped it if I knowed. You come out of there with a bunch of people, but some broad stuffed you in the cab.”
“Broad?”
“Yeah. Now I didn’t see her face good because I wasn’t looking, see? But she was a redhead. Looked real. Only thing I remember is her pocketbook. I thought it was binoculars first, then she opens it and drags out a pack of smokes so I knows it’s her pocketbook. Big letter B in gold on one side. While you’re getting in she asks you if you still want to see-some-rat-and-what-was-his-name. That’s when you started mumbling about Leo Marcus and how you’d kill ’im. She asks where he lived and you told me. Top of High Street, you said. Big brick house. She made you pay in advance with a fin so I took you there, all the time talking about this Marcus.”
“How come you didn’t refuse the fare, Guy?”
“Ah, it was drunk talk, Mr. Regan. You know how it is. Guys talking to themselves. Sometimes it’s worse if you refuse. Then there’s real trouble. Anyway, I took you there.”
“Right to the door?”
Rivera made a face. “Naw. To the curb. You got out and just stood there. That’s when I drove away.”
“I was in pretty bad shape?”
“I’ve seen worse. Not often, though.”
I said, “Rivera... there’s a steep flight of stone steps going up to Marcus’ front door. You think I could have made it?”
He squinched up his face again and hunched uncomfortably. “Maybe you weren’t so bad off, after all. Sometimes...”
“I didn’t ask that.”
For a few seconds he didn’t say anything, then quietly, “No.” He swiveled around in his seat and gave me a searching look. “You know what’s got me, Mr. Regan?”
“What?”
“I’d say you were so stiff you couldn’t see to you-know-what. How you could pump six slugs into a guy’s head is beyond me.”
“It’s beyond me too.”
“Whatcha going to do now, Mr. Regan?”
“Find the girl.”
“I’m gonna tell you something.”
“What?”
“I ain’t never seen her again.”
“You said you didn’t see her face.”
“I know, but all the redheads I seen so far around the joint I know. This one I didn’t know. See?”
“You’ll keep looking?”
“Sure. So long as there’s no trouble.”
“You won’t get bothered.” I reached for a bill in my pocket and he waved it off.
“This is for friends, Mr. Regan.”
“Okay. If you want me leave a call at Donninger’s. You know where it is?”
“I know.”
“And thanks, Rivera.”
“Anytime.”
The bartender at the Climax wore a stitched nameplate that read “RALPH” in red caps on his white mess jacket, a busy little guy with all the touches of a long time pro. He didn’t see me come in, but rather felt my presence behind him and turned with a “What’ll you have?” smile.
It lasted only a second, then it was gone and he nodded coolly and said, “Evening, Mr. Regan.”
“Hello, Ralph.” He waited for my order. “Tall ginger,” I told him.
He set it up, his eyes wary, and when he took my change started to turn away.
“Come here, buddy.”
He turned around, frowning. “I got nothing to say to you, pal. Nothing. Just keep off me, or I’ll call in for a prowl car.”
I looked at him for a long time. Too long for him. He almost dropped a glass he was wiping. “That could be a mistake, buddy.”
He worked his mouth, then muttered softly, “Okay, whatta ya want?”
“Talk.”
“You already heard everything I got to say.”
“Somebody else was asking the questions.”
“Well I got nothing else...”
I cut him off. “Let’s say I want an opinion, huh?”
Ralph glanced around nervously, but nobody else was at the bar. “Like what?”
“You remember everything that night I was here?”
He shrugged and scowled. “I remember you getting stoned.”
“Not quite.”
“Whatta ya mean! I see you...”
“You saw me stoned, not getting stoned. There’s a difference. You remember what you served me at the bar here?”
“Sure. You had a couple rye and gingers. Hell, I knew who you were then from your pictures in the papers.”
“Two drinks didn’t stone me, friend. I came in here sober, remember?”
Ralph didn’t like what I was getting at a bit.
I said, “You testified I was drinking here for about three hours until the place closed up. But all you actually saw me have was two drinks.”
“Listen, Mr. Regan, I work drunks. When I see a drunk I know...”
“How’d I get so drunk, buddy?”
Suddenly his face got red and tight lines stood out in his neck. His breath came out in a hiss. “If you think I slipped you a mickey, pal, you’re crazy. Real crazy. You...”
“I went back to a table,” I said softly. “I was sitting with Stan The Pencil. I was asking questions and he was able to answer some. He took me to another table and introduced me to a couple of local characters...”
“You was with Popeye Lewis and Edna Rells. Artists. I can...”
“I know who they are, friend.” I paused, then: “Who waited on that table?”
“Spud. That’s his section. But don’t think he fed you anything, Mr. Regan. That old man has been here ten years and worked this neighborhood all his life. He’s square all the way.”
I grinned at his loyalty. It seemed out of place in a gin mill. “Just curious, Ralph. Just curious. You remember anything about a redhead who joined the table?”
He shrugged. “Who looks at redheads? Here they’re a dime a dozen.”
“One helped me into the cab. She was a stranger here.”
“If she didn’t drink at the bar, then I don’t remember her.”
“Call Spud over.”
He shook his head, annoyed at the whole routine, but walked to the end of the bar, scanned the back room, then waved. A minute later a grey-haired waiter in a tired tux worn thin from too many pressings came in, smiled and waited patiently for a complaint or compliment. On a second studied look he recognized me and glanced to Ralph for an explanation. The bartender shrugged and pointed his thumb at me.