The dozen or so blacks were watching all this. None of them moved nor spoke. I guess they thought we were cops.
I wasn’t going to let my advantage rest.
‘Come on,’ I said to Bill and walked across the dance floor, pushed open the door through which the black had disappeared and found myself in a dimly lit corridor which led to another door. As I walked down the corridor, followed by Bill, the far end door jerked open.
I was confronted by Hank Smedley.
Bill had described him, but I didn’t realise until I was facing him just how big he was. He wasn’t big: he was enormous, standing some six feet seven inches high, with shoulders as wide as a barn door. Bill had said he had a small head: this was correct. Hank had a tiny head, ugly, flat broad nose, leathery-looking lips and glittering bloodshot eyes. He was the perfect model for a horror movie.
‘What do you want?’ he rasped, blocking the doorway. He had fists like hams, and they were clenched at his sides.
In a mild voice I said, ‘Mr Hank Smedley?’
This seemed to throw him. Probably no white man had called him ‘mister’ before. His fists unclenched.
‘Yeah. What you want?’
‘I am from the Acme Detective Agency, Mr Smedley,’ I said, still keeping the mild tone. ‘I’m hoping you can help me.’
He stared suspiciously at me. I could almost hear what brain he had creaking.
‘Help?’ he finally snarled. ‘I don’t help white men. On your way. You stink up my place.’
‘Let’s cut out the black man, white man shit,’ I said. ‘My name is Wallace. So I call you Hank, and you call me Wallace. That way we might be able to have a civilised talk.’
This approach wasn’t his scene. I could see him, hesitating. He was trying to make up his moronic mind whether to hit me or just stand there.
He stood there.
‘I’m looking for Terry Zeigler,’ I said, slowly and distinctly as if speaking to a child.
That got a reaction. He leaned forward, glaring at me. Right at that moment he made King Kong look like a powder-puff.
‘What do you want with him?’ he demanded.
I looked beyond him to where the black I had first spoken to was lurking and listening.
‘Tell that boy to get the hell out,’ I said. ‘This is confidential.’
I was deliberately trying to impose my will on this ape.
It worked.
He turned around.
‘Beat it!’ he snarled.
The black shoved by me and went back into the main room.
‘I’m trying to find Terry,’ I said, ‘because someone has left him a heap of jack. Unless I find him, the loot will remain in the bank.’
A spark of intelligence lit up his bloodshot eyes.
‘How much?’
‘Could be a hundred thousand. I don’t know for sure.’
‘A hundred thousand!’ he exclaimed, staring at me. I could see money would always make an impact on him.
‘That’s what I understand. I won’t swear to the amount: it could be more. Where do I find him?’
Blue-black veins stood out on his forehead as he thought.
Finally, he said, ‘So what happens if you do find him?’
‘No problem. I take him to the bank, he signs a few forms, and the money is his. It’s as simple as that.’
He scratched his head while he continued to batter his brain.
‘A hundred thousand?’ he said. ‘That’s a lot of jack.’
‘It sure is. Where do I find him?’
‘I dunno where he is, but I might find out. I could ask around. For all I know he isn’t living here. He could be anywhere.’
I had a feeling he was lying, but this had to be a patient game.
‘OK, Hank,’ I said. ‘You have my card. If you do contact Terry, and he wants the money, give me a call. OK?’
‘Yeah.’
He looked beyond me and became aware of Bill who was lolling against the wall, chewing gum.
‘Who’s that midget?’ he demanded.
‘He’s my bodyguard,’ I said, deadpan. ‘He’s a good man to have around if smart boys think they’re tough.’
‘That little jerk?’ Hank gave a wide, sneering grin. ‘Man! He couldn’t blow froth off beer.’
Seeing Bill slide his hands into his pockets, I backed away. I wanted to get out of this dump in one piece.
‘Let’s go, Bill,’ I said sharply. ‘OK, Hank, if you locate Terry let me know,’ and taking a firm grip on Bill’s arm, I walked him across the dance floor and into the bustle and humid heat of the waterfront.
‘Why didn’t you let me hang one on that ape?’ Bill demanded as we reached my car.
‘Patience,’ I said, getting into the car. ‘You’ll have your chance, but not right now.’
As I drove from the waterfront Bill asked, ‘What’s the next move?’
‘We go home,’ I said. ‘I still think Terry could give us the key to this case. I’ve hung out two baits. Angela and Hank now know that Terry is worth a hundred thousand. I’m sure they know where he is. I’m hoping one of them will tell him and he’ll surface.’
‘Suppose they don’t know where he is?’
‘I think they do. We’ll see. We’ll meet at the office tomorrow at nine.’
Bill shrugged.
‘Suits me.’
I dropped him off at his walk-up, then drove to the Bellevue Hotel.
Suzy gave me a loving smile as I crossed the lobby to the reception desk.
‘Honey, how about tonight? Any time?’ I asked.
She shook her head.
‘Impossible tonight, Dirk, dear. I won’t be free until three. By then I’ll be half-dead. Be patient, my love. Wednesday as usual.’
Two fat elderly men came to the desk, and with a bright smile Suzy joined them.
I tramped back to my car and drove home. With junk on the TV, I took a shower and went to bed.
In the office, the following morning, around 09.30 with Bill at his desk and me at mine, the telephone bell rang.
I scooped up the receiver.
‘Wallace?’ I recognised Hank’s gravelly voice.
‘Hi, Hank,’ I said and motioned to Bill who snatched up the extension so he could listen in. ‘You got news for me?’
‘Yeah.’ A pause, then he went on, ‘I found him, and he wants the money fast.’
‘Where did you find him, Hank?’
A long pause, then he said, ‘Never mind. When does he get the money?’
‘No problem, Hank,’ I said and grinned at Bill. ‘I’ll get it organised. I’ll call you back?’
‘What do you mean — organised?’
‘I’ll have to contact the bank and fix an appointment. Mr Ackland who runs the bank, will need identification and time to prepare forms for Terry to sign. No problem. I’ll call you back,’ and I hung up.
‘Stinks of a con,’ Bill said as he hung up.
‘Maybe. OK, here’s what you do. Go, see that Harry Rich of the Dead End club and ask him if he will be willing to identify Terry at the bank. I think he will be there pronto, to see Terry again. You take care of that. I’ll take care of Ackland.’
Twenty minutes later, I walked into Ackland’s office. He rose from his desk, shook hands and gave me his benign bishop’s smile.
‘How do we progress, Mr Wallace?’ he asked as we both sat down.
‘I understand that you hold a hundred thousand dollars in the favour of Terrance Thorsen or Zeigler, left him by a Miss Angus of the Breakers building.’
He stared at me.
‘That is correct, but I don’t understand, Mr Wallace. I am in touch with a Mr Lewis who is Miss Angus’s executor, and until he finds Mr Thorsen, who appears to have disappeared, the money remains in the bank. What is this to do with your investigation?’
‘I am hoping that Terrance Thorsen could be helpful, Mr Ackland. He has been told by friends that he can pick up this large sum of money, and it seems he has appeared. Up to now, he has not been in evidence, but the amount of money due to him brings him to the surface.’