"That what Tim does?"
"You do it too, don't you?"
I looked at the T-bone steak she had set before me, hitched up my chair.
"I've had a lot of fun tonight," I said, beginning to eat. "Where's Tim?"
"He went over to Cudco Key."
"Take the boat?"
"He rowed. He said you might want the boat."
"That's a long haul."
"He'll make it."
I tapped my plate with my knife. "I appreciate this."
She nodded, then said: "Jed Davis is out the back waiting for you. Do you want to see him?"
I frowned, then I remembered.
"The newspaper guy?"
She nodded.
"Is he okay?"
"He's a friend of Tim's," she said. "Tim picks bums for friends, but he won't bite."
I laughed. "I'll see him," I said.
She went away.
I was half through my steak when the door opened again and a mountain of man came in. His face was round, fat and purple. His eyes small and reckless. He wore a tweed suit that looked as if he hadn't taken it off since he bought it, and that had happened a long time ago. A battered slouch hat, slightly too small for him, rested on the back of his head. He chewed a dead cigar between small, even white teeth.
He stared at me, then came further into the room, closed the door.
" 'Lo front page news," he said.
"Hullo yourself," I said, continuing to eat.
He took off his hat and combed his hair with a little ivory comb, grunted, put his hat on again and sat down in the plush arm-chair. It creaked as it took the strain.
"You certainly started something in this burg," he said, taking the cigar from between his teeth and examining it through half-closed eyes. "I feel like a war correspondent again."
"Yeah," I said.
He looked at the table. "Didn't she give you a drink?"
"I didn't miss it," I said.
He climbed laboriously out of the chair. "Must have a drink," he growled. "Hetty's a swell cook, and a good woman, but she just doesn't understand that guys need a drink." He opened a cupboard and produced a black unlabelled bottle. He found two glasses and poured whisky into them. He gave me a glass and went back to the chair with the other. "Clot in your bloodstream," he said, waving the glass at me.
We drank.
"How long do you reckon to keep up this shindig?" he asked.
"Until I've found Herrick's killer."
"So you didn't kill him?"
"No. I was the fall guy. It was a political killing."
He took another drink, rolled the liquor round in his mouth before swallowing it. "Killeano?"
"What do you think?"
"Well, yes; it'd suit him to knock Herrick off."
"Your rag interested one way or the other?"
"The Editor's too fond of life. These boys are tough eggs to monkey with. We stay neutral."
"Mean anything to you personally?"
He looked sleepy. "Well, if some guy came along and bust this Administration wide open, I'd have something to write about, providing the bust was complete. I'd do what I could to get the story, but I'd have to play it close to my chest."
I didn't say anything.
He eyed me narrowly, then went on. "Killeano's a louse. But he's got the town in his pocket, and now Herrick's out of the way anything could happen. He's well in the saddle, and it'll be a hell of a job to unstick him."
"Depends how it's played," I said, lighting a cigarette. "If I can get the right information, I'll crack Killeano."
He nodded slowly. "What kind of information?"
"Did Herrick work on his own?"
"Practically. He and Frank Brodey. Their organization was smalclass="underline" too small."
"Who's Brodey?"
"Herrick's lawyer. He's at 458 Bradshaw Avenue. He lives with his daughter."
"Will he take over from Herrick?"
Davis shook his head.- "Not a chance. He ain't built for a fight with Killeano. No, I guess he'll stay put and let Killeano walk it."
I made a note of the address.
"Ever thought why Herrick went so much to the Casino?" I asked.
"Yeah, but it didn't get me anywhere. He was trying to turn up some dirt, but whether he got it or not I wouldn't know."
"I think he did and that's why he was rubbed," I said. "Ever heard of Lois Spence?"
"Ever heard of Mae West?" he returned, grinning. "Lois is famous around here."
"Killeano know her?"
"Even I know her. She's balanced that light a breath of wind would blow her over."
"So she knew Killeano?"
"Yeah, about two years ago they were like that." He crossed his two fingers. "That was before Killeano took over the town. When he got into power he ditched her. Had to, I guess. You can't run a town and Lois at the same time: both are full-time jobs."
"Herrick went around with her too?"
"Yeah, but there was nothing to that, although some mudslingers tried to make something out of it. My guess is he was using her to dig up dirt on Killeano, and she strung him along, took his dough and gave him nothing."
"He paid her to play the tables at the Casino."
That surprised him. He stared at me, lifted his hat, combed his hair while he thought. "Why did he do that?" he asked at last, putting the comb away.
"He took the dough she had won and gave her other notes in exchange. Looks like he suspected the Casino of passing dud notes."
Davis brooded. "Well, that's an idea," he said, "but it wouldn't be easy, and no one's complained."
"It might be worth checking. Could you do that?"
He nodded. "I guess I could. I go there off and on. I could sniff around."
"If you knew what you were looking for, it might not be so tough."
"Well, I can dig a little."
"This guy Gomez seems a tough egg."
Davis grinned. "I'll say. You met him? Take my tip and| keep out of his way. He's dynamite."
"I've met him," I said, shrugging. "I was with Lois when he blew in. It took my reputation and the Luger to hold him. I thought I'd have to shoot him he was so mad, but Lois grabbed him and I got out. He was the one who started the Law on the move."
"He's a bad guy," Davis said, shaking his head. "He doesn't I like anyone hanging around Lois unless it's strictly business. One guy thought he was soft. Gomez shot him. It was fixed to look like suicide, but I know how it happened."
"Kind of jealous, eh?"
"He certainly is, and as hot-blooded as a stove."
"What do you know about a cat-house along the waterfront? Who owns it?"
"Speratza."
"Sure?"
Davis nodded. "It's the only joint of its kind in town. He must have plenty of protection to keep it open, and he makes a good thing out of it."
"Huh-uh," I said, giving myself another drink. I passed the bottle to Davis. "And Flaggerty? Anything on him?"
"He's Killeano's stooge. He puts up a front, of course, but Killeano pulls the strings; he jumps. There's nothing to him. He's just another crooked cop."