Color flamed into her cheeks. “So, you don’t think I’m worth fighting over?”
“Hell no. No split-tail is.”
“All right.” She was breathing hard. “Read the cards if you’re so wise.”
“I figure Green for the trigger-man in the gambling racket you’re fronting for. Somebody’s made a mistake and put the finger on me. Maybe you.”
She was staring at me as though I had just come into her life. “So Harry was right. You are wise.”
“Plenty.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Why the hell should I do anything?”
“Harry thinks you’re a dick.”
I snorted. “That guy doesn’t think.”
She came close to me. “Honest to God, Ed, I don’t give a damn, see. I like you. That’s plenty. But it isn’t enough for Harry. It’s his job to be suspicious of everybody and everything.”
“So he decides to rub me out on suspicion? And, after it’s all over... you will have fingered me?”
She shuddered and put her arms around my neck. “I’m taking a chance on getting it myself by warning you.”
“You’re all right.” I kissed her ear and she liked it. “But Green is all wet. If he’ll let me put my cards on the table, I can prove to him that I’m a right guy.” I took her hands down from around my neck so she could get her mind back on important things.
“He was going out to the salon on Weston Avenue. Maybe you could see him there.”
“What’s the address?”
She gave it to me. And told me the password for the week was Walla-Walla.
I frowned and shook my head. “That’s too much like walking into something. He might not give me a chance to talk. I’d like to meet him on neutral ground.”
How the hell to do it? I went back and forth across the carpet while Lucile mixed us both a drink. I asked her if anyone knew about Green beating her up.
“I rang for the porter,” she admitted. “He came up and Harry left.”
I thought that over. She went into the bathroom and closed the door after putting her drink down. The bedroom door was open. I stepped in softly and went to the bureau. A pair of soiled white gloves lay there. I put one of them in my pocket. And picked up one of a pair of flashy emerald earrings.
I was standing by the table sipping my drink when she came out of the bathroom.
“You’d better call Green,” I told her. “Make a date to meet him at the north end of Lummus Park on the beach just after dark. Tell him it has to do with me.”
“What’s it for, Ed? What are you going to do?”
“I’ll see him and have a chat.”
“You’ll be careful?” She came close to me. The drink had put a sheen in her undiscolored eye. Her hands crept up to my shoulders.
“Sure I’ll be careful. Think I want to stop breathing now?” I reached around and patted her.
She smiled at me and pouted out her lips.
“Business before pleasure.” I pushed her toward the telephone.
She called a number and waited. Then asked for Mr. Green. Listening a moment, she covered the mouthpiece and told me he wasn’t in.
“Leave the message for him,” I directed her.
She left a message for Mr. Green to meet Mrs. Travers at the north end of Lummus Park shortly after dark.
That was all to the good. A witness to the fact that Green had gone to meet her wouldn’t hurt my plan a bit.
I broke away right after that was fixed up. She was all set to have me stay for another go-round, but I had to get away from where I could look into her eyes.
I satisfied her with a promise to come back that night, and got out.
At my hotel, I told the clerk I had been called to Jacksonville on business and would leave that night, explaining that I’d keep my room and be back in a day or so.
He looked up train schedules for me and found an F.E.C. going out at seven that carried a day coach. That was what I wanted. I asked him to get a ticket for me, and told him I would bring a bag down to be checked.
I packed a bag and left it in the lobby, then went out and walked up the street to a travel agency and picked up an F.E.C. folder. The seven o’clock train made a stop at Little River and one at North Miami Beach. I knew there was an ocean drive running north from Lummus Park to North Miami Beach on which I should be able to make good time after dark.
But I wanted to be damned sure there wasn’t any slip-up, so I drove over to the north end of Lummus Park and timed myself to North Miami Beach.
I made it in ten minutes less than the train schedule. Coming back, I parked my car in front of the hotel and went to my room where I poured a slug of cognac down me and called the Bugle.
Chapter 8
I was lucky to catch Pete Ryan at the City Desk. I said, “Hi mug,” when his raspy voice came over the wire.
“I don’t know any hot-loving blondes looking for a man; I haven’t a tip on Hialeah, and I’m so broke I couldn’t loan my own dear grandmother a fin if she wanted it to shoot craps with.”
“Listen instead of talking so damned much,” I growled. “I’ve got plenty on my mind.”
Pete said, “Shoot.”
“Stick around Lummus Park after dark tonight. Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. Look for a white glove and an emerald earring somewhere about the body. The guy’ll probably be sweet on a dame hanging out at room 543 of the Covington Arms Hotel. That might be a lead.”
“Imagine who’s giving me a story,” he jeered.
“Hell! I’m not giving it to you. I’m making it for you. Two or three more things. Know anybody you can trust to pick up my car at North Miami Beach about seven-thirty, drive it back and park it in the hotel garage and forget about it?”
“I can fix it.”
“Be damned sure the guy’s got a good forgetter.”
“Yeah. Trust your Uncle Dudley.”
“I’ve got to,” I groaned. “That’s the hell of it.”
“Is that so, guy? When did I ever let you down?”
“Let’s not go into that. Don’t let me down tonight. Who’s the best mouthpiece in the city to represent a dame who’s going to be charged with first degree?”
“U-m-m.” I could almost hear Pete thinking. He was busting to know what it was all about, but pretended to be as blase as hell. “Herman Blattscomb, I’d say.”
“Fix it for an outside party to get hold of him as soon as it breaks. The Bugle will pay the bill but mustn’t show in the deal. This dame is going to shoot a wild story she hasn’t a chance in hell of proving. It’s Blattscomb’s job to convince her she’ll beat the rap easier by admitting she bumped him in a fit of anger because he beat her up this morning. Got that?”
“You’re miles ahead of me,” Pete admitted cheerfully. “But I’ve got it.”
“One thing else. Call Lucile Travers at the Covington Arms at six-thirty. Act mysterious as hell. Tell her you’re a friend of mine and that I’m in a jam. Get her to meet you some place where you won’t be and where there’s not likely to be any witnesses to prove she was there. Got that?”
There was a little silence. Pete’s voice held a new note when he spoke again. “You’re not so far ahead of me now, feller. Are you putting the frame on a dame?”
“What is it to you?” I cracked. “Want a story, don’t you?”
“Sure... but.”
“This,” I told him, “is something that’s got to be done. I’m on the track of something so big that there can’t be any buts. And she’ll beat the rap. Hell, no jury on earth will convict her of rubbing out the rat. Switch me to Grange.”