I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Cooley comes into it someplace. It was something he knew.”
“Smart lad. I knew you were a smart lad the first time I saw you. Yes, it was Cooley.”
“Who was he?” I asked.
Nothing for a moment. I could hear him breathing and his feet moved but that was all. The red light on the tail of the caboose winked at me and I knew it would have to be short.
“An adventurer, son. A romantic adventurer who went where the hunting was profitable and the odds long. He liked long odds. He found how they were slipping narcotics in through a new door and tapped them for a sweet haul. They say four million. It was a paid-for shipment and he got away with it. Now the boys have to make good.”
The caboose was almost past now. He said, “I’ll call you if I want you.”
I flipped the butt away, watching it bounce sparks across the dirt. I went on a little bit further where I could watch the fires from the jungles and when I had enough of it I started back.
At the tree the guy who had been waiting there said, “You weren’t thinking of hopping that freight, were you, kid?”
I didn’t jump like I was supposed to. I said, “When I want to leave, I’ll leave.”
“Be sure to tell Mr. Carboy first, huh?”
“I’ll tell him,” I said.
He stayed there, not following me. I passed the buildings again, then felt better when I saw the single street light on the corner of Main. There was nobody there that I could see, but that didn’t count. He was around someplace.
I had to wait ten minutes for a bus. It seemed longer than it was. I stayed drenched in the yellow light and thought of the voice behind the fence and what it had to say. When the bus pulled up I got on, stayed there until I reached the lights again and got off. By that time a lot of things were making sense, falling into a recognizable pattern. I walked down the street to an all night drug store, had a drink at the counter then went back to the phone booth.
I dialed the police number and asked for Gonzales, Sergeant Gonzales. There was a series of clicks as the call was switched and the cop said, “Gonzales speaking.”
“This is Joe, copper. Remember me?”
“Don’t get too fresh, sonny,” he said. His voice had a knife in it.
“Phil Carboy paid me some big money to finger Vetter. He’s got men tailing me.”
His pencil kept up a steady tapping against the side of the phone. Finally he said, “I was wondering when you’d call it in. You were real lucky, Joe. For a while I thought I was going to have to persuade you a little to cooperate. You were real lucky. Keep me posted.”
I heard the click in my ear as he hung up and I spat out the things into the dead phone I felt like telling him to his face. Then I fished out another coin, dropped it in and dialed the same number. This time I asked for Captain Gerot. The guy at the switchboard said he had left about six but that he could probably be reached at his club. He gave me the number and I checked it through. The attendant who answered said he had left about an hour ago but would probably call back to see if there were any messages for him and were there? I told him to get the number so I could put the call through myself and hung up.
It took me a little longer to find Bucky Edwards. He had stewed in his own juices too long and he was almost all gone. I said, “Bucky, I need something bad. I want Jack Cooley’s last address. You remember that much?”
He hummed a little bit. “Rooming house. Between Wells and Capitol. It’s all white, Joe. Only white house.”
“Thanks, Bucky.”
“You in trouble, Joe?”
“Not yet.”
“You will be. Now you will be.”
That was all. He put the phone back so easily I didn’t hear it go. Damn, I thought, he knows the score but he won’t talk. He’s got all the scoop and he clams up.
I had another drink at the counter, picked up a deck of smokes and stood outside while I lit one. The street was quieting down. Both curbs were lined with parked heaps, dead things that rested until morning when they’d be whipped alive again.
Not all of them though. I was sure of that. I thought I caught a movement across the street in a doorway. It was hard to tell. I turned north and walked fast until I reached Benson Road, then cut down it to the used car lot.
Now was when they’d have a hard time. Now was when they were playing games in my back yard and if they didn’t know every inch of the way somebody was going to get hurt. They weren’t kids, these guys. They had played the game themselves and they’d know all the angles. Almost all, anyway. They’d know when I tried to get out of the noose and as soon as they did, they’d quit playing and start working. They wouldn’t break their necks sticking to a trail when they could bottle me up.
All I had to do was keep them from knowing for a while.
I crossed the lot, cutting through the parked cars, picked up the alley going back of the houses and stuck to the hedgerows until I was well down it. By that time I had a lead. If I looked back I’d spoil it so I didn’t look back. I picked up another block at the fork in the alley, standing deliberately under the lone light at the end, not hurrying, so they could see me. I made it seem as though I were trying to pick out one of the houses in the darkness, and when I made up my mind, went through the gate in the fence.
After that I hurried. I picked up the short-cuts, made the street and crossed it between lights. I reached Main again, grabbed a cruising cab in the middle of the block, had him haul me across town to the docks and got out. It took fifteen minutes longer to reach the white house Bucky told me about. I grinned to myself and wondered if the boys were still watching the place they thought I went into. Maybe it would be a little while before they figured the thing out.
It would be time enough.
The guy who answered the door was all wrapped up in a bathrobe, his hair stringing down his face. He squinted at me, reluctant to be polite, but not naturally tough enough to be anything else but. He said, “If you’re looking for a room you’ll have to come around in the morning. I’m sorry.”
I showed him a bill with two numbers on it.
“Well...”
“I don’t want a room.”
He looked at the bill again, then a quick flash of terror crossed his face. His eyes rounded open, looked at me hard, then dissolved into curiosity. “Come... in.”
The door closed and he stepped around me into a small sitting room and snapped on a shaded desk lamp. His eyes went back down to the bill. I handed it over and watched it disappear into the bathrobe. “Yes?”
“Jack Cooley.”
The words did something to his face. It showed terror again, but not as much as before.
“I really don’t...”
“Forget the act. I’m not working for anybody in town. I was a friend of his.”
This time he scowled, not believing me.
I said, “Maybe I don’t look it, but I was.”
“So? What is it you want?” He licked his lips, seemed to tune his ears for some sound from upstairs. “Everybody’s been here. Police, newspapers. Those... men from town. They all want something.”
“Did Jack leave anything behind?”
“Sure. Clothes, letters, the usual junk. The police have all that.”
“Did you get to see any of it?”
“Well... the letters were from dames. Nothing important.”
I nodded, fished around for a question a second before I found one. “How about his habits?”
The guy shrugged. “He paid on time. Usually came in late and slept late. No dames in his room.”
“That’s all?”