“He told me he was a kind of a newspaper man,” Olga said eagerly. “And anyway, why do you need to worry? You haven’t stepped out of line, have you?”
Paoli seemed to make up his mind. “Go back downstairs,” he said. “And if he’s still around, ask him to come up here and see me. Ask him real nice, baby.”
Incredulously, she said, “You’re sending for him? If he’s really Dubrowski, you’re asking for trouble, Vergil.” She gave him a long look. “Aren’t you?”
“Send him up,” Paoli said.
When she had gone, he took an unsigned telegram from his desk drawer and read it through again. The message, handed in at Chicago that afternoon, was addressed to him at The Club Gala and read:
NEIGHBOR REPORTS YOUR ENCROACHMENT OVER PROPERTY LINE. ADVISE PROMPT, REPEAT, PROMPT SETTLEMENT BEFORE LAWSUIT BECOMES NECESSARY.
Paoli was sweating heavily now. His hand, holding the telegram, trembled a little. When the knock came on his office door a few minutes later, he went over and opened it himself.
Thomas seemed even taller and more gangling close-up than at a distance. He was young. He had light blue, glacially-cold eyes that showed nothing of his thoughts whatever. His right hand was in the side pocket of his jacket.
At Paoli’s invitation, he took a seat. “I’m Thomas,” he said. “You’re Paoli, I guess? Olga said you’d like to talk to me about something.”
Paoli hid his nervousness well. He offered Thomas a cigar which was declined. A Scotch-on-the-rocks, mixed by Paoli at a tiny bar in a corner of the office, met with a kinder reception. Thomas sipped at it impassively and waited.
Paoli could see no virtue in beating about the bush. He said, “You ain’t Thomas. You’re Dubrowski. Am I right?”
Thomas raised his eyebrows but his eyes didn’t change expression. “Wrong,” he said. “I’m Thomas while I’m in Demmlertown. Sandy Thomas.”
“Let’s not kid around,” Paoli said. “You’re from Chicago, Dubrowski. From the Brotherhood.”
“Call me Thomas,” the other said, a hint of iron in his voice. “I want you to know that I’m a reporter on the Demmlertown”... he stretched his neck to read the bannerhead on the newspaper on Paoli’s desk... “the Demmlertown Herald. That’s my paper, right there. I’m a legitimate local citizen, Vergil.”
Paoli winced. Nobody called him by his fancy name but Olga. Its use by this cold-eyed killer set his teeth on edge. He said, “I suppose you got to have a cover name, any town you’re in. A real name to hide behind. But you’re still Dubrowski.”
“No. I keep telling you I’m not.” Thomas seemed amused. “Why don’t you call up the paper and ask them?”
Paoli shrugged at this transparent evasion.
“I mean it,” Thomas said. “Go ahead. Call them, just for kicks. It will show you how I work.”
Paoli picked up the telephone on his desk and asked the Club’s switchboard girl to get him the Demmlertown Herald. Thomas could hear the tinny voice of the newspaper operator when she answered.
Paoli said into the phone, “You got a reporter on the Herald named Sandy Thomas?”
“Certainly we have,” said the operator promptly. “Who is this calling? Do you wish to be connected?”
“No.” Paoli’s eyes switched to Thomas’ face. “This is the Credit Bureau calling. What does Thomas look like?” He thought he might as well press it; maybe he could lean on Dubrowski a little if the description didn’t fit.
“Some Credit Bureau!” the girl said. “Do you know it’s eleven o’clock at night, Mister? Why don’t you quit for the day? If you really want to know, Thomas is a doll! His credit’s good with me, any time!” She snickered.
“Wait,” said Paoli, trying again. “Is Thomas there at the paper right now?”
“Of course. I asked if you wanted to be connected, Mister...”
“Thanks.” Paoli hung up. “Twins you are,” he said to Thomas with a faint feeling of triumph.
“She doesn’t always know when we’re out on a story,” Thomas said, unmoved. His lips curved in a humorless smile. “I like to be thorough,” he said. “I don’t take any chances. I’ve got all the bases covered before I go to work on any job like this.”
“Like this?”
“That’s what I said.”
Paoli poured himself a shot of Old Forester at his bar. He tossed it down like water. He returned to his desk and sat down, accompanied by a persistant sense of danger from the tall man in the chair. He thought perhaps a little show of guts might help him with Dubrowski. He said, “You ought to be more careful, then, where you carry your heater. It shows.” The hand he pointed had a slight tremor. “There.”
Thomas dropped his eyes to the side pocket of his jacket. He had taken his hand out of it long since. But even in the chair, it was obvious that something heavy in the pocket was dragging the cloth of his coat into deep wrinkles.
“Nuts,” said Thomas shortly. He seemed nettled. “That’s not my gun.”
“You think I was born yesterday? You don’t need to show me. It’s a gun.”
“Have it your way,” said Thomas. For the first time since the interview began, he smiled widely. The lift of his lip exposed his long eyeteeth, pointed and projecting three eighths of an inch below his other uppers.
The sight of the menacing teeth thus deliberately exposed, made Paoli feel cold. And that was funny, too, he thought, because he was still sweating.
Thomas said slowly, “I don’t smile or laugh very much, Vergil. Generally I keep my mouth closed.” His eyes, as hard as chips of blue-white diamonds, drilled into Paoli’s. After a moment he added, “Matter of fact, the kind of work I do, a fellow doesn’t feel too much like laughing.”
Paoli nodded. He felt sick. He passed the telegraph form across the desk to Thomas. “You know about this, don’t you?”
Thomas read the wire. Slowly he nodded. “Yes,” he said, “I know about that.”
“So. Then why the hell not admit who you are in the first place?” Paoli blew out a breath of mingled relief and impatience. “The boys in Chicago are teed off with me for moving in on Cal Schirmer over in Riverton, ain’t that it?”
Thomas said nothing.
“That dumb Prussian don’t know which end is up, Dubrowski! His territory could produce three times what it does!” Paoli tried to make the note of bluster in his voice sound like toughness and confidence. It was difficult. “Tell them that in Chicago, will you? Do they want to see it all slip through their fingers, for God’s sake, just because Schirmer ain’t got the brains of a twelve-year-old moron?” He appealed to Thomas as one intelligent man to another.
Thomas responded in a neutral voice. “What is it of Cal’s that’s sticking to your fingers, Paoli? Dope? Prostitution? What? Cal didn’t say. He just said you were trying to move in and take over.”
“Only Horse,” Paoli said, “so far. Honest, Dubrowski, it’s nothing to get hot about. Just enough to show that if I had both territories, if the boys would throw Demmlertown and Riverton into one package for me, I’d triple their take in six months! Tell them that, right?”
Thomas was noncommittal. “You made a mistake, Paoli. Usually we allow our guys only one. Why didn’t you mention this to Chicago yourself, before you moved in on Cal? That’s what we want to know. You got your own ideas about the percentage? Maybe you’d like to bust loose from Chicago and try to make it on your own?”