As the redhead stepped inside, the big man was saying, “Are you out of your head, Rose? Suppose this shamus starts making trouble for us. Suppose he—” He broke off when he saw Shayne and scowled up at the detective.
Hooking his hat onto the hook of a clothes-tree next to the door, Shayne said to the headwaiter, “You tell lies, don’t you, Charlie?” He gave Rose a chummy smile. “Charlie said you’d gone home sick.”
The blonde looked nervous and upset. She said weakly, “Something came up, Mike. Maybe we’d better make it another time.”
Shayne said, “You wouldn’t stand me up, would you, Rose? Let’s get going.”
Charlie Velk took a step toward Shayne. “You heard her, Shayne. On your way.”
Shayne gave the man a curious glance, moved forward and drew Rose to her feet by one hand. Velk’s expression grew enraged. He swung a fast right at Shayne’s head.
Shayne moved his head two inches to one side and Velk’s fist whistled past it. Releasing Rose’s hand, the detective drove a hard right into the headwaiter’s stomach. As Velk bent double with a grunt, Shayne landed a left hook on his jaw. The man went over backward, rolled into a corner and lay still.
Meantime the nightclub manager had come out of his chair. He started to move toward Shayne and then seemed to think better of it.
Shayne shrugged and lifted his hat from the clothes-tree. Taking Rose’s elbow, he steered her out into the hall.
He could feel the girl’s arm tremble under his touch. She said fearfully, “Hank’s going to be mad.”
“At you?” he asked. “Why? You didn’t clobber his headwaiter.”
She continued to tremble all the way down the hall to the fear exit and across the parking lot to Shayne’s car. When they were both seated in the car, Shayne offered her a cigarette. He noted that it shook in her lips when he held a light for her.
Lighting his own, he said, “Why so nervous? Afraid you’ll lose your job?”
“Not that,” she said in a low voice. “Hank won’t fire me. But I’m in for another bawling out.”
“What’s his objection to your going out with me?”
“He wasn’t objecting to that,” she said quickly. “It was something else he was sore about.” Shayne was sure the nightclub manager had been ordering her not to go out with him, but he didn’t press the point. “Where’d you like to go?” he asked.
“Home, I think. I don’t feel up to another nightclub. We can have a drink at my place.”
“All right,” Shayne said. “But you’d better tell me the address.”
She had an apartment on the east side. It was a comfortably-furnished, three-room place with a large living room. By the time they reached it, the girl’s nervousness seemed to have increased instead of abating.
“Why so scared?” Shayne asked her. “You’re safe here.”
“I’ll be all right,” she said. “Fix a drink while I get into something comfortable.”
Pointing to a sideboard containing bottles and glasses, she went into the bedroom and closed the door.
There was an assortment of liquors on the sideboard, including some brandy, Shayne was pleased to discover. Going into the kitchen, he got some ice cubes from the refrigerator and made a tall glass of ice water. Noticing Coca Cola in the refrigerator, he made Rose a rum and coke. He poured himself a double shot of brandy and set the drinks on a low cocktail table before the sofa. Then he sat on the sofa and waited.
A full twenty minutes passed before the girl finally emerged from the bedroom. She was wearing a white terry-cloth housecoat and bedroom slippers. Her nervousness had disappeared and she acted almost gay. Crossing to the sofa, she sat down close to Shayne, picked up her drink and drained it in one continuous gulp.
Suddenly, quite by accident, the terry cloth parted a little, just above her right knee. Shayne’s eyes widened. Abruptly jerking the housecoat wide open, he leaned forward and glanced down. She drew her knees together and clutched the housecoat closed again, but not quite quickly enough.
She stared at him as he released his grip on the edge of the garment, leaned back and said in a dry tone, “You’ve got quite a few needle scars on the inner parts of your thighs, Rose. And your pupils are like pinpoints. You just had a pop in the bedroom, didn’t you?”
She made no reply, just continued to stare at him.
“How bad are you hooked?” he asked roughly.
“I’m not hooked,” she said quickly. “I just play with it a little for laughs. I could kick it any time.”
“Sure you could,” Shayne said sarcastically. “If they put you in a strait-jacket. Who got you on the junk? Bill Whitney?”
She looked startled. “What makes you ask that?”
“He was a pusher, wasn’t he?” the redhead shot at her.
She shook her head slowly. “Where’d you get that idea?”
“Two hundred papers of heroin were found in his apartment,” Shayne said. “Don’t try to tell me he wasn’t involved in the racket.”
The news didn’t seem to surprise her. She said almost defensively, “He was just a leg man. He never in his life got anybody hooked. In fact, he was trying to help me get off the stuff.”
“So you’re hooked bad enough to need help,” Shayne pounced. “What was Whitney’s interest?”
In a low voice she said, “He... he wanted to marry me. I don’t think it was love. I think it was just desperation.”
“How do you mean?”
“He was hooked too,” she said miserably. “That’s how he got involved in delivering the stuff to retailers. It was the only way he could pay the toll. He thought if we fought it together, maybe we could help each other kick it.”
“What did you think?”
“I was all for the mutual-help idea. I said we’d table marriage talk until we were both straightened out. We tried gradual withdrawal, but it was too tough. Bill gave up. He was going to turn himself in for a forced cure.”
“Turn himself in where?” Shayne asked sharply.
“To the cops. He figured that in jail he’d have to kick it.”
“He meant to blow the whistle on his boss?” the redhead asked.
“I guess,” she said reluctantly.
Shayne said, “No wonder he disappeared. His boss know he was yelling cop?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know who he worked for. All I know is he was the leg man who delivered the stuff to—”
When she stopped abruptly, Shayne said, “To the club? That where you get your supply?”
She looked at him in fright, then gave a hopeless shrug. “The club is a retail outlet. Charlie Velk is the guy who started me on the junk. That’s how I met Bill. He came in every Wednesday night to make a delivery.”
Shayne asked, “That why Goodrich and Velk didn’t want you to see me? They were afraid Bill Whitney’s trail would lead to them?”
She nodded. “You can’t blame them. I’m sure they don’t know what happened to him. But your prying around might turn up the fact that they’re pushers.”
The redhead mused for a moment, then asked. “Who brings the stuff in since Whitney disappeared?”
“I don’t know his name. He’s only been in once. Last Wednesday night. I didn’t even know Bill was missing then.”
“What’s he look like?”
“He’s tall and thin. Black hair and deep-set eyes. About thirty-five.”
“What time does he get there?”
“About ten last Wednesday. Bill always came in about then, too.”
“What door does he use? Front or back?”
“Bill always came in the back way, then remained in the club for a while and left by the front door. The new man used the back door both times. I just happened to see him because I was coming out of the dark room.”