I nodded, blowing a streamer of smoke at the ceiling. "Money is great, Mr. Berin, but sometimes a guy gets pretty damn sore and money doesn't matter anymore. A guy can get just plain curious, too... and money doesn't matter then either."
My new client stood up, giving me an old-fashioned bow. "That takes care of the matter, then?"
"Almost. Where do you want me to send my report?"
"I never gave it a thought. It really doesn't matter, but if you come across anything you might feel is interesting, call or write to me at my home. It's entirely up to you. I'm more interested in results than the procedure."
"Oh... one other thing. Is Feeney Last still with you?"
His eyes twinkled this time and a grin crossed his face. "Fortunately, no. It seems that he had quite a scare. Quite a scare. He saved me the task of discharging him, by resigning. At present my gardener is serving in his capacity. Good day, Mike."
I stood up and led him to the door and shook hands there. On the way out he gave Velda a gentlemanly bow and strode out the door. She waited until the door had shut and said, "He's nice, Mike. I like him."
"I like him, too, kid. You don't have many around like him anymore."
"And he's got money, too. We're back in business again, huh?"
"Uh-huh." I looked at the intercom box. She had the switch up and had overheard the conversation. I frowned at her the way a boss should, but it didn't scare her a bit.
"Just curious, Mike. He was such an interesting guy." She smiled.
I faked a punch at her jaw and sat on the desk, reaching for the phone. When I got the dial tone I poked out Pat's number and held on until he got on the wire. He gave me a breezy hullo and said, "What's new, kid?"
"A few things here and there, but nothing that you can call withholding evidence. Look, have you had lunch yet?"
"An hour ago."
"Well, how about some coffee and Danish. I want to know a few things, if you care to tell me."
"What kind of things?
"Stuff the police ought to know and the general public shouldn't. Or would you rather have me find out for myself?"
"Nuts to you! It's better to have you obligated to me. I'll meet you in Mooney's as soon as you can make it. How's that?"
"Fine," I said, then hung up.
Pat beat me to the beanery by five minutes. He already had a table over in the back and was sipping coffee from an oversize mug the place used as a trademark. I pulled out a chair and sat down. I didn't have time to waste; as soon as the waiter came over with my coffee and pastry I got right down to cases. "Pat, what's the angle on the call-girl racket in this town?"
The cup stopped half-way to his mouth. "Now, that's a hell of a question to ask me. If I tell you, it implies that I'm crooked and I'm looking the other way. If I don't, I look stupid for not knowing what goes on."
I gave him a disgusted grunt, then: "Pat, there are certain things that are going to happen in every town no matter how strait-laced the citizens are or how tough the cops are. It's like taxes. We got 'em and we can't get rid of 'em. And who likes taxes except the small group of bureaucrats that handle the mazuma?"
"Now you've made me feel better," he chuckled. "There isn't too much I can tell you because those outfits are good at keeping things to themselves. We rarely get complaints because their clientele isn't in a position to lay themselves open to criticism by entering a complaint. However, the police are well aware of the existing situation and try to enforce the letter of the law. But remember one thing--politics. There are ways of bogging the police down and it's a hurdle hard to jump.
"Then there's the matter of evidence. The higher-ups don't run houses or keep books where they can be found. It's a matter of merely suggesting to someone just who is available and letting him do the rest. I think the girls come across with a cut of the take or the proper persons aren't steered in their direction. They may get shoved around a little, too. In fact, there have been several deaths over the years that point suspiciously in that direction."
"That they got shoved too hard, you mean?" I asked.
"Exactly.
"How did the coroner call them?"
"Suicides, mainly... except for Russ Bowen. You know about him... he was the guy who ran a chain of houses and tried to buck the combine. We found him shot full of holes a couple of months ago and his houses closed out. We never could get a line on the killing. Even the stoolies clammed up when we mentioned his name. Yes, Russ was murdered, but the others were all called suicides."
"And you?"
"Murder, Mike. The cases are still open, and some day we're going to nail the goons that are behind them. Not only the hired hands that did the dirty work, but the ones that run the organizations. They're the ones we want... the ones that turn decent kids into a life of filth and despair while they sit back and collect the big money. The ones that can kill and get away with it and sit back and laugh while the papers call it suicide!"
His face was a mask of hate. My eyes caught his and held for a long moment. "Suicide... or accident, Pat?" I queried.
"Yes, both. We've had them that looked that way, too, and..."
Now the hate was gone and his face was friendly again, but there was something different about the eyes that I had never seen before. "You're a bastard, Mike. You set me up very pretty."
"I did?" I tried to play innocent, but it didn't work.
"Cut it and get to the redhead. Nancy, I believe her name was. What are you handing me?"
I took my time about finishing the Danish. After it soaked long enough in the coffee I fished it out and ate it, licking the sugar from my fingers. When I lit a butt I said, "I'm not handing you a thing, Pat. You just told me something I've been trying to tell you right along. I've always said Red was murdered. Now, what do you think?"
Pat wrapped his fists into hard knots and pressed them into the table. He had a hard time talking through clenched teeth. "Damn your soul, Mike, we had that case nicely wrapped up. She was killed accidentally beyond a shadow of doubt, and I'm positive of it. I'm so positive of it I'd bet my right arm against a plugged nickel I couldn't be wrong! Maybe people make mistakes, but the sciences of the laboratory don't!"
It was fun watching him beat his head against the wall. His words turned into a torrent of sharp sounds and he leaned against the edge of the table with fire leaping from his eyes.
"I saw the evidence. I checked on the evidence. I'm certain of the evidence as is everyone else concerned with the case. In the beginning you had me dancing on hot coals because I thought that maybe you were right. Then I knew what had happened and I knew you were wrong. Mind you, I didn't say think--I said knew! And right now I still know you are wrong and I am right."