He made me curious. "Yeah?"
"Uh-huh. The kid who ran into her with the car was insured. The company is positive of the cause of death and wants to pay off. Right now they're tracking down the next of kin."
"Did you tell them anything, Pat?"
"Not a thing. They looked for themselves, got the official police report and that's that. I didn't want to make a fool of myself by telling them I let a jerky private eye talk me into murder. Those boys are pretty sharp, too. And something else. I've had tracers out on your pal."
"Pal!... who?"
"Feeney Last."
I was tingling all over and I damn near dropped the phone. Even the mention of the greaseball's name set me off.
Pat said, "He's got a good rep... as far as we can tell. Not even an arrest. We found two cities on the West Coast where he was known. In both cases he was employed by businesses who needed strong-arm boys. Feeney's a trouble kid, but good. The local cops informed me that the lesser punks in town were scared stiff of him because, somehow, they got the notion he was a gunslinger from the old school and would go out of his way to find something to shoot at. Right out of a grade-B western. Feeney played it smart by carrying a license for the gun and the only time he was ever fingerprinted was for the application."
"But nothing you can hang on him, eh?"
"That's right, Mike."
"What happened to the license he had for the job with Berin-Grotin?"
"He even thought of that. It was returned in the mail. The lad isn't taking any chances."
"So now he sticks to a chiv."
"What?"
"You don't need a license for a knife, chum, and Feeney likes cold steel."
My back was aching and I was getting too tired to talk any more so I told Pat I'd call him later and hung up. I put the phone on the table and rolled into a more comfortable position, then lay there a while trying to think. The redhead's ring was in my hand and her face was in my mind, but now all the hard lines were gone and it was a pretty face that could smile with relief and anxiety.
The ring was large enough to fit my little finger. I slipped it on.
At half-past four I heard a key slide into the lock and I came out of my half-sleep with a gun in my hand and the safety kicked off. Across the knuckles was a thin red line of blood where I had caught on a nail under the sofa going for it.
But it was only Lola.
My expression scared the hell out of her and she dropped the package she was carrying. "Mike!"
"Sorry, kid. I'm jumpy." I dropped the rod on the table.
"I... brought your clothes." She picked up the package and came over to me. When she sat down on the edge of the sofa I pulled her head down and kissed her ripe lips.
She smiled, running her fingers across my forehead. "Feel all right?"
"Fine, honey. That sleep was just what I needed. I'll be sore for a few days, but nothing like somebody else is going to be. It's been a long time since I was jumped like that, but maybe it did me good. I'll keep my eyes open the next time and sink a slug into somebody's gut before I run up a blind alley."
"Please don't talk like that, Mike." A little worried frown tugged at the corners of her eyes.
"You're a beautiful girl."
She laughed, a throaty laugh of pleasure. Then she stood up quickly, grabbed the sheet and flicked it off. "You're beautiful, too." She grinned devilishly.
I let out a yell and got my toga back and she only laughed again. When she started for the kitchen I opened the package and took out my clothes. I was knotting my tie when she called that soup was on. I walked into the kitchen and she said, "I like you better the other way."
"Quit being so fresh and feed me."
I sat down at the table while she pulled pork chops from the pan and filled my plate. It wasn't the kind of a meal you'd expect a city girl to cook... there was just too much of it. I thought that maybe the whole works was for me until Lola piled it on her plate, too.
She caught my expression and nodded towards the stove. "That's how I grew so big. Eat up and you'll get the same way."
I was too hungry to talk at the table until I was finished. She topped it with some pie, gave me seconds while she finished her own, then took a cigarette I offered her.
"Good?" she asked.
"The best. Makes me feel almost new."
She dragged on the cigarette hungrily. "Where away, Mike?"
"I'm not sure. First I want to find out why I was worked over. Then I want to find out who did it."
"I told you Candid was dangerous."
"That fat monkey isn't dangerous, honey. It's his dough. That's dangerous. It hires people to get things done he can't do himself."
"I still wouldn't trust him too far. I've heard stories about Murray that weren't nice to hear. You looked for the books, didn't you?"
"No," I told her. "He wouldn't keep them in sight. I looked for a place he could stash 'em, but there wasn't even a sign of a safe in the joint. No, that trip was just reconnoitering. Those boys aren't dummies by a long shot. If they have any books--and I still think it's a big 'if'--they're someplace that will take a lot of heavy digging to root out."
I leaned back in the chair and pulled on the butt. It still hurt to sit up straight, but I was getting over it fast. "Supposing I do get something on Candid... where does it get me? It's a killer I want, not a lot of sensational stuff for the papers."
This time I was talking to myself rather than to Lola, trying to get things straight in my mind. So far it was just a jumble of facts that could all be important, but it was like going up an endless ladder. Each rung led to the next one with the top nowhere in sight.
"So the redhead was killed. She was killed for a reason. She had a ring on while she was alive, but it wasn't there when she was dead. It was a beautiful kill, too... how the hell it happened I don't know, but I'll find out. The killer has a perfect cover-up and it's listed as accidental death. If she was pushed somebody would have seen her get it, or even in his damn drunken stupor the kid who ran her down would have remembered it. But no... he thought he did it all alone and took off from there. He remembered enough to cover it up so he would have remembered if she were pushed. But what dame is going to take her ring off? Women aren't like that! And one of those jokers who jumped me had it, so it makes it a legitimate kill and not an accidental one.
"Bats! If it wasn't murder, nobody would give a damn any more, but why did she have to get it? What made her so all-fired important that she had to die? So Feeney Last had his blackmail junk lifted... yet you say she wouldn't buy that kind of stuff. She was hot, according to another guy, and nobody would go near her. Feeney's a tough character and has the bull on guys to the extent that they won't talk. But what are they afraid of? Getting beat up, maybe? Or getting shot? Hell's bells, nobody can go around shooting people up in this town. Sure, it's a rough place to be in trouble, but pull a rod and see how far you get! Maybe you can scare somebody for a while, but after a bit the scare wears off and you got to prove you're not kidding. So who would be the guy that could do it and get away with it? Just one--a jerk who thinks he's got enough protection to carry him through."
For the first time Lola interrupted. "Is that Feeney Last?"
"Maybe. He's supposed to be a gunman. But he's still no dummy. He proved that by turning in his gun license when he lost his job with Berin."
She agreed with a slight nod. "You think, then, that he might have killed Nancy?"
"That, sugar, is something I'd give a lot to know," I answered. "It's a screwy affair, but there's something pretty big at the bottom of it. For somebody to be wiped out, the cause has to be a heavy one. There's too many ways of doing business without being eligible for the chair--unless the risk is worth it."