I took the ring back and slipped it on my finger again. "Well, Nat, it was a good try just the same. At least I cut down a lot of unnecessary footwork."
His pudgy face warped into a quizzical frown. "Do not the police have methods to bring out inscriptions that have been worn off, Mike?"
"Yeah, they can do it, but suppose I do find a set of initials. Those would belong to the original owner, and since it's a woman's ring, and no doubt passed down through the family, how often would the name have changed? No, the inscription wouldn't do much good, even if I did find the original owner. It was just an idea I had." If it hadn't been an antique it might have solved the problem. All it did was set me up in the other alley wondering where the hell I was.
I stood up to leave and stuck my hand out. Nat looked disappointed. "So soon you must go, Mike? You could come home with me and maybe meet the wife. It has been a year since the last time."
"Not tonight, Nat. I'll stop back some other time. Say hullo to Flo for me, and the kids."
"I'll do that. Them kids, they be pretty mad I don't bring you home."
I left him standing there in the doorway and climbed back in the car. Red's ring was winking at me, and I could see it on her finger again as she graced a battered old coffee cup.
Damn it!... I had the key and I couldn't find the lock! Why the devil would a killer take this thing off her finger? What good was it to him if it couldn't be traced? And who was the goon that carried it around with him until he lost it? Hell's bells, it couldn't be a red herring across the path or it never would have turned up again!
My mind was talking back to me then. One part of me drove the car away from the curb and stopped for red lights. The other part was asking just why I got beat up at all? Yeah, why did I? And why was it planned so nicely? Oh, it was planned quick, but very, very nice! I wasn't important enough to kill, but I did warrant a first-class going-over. A warning?
Sure! What else?
Murray and his boys didn't know me from Adam, but they spotted a phoney in my story and figured me as a wise guy, or somebody with an angle, so it was a warning to steer clear. And one of the goons who had done this warning had killed the redhead or was tied up with it some way.
I was uptown without knowing it. I had crossed over and was following a path I had taken once before, and when I slowed down outside the parking lot I knew what I was after.
I made a U-turn and parked at the curb across the street, then walked to the corner, waited for the light to change and strolled to the other side. I couldn't be sure if the attendant was the same one who was on the other night; at least this one was awake.
He opened the window when I rapped on it and I said, "Anybody lose anything in here recently, bud?"
The guy shook his head. "Just a guy what lost his car keys. Why, find something?"
"Yes, but there's no money involved. A little trinket a dame might like to have back. Just thought I'd ask."
"Check the ads in the papers. If she wants it bad enough maybe she'll advertise. Got it with you?"
"Naw. Left it home."
He said, "Oh!" shut the window and went back to his chair. I started to walk away, but before I reached the building that bordered the lot a car turned in and its lights cut a swath down the rows. I saw a pair of legs jump back from the glare and duck in among the cars.
I stopped flat.
The legs had gone up the same row I had run into last night.
My heart started doing a little dance and the other part of me was saying go to it, that's why you came here in the first place. Maybe you got your hands on something, only don't botch it up this time. Take it easy and keep your eyes open and a gun in your fist.
The car turned its lights out and a door slammed. Feet started walking back towards the gate, and a fat guy in a Homburg said something to the man in the booth, laughed and angled across the street. I waited a second, then put my hands on the fence and hopped over.
This time I didn't take any chances. I stayed between the cars and the wall, keeping my head down and my footsteps soft. Twice the gravel crunched under my shoes and I stopped dead, listening. Two rows up I heard a soft shuffling sound and a shoe kick metal.
I reached inside my coat and loosened the gun in the holster.
The guy was too busy to hear me. He was down on one knee sifting the gravel through his fingers, his back towards me. I stood up from the crouch I was in and waited as he inched his way back.
Another car turned into the lot and he froze, holding his position until it had parked and the driver had left the lot, then he went back to his sifting. I could have reached out and touched him then.
I said, "Lost something?"
He tried to get up so fast he fell flat on his face. He made, it on the second try and came up swinging, only this time I was ready. I smashed one into his mouth and the guy slammed against the car, but that didn't stop him. I saw his left looping out and got under it and came into him with a sharp one-two that doubled him over. I didn't try to play it clean. I brought my knee up and smashed his nose to a pulp and when he screamed he choked on his own blood.
I bent over and yanked him up and held him against the car, then used my fist on his face until his hands fell away and he was out with his eyes wide open.
When I let go he folded up and sat in the gravel staring into the dark.
I lit a match and cupped it near his face, or what was left of it. Then I swore under my breath. I had never seen the guy in my life before. He was young, and he might have been handsome, and the clothes he wore weren't the ready-made type. I swore again, patted his sides to see if he had a rod, and he didn't. Then I lifted his wallet. It was hand-tooled morocco, stuffed with dough, a few cards and a driver's license issued to one Walter Welburg. Out of curiosity I tapped his pockets and there weren't any keys in them. Maybe the guy was looking for that.
Damn! I blew the match out, went down past the cars and hopped over the fence feeling like a dummy.
I left the car where it was and headed across town on the same walk that had taken me into the trap, only this time I wasn't tailing anybody. The street was getting lousy with taxis, and the evening crowd was just beginning to show its face. Already the dives had their doors open like gaping mouths swallowing the suckers, and the noise of a dozen bands reached the sidewalk. Ahead of me the Zero Zero Club was a winking eye of invitation, and the flunky was opening taxi doors, picking himself a hatful of quarters. He didn't see me duck in, so he lost a two-bit tip.
The hat-check girl gave me a bored smile and a ticket, then when she saw the marks on the side of my face she grinned, "What's the matter... she say no and you didn't believe her?"
I grinned right back. "I was fighting her off, kid."
She leaned over on the counter and propped her chin in her hands, giving me a full view of what went on down the neckline of her blouse. It was plenty. "I don't blame her for fighting for it, feller," she said. "I'd fight, too."
"You wouldn't have to."
I blew her a kiss and she made like she caught it and stuffed it down her neckline. Her eyes got dark and sensuous and she said, "You have to come back for your hat. Maybe I'll trade you... even."
A couple in evening clothes came in and she turned to them while I went inside. Most of the tables around the dance floor were filled, and a baby spot played over a torch singer who was making more music with her hips than her throat. Neither Murray nor his boys were anywhere around so I found a table in the back and ordered a highball and watched the show.
The waiter brought the drink and before I sipped it half-way through a hand went through my hair and I looked up to see my blonde hostess smiling at me. I started to rise but she pushed me back and pulled the other chair out and sat down.