"I'll only tell you part of the story."
"The woman in your life, huh?"
When I nodded happily she poked me in the ribs and pretended to be hurt.
One side of the street was fairly well deserted. We waited for a few cars to pass and cut over, our collars turned up against the drizzle. The rain in Lola's hair reflected a thousand lights, each one shimmering separately on its deep-toned background. We swung along with a free stride, holding hands, our shoulders nearly touching, laughing at nothing. It struck me that we were the faces in those pictures, the kind of people the redhead snapped, a sure thing to buy a print to remember the moment.
I wondered what her cut of the quarter was. Maybe she got five cents for every two bits sent in. A lousy nickel. It wasn't fair. Guys like Murray Candid rolling in dough, monkeys with enough capital to finance a weekend with a high-class prostitute. Greaseballs like Feeney Last being paid off to talk a girl into selling her body and soul for peanuts. Even Cobbie Bennett got his. Hell, I shouldn't squawk, I had mine... and now I had five hundred bucks too much. Ann Minor certainly didn't have time to cash that check. It should still be in her apartment, nobody else could cash it, not with the newspapers carrying all the tripe about the investigation and her death.
"Where are we going?" Lola had to step up her pace to keep abreast of me.
"The Albino Club. Ever been there?"
"Once. Why there? I thought you didn't want to be seen."
"I've never been there either. I owe my client five bills and there's a chance he might be there. He may want an explanation."
"Oh!"
The club wasn't far off. Ten minutes' walking brought us to the front entrance and a uniformed doorman obviously glad to see a customer for a change. It was a medium-sized place, stepped down from the sidewalk a few feet, lacking the gaudy atmosphere of the Zero Zero. Instead of chrome and gilt, the wall lights reflected the sheen of highly polished oak and brought out the color of the murals around the room. There was an orchestra rather than a band--one that played, soft and low, compositions to instill a mood and never detract from the business of eating and drinking.
As we stepped into the anteroom we both had a chance to look at the place over the partitions. A few tables were occupied by late diners. Clustered in a corner were half a dozen men still in business suits, deep in discussion with occasional references to pictures sketched on the tablecloth. The bar ran the length of the room and behind it four bartenders fiddled with glasses or did something to while away the time. The fifth was pouring whisky into the glasses of the only two patrons.
Lola went rigid and she breathed my name. I saw what she meant. One of the guys at the bar was Feeney Last. I wasn't interested in him right then. The other was the guy I had beat the hell out of in the parking lot. The one I thought might have been looking for his car keys. My conscience felt much better when I looked at the wreck of his nose. The bastard was after the ring.
Lola read my mind again. "Are... you going in... after him?" I wanted to. God, how I wanted to! I couldn't think of anything I'd sooner do. Feeney Last, right here where I could get to him. Man, oh man, the guy sure felt secure. After all, what did the cops have on him? Not a damn thing... and if anything hung over his head he was the only one that had an idea where it could be found. Except me.
And I was supposed to be dead.
We didn't go in the Albino Club after all. I snatched my hat back from the rack and pushed Lola outside. The doorman was cut to the quick yet able to nod good night politely.
On the corner of Broadway a glorified dog-wagon was doing a land-office business in late snacks. When I saw the blue-and-white phone disc on the front I steered Lola in, told her to order us some coffee, then went down the back to the phone booth.
Pat was home. He must have just gotten in because he was breathing hard from the stairs. I said, "This is Mike, kid. I just saw Feeney Last in the Albino Club with a guy I tangled with not long ago. Can you put a man on him? I have things to do or I'd tail him myself."
"You bet!" Pat exploded. "I've had him on the wires for over two hours. Every police car in the city is looking for him."
It puzzled me. "What... ?"
"I had a teletype from the Coast. It's Feeney they want out there for that murder. He answers the description in every respect."
Something prompted me to ask, "What kind of a kill was it, Pat?"
"He broke the guy's neck in a brawl. He started off with a knife, lost it in the scuffle, then broke his neck."
A chill crept up my back and I was in that hallway again, feeling the cut of a smashing blow under my ear. There wasn't any doubt about it now, not the slightest. Feeney had more than one technique. He could kill with a rod or a knife, and with his hands if he had to.
"The Albino Club, Pat. You know where it is. He's there. I'm going to race the patrol car and if I win you'll need the dead wagon."
I slammed the phone back and shoved my way through the crowd at the counter. Lola was looking for me and she didn't have to be told that something had happened. When I went past her as though she wasn't there she called after me and spun off her stool, but by that time I was on the street and running, running as fast as I could go and the few people on the sidewalk got out of the way to stare after me with their mouths dropping open.
My gun was in my hand when I took the corner. My chest was a ball of fire that ejected the air in quick, hot gasps and all I could think of was smashing the butt end of the rod in Feeney's face. From far off I heard the wail of a siren, a low moaning that put speed in my feet and craving desire to get there first.
We both lost. In the yellow light of the street I saw a car pull away from the curb and when I got outside the Albino Club Feeney Last and his friend had left.
I found out why in a minute. There was, a radio at the bar and Feeney had persuaded the bartender to keep it on police-calls just for laughs. He had the laugh, all right. He was probably howling his goddamn head off.
Chapter Thirteen
Pat arrived seven minutes after the patrol car. By that time, Lola had caught up to me and stood to one side catching her breath. As usual, the curious had formed a tight ring around us and the cops were busy trying to disperse them. Pat said, "It's a hell of a note. You didn't get the make of the car?"
I shook my head. "Only that it was a dark one. The doorman didn't notice either. Goddamn, that makes me mad!"
A reporter pushed his way through the cordon ready to take notes. Pat told him tersely, "The police will issue an official statement later." The guy wouldn't take it for an answer and tried to quiz the cops, but they didn't know any more than the police-call told them; to close in on the Albino Club and hold anyone from leaving.
I stepped back into the crowd and Pat followed. I couldn't press my luck too far. I was still dead and I might as well stay that way for a while if I could. I leaned up against the fender of a car and Pat stayed close. Lola came over and held my hand.
"How's it going, Pat?"
"Not good. I'm catching hell. It's coming at me from all directions now and I don't know which way to turn. Somebody has one devil of a lot of pull in this town, They're talking, too, enough to put the papers wise. The reporters are swarming around headquarters looking for leads. I can't give them anything and they jump me for it. The publicity is going to cause a lot of eyebrow-lifting tomorrow."
There was a determined set to his jaw anyway. Pat could dish it out, too. His time was coming. "What are you doing about it?"
His grin wasn't pleasant. "We staged a couple of raids tonight. Remember what you said about the police knowing things... and still having to let them go on?" I nodded. "I used handpicked men. They raided two fancy houses uptown and came up with a haul that would make your eyes pop out. We have names now, and charges to go with them. Some of the men we netted in the raid tried to bribe my officers and are going to pay through the nose for it!"