“Why does he keep her locked up?” he asked.
Maisey fanned herself with her hand, shaking her head.
“Search me. Mind you, if that streak of horror took a notion for me, I’d have to be locked up if he was to get anywhere with me.” She giggled. “I’m sorry for her. Slim scarcely ever leaves her. He stays in that locked room with her nearly all the time.”
Rocco was getting intrigued.
“Have you ever seen her?”
“Just once, but I hear, every night before the club opens, Slim takes her for a walk. They don’t stay out long. I reckon he just walks her around the block and brings her back. I got to the club a little early: my watch was wrong. That’s when I saw her. Slim and the girl were coming down the stairs. I only got a glimpse of her because Ma appeared and hustled me into the Ladies’ room.”
“What was the girl like?” Rocco asked, listening intently.
“I didn’t see her face. She had a scarf over her head and pulled across her face, but there was something queer about her. She walked down the stairs as if she couldn’t see — the way blind people walk.”
“Ma know about all this?”
“Sure, and Doc too. Doc goes up to her room every day.”
Rocco thought for a moment. This might be worth investigating, he thought.
“I want to see this girl,” he said. “How do I do it?”
Maisey smiled drunkenly at him.
“I’m not stopping you. Stick around the club between ten and eleven and you’ll see Slim and her taking a walk.”
If Slim was going to be out of town until nine, Rocco thought, there wouldn’t be much chance of seeing this mysterious girl tonight.
“You don’t tell me he takes her out through the front entrance?” he said.
Maisey was suddenly feeling faint. The room was moving slowly up and down with the motion of a ship.
“There’s a back entrance,” she said, “through the warehouse next door.”
Rocco smiled. He was now sure he hadn’t wasted his money.
“That Scotch seems to have been a little too much for you, baby,” he said. “Come and lie down.”
“You’ve got something there,” Maisey said. “I feel terrible.”
Rocco pulled her out of the chair. She staggered against him and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught hold of her.
“Whoops! Someone is rocking my dream boat,” she said and clung hard to him.
Rocco looked at the clock on the mantel. The time was a little after three. He guided Maisey to the divan and lowered her gently onto its wide softness.
“The same old, old story,” she said, her eyes closed. “The guy says strictly business and it’s always strictly something else.”
Rocco lowered the blinds.
He believed in the right atmosphere.
Maisey sighed happily when he took her in his arms.
Part four
Chapter twenty
Fenner arrived at the foot of the dirt road leading to Johnny’s shack soon after four o’clock in the afternoon. He had driven hard and fast, and he was sharply conscious of the possibility that some of the Grisson gang could be coming after him.
Before leaving town, he had paused long enough to telephone Paula, telling her where he was going.
“I think I’m on to something,” he said. “Call Brennan and tell him what’s cooking. Tell him to come to Johnny’s place fast.”
“Why don’t you wait for him?” Paula asked anxiously. “Why go out there alone?”
“Quit worrying,” Fenner said. “Tell Brennan,” and he hung up.
But now, as he drove his car off the road and behind a thicket, he began to think Paula’s suggestion had been a sensible one. This place was miles from anywhere: it was lonelier than a pauper’s grave.
He got out of the car, satisfied himself it couldn’t be seen from the road, then he started up the dirt road towards Johnny’s shack.
Halfway up the road, he paused to pull his gun and slide off the safety catch. He was pretty sure none of the Grisson gang had got ahead of him, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
The evening sun was hot, and Fenner, who hated walking, cursed under his breath as he left the dirt road and started along the twisting path that led directly to the shack.
Two hundred yards ahead of him, he could see the dense wood through which he was walking open out onto a clearing. He slowed, picking his way silently, his eyes and ears alert.
A blue-winged jay suddenly flew out of a tree close by with a flapping of wings that startled Fenner. He looked up, his heart skipping a beat and then he grinned.
I’m as jittery as an old maid with a man under her bed, he told himself, and moved on cautiously to the edge of the clearing. He paused behind a tree and looked at the shabby wooden shack that stood in the center of the clearing.
It looked as if Johnny was at home. The door stood open and wood smoke curled lazily from the single chimney.
Keeping his gun hand down by his side and out of sight, Fenner walked silently over the rough grass until he reached the front door. He paused just outside the shack to listen.
He could hear Johnny humming to himself. He moved forward and paused in the open doorway.
Johnny, his back turned, was bending over the stove. He was cooking bacon in a frying pan. The smell of the bacon made Fenner’s nose twitch.
Fenner looked quickly around the large dirty room. The gun rack, holding two shotguns was by the door, well away from Johnny.
He stepped into the room, covering the old man with his gun.
“Hello, Johnny,” he said softly.
Johnny stiffened, then shuddered. He straightened and turned very slowly. His red, raddled face went slack with fright at the sight of Fenner. His dim, watery eyes opened wide at the sight of the gun in Fenner’s hand.
“Take it easy,” Fenner said. “Remember me, Johnny?”
The old man seemed to be having trouble with his breathing.
“What are you pointing that gun at me for?” he croaked.
Fenner lowered the gun.
“Remember me?” he repeated.
Johnny blinked at him, frowning.
“You’re the guy from the newspaper, aren’t you?”
“That’s right,” Fenner said. “Sit down, Johnny, I want to talk to you.”
Johnny lowered himself onto an upturned box. He seemed glad to get the weight off his legs. He shoved the frying pan off the direct heat of the stove and then with a shaking hand, he rubbed his bristly chin while he squinted up at Fenner.
“Now listen, Johnny,” Fenner said, “you could be in bad trouble. You could go to jail for a long stretch. You wouldn’t like that, would you? No booze; no nothing. You come clean with me and I’ll cover you. All I want from you is some information.”
“I don’t know nothing about nothing,” Johnny said. “I don’t want you around here. I just want to be left alone.”
“Riley and his mob were here about three months ago, weren’t they?” Fenner asked.
Johnny stiffened. He looked wildly around the room as if seeking a way of escape.
“I don’t know nothing about Riley.”
“Listen, you old fool,” Fenner said sharply, “lying won’t get you anywhere. They had the Blandish girl with them. Riley called his girlfriend from here. She’s talking. So far, she has only talked to me, but if she starts talking to the cops, you’ll be in trouble. They’ll work you over, Johnny, until you do open your mouth. Now come on. Riley was here, wasn’t he?”
Johnny hesitated, then with a cunning expression in his eyes, he nodded.
“Yeah, that’s right. He and Bailey and Old Sam and a girl. They didn’t stay long; not more than ten minutes. I wouldn’t have them here. They were too hot. I wasn’t taking a chance of getting in bad with the cops so I told them to keep moving. Riley called his girl, then they got back into their car and beat it. I don’t know where they went.”