‘Wait a minute!’ the other girl said. ‘I seem to remember the guy. I’ve seen him a few times. He went up to Mr Gatt’s office a couple of times.’
‘When did you last see him?’ I asked her.
She thought hard. ‘Be more than a week ago – going on two weeks, I guess. I haven’t seen him since then.’
‘Thanks a lot,’ I said. I put a five-spot on the counter in front of her. ‘By the way, how do you get to Mr Gatt’s office?’
‘Straight up the stairs,’ she said, pointing to the staircase across the other side of the foyer. She picked up the five spot. ‘Thanks, mister.’
‘Thank you,’ I said to both of them. I went up the stairs and found a door with ‘Mr Gatt’ neatly stencilled on it in gold letters. I knocked.
‘Come in,’ said a deep voice.
The guy who was seated behind the desk stood up. It was a delicate operation. He must have hit the scales around two hundred and fifty, if they built scales tough enough to take him. Fat bulged everywhere. He could have been around forty, with a mass of shiny black hair and a fixed grin not far above his three chins.
‘Mr Gatt?’ I asked.
He nodded genially. ‘Sure, that’s me. What can I do for you? Take a seat, anyway.’
I sat down. ‘My name is Kaufman,’ I said. ‘I am trying to trace a friend of mine and I thought you might be able to help me.’
‘Sure,’ he grinned. ‘What’s your friend’s name?’
‘Brent,’ I told him. ‘Johnny Brent.’
The smile slid off his face and disappeared amongst the chins. ‘No,’ he shook his head ponderously, ‘I am sorry, Mr Kaufman, I do not know the name.’
I gave him the description. ‘I am sorry,’ he said again, ‘I’m sure I do not know him. What made you think I might?’
‘He comes here often,’ I said. ‘He has mentioned your name a few times to me – he seemed to know you very well,’ I lied.
‘Strange!’ he mused. ‘I do not understand it.’
‘Neither do I,’ I agreed.
He smiled again. ‘I am sorry I cannot help you, Mr Kaufman.’ He leaned back in the chair, which creaked with his weight.
I got to my feet. ‘Too bad,’ I said, ‘I particularly wanted to see him. Thanks, anyway.’
I could feel his eyes watching me as I went out of the room. I got myself a table and had a few drinks. Then came the floor show and it was good. The final act was even better. Her name was Katherine. She came into the centre of the floor, one spot staying with her, the rest of the place in darkness. She started to strip and each time she took a garment off, the spotlight went out, then came on again. Finally, when the light came on again, she wasn’t there. It was quite an act and she was quite a dame.
I had another drink and a few minutes later someone stopped at my table. ‘Hullo,’ a husky voice said. I looked up and saw it was Katherine – she was dressed in a red gown that contrasted nicely with her black hair. She smiled down at me. ‘On your own?’
‘That’s right,’ I agreed.
‘Would you mind if I joined you?’
‘Mind!’ I nearly broke my neck getting the chair out for her. The waiter came over and I ordered her a drink. ‘This is the sort of thing I dream about, but it never really happens!’ I told her.
She smiled. ‘After the floor show is over, I like to sit out here for a while. I would rather sit with someone who hasn’t a partner than with someone who has.’ Her smile broadened. ‘When I sit with someone who has a partner, the partner worries all the time that I might start my act over again!’
‘It’s certainly some act!’ I said enthusiastically.
She shrugged her beautiful shoulders. ‘It’s not a very clever act,’ she said. ‘I have little talent, but for a floor show the manager says my figure is better than my talent. So,’ she shrugged her shoulders again, ‘who am I to argue when he pays my salary?’
‘You must have an awful lot of talent,’ I told her, ‘if it comes anywhere close in comparison with your figure!’
‘Thank you,’ she said softly.
An hour and five drinks later she was still at my table. She was calling me Rex and I was calling her Katherine and we were old friends. Then she looked at her watch. ‘It’s getting late,’ she said, ‘I should be going home.’
‘Can I drive you?’ I offered.
‘That would be very nice,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll pick up my wrap and meet you in the foyer.’
We stopped outside her apartment block. ‘Won’t you come in for a drink, Rex?’ she asked. I was halfway across the sidewalk before she caught up with me.
Her apartment was nice – cosy on a lavish scale. We sat together on the sofa and had the drink – and then a couple more. ‘I guess I should be going,’ I said eventually.
‘There’s no hurry,’ she said. We had another couple of drinks. I was beginning to feel high and I wasn’t sure whether it was the liquor or her perfume.
‘If I stay here much longer,’ I told her, ‘I’m going to kiss you!’
She laughed softly. ‘I should be disappointed if you didn’t!’
Four a.m. when I got back to my own apartment, I put the key in the lock and the door opened before I could turn the key. I looked at it. I thought I remembered shutting the door before I’d gone out. I went inside, switched on the lights, then made my way into the living room.
I had a visitor. There was a guy sitting in an armchair, waiting for me. He was tall and dark with a thin moustache. You could have called him good looking. Almost without thinking, I glanced down at his left hand and saw the scar running across his knuckles.
He stood up as I came in – and there was a gun in his right hand. ‘I thought you were never coming home!’ he said thickly.
I walked over to the liquor cabinet. ‘Like a drink?’ I suggested.
‘I could use one,’ he said, ‘but don’t try any smart play!’
‘You’re Johnny Brent,’ I said as I poured out the drinks. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’
‘And I’ve been looking for you,’ he said. ‘Small world, isn’t it?’
I turned around and handed him one of the glasses – he took it carefully. His face was taut and his hands trembled slightly. ‘What’s the idea?’ he demanded. ‘What’s the idea of putting the finger on me?’
‘Just a job, as far as I’m concerned,’ I said easily. I didn’t like him being strung up like that. He could pull the trigger almost without knowing it. ‘I’m a private eye – I get paid to do things like that.’
‘Yeah?’ He took a pull on the rye. ‘Who’s paying you to put the finger on me?’
‘Your wife,’ I told him, ‘she’s worried about her income.’
‘My wife!’ He looked at me blankly.
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘She hasn’t seen you in three weeks and she’s worried.’
He finished the rye. ‘You’ve been asking in the carnival ground,’ he said hoarsely, ‘you’ve been asking in the Green Dragon. I don’t like it, Kaufman, it doesn’t do me any good – it doesn’t do my business any good!’
‘What exactly is your business?’ I asked.
‘Never mind!’ he said.
I sipped my own drink. ‘The answer is easy enough,’ I said. ‘Pay your wife some dough and she’ll call me off.’
‘Yeah,’ he liked his lips nervously, ‘where does she live again?’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘You must have a short memory!’
‘I’ve got things on my mind,’ he said. ‘Give me the address.’
I put my hand into the inside pocket of my jacket. The gun jerked up quickly. ‘It’s okay,’ I told him. ‘Relax! I’ve got it written down and the piece of paper is in my wallet.’
‘Just don’t make any mistake about it!’ he said.
I took the wallet out slowly and opened. ‘Here it is,’ I said. ‘She lives at…’
The noise of the shot reverberated around the room. I looked up and saw Johnny Brent’s astonished lace. The gun dropped out of his hand and his legs gave way underneath him. He crumpled to the floor. I still stood there looking at him. Then I looked towards the open door.