I walked out of the telephone office into a restaurant, had a pot of coffee, an order of ham and eggs, and then went over to the Cactus Patch. The attendant told me Louie Hazen wouldn’t come on duty until five o’clock that night, but just as I was walking out, another man called to me to wait a minute. Louie, it seemed, was down in the basement, making repairs on some of the machines.
I stood around waiting while they sent for him.
Louie Hazen came up, looked at me dubiously for a moment, then as recognition showed in his eyes, his face broke into a grin. “Hello, buddy,” he said, coming forward with his hand pushed out in front of him.
I reached for his hand, but his hand wasn’t there. ‘Louie wasn’t there. He’d worked that fast shift, pushed my right hand over to one side, and when my eyes finally found his grinning countenance, it was within a few inches of my own, his right fist held gently but firmly against the pit of my stomach.
“You got to watch for it, buddy,” he said. “You got to watch for it all the time.”
I looked into his filmed eyes, saw the battered nose at close range, the broad grin that disclosed the two missing teeth over on the left side.
“You weren’t watchin’ for it, were you, buddy?”
I shook my head.
“You gotta be on your guard if you’re ever goin’ to make a fighter. I could make a fighter outa you, buddy, honest I could. I could teach you how to box, and you’d be dynamite. You’ve got what it takes. You’ve got nerve. You got that chunk o’ courage in your guts that makes a fighter. I’d like to train you.”
I took his arm. “We may do that some day. Where can we talk?”
He led me over into a corner. “What’s on your mind, buddy?”
“I want you to do something for me.”
“Tickled to death. You know I took a liking to you the minute I hit you. You know how it is, buddy. Some people you’ll think you’re going to like, but the minute you shake hands with them, you freeze up inside. The minute you touch him, there’s some kind of electricity. Well, it was just like that, buddy. The minute my fist struck against the side of your jaw— Say, how is the jaw by the way?”
“Sore.”
“You’ve got what it takes, kid. You’ve got what it takes. Gimme six months and I’d make a fighter outa you.”
“Louie, I want you to do something for me.”
“Sure. I already told you that. Just say what it is.”
“Seen the morning paper?”
“No.”
“Take a look at it.”
“Why?”
“A man was killed last night.”
“Killed?”
“Uh huh. Shot with a revolver.”
Louie’s eyes got big and round.
“You mean murdered?”
“That’s right. Now, I’ve got a surprise for you. Guess who it was?”
He shook his head vaguely.
“The man who was in here playing the slot machines last night.”
“You mean Sid Jannix, the one-round kid?”
“The police think his name is Harry Beegan.”
“I tell you, he’s Sid Jannix. I knew the minute I saw him swing that left shoulder up in front of his jaw, and wind up his right, it was the old Jannix crouch. Boy, that used to get ’em. He’d come plowin’—”
“Listen, Louie, I want you to do something.”
“Oh, yes, sure. Sure, I’ll do anything you want. What is it, buddy?”
“I want you to go down to the morgue and identify the body. Not as that of the man you had the trouble with last night when he was doctoring the slot machines, but as that of Sid Jannix, an old prize-fighter friend. Spread it on about how you fought him once—”
“But I never did.”
“It wasn’t a formal match, just an informal practice match that was arranged in the gymnasium.”
“Jeeps, buddy, I don’t want to go to no morgue.”
“It isn’t going to hurt you.”
“I know it ain’t goin’ to hurt me, but it ain’t goin’ to do me no good.”
“Oh, well, if you don’t want to do it—”
“Now wait a minute, buddy. I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it. I just said I didn’t want to do it.”
“I wouldn’t want you to do something you didn’t want to.”
“Sure, buddy. If you want me to do it, I want to do it. When do you want me to go?”
“Right away.”
He adjusted his tie, hitched his coat up around his shoulders, and grinned at me with that snaggle-toothed grin of slap-happy, jovial friendship. “On my way, buddy. Lookin’ at that stiff ain’t goin’ to make my breakfast set no better, but I’m on my way. Where’ll you be when I get back?”
“I’ll be in here a little later.”
“Okey doke, ol’ pal, I’ll be seein’ you. Remember now, I ain’t kiddin’. I could make a fighter outa you. I tell you, you got what it takes.”
“I’ll think it over,” I promised, and watched Louie Hazen walk down the long line of slot machines out the front door, his head and neck resting on his shoulders with that unmistakable air of tough competency which characterizes a man who learned the hard way to take it and to dish it out.
I drifted over to the bar. When the bartender moved up and asked, “What’ll it be?” I inquired, “Has Breckenridge come in yet?”
“Yeah. I think he’s upstairs. Want him?”
“I’d like to talk with him.”
“What’s the name?”
“Lam.”
“How do you spell it?”
“L-a-m.”
He turned quickly back toward the mirror, looked at a piece of paper, and asked, “Are you Donald Lam?” I nodded.
“The boss left a note about you. I wasn’t on duty last night. He left word for the day shift. Anything you want in the place is yours. What’ll it be?”
“Nothing right now. I just want to see Breckenridge.”
The bartender caught the eye of a man who might have been an automobile tourist just sauntering around the place, looking the games over. The man’s indolence immediately dissolved into fast-moving energy as he tame over.
“Wants to see the boss,” the bartender said.
Cold eyes stared at me, and the bartender said hastily, “It’s Lam. The boss sent down a memo—”
The cold eyes were cold no longer. A well-cared-for hand with a big diamond on it was out in front of me. The man was pumping my hand up and down. “Glad you came in, Lam. How about taking a stack of chips and trying your luck, or—”
“No, thanks. I’d like to see Mr. Breckenridge.”
“Right away,” he said. “Come on up to the office.”
He took me over to the door which led up the stairs. I noticed there was a screen-protected diaphragm set in flush with the wall. My escort said, “Donald Lam’s here, Harvey. I’m bringing him up—” The door swung silently open, and we walked up the stairs.
Somewhere near the head of the stairs, my escort unobtrusively removed himself to return to the casino, and resume his sauntering supervision. I didn’t know exactly when he left me because Harvey Breckenridge was coming toward me with his hand outstretched, and a smile on his face. He gave the impression of a man who didn’t smile often, and when he did, his thin, tight lips pressed secretively together as though willing to co-operate in the smile only on the condition the cause was kept a strict secret.
“Come in. Sit down.”
I went in and sat down.
“Drink?”
“No, thanks. Everybody in the place has been urging me to have one.”
“That’s good. I looked you up, Lam. I’m awfully sorry about what happened last night. You were damn white about it. You know, you could have put us in quite a spot on that. I appreciated it.”