"Yeah. Maybe," said McKinley.
"But I've got to be left alone. No tails. Nothing that might possibly lead him to think I was working with you… You see that, don't you? It's got to look like I'm giving you the double-cross. Otherwise, he won't talk and you'll never find out how he manages to get pounds of gold every week-you won't be able to prove that he has got it. And if you can't prove that-"
"But suppose," said McKinley. "Suppose you are giving us the double-cross?"
Toddy shrugged and leaned back in his chair. McKinley sat blinking, staring at him.
"I'd be crazy to do it," he said, at last. "I give you a car and a gun and a clear field with a man that's loaded with dough. I give a guy like you a setup like that. It doesn't make sense any way you look at it."
He pressed a button on his desk and stood up. Toddy stood up also. It was all over. There was no use arguing.
"Only fifteen years in this game and I've gone crazy," said McKinley. "Chief, take this man back to jail and dress him out. I'll send over an order for his release."
He said one other thing as Toddy headed for the door. Something that made Toddy very glad his back was turned: "We'll spring your wife, too, Kent, as soon as you pull this off…"
23
After visiting a barber shop, Toddy went to a pawnshop- where he purchased a secondhand suitcase-a drugstore, a haberdashery, and a newsstand which sold back issues. Then he checked in at a hotel.
With deliberate slowness he unpacked the suitcase, the clean shirts, socks and underwear, the toilet articles, cigarettes and bottle of whiskey. He knew what the back-issue newspapers would tell him. He had seen an evening paper headline, BAIL RACKET PROBE LOOMS, but without that he would have known. Miracles didn't happen. Elaine couldn't be in jail.
Still, he didn't really know, until he read the papers. He spread them out at last, a drink in his hand, and read. The foolishly unreasonable hope collapsed.
Only two of the papers carried the story; one gave it a paragraph, the other two. The latter paper also carried her picture, a small, blurred shot, taken several years ago. The former "character actress" had surrendered at a suburban jail. She'd worn sunglasses and was "apparently suffering from a severe cold." Somebody was filling in for Elaine.
Toddy sighed and poured himself another drink. It was about as he'd figured it.
He ordered dinner and put in a call to Airedale. The bondsman arrived just as the waiter was departing.
His derby hat was pulled low over his eyes, and his doggish face was long with anxiety. His first act was to step to the window and draw the shade.
"Can't you smell that stuff, man?" he rasped. "That's gas. It's driftin' all the way down from that little room in Sacramento!"
Toddy poured a glass of milk, handed it to him, and gestured to the bed. Airedale sat down, heavily, fanning himself with the derby.
"Where'd you go," he said. "And why ain't you still goin'?"
"Save it," said Toddy, taking a bite of steak. "Now tell me what happened."
"Me? I tell you what happened?"
"They cracked down on your connections. You had to produce Elaine. Take it from there."
"I go to your hotel and get ahold of lardass. We go up to your room. We can't raise no one, so we break in. You ain't there, Elaine ain't there. Period."
"Comma," said Toddy. "How'd the room look? I mean was it torn up?"
"You ought to know… No," Airedale added hastily, "it wasn't."
"There weren't any cops around? No detectives?"
"Just me and the house dick, but-"
"What time were you there?"
"Eleven-thirty, maybe twelve."
"Oh," said Toddy, "I get it. You were there when…"
"When," Airedale nodded. "When Elaine was going up in smoke. Jesus, Toddy, did you have to draw a picture of it? Couldn't you have done it outside somewheres? You're up there raising hell-everyone in the joint hears her screamin'-and then-"
"That doesn't mean anything. She was always doing that."
"She won't anymore," said Airedale. "I honest to Gawd don't get it, Toddy. Getting rid of the corpus delicti won't make you nothing. Not with that incinerator stack running right through your room."
Toddy abruptly pushed aside his steak and poured a cup of coffee. "I didn't kill her, Airedale. Let's get that straight. I didn't kill her."
"Am I a cop?" said Airedale. "I don't care what you did. I ain't even seen you. I ain't even telling you to get away from here as far and as fast as you can before they put the arm on you."
"There hasn't been any rumble yet."
"There will be," Airedale assured him grimly. "It's building up right now. That little hustler, the ringer that's standing in for Elaine, don't like jail."
"So?" Toddy shrugged. "She's in up to her ears. It would be easier for her if she liked it."
"She don't like it," Airedale repeated, "because she's on the dope. She's a heroin mainliner."
Toddy gulped. "But why in the hell did she-"
"Why do they do anything when they're hitting the H?" growled Airedale. "She spent so much time in the hay she was starting to moo, but she still couldn't pay for her habit. So she stands in for Elaine, and then she gives me the bad news. I'm over a barrel, see? I've got to take care of her. I got to put in a fix and see that she gets the stuff. Either that or I'm out of business. She'll squawk that she ain't Elaine."
Airedale paused to light a cigar. He took a disconsolate puff or two, and sat staring at the glowing tip.
"Well… I've had a doctor in every day. Cold shots, y'know. But that can't go on more'n a few more trips. Even if no one wised up and I was getting those shots for a buck instead of a hundred, I'd have to break it off. I wouldn't play. I've got my own kind of crookedness. It don't drive people crazy. It don't kill 'em."
He paused again, and gave Toddy an apologetic glance. "Not," he said, "that some of 'em don't need killin'. It's just a manner of speaking."
"Skip it," said Toddy. "Will she keep quiet as long as she gets the stuff?"
"Why not? She ain't a bad kid. She doesn't want to cause any trouble. She's beginning to see that I can't keep her fixed, and she ain't kickin'. She'll just go out on her own again."
"She won't be able to do that. They'll stick her on a conspiracy charge."
"Huh-uh." Airedale wagged his head. "She'll get out. She'll get all the stuff she wants. You've read them papers? Well, that little gal's worth her weight in white stuff to certain parties."
The bondsman stubbed out his cigar, sighed, and reached inside the pocket of his coat. He brought out a railroad timetable and proceeded to scan it. After a moment, he looked up.
"What do you think about Florida this time of year?"
"I'm not going anywhere," said Toddy. "Not yet, anyway."
"I am," said Airedale. "I like my fireworks on the Fourth of July. Here's hoping it'll be safe to come back by then."
He waited, as though expecting some comment, but Toddy only nodded. Naturally, Airedale would have to get out of town. The scandal would die down, eventually, be superseded by other and livelier scandals. Meanwhile, Los Angeles would be made extremely uncomfortable for the bondsman and his various political connections.