“And Judge Harrison plans to put all that right?” I asked.
Troy lifted his bulky shoulders.
“That’s what Judge Harrison promises to do if he gets elected, but he won’t, of course. I’m not saying there won’t be a token clean-up: there will be. A number of the minor vice characters will get tossed into the can. There’ll be a certain amount of flag waving and a hell of a lot of talk, then, after a month or so, the big boys will flex their muscles and everything will be back as it was. The Judge will find his bank balance has suddenly mysteriously increased. Someone will give him a Cadillac. He’ll find it is that much easier to let things go on without interference: for Creedy read Harrison, otherwise it will be the same old racket. It’s the system, not the men. A man is honest just so far, but if the money is there, then he can be bought. I’m not saying every man can be bought, but I know damn well Harrison can be.”
“I was under the impression that Creedy was the boss of the rackets. If he isn’t, then who is?”
Troy blew more smoke before saying, “The man who uses Creedy’s money and who really runs this town is Cordez, the owner of the Musketeer Club. He’s the boy. He’s the one who will still be here if Creedy drops out and Harrison takes over. No one knows much about him except he is a slick operator from South America who arrived overnight and who seems to have a natural talent for making profit out of any kind of racket. If Creedy’s big business, then Cordez is big rackets. But make no mistake about this: Creedy is just a song at twilight compared with Cordez. If anyone could pull the rug from under Cordez’s feet, this town would be free of the rackets, but no one is big enough.”
“Let me get this straight,” I said. “The Musketeer Club isn’t Cordez’s only asset, is it?”
Troy smiled grimly as he shook his head.
“Of course not. He uses Creedy’s money to make himself money. Take the Casino as an example. Creedy financed the building and gets the house stakes, but Cordez also gets twenty-five per cent as protection money. Creedy financed the gambling ship. He reckoned it would bring in the tourists. It does, but Cordez is there to pick up another twenty-five per cent. If there was no pay-off a bomb would go off in that ship. Those who run the ship and the Casino and all the other money spinners know that so they pay up.”
I sat for a long moment taking a look at what he had told me. This wasn’t anything new. It was happening in New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco and all over. In thirty-six hours I seemed to have moved a long way from Sheppey’s sudden death in a hot little bathing cabin to this. Had he found out something that might have put Cordez on a spot? Sheppey had been a good man with a nose for finding out things like that. I thought of the ice pick that had been filed down to a razor-sharp point: a gangster’s weapon.
“I wanted you to get the picture,” Troy said. “That’s how it is. And another thing: watch this guy Holding. You can trust him the way you trust a rattlesnake: no more, no less. So long as you play it his way, he’ll be your friend, but move one step out of his way of thinking and you’ll wonder what’s hit you. So watch him.”
I said I would, then went on to tell him about the possible hook-up between Creedy and Sheppey. I gave him all the facts and I also told him about the mysterious match holder.
“It’s my bet that Creedy hired Sheppey to do a job like watching his wife or something like that and Sheppey stumbled on something big that has nothing to do with Creedy,” I said. “I may be wrong, but I can’t imagine a man like Creedy having anyone killed.”
Troy shook his head.
“You’re right. He wouldn’t do that. He might have a guy beaten up if he got in his way, but killing would be out.” He leaned back in his chair. “This is quite a story, isn’t it? But there’s nothing yet we can print. With a little digging we might come up with a real humdinger.” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got things to do, Mr. Brandon. I’ve got to get going. I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll turn young Hepple on to this set up. He’s one of my best men. You can use him when and how you like. He’s got a talent for nosing out information. Don’t be scared to work him hard, he thrives on it. He might dig into Hahn’s background for a start. I’ve always thought there was something fishy about that fella.”
“I’ll call him to-morrow and we’ll have a talk,” I said. “Hepple did you say his name was?”
“That’s right: Frank Hepple.”
“I’ll call him.” I got to my feet. “You wouldn’t know anyone who is a member of the Musketeer Club, would you?”
“Me?” Troy laughed. “Not a chance.”
“I’d like to get in there and look around.”
“You haven’t a hope. Don’t kid yourself. No one goes in there unless he’s a member or a member takes him in.”
“Well, okay. We’ll keep in touch,” I said. “With any luck I’ll let you have something in a day or so.”
“If it’s anything about Creedy, it’s got to be solid facts: nothing else will do,” Troy said, leaning across his desk to stare at me. “I can’t afford a libel suit with him. He could put me out of business.”
“When I give you something on Creedy, it’ll be solid facts,” I said.
We shook hands and I left him.
At least now I felt I had someone I could rely on. It was a pretty comforting thought.
Chapter VIII
I
I learned from a traffic cop that the Musketeer Club was on the top floor of the Ritz-Plaza Hotel, and this came as a surprise to me. I had imagined the club would be an ornate palace standing in its own grounds.
“You mean it’s just a collection of rooms on the top of a hotel?” I said. “I thought it was the Taj Mahal of this city.”
The cop took off his cap, wiped his forehead and squinted at me.
“Taj who?” he said. “What are you giving me, Mac?”
“I thought it was certain to have its own grounds and be a sort of palace.”
“I can’t help what you thought, can I? It’s way up on the twenty-fifth floor with a roof garden. But what are you worrying about? You’re not going up there, Mac. Me neither.”
I thanked him and went back to the Buick. I sat behind the wheel and thought for a few minutes. Then I remembered Greaves had said that at one time he had been a house dick at the Ritz-Plaza. It occurred to me he might have an idea as to how I could get into the dub.
I drove to the nearest drug store and called him.
“I could use a little help if you can spare the time,” I said, listening to his heavy breathing coming over the line. “How about meeting me some place? I’ll buy you a beer.”
He said he would meet me in half an hour at Al’s Bar on 3rd Street.