“Now I’ll ask you quietly, where’s the limping goose bank?”
“I told you,” snapped Sam, “it was swiped from our hotel room this morning.”
Deliberately, Sid clenched his fist and smashed it against Sam’s jaw.
“Once more, where’s the goose bank?”
“All right,” said Sam, “what do you want me to tell you?”
“I want you to tell me where the bank is?”
“It’s in my safe deposit box at the Chase Bank, along with my diamond rings and my loose cash, consisting of fifty thousand bucks. I put it there because Mr. Chase is my uncle and he needs the six bucks a year that I pay him for the safety deposit—”
Sam couldn’t quite get out the last word. Sid hit him a savage blow on the right side of his face, then followed with a blow on the left side. Blood trickled out of Sam’s mouth.
Sid said, “What do you think of that, wise guy?”
“It don’t get you the goose bank,” Sam said.
Sid drew back his fist to hit Sam again, but the taxi driver stepped forward. “Wait a minute, Sid, I think he was telling the truth.”
“Maybe he was,” snarled Sid, “but unless we get those coins we won’t make enough out of this caper to take a blonde and her girl friend to dinner.”
“With those pennies and dimes and quarters you can take a babe to the Automat, but that’s about all,” Sam said.
Sid looked at Sam sharply. “How do you know there’re only pennies and dimes and quarters in the bank?”
Sam realized that he had said too much. He shook his head, his lips taut. Sid looked at Leonard.
“You took the money out of the bank,” Sid accused Sam.
“It wasn’t easy,” Sam admitted. “The slot was pretty narrow.”
“Stand up!” Sid rapped at Sam.
Sam got to his feet and Sid went through his pockets, turning them inside out. “Not a penny! Your friend Fletcher’s got the money.” He nodded savagely. “That’s it, the bank was stolen, but it was already empty. Fletcher’s got the money.”
A few feet away the phone shrilled. Sid whirled and went to it. “Yeah?” He listened carefully, his eyes narrowing. “I just searched him. He hasn’t got a dime in his pockets. And he claims the bank was stolen from his room this morning.” He listened again, scowling. “I called, but I haven’t been able to get him. Yeah, sure, I’ll keep trying. What?” He listened some more, then nodded. “Okay, boss, he’ll leave right away.”
He hung up the phone and turned to Leonard. “The boss says for you to come into town. He’s got an angle.”
“What about him?” Leonard asked, nodding to Sam.
“He stays here. Just in case. I’m going to keep him company.” He signaled toward the door. “I’ll go out with you.”
The two men left the cabin.
The moment they were out, Sam began flexing his hands. He twisted them back and forward, but discovered that the ropes had been tied too tight. He rubbed his wrists together in a semirotating manner, grinned after a moment.
Sid re-entered. “All right, fat boy,” he said. “Sit down and make yourself comfy. We’re going to be here for a while.”
Outside, the taxicab motor began to purr. Gears ground and the noise of the motor became fainter.
14
A drunken sailor on shore leave after a five months’ cruise in the South Pacific was no freer with his money than Johnny Fletcher when he had it. It was seldom that he had it, but when he had it he spent it. He gave the captain of waiters at the Beau Jester a five-dollar bill and when the man started to lead him to a table in the far corner, he tapped him on the shoulder.
“How about this table right here?” he asked, showing the captain the markings on a ten-dollar bill.
“Why, yes, sir, it’s a very nice table.” He drew out a chair for Johnny. “Would you like a drink?”
“Yes — milk.”
“Milk? You mean... milk?”
“That’s right, milk. And I wonder if you’d mind telling me a little about this place?”
“Not at all, sir. We serve the best foods, the finest vintages and give you the best service in town.”
“So I’ve heard. Friend of mine down in Texas spent a little money here last year. Told me it was the best little place in New York. From Houston, my friend.”
Texas and Houston meant oil to any captain of waiters in New York and the one by Johnny’s table brightened. “Texas is a wonderful place,” he said, “and Houston!” The captain rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and exhaled heavily.
“Mister,” said Johnny, “you said a mouthful! I ain’t been in New York myself in ten-twelve years and I’m practically a greenhorn here. Used to know a few folks here, but I don’t even know where to look them up now. I don’t s’pose you happen to know old Jim Sutton?”
“Mr. James Sutton? He comes here frequently.”
“He does? Thought he’d be married with six kids by now.” He snapped his fingers. “Jim and I had some great times together. He had a cousin I liked a lot. Wonder whatever happened to him?”
The captain coughed gently. “Mr. Carmichael? I’m afraid—”
“Naw, I wasn’t thinkin’ of Jess. I saw in the papers what happened to him. Too bad, but Jess wasn’t one of my favorite people, I’m sorry to say. No, I was thinkin’ of another cousin of Jim’s, Les Smithson. Great lad.”
“Mr. Smithson, mm? I didn’t know him very well. Of course he came here now and then, but I was only the head waiter then and I didn’t know him too well. I do remember, though, that he and Mr. Sutton were rather close friends. For cousins, that is.”
“Oh, sure,” said Johnny easily. “I know what you mean. I got a cousin back in Houston. We fight all the time, but we’re buddies just the same. We had a big spat a couple of years ago — regular knockdown and dragout — then the following week he was opening up a new field and needed a little ready, so who’d he come to? Me, naturally. And what’s more, I helped him out. Good thing, too.”
The captain of waiters practically drooled. “Quite so, sir, quite so. Mr. Smithson and Mr. Sutton had words now and then, but they were cousins, after all.”
“I’d sure like to talk over old times with Les and Jim. Or any of their really close friends, if Les and Jim aren’t around town.”
“Mr. Sutton’s in town, but Mr. Smithson...” The captain hesitated. “He, I believe, disappeared some years ago. Nobody seems to know what happened to him.”
“He went to Europe, maybe? He always said he wanted to do a lot of traveling.”
“Perhaps he’s living there permanently now,” said the captain. “I haven’t heard about him in some years. Mmm, I wonder...” His eyes went past Johnny to a table along the wall. “There’s Mr. Wheelwright, he was a very close friend of Mr. Smithson’s.”
Johnny half turned and followed the captain’s eyes to a sleek, well-fed man in his middle thirties. His eyes barely rested on the man, however, going instantly to his companion, Hertha Colston, who had been Jess Carmichael’s fiancée and whom he had seen so briefly the night before as he dashed into the Carmichael home at Manhasset.
The captain continued, “Perhaps I could introduce you to Mr. Wheelwright — if he doesn’t mind, that is.”
“Hey,” said Johnny, “I know the little lady with him. Thanks, captain.” He pushed back his chair and rising, crossed to the table of Wheelwright and Hertha Colston.
“Miss Colston!” Johnny said enthusiastically, as he came up to the table.
She recognized him instantly. “You’re the man I saw at Uncle Jess’s last night.”
“That’s right.” Johnny pulled out a chair and sat down facing Wheelwright and the girl.