“Lindsey’s a pretty sore cop. He was all set to line me up for a murder rap, I guess. He had the gun that killed this Bob Minnow and it had my prints on it. He said.”
Pop’s eyes went wide. “Then you didn’t...”
I held up my hands so he could see where the tips of my fingers used to be. “He couldn’t prove it, Pop. He wanted to, but even though he knew every inch of my body by heart he couldn’t prove that I was me. Silly, isn’t it?”
“Johnny,” he gasped, “it’ll never work!”
I laughed at him. “What do you bet?”
He climbed off his stool, his face a mixture of confusion and bewilderment. “Look, I need a drink. Got a couple hours before I open the window again so let’s get a drink.”
“Now you’re talking.” I opened the door and walked out while he locked up his money drawers. The woman with the baby was walking up and down the platform outside and the waiting room was deserted. Even the shadows outside were deserted. The old man came out, snapped the lock on the door and checked it, then pulled on his coat.
A penny post card was sticking out of the side pocket and when he came alongside me I picked it out, dropped it on the floor and made a play of picking it up. “Dropped something.”
He said thanks and stuck it back in his pocket. But I had time to catch the Nicholas Henderson, 391 Sutter Place on the address side.
He had a battered ’36 Ford out back and got in under the wheel while I wedged in beside him. “Where we going?”
“Up here a piece. Only place where you can get a decent steak anymore. Get girlies too, if you’re interested.”
“I’m always interested in girlies,” I laughed.
His head turned so sharply it almost threw him off balance.
“You’re changed.”
“Five years is a long time, Pop. Enough to change a guy,” I said easily.
He backed out of the space with a jerk and swung around in the bus port. “Yeah, guess you’re right there,” he agreed.
Chapter Three
The place was a roadhouse on the north-south highway. There was nothing fancy about it except the sign that said LOUIE DINERO’S STEAKS AND CHOPS. It was a real log cabin job with a big fieldstone fireplace on the bar side and from the number of cars parked in the drive, business was booming.
“Kind of far out for such a trade, isn’t it?”
“Don’t make no difference. It’s the only good place left to eat. Catches all the trade going home.”
Inside, a rumba band picked up the beat and a lot of people started whistling at something happening on the dance floor. Pop said hello to a few people, got a big hello in Italian dialect from Louie himself and introduced me with a half-hearted wave. I think I said hello. It was hard to talk and watch the blonde wrapped around the microphone at the same time. She was a real bottle-yellow blonde in a green dress that went on like a bathrobe and was held together by only one button in the middle. No matter which way she stepped you’d see almost all the inside of a lovely tanned leg that was a tantalizing flash in the amber spotlight. She started off the song with little steps that got larger and more critical and had everybody forgetting their chow waiting for the inevitable.
The song was about three bars too short and the inevitable stayed hidden. Instead of giving the patrons a breather she started a new routine with the top of the dress and for a minute I thought she would come out of it altogether. That song ended too fast too. She got one hell of a round of applause and disappeared behind the curtains beside the band.
Louie said, “You like?”
I said, “I love.”
He gave me a big smile and patted his belly contentedly. “Wendy she was good tonight. Very good. Sometimes soon she make the big time.”
I grunted, “She had it made a long time ago.”
“So true. But she likes it here and won’t leave. I pay tops. Very nice girl. Now, Nick, you and your young friend like to eat?”
Pop said, “Sure, I need something. Get us a couple steaks, but bring a drink first. We’ll be over at the corner table.”
By the corner table he meant the one that was wedged so far in the comer behind a palm and some draperies that it was empty because nobody knew it was there. The drinks reached the table the same time we did and went down in time for the waiter to bring back the empties for a refill.
“This a regular banquet of yours, Pop?”
“Guy gets tired of boarding-house cooking sometimes.”
“Nice job you got. Maybe you own the bus line.”
“Hell, Johnny, it ain’t expensive here for me. Friend of mine supplies Louie at a cut rate, so Louie makes up the favor on the bill. The steaks are something special.”
He wasn’t kidding there. They were very special. I didn’t know how hungry I was until I worked mine over until there was a big shiny T in the middle of the plate. I pulled out a smoke and sat back to enjoy it when the blonde came in around the palm and I sat there with the match burning down to my fingers.
She didn’t have on the green dress, but the one she wore was just as good. When I studied her a little closer I decided that it wasn’t the dress at all but what was underneath it. She said, “Hello, Nick,” in a rich, husky voice and wrinkled her nose at me.
“Hi, Wendy, meet Johnny.”
I like women who stick out their hand and shake like a man.
It gives you a chance to feel what they’re made of. This one was okay. “Hello, Wendy. I liked your number.”
She laughed deep down in her throat. “Not disappointed?”
“Well, a little bit. I had hopes there for a while. Someday the threads holding on that button will wear out.”
“I’d get awfully cold,” she said.
I grinned at her. “Uh-uh. I’d keep you warm.”
“You’d have to beat off the mob with a club,” Pop grunted. “Sit down, Wendy. You through for the night?”
“All done and ready to go home. You going to drive me back?”
“Sure. Take you as far as the station and Johnny can go the rest.”
That was nice of him.
Wendy said, “Swell. Or will I have to fight you off?”
“Don’t be so damn anxious,” I told her. “When I have to fight a dame for what I want I’ll hang up.”
She propped her chin in her hand and smiled all over her face. It was a beautiful face with eyes that were all sex and a mouth to match. She even looked good with the bleach job and that’s not easy. “I was just asking,” she said. “It’s hard to tell what a guy’s like these days and you look like you already had one hung on you.”
“You mean the head?”
“That and your jacket.”
Pop shoved his plate back and picked up the last of his drink. “He got that from the cops, honey.”
The smile waned away. “Cops?”
“His name is Johnny McBride.”
That beautiful mouth made a curve that said a silent “Oh!+” that became part of a frightened scowl. “You mean...”
I took it up from there. “The police would like to prove that I killed somebody.”
“But... they did!”
“You ought to speak to them and find out.”
Her eyes went between me and Pop. He jerked his thumb at me. “Look at his fingers, Wendy.”
I turned my hands over and let her have a peek at the smooth surfaces of my fingers. There was nothing ugly about them. A lot of hard work rigging oil derricks had taken away most of the discoloration and they would have looked just like fingers if they weren’t so slick.
She was going to say something, but Pop beat her to it. “He’s crazy.”
I pulled my hands back and picked up the butt. “You’d be surprised how sane I am.” My voice had a hard edge to it.
Pop caught it the first time. “What do ya mean?”