Toey was half Chinese, half Pole: a fat little man, nudging fifty with henna dyed hair, almond shaped eyes and a round fat face. He was considered one of the best barbers in the district and Moe always had an evening shave from him before going out to set the town alight with Jacko.
“What’s the time, baby?” Moe asked, keeping his eyes shut.
“Nearly half-past six,” Toey told him after consulting his watch. “What are you doing tonight? Would you like to come back to my place. I’m throwing a party. Chinese food, and there’s a boy...”
“I’ve got a date with Jacko,” Moe said who liked to torture Toey. “Why should I want to go to your crummy joint?”
Toey sighed. He applied a hot towel to Moe’s face and leaving him for a moment, he wandered to the shop window to look out on to the street.
“That’s funny,” he said. “What are they doing, I wonder?”
“Who, dopey?” Moe asked, pressing the hot towel to his face and breathing in the menthol fumes coming from the towel.
“The cops... out there in a car with a little girl,” Toey said, coming over to change the towel.
Moe stiffened. He snatched off the towel, slid out of the chair and went to the window. He stared at the police car. It was in a parking bay fifty yards or so from the entrance to the Coral bar.
“What’s the matter?” Toey asked.
“Shut your flap!” Moe snarled. “Gimme a towel.” Without taking his eyes off the police car, he reached out his lean black hand and snatched the towel Toey gave him. He hurriedly wiped his face and the back of his neck and then threw the towel from him.
He watched: then he saw Jacko Smith come waddling down the street.
Jacko always parked his pink and blue Cadillac at the far end of the street. He believed the short walk from the parking lot to the Coral bar helped to keep down his weight. He came along, a handkerchief in his fat hand, wearing the light blue shirt, and black baggy trousers he had worn the previous night. From time to time, he dabbed at his white unhealthy looking face with the handkerchief.
Terrell said sharply, “Angel, look down the road.”
Angel, who had been playing with her bear, looked up and saw Jacko as he came towards them.
“That’s him!” she whispered excitedly and pointed her small finger towards Jacko who had paused for a brief moment outside the Coral bar.
“Are you sure?” Terrell asked.
“Yes! That’s him!”
Moe, watching, saw her point at Jacko and his black face creased into a vicious snarl. He realised at once that this child was identifying Jacko to the cops and this could only mean one thing! This child had seen them enter Henekey’s cabin!
Toey standing behind him, and watching what was going on said, “What is it, honey? She fingering Jacko?”
Moe turned savagely on him.
“Shut it! Wipe it out of your mind! You want to stay alive, Toey?”
As the sight of the murderous gleam in the vicious black eyes, Toey quailed.
“I never saw a thing!” he stammered. “Honest, I never...”
“Shut it!” Moe snarled.
He watched Beigler start the car engine and then drive away towards headquarters.
Moe paused only long enough to glare at Toey.
“Remember... if you’ve seen anything, Toey, I’ll slit you,” he said, and then moving fast, he ran across the street into the Coral bar.
Jacko was about to order a shot of whisky and a beer chaser when Moe came in.
Moe said, “Let’s get out of here, Jacko, and fast!”
The expression in Moe’s gleaming eyes was enough for Jacko. He waddled after Moe, moving his enormous legs as fast as he could and panting.
The barman watched them go, grimaced, and then returned to his task of washing glasses.
It wasn’t until eight-ten o’clock that Terrell drove into his garage. He was feeling hot and tired. Having driven Angel Prescott back to the Park Motel, he was now looking forward to a shower and a good dinner.
His wife opened the front door as he came up the drive. They kissed, then Terrell asked the age-old question husbands always ask, “What’s for dinner?”
“Chicken,” Caroline said. “It’ll be ready in half-an-hour, but you have to call Henry first.”
Terrell walked into the lounge and began to shed his jacket and tie.
“Henry?” He looked at Caroline in surprise. “What’s he want?”
“He said it was important. You call him while I get you a drink.”
Terrell hesitated, then seeing the stern expression in his wife’s eyes, he grinned and went over to the telephone. He dialled Henry Thresby’s home number, and while he waited for the connection, he reached out a grateful hand for the whisky and soda, clinking with ice, that Caroline offered him.
Thresby came on the line.
“Frank? I’m sorry to disturb you, but I have something that’s bothering me. I thought I would get your advice and hear what you have to say.”
At the sound of Thresby’s anxious tone, Terrell became alert.
“Go ahead, Henry. What is it?”
Briefly, Thresby told him about the telephone call he had had from Val Burnett.
“I could be sticking my neck out, but to me, it sounds as if Mrs. Burnett could be in trouble,” Thresby concluded. “Now look, Frank, we have to be mighty careful about this. If it means nothing, Travers could descend on me, and I could lose my job.”
“I think you have every reason to be worried,” Terrell said. “I’m glad you called me. Now look, Henry, you leave this to me. Just forget it, will you? The less you know about it, the better. I’ll take care of it.”
“For goodness sake, be careful!”
“You know me,” Terrell said quietly. “I’ll handle it. Did you keep a copy of the numbers of the bills?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Let me have the list. Send it here. That way it won’t get into the wrong hands. Okay, Henry, relax. I’ll fix it,” and he hung up.
Seeing the furrow between his brows, Caroline knew better than to ask questions. She went into the kitchen to serve up the meal.
Terrell called headquarters. When Beigler came on the line, Terrell asked, “Got Jacko Smith yet?”
“Not yet. I have men shaking down the clubs. They should pick him up any time now.”
“Have you someone staked out outside Smith’s apartment?” Terrell knew he was wasting his breath as Beigler was as efficient as himself but he had to ask.
“Walker and Lucas are covering the joint.”
“I want that fat slob fast.”
“We’ll have him before midnight. He’s playing cards in some hole. It’s just a matter of finding where he’s playing.”
“Joe... there’s something else,” Terrell said. “Tell Jacobs to come out here. He’s on duty, isn’t he?”
“Why, sure.”
“Tell him to hustle over. If he comes fast enough, he can have a chicken dinner with me.”
Beigler snorted.
“If there’s one way to get Max to move fast, it’s the offer of a free meal.”
As Terrell was sitting down at the table, reaching for the carving knife and fork, the front door bell rang. He grinned at his wife.
“That’s Max. Put a plate for him. He must have bust every speed record in the State.”
Max Jacobs, a lean, tall, first-year cop, came into the lounge and looked with round eyes at the perfectly cooked chicken. Terrell pointed with the carving knife to a chair.
“We’ll eat first,” he said, “then talk. I have a job for you.”
Later, when Caroline was washing up, Terrell, his pipe drawing well, told Jacobs about Val Burnett.
“Looks like a blackmail set up,” he concluded. “We can’t move in unless she calls us, but we can be ready. I want you to be outside the bank at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. When Mrs. Burnett leaves, make sure she has the money with her and then follow her. Now look, Max, it is vitally important she gets no idea you are following her, so watch your step. Find out where she takes the money. If she goes back to her hotel, see Dulac and tell him you’re from me. Ask him to let you know if anyone goes up to her suite. If anyone does, follow whoever it is. Don’t consult the hotel detective, I don’t trust him. Got all that?”