Jacobs nodded.
“Okay, Chief, I’ll handle it,” and he got to his feet. “I’ll be on the job at nine tomorrow.”
When he had gone, Terrell called police headquarters. He asked Beigler if there was any news yet of Jacko Smith.
“Nothing so far, Chief,” Beigler said. “I’m getting reports continually, but he isn’t in his usual haunts.”
“Send out a State alarm,” Terrell said. “I want him fast. Turn the heat on, Joe. I’m coming down.”
“Okay,” Beigler said, “but you don’t have to come down. I can handle it.”
“I know you can,” Terrell said, “but I’m coming.”
Spike Calder was a tall, emaciated Negro with flat, snake’s eyes and a perpetual grin that revealed big, gleaming white teeth. He ran the Bo-Bo Club on the waterfront that was frequented by queers and gamblers from the dock quarter of Miami.
The big advantage of the club was that it had a secret room for meetings below the main bar and restaurant, so cunningly hidden that the police hadn’t so far discovered it.
It was in this room that Jacko Smith and Moe Lincoln were now sitting, whisky and beer chasers on the table before them.
Moe had told Jacko what he had seen and Jacko was now considering what to do.
“We mustn’t take any risks,” he said finally. “We’ve got to find out if this kid did see anything. Looks like she’s at the motel, but we got to find out for sure.”
Moe nodded. This made sense to him.
“You stick right here, baby,” he said. “I’ll get Hoppy to go out to the motel and sniff around.”
“Watch yourself,” Jacko said, patting Moe’s arm.
“Don’t worry about me, baby,” and Moe went up the stairs, peered through the peephole to make sure there was no one around, then let himself out of the secret room.
Hoppy Lincoln, Moe’s younger brother was losing money in a crap game when Moe finally found him. Seeing his brother, he left the game and joined him.
Moe told him what he wanted him to do.
“Take my car,” Moe said, “and snap it up. I want you back here pronto.”
Hoppy began to whine, but at the sight of the two five dollar bills Moe thrust at him, he suddenly grinned.
“Okay, sweetie,” he said. “I’m on my way.”
The two brothers left the gambling room and Hoppy went quickly across the street to where Moe had parked his car. He got in and drove away.
Moe moved through the back alleys, avoiding the main streets until he was within sight of the Bo-Bo Club. He paused in the shadows.
Walking towards the club were two police officers. Moe recognised them immediately. He remained motionless like a black shadow and saw them enter the club.
The police officers, Marshall and Lepski, pushed their way through to the crowded bar where Spike Calder was mixing drinks.
At the sight of them, the men and women in the room suddenly became silent. Three or four of them edged towards the exit. The rest stared sullenly at the two officers, their eyes glittering, their hatred showing in their tense faces.
Spike put down the cocktail mixer and eyed the two men cautiously. So far he had never been in trouble with the police, and if he could avoid it, he was determined to steer clear of police trouble.
“Evening, gents,” he said with an expansive smile. “What’ll you have?”
“Seen Jacko Smith?” Marshall asked. He was a short, heavily built man with muscles of a boxer and a hard, battered face.
“Not yet,” Spike lied. “Maybe he’ll be in a little while, but he hasn’t shown yet.”
Lepski, thin, wiry and tough, leaned against the bar counter.
“Listen, Smokey, think twice before you open that drain in your face,” he said softly. “We’re looking for Jacko... could be a murder charge. If you know where he is, now’s the time to flex your tonsils and sing. If we find he’s here or he’s been here, you’re going inside. I’d like to work you over. The best sound in this stinking town to me is the moans of a black boy.”
Spike’s smile slipped a little.
“I’d tell you if he was here. Look around, mister, and see for yourself. I haven’t seen him since yesterday night.”
The two police officers looked around the big room and then at each other.
“If he comes in, call headquarters. That way you’ll keep out of trouble.”
Lepski stared at Spike for a long cruel moment, then jerking his head at Marshall, he left the bar.
Moe, hidden in the shadows, watched the two police officers walk down the street and enter yet another gambling cellar.
Like a black ghost, he slid across the street and down the back entrance to the Bo-Bo Club. He paused long enough to listen and make sure there was no one about, then he fumbled for the hidden catch that opened the door into the secret room, slipped into darkness, shut the door, then switched on the light. As he came down the stairs leading into the room where Jacko Smith was lolling, Spike Calder came in from the other hidden entrance.
Moe looked at Spike, his eyes alert. Spike ignored Moe and walked over to Jacko.
“On your way,” Spike said softly. “Up with the fat and dust.”
Jacko stared at him.
“You don’t talk that way to me, black boy.” he said furiously. “When I want to go, I’ll go, but not before.”
“You’ll leave right now,” Spike said. “The cops have been here. They’re looking for you. I don’t cover anyone as hot as you, Jacko. On your way.”
Moe said, “He stays right here.” He had his broad bladed knife in his hand. “You want me to carve you a little, nigger?”
Spike smiled.
“You’ll have to grow a lot bigger and a lot tougher to carve me,” he said. “Try it and see,” and a long stabbing knife jumped into his hand.
Moe snarled at him and began to move forward.
“Stop it!” Jacko said sharply.
Moe slid the knife back into its sheath. He moved further away from Spike to give himself the chance to get the knife out again should Spike show signs of attacking him.
“What’s biting you, Spike?” Jacko asked with deceptive mildness. “What did the cops say?”
“Plenty,” Spike said. “They are looking for you. They’re talking about a murder charge. That’s too hot for me. On your way, Jacko, and keep clear of me.”
Jacko and Moe exchanged glances. Jacko began to sweat. There was a long pause, then Moe said, “Okay, Spike, we’ll go, but they’re nuts. Jacko hasn’t killed anyone.”
Jacko heaved himself to his feet. Spike was watching Moe which was stupid as Jacko was much closer to him. With a movement, terrifyingly swift for a man of his size, Jacko grabbed the whisky bottle and slammed it across Spike’s face with bone crushing violence. Spike reeled back, dropping his knife. Moe sprang like a black cat at him as he collapsed on the floor. His black hand, holding the gleaming knife, flashed up and down twice, then he got to his feet. He bent over Spike’s lifeless body and wiped the blade of the knife dean on Spike’s shirt, then he looked at Jacko.
“He was chickening out,” he said. “Better this way. What do we do now?”
Jacko lowered his great body on to the chair. He took out a carton of chocolates and began to stuff chocolates into his mouth.
“We’re getting into the real crap now, boysie,” he said, his mouth full. “We’d better get out... but where do we go?”
“It must be Henekey,” Moe said, sitting on the table, swinging his legs. “The kid must have seen us. We’ve got to fix her, baby. Without her, without Spike, we should be in the clear. I’ll go down to the motel and knock her off.”