‘You gotta buck?’
‘What the hell do you think I am... a goddamn vagrant?’
‘You’re a cop, aren’t you?’ The boy allowed a sneer to run over his dirty face. ‘Cops never have any money.’
Lepski was so struck by this home truth that he hastily took out his wallet to make sure he had a dollar. When he found he had thirty dollars, his rage made his head swim.
‘I’ve got a dollar, you little sonofabitch! Who said and what message?’
The boy had already noted the contents of the wallet. He now appeared to be more relaxed in mind.
‘Goldie White wants to talk to you. Gimme a buck and I’ll give you her address.’
‘What makes you think I want to walk to Goldie White whoever the hell she is?’ Lepski demanded.
The boy became bored. He sank one dirty finger into his right nostril and began to explore.
‘She’s Mai Langley’s buddy,’ he said while exploring. ‘Are you giving me the buck or aren’t you?’
Lepski looked hurriedly over to the Lobster & Crab. There was no sign yet of Lacey. He plucked a dollar bill from his wallet, then holding onto the bill, he regarded the boy suspiciously.
‘Where is she?’
‘Gimme the buck.’
‘You’ll get it. Where is she?’
The boy stopped exploring his right nostril and transferred his attention to his left nostril.
‘My dad warned me never to trust a cop. Gimme the buck or the deal’s off.’
In his present state of mind, Lepski longed to strangle this dirty brat, but he controlled himself. He handed over the dollar, but as the boy’s fingers closed on the bill, Lepski’s fingers closed on the boy’s wrist.
‘Where is she?’ Lepski snarled, ‘or do I tear your goddamn arm off?’
‘23a, Turtle Crawclass="underline" third floor,’ the boy told him, wrenching his wrist free. He paused long enough to make a fantastically loud and rude noise with his lips, then he was gone.
Lepski had no idea where Turtle Crawl Street was. He could have been sold a pup. He became aware that the four mobile cops were now watching him suspiciously. He started the car and drove along the crowded waterfront. When he was far enough out of sight, he stopped by a woman selling turtles and asked where he could find the street.
‘Second left,’ she told him. ‘How about taking your kids home a turtle, mister?’
‘Who the hell wants a turtle and who the hell would want a kid?’ Lepski snarled and drove on.
He parked his car among the trucks collecting lobsters from a boat that had just docked and walked down the narrow street until he found 23a. He realised if Lieutenant Lacey discovered he was still investigating he was in for a lapful of trouble, but by now Lepski was in such a belligerent mood he didn’t care.
He climbed to the third floor of the building that gave off smells of perfume and rich cooking. As he climbed, he decided he was in one of those blocks given up exclusively to prostitution and which, Lepski decided, must have police protection.
He finally arrived before a door which carried a card, reading:
Lepski blew out his cheeks, shaking his head. The nerve of it, he thought. He rang the bell. There was a little delay, then the door swung open.
Blocking the entrance was a tall, thin man, his face narrow, his chin receding, his black dyed hair also receding, his mouth thin and his eyes shifty. He wore an immaculate cream lightweight suit, a pale blue shirt and a black tie. He looked as prosperous as only a successful pimp can look, and he smelt as gorgeous as only a successful pimp can smell.
He regarded Lepski, then revealed plastic teeth in a welcoming smile.
‘Come in, Mr. Lepski,’ he said, standing aside. ‘Goldie was hoping you would drop in. I’m Jack Thomas, her business manager.’
Lepski moved into the room, comfortably furnished with four lounging chairs, a TV set, a white wool rug and girlie prints of disturbing frankness on the walls.
‘Where is she?’ he demanded. The sight of any pimp sent his blood pressure up, and as his blood pressure had already risen alarmingly after his interview with Lacey, he was now close to flash point.
‘She’ll be along,’ Thomas said airily. He was so occupied with his own charm that he failed to register Lepski’s homicidal state of mind. ‘Sit down, Mr. Lepski. What’ll you drink?’
Lepski breathed heavily, his fingers curling.
‘Where is she?’
‘No drink?’ Thomas sank languidly into a chair. ‘Of course... line of duty. I understand. Take a chair, Mr. Lepski. She wanted me to talk to you. I...’
‘Get out of that goddamn chair!’ Lepski bellowed. ‘No pimp sits when I’m standing!’
His tone of voice and his expression made Thomas leave the chair as if he had been kicked out of it. He gaped at Lepski, his face paling and he backed away.
‘Get your whore!’ Lepski snarled, ‘and then get out! One more minute of your stinking company will make me throw up!’
As Thomas turned wildly to the door of an inner room, the door opened and a girl came out. She paused in the doorway while she looked at Lepski and then at Thomas.
‘Okay, Jack, beat it. I’ll handle it,’ she said.
Goldie White was a nicely stacked blonde with cold good looks that would attract most men if they were drunk enough to be reckless. She was certainly corrupt and looked confident enough to handle anything in trousers from a man to an ape. She was wearing an orange coloured sweater that revealed her medically inflated mammary equipment and a mini skirt that showed off her thighs. Her eyes were interesting: they could grow hot, cold, steely, greedy, seductive and dumb with the acrobatic agility of a kaleidoscope.
Thomas slid around Lepski, muttered something, then left. He slammed the front door after him. For a long moment, Lepski and the girl listened to his departing footfalls as he raced down the stairs.
Lepski crossed to the door and turned the key. He wasn’t risking another unexpected shooting.
‘I got your message,’ he said, coming away from the door. ‘It cost me a buck. Bucks are important to me. So go ahead and make it good.’
Goldie moved towards a chair, her body undulating with the effortless movement of a snake.
‘Don’t act so tough, Lepski,’ she said. ‘Can’t you see your act is like a 1945 movie?’
Lepski grinned evilly.
‘It works, baby. It’s a method I dig for. Look how it worked with your ponce.’
‘Him!’ Goldie grimaced. ‘If a baby shook his fist at him he would faint. I’m sorry for the creep. He has cold water for blood. But never mind him. You are here... I’m here... so let’s get acquainted.’ She sat down, spread her legs so he could see her pink nylon covered crotch and regarded him with her sexy look that seldom failed to get results. ‘Come on, tough cop. Before we talk business, reduce me to a jelly.’
‘That will be a pleasure,’ Lepski said.
He crossed the room and paused before her. As she began to pull up her sweater, he swung his hand and slapped her hard on her right cheek.
She reared back, her head slamming against the back of the chair. She recovered her balance and her face turned into an angry, snarling mask.
‘You stinking, goddamn... she began when his hard hand slapped again, jerking her head back.
Lepski eyed her and then moved away.
‘Listen, baby, I take nothing from any whore. I wouldn’t touch you, wrapped in plastic. I’m busy. I’ve spent a buck. So sit up and talk fast and stop acting like a whore in a 1945 movie.’ He suddenly grinned. ‘And let me remind you you are now talking to a cop who is a better animal than you, but not much better.’
She drew in a long breath, touched her face tenderly, stared at him, then the rage slowly died out of her eyes.