“You count me among them?”
“You and Barney are at the head of the list, today. If Barney hadn’t come in when those guys were dancing with me, I might be in traction right now.” I laughed, and it only hurt a little. “They didn’t exactly expect a world’s champion fighter to come to my rescue. The guy he lit into must have a swollen puss about now.”
“He really took care of ’em, huh?”
“He did all right for a lightweight. Anyway, it sent them running fast enough.”
“You know who they were?”
“Not their names. But they were East Chicago cops.”
“Cops?”
“Yeah — say, have you seen the papers today, been listening to the radio?”
She shrugged, stirring the eggs. “I have the Sunday Trib in the other room, if it’s the funnies you’re after.”
“I don’t follow the funnies. What about the radio?”
“I had the radio on, earlier. Why?”
“What’s in the news?”
“The heat. Real muggy out there today. It’s one hundred one point three degrees, last tally I heard. Seventeen died of heat prostration yesterday, and half a dozen more reported today already.”
“Nice to be inside where it’s cool.”
“Why’d you ask? It’s not the heat you’re interested in.”
“I thought there’d be something else in the headlines.”
“What?”
“Dillinger captured.”
She looked away from the pan she was cooking in to give me a wide-eyed, disturbed look.
“Nate — why don’t you find another way to make a living?”
“I considered nude ballet with a bubble, but it’s been taken.”
She crinkled her mouth and chin in mock-anger. “You’re dodging the issue. You’re an intelligent, capable man. Why do you sit in that shabby little office, doing shabby little work? Not to mention dangerous.”
I shrugged. Didn’t hurt much. Half a fingernail being torn off. I said, “My work isn’t usually dangerous. Don’t be deceived into thinking exciting things like these happen to me every week. Hard to believe as it may be, I never been worked over with a rubber hose before.”
She had turned away from me; she was easing the omelet out of the pan onto a plate. “A lot of people go through life without ever being ‘worked over’ with a rubber hose at all.”
“Think what they missed.”
She put the omelet down in front of me, with a side plate of toast. “You like some cottage fries with that?”
“No. This’ll be fine.”
“Coffee?”
“Orange juice’d be better.”
“I already squeezed some.” She got a small white pitcher out of a small white icebox and poured me a large clear glass, turning it orange. I sipped it and it tasted good; the feel of the pulp in my mouth was nice. The hangover seemed to be fading.
Just the same I said, “And a side order of aspirin?”
She smiled and nodded. “Comin’ right up.” The aspirin was on the kitchen counter; I took two with the last swallows of the orange juice.
Then she sat by me and said, her expression almost somber, “I wouldn’t like to see anything happen to you.”
“I wouldn’t like to see anything happen to you, either.”
“You live in your office, Nate. I saw it. You sleep in a Murphy bed.”
“I know guys who sleep in parks.”
“Don’t try to shame me — I’m no snob, you know that. I just know a real waste when I see one.”
“A real waste.”
“Yes. A waste of a mind, potentially of a life.”
“This omelet is very good. Sure you don’t want to give up show biz and marry me?”
She laughed, sadly. “You’re hopeless.”
“That’s what they tell me. Look, Sally — Helen — I only have one trade. It’s all I’m trained for, it’s all I know. And I really do have plans to live somewhere besides my office someday. I’ll have a good-size agency with operatives working under me, and a nice big office with a pretty secretary to fool around with while my wife raises little Nates and Helens at home.” That made her smile, not sadly. “It’s a shabby little office, because I’m just starting out, and this is the goddamn Depression, okay?”
“Okay, Nate. I won’t press. Maybe it’s none of my business.”
I touched her hand. “It’s your business. You’re my friend. That gives you the right to stick your nose in, at least till I ask you not to.”
Impish smile. “Friend, huh? You sleep with all your friends?”
I managed to do an exaggerated shrug and not pass out. “Just you and Barney,” I said.
“You’re looking for another beating, Heller.”
“I promise I’m not. This omelet is good. Are you sure there was nothing about Dillinger in the papers or on the radio?”
“Of course I’m sure. If John Dillinger had been captured, it’d be all over the place. Wouldn’t it?”
I nodded. Not much pain. “It should’ve took place last night. They were meeting with Anna Sage — she would’ve given them the address or otherwise led the feds to him...”
“Dillinger, you mean.”
“Yes. I don’t understand why it didn’t happen.”
“Maybe something went wrong.”
“Maybe,” I said, and stood. “Mind if I use your phone?”
Not liking it, she said, “Not at all.”
In the living room, I sat in an overstuffed round-looking chair by the window and dialed the phone, a white candlestick type she kept on a low coffee table. The curtains were back and I glanced out as I waited for the call to go through. Down where Lake Shore Drive curved around the front of the Drake, people on Oak Street Beach and the surrounding park formed a blanket of flesh, staring out at the ironic blue lake, where sailboats and yachts taunted them. The boats were keeping away from the shoreline, though; just beyond the bobbing heads of more casual bathers a pathway was being maintained for those single-minded souls competing in the Herald and Examiner fifteen-mile marathon swim.
From the phone a young male voice said, “Division of Investigation, Hart speaking.”
I could hear something of a hubbub in the background.
“I’d like to speak to Inspector Cowley.”
“Inspector Cowley’s tied up. Can I help you?”
“Tell Cowley Nathan Heller’s on the line.”
“Sir, we’re busy here, could you—”
“Tell Cowley Nathan Heller’s on the line.”
There was a pause while he thought it over, then a sigh, and another pause while he fetched Cowley.
“Mr. Heller,” Cowley said, “let’s keep this short. Now what can I do for you?”
“Sounds to me like you’ve got a rather full house for a Sunday afternoon.”
“Twenty or thirty people, and it’s rather frantic; now what do you want?”
“What happened last night?”
“I didn’t think you were planning to be involved in this matter any further, at this stage of the game.”
“Why don’t you tell me what happened last night, Cowley?”
“If it’s the reward you’re after, I may be able to arrange a partial—”
“Fuck the reward, and fuck you, Cowley!”
There was a long silence.
Then Cowley said, “We met with Anna Sage last night. She promised to deliver Dillinger to us today. That’s all.”
“That’s all? Why didn’t she give him to you last night?”
“She didn’t expect to see him again till today. She and Polly Hamilton and Dillinger have a date of sorts to go to the movies together. At the Marbro. The features change today, you know.”
“This is stupid — Anna Sage knows where Dillinger’s been staying... it’s a swanky place on Pine Grove.”