Читать книгу Hot Bullets for Love - Gentry Nyland - Страница 6

JOE SLUMPED into a wing chair in front of the fire and pushed a footstool into position. All the comforts of home. Somebody else’s home. Three hundred and fifty dollars a month for sitting around in front of a fireplace drinking somebody else’s liquor. Somebody else’s maid to wait on you. To hell with Communism.

He took a sip from his glass and surveyed the room. In one corner was a Chickering grand piano. He picked up his drink and fingered the keys. In the middle of Dinah a telephone rang in the room across the hall. When the bell continued to ring he followed the sound and picked up the receiver. The voice that came over the wire was high and arrogant. Joe explained his presence.

“Oh yes.” It was Richard Raleigh. “Uncle Park said you’d be getting in this afternoon. I’m anxious to meet you.” Joe thought the voice was mocking. “Have you had dinner?”

When Joe answered in the negative, Richard said, “Why don’t you come down and join us? We’re at the Timbuctoo. You’ll be in time for a round of cocktails. The Timbuctoo is on 52nd Street between Sixth and Seventh.”

Joe agreed and hung up. He was startled by a small sound and turned to find Precious Lamb in the doorway dressed for the street.

“This is my night off,” she told him. “I think I’d better show you to your room before I leave.” She picked up his bag and he followed her upstairs. She opened a door into a pleasantly proportioned bedroom facing the rear of the house.

She busied herself arranging his things in a highboy. When she had finished she moved toward the door.

“I think you’ll find everything you need for tonight. I’ll be back early to get your breakfast.”

Joe said, “Peace! It’s wonderful.”

She grinned and went without comment.

Whoever had given the Timbuctoo its name had chosen it for euphony. Joe couldn’t see any other reason. There was little to distinguish it from other night clubs in the vicinity.

Richard Raleigh was seated in a far corner and as Joe approached he rose. Opposite him was a girl who was all eyes and mouth. Raleigh said, “You’re Mr. South, aren’t you? I’m Raleigh.” They shook hands. “And this is Miss Evans,” Raleigh added.

The girl acknowledged the introduction with a giggle. She wore long straight black hair in a braid over her head. On closer inspection she had more than just eyes and mouth to recommend her. So this must be the little “momma and poppa” gal the guy was trying to horse up with. She had things all right—maybe net the kind it takes to get a bid to a brass-hat frolic—not by the front deer, anyway—but things.

Richard Raleigh waited for Joe to be seated. He was about five-feet-eleven and well built. His hair had begun to thin back over an onion-shaped forehead that made him look several years older than his twenty-six years. A wispy mustache partially concealed a weak mouth. There was nothing about him to suggest kinship with Parker Raleigh. The waiter pulled up a chair for Joe and they sat down.

The Evans girl studied him over the rim of her glass. She raised it as she caught his eye and smiled through the liquid. She rested her cheek on a palm and inspected him with appraisal. She said, “Let me think. Who do you remind me of? Um-m . . . Oh, I have it. Jack Oakie. That’s who you look like. Jack Oakie.”

Joe grinned uncomfortably.

The ends of Raleigh’s mustache came up in what was meant for a smile.

“That’s the first time I’ve known Milly to be right. She’s always telling people they look like someone on the screen. However, you do remind me of that clown.”

Joe didn’t like the tone of the last remark. In fact, he didn’t think he was going to like Richard Raleigh. Raleigh changed the subject.

“Uncle Park tells me that you and he did some work together out in Montana. I’m sure he’s glad to return some of the hospitality you showed him. Too bad you found him laid up.”

He took out a fountain pen and scribbled on a pad and handed the pad and pen across to Joe.

“We’ve been drinking daiquiris,” he said. “You write your own ticket.”

The pad said “Table 42.” Underneath in Dick’s scrawl was written “2 daiquiris.” Joe added “1 double Scotch and soda.” Raleigh crooked a finger at a waiter and gave him the pad. The floor by this time was crowded with dancing couples. A red-haired girl in a stainless steel evening gown and slippers was dancing with a man twelve inches shorter than she. Everything about him said “coats and suits.” He appeared to be having a good time and looked sober. When they turned the girl nodded to Joe. She was one of the most striking redheads he had ever seen. Something vaguely familiar stirred Joe’s memory. He managed to catch himself in time to ignore the greeting.

Richard had also seen the girl’s gesture. He smiled and leaned forward. Elbows on the table, chin on clasped hands he watched Joe. He said, “What do you think of New York weather? Kind of takes the wild out of the woolly West, doesn’t it?”

Joe played with the fountain pen. He didn’t like the way young Raleigh was studying him.

“Not particularly. This is the kind of weather we look forward to back home. It’s the kind we hope for on our vacations. You’ll probably not believe me, but back in Montana I’m awakened every morning at six by an earthquake.”

Milly giggled. She was good at it. “Oh, Mr. South, you’re a scream.”

The waiter came with the drinks. The quality of the Scotch wasn’t bad. Joe had no complaint to make about the quantity. The Timbuctoo did right by its patrons.

Richard rose. So did the ends of the mustache. Joe decided the mustache was like a trained seal.

“Will you two please excuse me? I see some friends I’d like to speak to.”

Milly leaned forward and put her hand on Joe’s sleeve, looking at Dick.

“Don’t stay long, Dick. I’m afraid to be alone with these strong, silent men from the West.”

“So I see,” was all he said, as he moved through the crowd on the dance floor to a table in the far corner where two men were sipping coffee. They hadn’t been there when Joe came in. Both were in evening clothes.

One was fat. So fat he had trouble reaching the table with his elbows. What hair he had appeared to rest on his shoulders. There was almost no neck. Blonde, almost albino brows hovered over colorless eyes. His fat sensuous lips drooled over a well-chewed cigar.

The other, in comparison, was well built. His shining black hair waved in a perfect marcel and his mustache was Waxed and pointed. Joe caught his eye across the room suddenly and was startled at the intensity of the man’s stare. Neither of the men rose as Richard joined them. His presence was taken for granted.

Joe and Milly finished their drinks. Then they drank Richard’s. He saw that she was beginning to feel the effects of the cocktails. She watched him under sultry lids. There was no giggle this time.

“You know, Mr. South, I could go for you in a big way.”

“Most of them do,” he answered idly. He was wondering how much she knew about Richard’s business. He decided to find out. He said, “We’d better watch our step though. Dick’s got some tough friends.”

“Afraid?” she pouted.

“Not afraid—only careful.” He motioned toward Dick who was still at the table with the two men. “He might get tough. Looks like he has some pretty hefty playmates.”

The pout left the girl’s lips and for a moment a frightened look showed in her eyes. Then she shrugged.

“Oh, them. They may get by with telling Dicky when to change his diapers but they can’t kick me around. Me and Dicky understand each other.” She pressed her lips together and an angry light chased fear from her eyes. “Dicky’s smarter than they are. Just wait till . . .” She clapped her hand over her mouth suddenly and gave a small gasp. “What am I talking about? Come on. Let’s dance.”

“All right,” Joe agreed. He knew he wouldn’t get any more out of her now. “But no jitterbug stuff.”

Young Raleigh’s back was to them as they edged onto the floor. Joe put his arm around her waist. Her bare back felt warm and sleek under his touch. Brushing stray hairs from his cheek he whispered into her ear, “Just call me Joey.”

The floor was jammed. Milly was taller than she looked when seated.

She slid up on her toes, clinging to him with a sinuous sway of her hips. Her firm, slender body snuggled softly to his and he felt the rise and fall of pulsing breasts as she followed him expertly. Boy, young Raleigh knew how to pick them.

The man with the mustache was following him with hot, intense eyes. Presently Richard turned. Joe knew there was suspicion in his glance. He pretended not to notice. The music stopped and Milly still clung to him. He released her hold gently. She was definitely intoxicated. So it wasn’t altogether his personality that had made her so warmly responsive. They returned to the table, Joe steadying her into her chair. He said, “Excuse me. I just remembered a call I should have made the minute I got off the train.”

The girl’s giggle was alcoholic.

“Oh, Mr. South, you’re so funny. It’s the second door to the left.”

Joe cut his way around the tables of the smoke-filled room. A small, gypsy-faced girl in tweeds was standing near the door leading to the canopied check-counter. He thought for a moment she was going to speak to him, but as he passed on she turned to the youth behind her. He didn’t recall having met her and he didn’t have time to find out now.

The blonde hatcheck was busy in the back. Before she had time to turn he had selected an umbrella from a stand across the counter and was out on 52nd Street. Raising the umbrella he tacked into the wind toward a drug store a half block east.

Inside the telephone booth he dialed three different numbers. None of them answered. Then he called his room at the hotel. Kierney answered. Quickly Joe explained where he was and described the two men with Richard Raleigh. Kierney’s low whistle was excited. He was serious when he spoke.

“Listen, Joey, if the guy with the mustache has a cut under it, and if he’s a little gimpy, and if he’s with a Poland China that looks like he’s ready for the smokehouse, and if you seen ’em both at the Timbuctoo, you got yourself into some extra elegant company.” The Irishman paused for breath, and speaking softly and distinctly continued, “The guy with the mustache is Frankie Shasta and the chowderhead is Porky Wiener. Only don’t call him Porky to his face.”

Joe said, “Thanks,” sarcastically.

“That’s all right,” Kierney replied generously. “Call on me any time, Joey. I don’t know what you’re gettin’ into, but me and Kitch is glad we ain’t in it.”

A girl in a greenish yellow slicker blocked his way as he opened the door of the booth. She came just to Joe’s shoulder. He recognized her immediately as the girl who had almost spoken to him as he left the night club. The tweeds were covered now by the slicker, but he remembered the brown hat and the wet green feather! He started to pass her, but she put out a hand and stopped him.

“You’re Mr. South, aren’t you?” she greeted him. “I’m Naomi Raleigh. I talked with Uncle Park right after you left the hospital this afternoon.” She had hardly paused for breath. “I tried to catch you at the house, but you had already gone. I stopped at the Timbuctoo where I knew I’d find Dick and saw-you at his table.”

Joe said nothing. He had suddenly recognized her voice. It was the one he had heard coming from Van Pelt’s office that morning. He was as fascinated by the gamin-like animation of her features as he had been by her brother’s mustache. She paused at last and gave him an appraising stare. After a moment she observed, “You don’t look like a detective.”

“That’s what they all say,” he retorted disgustedly as he drew out a chair for her. He sat down. “Or else they tell me I’m the very image of some guy that hangs around Hollywood.”

She ignored the chair and turned back toward the street door.

“Please let’s not be childish,” she begged. “I came here to talk with you about Dick. Charles is with me and if you’ll wait a moment I’ll get him. I won’t keep you long.”

The detective nodded and drew out a cigarette. The difference between Richard and Naomi was more than just a toss up. Under the hat was a mind. One of those high-nosed Eastern finishing schools had dusted it up, but she’d started out with plenty and still had it. He shrugged. It meant more trouble. The Raleighs, like the mumps, hit all points at once.

The girl returned almost immediately trailed by a wispy young man without hat or topcoat. He was taller than Naomi by about an inch. His walk was slightly swivel-hipped. Several pencils protruded from the breast pocket of a tweed sports jacket.

Naomi introduced them. His name was Charles Emmett Shermond. From the way she pronounced it Joe thought he was supposed to recognize it. He didn’t. Shermond extended a limp hand that felt like a fistful of putty. His voice had about the same quality. “I’m happy to meet you, Mr. South,” he murmured, but didn’t look it.

The girl removed her hat. She said without preliminary, “Dick is with that girl again, isn’t he, Mr. South?”

Apparently her uncle had brought her up to date. Joe extracted a toothpick from the fly-specked glass at his elbow and broke it into bits. His resentment increased. He said. “You picked a, swell night to go gallivanting around watching your brother. I thought I’d fallen heir to that job.”

Naomi leaned toward him and smiled.

“Now look, Mr. South . . . No. I expect I’d better call you Joe. We’re going to be together a lot.” Joe shuddered. The anything that might have happened was beginning to. He pictured himself trying to tail a couple of mugs with this gypsy girl-scout on his heels. She hadn’t paused for breath. “Joe, you’re not listening to me. Don’t you think I’m capable of taking care of myself? That’s the trouble with Dick and Uncle Park. They think I’m still a school kid. I know it would be thrilling to help you with Dick.”

Joe was rude. He said, “Skip the melodrama, sister. You’ve been reading the tabloids.”

His glance traveled to Charles and he wondered what the attraction was.

He wasn’t aware that he hadn’t been listening until she said, “Why don’t you pay some attention to me, Joe? I just said Charles and I are going back to the Timbuctoo with you.”

Charles was nervously toying with the pencils in his pocket. His remonstration was weak.

“Darling, I think you’re overdoing this. I’ve told you before. Time will take care of it. Time cures everything.” He appealed to Joe. “Don’t you believe in Time, Mr. South?”

“Yeah, Mr. Shermond is right. Time. Your Time is my Time. Good old Time. Time Marches On.” Joe humored the boy. Naomi’s smile was elfin. She was enjoying Joe’s levity.

Enthusiasm came into Charles’ eyes. He offered the putty again. His voice was precise and dry. “Mr. South, you make me very happy. I didn’t expect to find you sympathetic. It goes to prove that the true understanding of Time has a leavening effect.”

“You see,” Shermond said to Naomi. “Mr. South will handle the whole thing. It’s his job. Certainly you don’t wish to go to that awful place again.”

Joe watched Shermond with renewed interest. There was going to be fun in this after all. He said, “What the hell! It’s okay with me if you go back. Do you suppose it will be all right with your brother?”

Naomi shrugged.

“Oh, Dick won’t make a scene. If that’s what you mean. He hates scenes.” She grinned impishly. “I’m the one who likes them.”

Watching the rising excitement in her eyes Joe could believe it. This was going to be difficult. He’d probably never get rid of the brat now. He put a hand on her wrist.

“Wait,” he cautioned. “We’ve got to make this look straight. What will your brother think if he sees us come in together?”

That stopped her, but only for a second. She patted Joe’s hand.

“You’re right, Joey. You go ahead and Charles and I will follow.”

Joe groaned. On top of everything else she’d started that. What was it about him that made everybody call him Joey two minutes after they’d met him? As he entered the club the blonde hatcheck nodded to the orchestra leader. The band swung into Montana Moon. The music followed him to the table and ended with a crash of cymbals and bass drum as he sat down.

Now who the hell had done that? It was his evening for bad breaks There was a round of applause. A few curious eyes swept his table. Milly was still alone, drowsily resting one cheek on her hand. An untouched daiquiri was at her elbow. Joe drank it and she sat up.

Shermond and Naomi were elbowing their way toward the table Smoke swirled overhead like heavy mist. Naomi smiled at Milly, who merely glowered sulkily. Joe said, “Do you know these people, Milly?”

Milly got up shakily. “Sure. Little sister Naomi and her lap dog,” and moved unsteadily away, holding on to the backs of chairs for support. Naomi’s smile was innocent.

“I don’t think Dick’s fiancêe likes me very well.”

Joe raised an eyebrow. “So she’s the one.”

Naomi was shedding the slicker. Her lips came down in a grimace. “Oh yes. Didn’t you know? It’s part of the pressure he’s putting on Uncle Park . . . and me,” she added under her breath.

They sat down. Joe eyed Naomi thoughtfully. “When is this to be?”

Naomi shrugged. “Oh, he’s been threatening to do it for the last six months. It’s just another of his wild ideas. She’s probably his ‘secret weapon.’ ”

Joe was angry again. Parker Raleigh hadn’t bothered to mention that small item. Small hell! Just an example of his expert side-stepping. No telling how much more he’d skipped. He shrugged. Good thing Van Pelt had hinted at it. He scowled and said, “How about a little drink?”

Naomi grinned. “A very good idea.”

Shermond looked at her reproachfully.

“Please, dear, why do you come to these dreadful places?” He turned sharply as he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Richard Raleigh.

“Why the hurry, Charles, my boy?” He lurched and brought the ends of his mustache up for Naomi’s benefit. She half rose from her chair. Richard waved her back and looked at Joe. “Did Milly introduce you folks?”

Joe said, “In her own sweet way.”

Dick slid into a chair and looked around stupidly.

“Where the hell did she get to?” he growled.

Naomi shrugged and motioned across the room.

“Looks like your future helpmeet found more desirable company. More of them anyway.”

Joe had seen her at the same time. She was holding on to the back of the chair Dick had occupied at Shasta’s table. The dapper Italian had risen and appeared to be arguing with her. He had her by the arm. Dick got up and said angrily, “By heaven, I’ll break that greasy Dago’s neck!”

Naomi started to protest, but at that moment Milly jerked away from Shasta and started drunkenly across the crowded floor. Dick met her halfway and led her back to his table. She didn’t sit down. She was watching Joe under her sultry lids. The girl turned toward him slowly, still staring. Suddenly, before any of them realized what was happening, she flung the cocktail she had picked up into Joe’s face. It was followed by an ashtray which missed. She did better with Richard’s fountain pen. It caught him squarely in the mouth. Ink splashed his shirt front. For the second time that day pens had been used as missiles. This time the ink was green.

Richard acted fast. He had Milly’s arm behind her. She struggled and shrieked, “He’s a gol darned lousy detective!”

Joe got up wiping his face with his napkin. The crowd stopped swaying and the band struck up a louder note. Dick said, “Let’s get out of here quick.”

Joe was speechless. He knew his identity had been exposed somewhere along the line, but he hadn’t been prepared for anything like this. He picked up the fountain pen and dabbed at the ink with his napkin. He drank Shermond’s drink, then Naomi’s. His voice when he spoke to Naomi was hoarse. “Your little brother’s suggestion was pretty good. Let’s get going.”

Shermond had disappeared in search of his car. Raleigh had ordered his sent over from a parking lot. Milly was ominously quiet. Cooking up more trouble, Joe thought. He decided to take a hand. The situation needed a little ironing out. He moved closer to Dick.

“I don’t know what this is all about.” He nodded toward Milly. “I have no intention of getting mixed up with family squabbles. I think I’d better clear out and spend the night at a hotel.”

It was a good try and Raleigh followed through.

“Take it easy, South. Don’t let a little disturbance upset you. Naomi and I have had a disagreement, but then we always disagree. As for Milly, I should have known better. Three drinks and she accuses LaGuardia of being on Mussolini’s pay roll.”

Milly jerked away from Dick, “It wasn’t my idea,” she spat. “One of your . . .” Dick slapped a hand over her mouth.

He said, “Keep your sweet little trap shut, darling.” His lips were smiling, but under the green light his eyes were dangerous.

Joe grinned. It was all clear now. He grunted as Dick took his hand away from Milly’s mouth and turned to him.

“Let’s get out of this, South. Maybe we can get straightened out in a quieter place.” He looked at Naomi. “What about it, kid?”

Naomi’s smile reminded Joe of the cat with yellow feathers on its whiskers. She said, “Anything you say, Dicky.”

With Milly between Joe and Richard they drove North on Lexington in Raleigh’s coupê. Shermond followed in his shabby sedan with Naomi. Milly had apparently forgotten her resentment. Joe accepted the insistent pressure of her knee as a bid for amity. He was perfectly willing to forget it.

A block from the Harlem River they stopped in front of a small café. The metal sign swaying in the rain announced that Rupperts could be had there. Shermond’s car drew up behind.

The bartender, a fat Syrian with a dirty apron shielding his paunch, nodded to Dick as they took their seats. His little pig eyes were watchful. The only other occupants of the room, a man who looked like a Portuguese and a skinny negress, were drunk. Their voices rose shrilly.

Dick turned to South.

“You are a detective, aren’t you?”

Joe lighted a cigarette and blew smoke into Shermond’s eyes. He said, “You work fast, Raleigh. How about a ham sandwich?”

Dick signaled the bartender. Then he said impatiently, “Don’t try to kid me, South. You left the club to investigate my friends, didn’t you?”

The detective shouted to the bartender, “Put some mustard on it.” Then to Richard, “Friends?”

Richard grunted.

“This is all so damned silly. You’d think I was a one-year-old. Naomi, is this your idea or Uncle Park’s?”

Naomi’s eyes were mischievous. She reached over and touched his hand.

“Darling, it was part mine and part Uncle’s. If you hadn’t insisted on not letting me in on the fun I’d never have gone to Uncle Park.”

Dick’s mouth was tight. He snapped.

“You little fool. Why can’t you leave me alone? Fun! Nuts on that! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Oh yes I do.” Naomi put her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands. Joe thought she looked like one of those angel-faced choir boys who fill the roto sections at Christmas and Easter. He was sure now that her innocent tale-bearing had not been entirely responsible for Van Pelt’s and the older Raleigh’s interest in this business.

Milly, who had been silent since they entered the tavern, stared at Naomi malignantly and snarled, “I hate your guts, Naomi Raleigh. But take my advice and let Dicky paddle his own canoe. It won’t get you anywhere to butt in.”

Dick scowled. “Didn’t I tell you to keep those beautiful lips closed, darling? They look and sound a lot better in that position.”

Naomi became serious. “Look, Dick. I really was teasing you, but Uncle Park is worried. I came looking for you tonight to beg you to stop going on like this until he’s out of the hospital. If he hadn’t been worried he’d never have sent Mr. South to you.”

Dick said, “For heaven’s sake, don’t go melodramatic on me. I want to get this straight. Just what do you mean, go on like this?”

Joe decided this was his cue. He took a bite out of the ham sandwich and pointed a slice of dill pickle at Richard.

“I’ll tell you what you’re doing. You are acting like a one-year-old. Now I have no objection to your acting that way. You can be a dope if you want to. I’ve done about everything else and a job’s a job. If I don’t like changing your diapers at least I’m getting paid for it. You can run around with second-rate ex-torpedoes like Shasta and Wiener if you want to. Only get this straight”—he shook the pickle in Dick’s face for emphasis—“keep off the front page and out of the morgue. At least until after January 30. Then you can come over to my apartment and borrow my gun. I’ll let you blow your stupid brains out and I won’t even look up from the funny papers.”

It was the longest speech he’d made that night. He ended by snapping two inches off the pickle. If he had expected Raleigh to be angry he was disappointed. He had the mustache under control. For the first time Naomi looked at the detective without sympathy. She said angrily, “That’s about the poorest psychology I ever heard Uncle Park must have had a relapse when he hired you.”

It was all on the table now. There were no more references to Montana. Joe had known since before leaving the Timbuctoo that Raleigh was wise to him. This time there was affection in Naomi’s eyes as she touched Dick’s hand.

“Never mind, Dick. You know your business better than Joe South does. Only, darling, promise me you’ll be careful.”

Dick didn’t answer. He gazed moodily at Milly. Naomi pressed his fingers. “Promise,” she insisted.

Dick responded suddenly. He put his other hand over hers. He was still slightly drunk but his eyes were moody.

“All right,” he growled. “All you want is a promise to be careful I don’t know why. I hereby promise to be careful in all things. In crossing crossings cautiously; in not crossing platinum blondes; in not crossing business associates because my sister doesn’t like them. Okay, kid, I promise.” He smiled at her. “And now we’ve had enough gloom for one night. I’ll buy you a drink. In fact, I’ll buy everybody a drink.”

Joe nodded over the last crust of his sandwich. The mood of the party changed.

Naomi’s eyes brightened. She even winked at Joe. “Now we can have fun,” she announced and looked at Milly. “Come on,” she pleaded. “Don’t be a stick. What will you have, Milly?”

Milly’s smile was forced, but Joe gave her due credit. She said, “All right, Lady Astor. I can be as good a sport as you. I’ll have a daiquiri for a change.”

Dick said, “Atta girl! We’ll make it a celebration. Come on, South, you can drink a toast to mine and Milly’s engagement at the same time.”

Naomi said, “Are you going to start that again, Dick?”

“Start it!” Richard scowled into his drink and put a hand over Milly’s. “We’re going to finish it tomorrow. How do you like that?” He wavered against Naomi and put his face close to hers. “No more strings, eh, sis? No more lectures from Uncle Park and Stuyvie. I’ll show that Dutch uncle a thing or two. I’ve got more strings on my racket than Bill Tilden.” He straightened up and smiled at Milly. “This time tomorrow night I’ll have the license in my pocket, and by next week you’ll be Mrs. Richard Lyons Raleigh. How about it, mush-face?”

Milly was pouting. She giggled, “Dicky, I thought you said it was a secret.” But she was obviously pleased.

“Secret, hell! I’m tired of asking somebody every time I have to change my shorts. They didn’t think I’d do it. I’ll show ’em.”

Joe said, “Hadn’t you better have another drink and call it a night, Raleigh?” He grinned. “Drink twice before you speak. Them’s my motto. Then you can’t speak.”

Shermond looked pained all over again. He was trying not to look at Joe and Raleigh.

“Naomi, darling,” his voice was pleading. “I can’t stand much more of this. Must we stay?”

Naomi bent forward and stroked his chin.

“All right, precious. Just one little drink and we’ll go. Just for me? Please?”

Shermond shrugged without answering and looked at the greasy-paunched bartender with distaste. Joe ordered a Scotch and soda. The others ordered daiquiries. Shermond still refused.

The detective relaxed and smiled in response to Naomi’s wink. She was as good at it as Milly was with the giggles. Maybe she’d be fun if he didn’t have this job on his hands. She’d bundle up into just about the right kind of package to tote around town the next time May got into one of her all-too-frequent independent moods. He shook his head to clear it. He was beginning to feel groggy and tired, and the close atmosphere of the dingy tavern was giving him a headache.

Naomi rose and pulled on the slicker. Shermond got up eagerly.

“Not going to leave us?” Richard’s voice was mocking.

Naomi answered for Shermond. “You know how Charles is, Dick,” she reminded him. “He doesn’t drink and he’s a working man. It’s getting late,” she added, and to Joe, “Keep the home fires burning, Father Brown.”

Joe went to the door with them and heard the car start. He glanced at his watch. It was ten minutes past twelve. They had been in the place much longer than he had thought. He wondered if Shermond would take Naomi back to the Raleigh house now that she and Dick appeared to have made up.

He returned to the table and picked up his drink. It would be the last for the evening. Dick and Milly were dancing again. Joe lifted his glass to the couple and swallowed its contents in one gulp. What a job this had turned out to be. Well he had been paid in advance. If the job ended tomorrow he would still be ahead. He would see Parker Raleigh in the morning and tell him how the plan had backfired before it had time to get a good start.

He sat still with his elbows resting on the table and his chin in his hands. Richard and Milly, swaying to the rhythm of the music, merged into one. Then there were two couples. Two Richards and two Millies and two juke boxes. The door came up at a forty-five-degree angle, but the couple danced on. Suddenly Joe felt very sick. He made an effort to call out, but before sound came his elbows slipped from the table’s edge with a crash that spilled the remaining cocktails. Richard and Milly stopped dancing and looked at the detective. Richard said, “A great watch-dog our pal turned out to be. Passed out on a half-dozen drinks.” He shook his head. “I’d hate like hell to be in a spot and have to depend on him to get me out.”

He took Milly by the arm and manipulated the mustache.

“Let’s get out of here. This monkey’s out for the night. I’ve got to see the boys at three o’clock.”

Milly lifted Joe’s head and let it fall with a plump.

“He sure is out. Aren’t we going to take him with us?”

Dick grunted. “What do you think, baby?” He was guiding her to the door. “This is where we unload a bad man from the West. West Orange. From now on this Jersey hill-billy is on his own.”

Milly giggled. It was the first in several hours. At the door Richard went into a whispered conversation with the bartender. The Syrian nodded and pocketed a bill. He followed the couple to the door and stood there until the roar of the car was lost in the speed of the gale. Then he began closing up for the night.