Anything But Saintly

Chapter 12

I continued on into the tavern. The place was packed to the walls and a jukebox was blaring. There were a few coats and ties, but most of the men were in the clothes they wore to their factory jobs. A dozen women, ranging in age from mid-twenty to one who was at least sixty, were next to the bar. They wore either cheap street dresses or skirts and blouses. Probably most of them were employees of the dress factory only two blocks away, out for what they considered an evening of gaiety.

Little Artie wasn’t around, but I saw Jake Stark leaning on the far end of the bar. He was this side of the bar, not behind it, as the regular night bartender was on duty. He was talking to a dumpy brunette of about thirty.

I was working my way through the mob toward Jake when I spotted the old man named Dinny seated at the same table where he had been drinking beer that morning. He was all alone, his back to the corner and a half-full beer glass before him, watching everything going on in the tavern. There was a vacant chair next to him. On a hunch I dropped into it.

“Evening, Dinny,” I said. “Having a ball?”

He grinned at me, exposing a perfect set of false teeth with bright red gums. “I always have a ball.” Then he examined me more closely. “Hey, you’re one of them cops was in here this morning. Artie called you Matt, didn’t he?”

“Uh-huh. Buy you a beer?”

“Sure.” He drained his glass and pushed it toward me. “You have to go after it. There ain’t no table service here.”

“If I pay, you go after it,” I told him. “You can bring me one too.” I pushed back his glass and laid a half dollar next to it.

He emitted a cackle. “I guess that’s fair. Can’t blame a lazy man for trying, through.”

Picking up the half dollar, he carried his glass to the bar and used it as a gavel to attract the barkeep’s attention. Despite the crowd, he got immediate service by keeping up the steady pounding. Ordinarily that sort of thing irks a bartender, but Dinny must have been a pet of the place, for the man behind the bar didn’t seem in the least put out.

The old man returned carrying one goblet-shaped schooner of beer and one seven-ounce glass. The schooner must have held twenty ounces.

Setting the small glass in front of me, he slid back into his seat. “These big specials cost forty cents,” he said. “A regular beer is fifteen, but there was only a dime left for you. I had to settle for a short one.”

“Thanks,” I said dryly.

Lifting the schooner with both hands, he said, “Mud,” and took a long pull.

I took a sip of mine.

“Augh,” he muttered with satisfaction, wiping his lips with the back of his gnarled hand. “They serve good beer here. Not too cold, not too warm, but just right.”

“You spend all your time in here?” I asked.

“Most of it. That was my retirement plan.”

“Come again?”

“I spent forty-three years on the furnace over at Effington Steel. That heat really dries you out. When I retired, I said to myself, ‘Dinny, you’re gonna spend the rest of your life in a barroom drinking beer.’ That’s what I’m doing. I been sitting here day and night since I was sixty-five, and I ain’t had enough of it yet. Know how old I am?”

I examined his seamed face and white hair. He looked about ninety to me. “I don’t know. You just mentioned you’re over sixty-five.”

“Most people guess about sixty. But I already told you I retired at sixty-five, and that was some years back. Go ahead and guess.”

“A hundred and twelve,” I said.

He cackled. “You got some sense of humor. I’m seventy-eight. Would you ever believe it?”

I shook my head. “Not by a dozen years.” I meant he looked a dozen years older, but he assumed I meant it the other way and was pleased.

“Hard work and lots of beer is the formula,” he said. “I broke my back working for forty-three years, never got married and saved my money. I bet I got more in the bank than any ten guys standing at that bar. Plus I got my social security and plant pension.”

“Then you can buy the next drink,” I told him.

He shook his head. “Not me, mister. I’m a cheapskate. That’s why I got money.”

I grinned at him and he grinned back companionably. He said, “This one will last a while, but you can buy me another one later, if you’re still here. Lots of suckers do, just to hear me talk.”

I said, “If we’re going to put it on a commercial basis, I’ll pick the subject of conversation. How long did you stay here after we left this morning?”

“All day. Had my lunch and supper here. Except for a couple of dozen trips to the can, I ain’t been out of this chair since the place opened this morning.”

“Little Artie or Jake Stark leave the place?”

He regarded me thoughtfully. “I won’t be ready for another beer for some time, but a little whisky might go with this one.”

I felt in my pocket for change, found a quarter, two dimes and three nickels. “How much is a shot?”

“Top shelf is six-bits.”

“I wouldn’t want to shock your stomach,” I said. “How much is bar whisky?”

He emitted another cackle. “Forty cents. Sixty-five for a double.”

I don’t think he was really a free-loader. I think he just enjoyed the bargaining. I decided not to spoil his fun by giving in too easily. I shoved forty cents across the table. “Go get yourself a single.”

“I like a cigar when I drink whisky,” he said.

I shoved him another dime. “That’s it, Dinny. If you want some potato chips, dig in your own pocket.”

“I never eat between meals,” he said cheerfully.

Rising from the table, he went to the bar again and rapped for attention, this time using a coin as a gavel. He returned carrying a shot of whisky and a cigar. I held a light to the cigar.

When it was going, he said, “Now what was it you asked me?”

“I asked whether Artie or Jake left here today after my partner and I did.”

He nodded. “Yep. Want to know when and why?”

“Yeah.”

He tossed off his whisky and chased it with a sip of beer. “Augh! It sure is thirsty in here.”

“You get a nightcap when I walk away,” I said. “Not before.”

He lifted narrow shoulders in a philosophic shrug. “A double?”

“As much as you can get for a buck.”

“I guess that would be a triple,” he said. “Okay. Little Artie took over the bar and sent Jake out about one P.M.”

Jackpot, I thought. I said, “Sent him where?”

“To collect that money he paid you from the girl. What was her name? Kitty, wasn’t it?”

“Uh-huh. How long was he gone?”

“About an hour. Come back at two.”

That was interesting, I thought. According to Lieutenant Wynn, Jake had stated that Little Artie hadn’t left the tavern all day. In doing so, he had also provided an alibi for himself. I wondered if Wynn had bothered to ask Artie if Jake had left at any time. It didn’t really matter. I was sure Artie wouldn’t have volunteered the information unasked, and I was reasonably certain he would have lied if asked.

I said, “What’d Jake have to say when he came back?”

The old man shrugged again. “Nothing I heard. He took Artie back in the kitchen to talk. I figured he was giving him the money. But I couldn’t hear what they said. Why you asking me all this?”

Obviously he hadn’t heard the TV report of Katherine Desmond’s murder or, if he had, hadn’t connected her with the girl he overheard us discussing that morning. I didn’t see any point in enlightening him.

I said, “I’m a nosy cop. Where’s Artie right now?”

Looking around, he shrugged. “He was here a while back. Couple of guys come in to talk to him and Jake. They went back in the kitchen, so I didn’t hear what they wanted. There’s Jake over at the end of the bar. Artie must be down cellar.”

He meant in the basement poker game, which probably had started by now, since it was past eleven-thirty. I had never been in Artie’s basement, since cops weren’t very welcome there, but I had heard that Artie and Jake alternated in supervising the game.

Getting out my wallet, I tossed a dollar bill on the table and rose to my feet. “Go get yourself that triple, Dinny.”

“Thanks,” he said, scooping it up and rising also. “Don’t go away until I get it.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t take money from nobody. Only drinks. I don’t want you to think I’d stick this in my pocket and not buy the whisky.”

He had a peculiar set of ethics for a cadger. I humored him by waiting at the table until he returned from the bar with a Coke glass half full of whisky.

When he had slid back into his seat, I said, “Satisfied?”

“Sure. Here’s mud in your eye.” He raised the glass to take a sip, chased it with beer and said, “Augh!”

“Drink hearty,” I said, and turned to work my way through the crowd to where Jake Stark stood at the end of the bar.

Apparently Jake hadn’t seen me come in and hadn’t noticed me talking to the old man, for he looked surprised to see me. He also looked a bit unfriendly.

“You better not let Artie see you around here,” he greeted me. “He’s sore.”

I said, “I want to talk to you alone.”

The dumpy brunette on the bar stool next to him looked me over with interest. “Hi,” she said. “Introduce me to the gentleman, Jake.”

“You wouldn’t like him,” Jake growled. “He’s a cop. I got nothing to say to you in private, Rudd.”

“Then let’s bring Artie in on the conversation too,” I suggested. “He’d probably like to hear how you’ve been picking up extra change.”

He gave me a sharp look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Never mind,” I said. “I’ll go downstairs and talk to Artie.” I started toward the kitchen. Halfway there Stark caught me by the arm.

“You can’t bust downstairs now,” he said. “Artie’s busy.”

“You’re not,” I said. “The kitchen empty?”

He examined me contemplatively. “What was that crack about picking up extra change?”

“You know what I meant, Jake. You want to discuss it here in front of everybody, or have a quiet talk in the kitchen?”

After examining me broodingly for a moment more, he said, “Guys keep passing through the kitchen on their way downstairs. You driving?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Pull around the corner on Clark Street and park near the alley. I’ll be along in five minutes.”

“Why don’t we just walk out together?”

“Because I don’t want to be seen leaving with no cop,” he snapped. “I got a reputation to think of.”

I gave him a humorless grin. “All right, Jake. I’ll wait five minutes. If you don’t show, I’ll be back to talk with Artie.”

Reversing direction, I walked out the front door and climbed into my car. Pulling around the corner, I parked where Stark had told me to.