Broadway Bounty

Chapter Thirteen

Rosewood dropped Decker off in front of his hotel.

“Thanks for the tour, Billy.”

“Will you want me later tonight?”

“I don’t think—wait a minute.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you what,” Decker said after a moment. “Will you be available at two a.m.?”

“Sure, if you want.”

“You know that hospital I told you I was at?”

“Sure, on Second Avenue.”

“Go there at two and pick up a nurse.”

“Sure,” Billy said, grinning, “just any nurse?”

“Quiet, and listen. I’ll describe her.” Decker described Linda Hamilton as well as he could, and Rosewood laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“The only time I ever heard a man describe a woman that well, he was in love with her.”

“Don’t be a dope. I only met her yesterday.”

“I know,” Rosewood said, still grinning.

“Stop grinning like a fool. After you’ve picked her up, take her to—what’s a decent restaurant that’s open that time of night?”

“I know one,” Rosewood said and gave Decker instructions how to get there.

“Good. Bring her there.”

“Want me to have someone pick you up and take you there?” Rosewood asked.

“Like who?”

“A friend.”

“An expensive friend?”

“You don’t pay him, you pay me—after.”

“I appreciate that, Billy.”

“I feel it’s my responsibility to see that you enjoy my city, Mr. Decker.”

“No mister, Billy…just Decker.”

“All right, Decker. I’ll see you tonight.”

Decker waved and went into the hotel lobby. As he entered, he saw the clerk behind the desk nod to someone. There was a man sitting in the lobby, and he rose and approached Decker, who put his hand over the .32 in his pocket.

“Decker?” the man said.

“That’s right.”

“I’m from Bookman.”

“Yeah?”

“He sent me with a message.”

The man was tall and thin, well dressed and impeccably groomed. He didn’t appear to be armed, but that might have been due to the work of a good tailor.

“All right,” Decker said, “let’s go to my room.”

They went up to the second floor, to the door of Decker’s room.

“After you,” Decker said, and the man entered ahead of him.

Decker came in behind him and took the .32 from his pocket. He pressed the barrel against the man’s back and closed the door behind them.

“What’s this?” the man asked.

“I’m just being careful,” Decker said. “Put your hands up.”

The man obeyed, and Decker searched him. He found a .38-caliber Colt under his arm, and nothing else. He returned the .32 to his pocket and held the man’s .38.

“OK, sit on the bed.”

The man did so.

“What’s your message?”

“Bookman thought you might need some help.”

“Why is that?”

He did some checking on the man you’re looking for.”

“And what he found out made him think I needed a bodyguard?”

“I guess so.”

“Well, you go back and tell him to do just what we agreed that he’d do. I don’t need a baby sitter.”

The man stood up and straightened his coat.

“My gun, please?”

“What’s your name?”

“Largo,” the man said, “Jim Largo.”

“All right, Mr. Largo,” Decker said and handed him his gun back. “Tell Bookman I appreciate the offer.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“I assume he hasn’t found my man yet.”

“No,” Largo said, “he hasn’t found him.”

“What would Ready have done when he got here?” Decker asked out loud.

“I don’t know.”

“He would have done the same thing I did,” Decker said, talking more to himself, although loud enough for the other man to hear.

“Gone to see Bookman?” Largo said, shaking his head. “Nobody but you has seen—”

“No, not Bookman,” Decker said, “but somebody like him.” Decker looked at Largo and said, “There are…others in New York who supply the same services that Bookman supplies, aren’t there?”

“I suppose so.”

“Ask Bookman to check on them, see if they’ve had any requests for help from out-of-towners.”

“All right,” Largo said. He started for the door, opened it and then turned to look at Decker. “I don’t like having my gun taken away from me.”

Decker returned the man’s stare and said, “Next time you come to see me, don’t wear it.”