The Leather Duke

Chapter Sixteen

A uniformed bellboy came quickly across the lobby. The clerk slid a key over the counter. “Show Mr. Fletcher to 612.”

“This way, sir,” said the bellboy.

Johnny followed him to the elevators and up to the sixth floor. There the boy led him to the front of the building and unlocked the door of Room 612.

“One of the best suites in the Club,” the bellboy said. He led Johnny through the bathroom into the adjoining room, flicking on lights along the way.

Passing through the bathroom, Johnny saw a placard on the back of the door. It was headed: “Club Rules.”

Rule #1 in bold-face type was: no tipping of employees.

“What’s this?” exclaimed Johnny, tapping the sign. “No tipping?”

“Just one of the rules, sir.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Oh, hardly anyone pays any attention to it,” the bellboy said brightly.

“But I’m only a guest of the club, not a member. I wouldn’t want to violate the rules and get Elliott Towner in bad.”

“Towner?” said the bellboy. “If that was the only thing he had to worry about...”

“Quite a lad, isn’t he?”

The bellboy shrugged and tried to pass Johnny in the bathroom. But Johnny pulled out his dwindling roll of bills, and began looking through them.

“Tell me about Elliott,” he said, carelessly. “Been cutting up around here, has he?”

“I wouldn’t know, sir. I’m only a bellboy.”

“Bellboys know everything that goes on. You started to say something about Elliott a moment ago...”

“I’m sorry, sir, I should have kept my mouth shut.”

Johnny shuffled the bills in his hands. “You’ve got me curious, so you might as well spill it. What’s Towner got to worry about?”

The bellboy looked steadily at the money in Johnny’s hands. Johnny extracted a five dollar bill, creased it lengthwise and handed it to the boy.

“You were going to say...?”

“Dames!” blurted the bellboy. “They ain’t allowed in the club, exceptin’ in the dinin’ rooms, so I’m on the split shift last night and this dame comes bustin’ into the lobby and says she’s gotta see him. Gus, the doorman, knocks off at eleven, so he ain’t on the door and she’s in the lobby and headin’ for the elevator before I can head her off. She gives me quite a workout, too. Course, I don’t mind that, cause she’s a looker and if a looker wants to rassle a fall or two with me, it’s okay, but then Homer the bell captain comes up from the steam room where he’s sneakin’ one and I get holy hell for lettin’ her in. On’y I didn’t.”

“She said she wanted to see Elliott Towner?”

“No-no, I get that from Nora.”

“Nora?”

“The telephone operator. Nora and me are, well, we go out some a the nights I’m working the dog watch. That’s the way we work here, one day from twelve noon to eight in the evening, then the next day, seven to twelve in the morning, off in the afternoon, then six to midnight.”

“Congratulations,” said Johnny drily. “I hope you and Nora will be very happy...”

“Huh? We ain’t talkin’ about gettin’ married, nothin’ like that.”

“All right, then do you mind telling me what you got from Nora?”

“The stuff about this dame and Towner. She calls up all evenin’, eight-ten calls and she don’t get him. She leaves messages and Towner don’t call back.”

“He was here?”

“That’s what I’m telling you, ain’t I? He’s here but he tells Nora he’s out, so the dame keeps callin’ and leavin’ messages. Important, she says, matter of life and death. So Nora feels sorry for her and just before she’s going off duty, when the call comes in...”

The bellboy stopped, scowling.

“Go on,” cried Johnny.

“No, I’ve talked too much already. As long as it was only me in it...”

Johnny whisked off a ten dollar bill and thrust it into the bellboy’s hand. “Keep talking.”

The boy ran the tip of his tongue around his lips, drew a deep breath. “She put the call through to Towner’s room.”

“And?”

“That’s all.”

“For ten dollars?” Johnny snarled. “Give me back that dough.” He lunged for the ten dollar bill which was still in the bellboy’s hand. But the latter drew back.

“All right, Nora listened in. Towner was sore as a bear with a boil on his tail, when he found out who it was, but he shut up when this girl let him have it. Of course, Nora didn’t know what she was talking about, but whatever it was, it cooled off Mr. Towner.”

“What was it she said?”

“I dunno. Nora couldn’t figure it out. Said it wasn’t so much what she said—”

“What was it she said?”

“Only something about: ‘I know who did it,’ but it certainly had an effect on Towner. He shut up right away and when he said he’d see her today, he was as meek as a mouse... This was after we threw her out here, about eleven-thirty you know. Around mid-night—”

“This girl, did she give her name?”

“On the telephone? Unh-uh. On’y when she left the messages before. Just — ‘Nancy called’...”

“Nancy!” cried Johnny.

“Yeah, Nancy?” The bellboy’s eyes slitted. “Know her?”

“No,” said Johnny.

“I been thinkin’ today,” the bellboy went on, “Towner’s old man owns a big leather factory up on the north side and there was a murder there yesterday and I was thinkin’—”

“Don’t,” said Johnny, “don’t think.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. Uh, what I been tellin’ you, that’s just between us, huh? You could cost me my job, maybe. And Nora—”

“Don’t worry. Not a word to anyone.”

“Thanks, and, uh, if you need anything, just call the bell stand and ask for Number Three. If you forget the number, ask for Augie...”

“Augie, Number Three; I’ll remember.”

Augie, Number 3, stowed away his haul of fifteen dollars and left the suite.

Johnny made a quick tour through the suite, then stepped to a desk and found some club stationery. He picked up a pen and wrote: “Sam, come down to the steam room.”

He stuck the message in the frame of the dresser mirror where it would be seen readily and, leaving the suite, rode down in the elevator to the steam room. An attendant showed him to a locker room and gave him a towel and a sheet. Draping the sheet around him he stepped into the hot air room.

There were several wooden deck chairs scattered about the room, two or three of which were occupied by nude club members. Johnny spread the sheet out over a vacant chair and seated himself on it. Even through the sheet, the wood of the chair was near the scorching point, for the temperature in the room was 180 degrees.

Perspiration broke out on his body inside of a minute or two and in ten minutes it streamed off his body. He remained in the room another ten minutes, then came out and took a hot shower. He finished off with cold water, then ran to the swimming pool and dove in.

He went down deep, came up and looked into the face of Fred Wendland, less than two feet from his own.

“Freddie!” Johnny exclaimed. “Imagine meeting you here.”

Treading water, Wendland looked at him blankly a moment, before recognition dawned on him. “Fletcher,” he said, then: “How the devil did you get in here?”

“Guest card. And you?”

“I’m a member of this club.”

Johnny wasn’t good at treading water, so he swam to the edge of the pool. He climbed up and sat down on the tile, dangling his legs in the water. A few feet away, Wendland continued to tread water. His face wore an angry scowl.

“Too bad you ran out this noon,” Johnny said, cheerfully. “If you’d hung around I’d’ve introduced you to the shamus. We had quite a little tête-à-tête.”

“I’m not interested in private detectives,” snapped Wendland. He swam closer to the edge of the pool, then began treading water again. “And I don’t understand why a man like you would want a guest card at this club. As much gall as you’ve got, you must know that you don’t fit in here.”

“Why, I thought I was fitting in very well,” Johnny replied, mockingly. “I’ve done a good day’s work, so now I’m relaxing at the club. A steam, a little swim, then a rubdown and I’m all set for the evening.”

“You know damn well what I meant, Fletcher. The people here aren’t your sort.”

“They’ve got two heads and I’ve only got one?”

“You’re a common laborer.”

“A common laborer built this swimming pool, Wendland. Common laborers raise the food you eat and make the clothes you wear. And as for me, specifically, Freddie boy...” Johnny got to his feet, roused. “Name one thing in which you think you’re superior to me. Physically, I can lick the hell out of you...”

“That remains to be seen,” snarled Wendland.

“And mentally, Freddie, in what respect do you figure you’ve got it over me? I can make a fool out of you on any subject you name...”

“I’ve had enough from you, Fletcher,” sputtered Wendland. “Wait until I climb out of here...” He swam quickly for the edge of the pool, began to clamber out.

Johnny watched him coolly. “You’ve admitted it yourself, hiring the Wiggins Detective Agency to shadow me...”

Wendland, half out of water, stared at Johnny in astonishment. “Wh-what are you talking about?”

“A man named Begley’s been following me all day. He’s outside the club right now. He works for the Wiggins Agency. And you hired them.”

Wendland finished climbing out of the pool, but was no longer belligerent. A confused frown twisted his features.

“Why are you having me shadowed, Wendland?” Johnny continued. “You know damn well I didn’t kill Al Piper. So why...? Are you afraid of something I might find out about you?”

Wendland suddenly whirled and walked away from Johnny. Johnny was still looking after him, when Sam Cragg appeared on the far side of the pool. He spied Johnny and waved.

Johnny gestured him to come around the pool and rose to meet him. “Get yourself a quick steam and a swim, Sam, while I have a rubdown,” he said, “then we’ll put on the feed bag.”

“One of those nice steaks that they cook so badly here, Johnny?” Sam asked.

Johnny chuckled. “We’ll force ourselves to eat them.” An attendant approached and Sam went off to the locker rooms. Johnny found an idle masseur and went into a cubicle with him, where he stretched out on a rubbing table.

The masseur covered him with a sheet, then peeling it back off one leg, rubbed olive oil on the limb. He gripped it in both hands and began to work on it. He had tremendously powerful fingers and seemed to find every tender muscle. While he worked, he talked.

“New member, sir, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Only a guest. Towner put me up.”

“Oh, Mr. Towner, the leather man. I give him a rub-down two-three times a week. Wonderful condition for a man his age. Keeps in good shape... Mmm, you got a kink in a muscle here.” He worked on it and Johnny had to gasp to keep from wincing in pain. The masseur chuckled. “You ought to watch yourself. Don’t exercise, don’t work.”

“Yeah,” said Johnny, “you may be right. By the way, just to test your powers of observation — what business would you say I was in?”

The masseur put down the leg, covered it and exposed the other one. “Stocks, Board of Trade. Maybe radio or advertising.”

“You wouldn’t take me for a laborer?”

“Ha! You? You wouldn’t be living at the club, if you was a laborer. Besides you don’t have the muscle for it.”

“I could be a laborer out of work.”

“No sir, you couldn’t. I know a gentleman when I see one.”

“You think I’m a gentleman?”

“Oh, sure. That’s one thing I know — gentlemen. I have worked at this club for nine years. I massage forty-fifty gentlemen a week. Never make a mistake about a gentleman.”

“Ever massage Freddie Wendland?”

“Two-three times a month.”

“And he’s no different than I am?”

“How you mean? He is younger man than you, but otherwise the same as you — a gentleman.”

Johnny grinned and wondered what Wendland would say to that. He relaxed under the probing hands of the masseur and a half hour later got up from the table, feeling five years younger.

Sam was still in the pool, enjoying himself, but he climbed out and both dressed and adjourned to the grill room. They ordered steaks and when they finished eating it was after seven.

Johnny signed the check with a flourish and they left the grill room.

“And now for our date,” Johnny said then.

“We got a date?”

“I have,” said Johnny.

“With a girl?”

“With what would I have a date? It’s the girl with the taffy-colored hair at the plant. Nancy Miller.”

Sam brightened. “Say, she’s all right. I passed a few words with her myself, this noon.” He cleared his throat. “I wonder if she’s got a friend.”

“Every girl’s got a friend, Sam.”

“C’n you call her and ask?”

“Mm, that might not be such a good idea. On the phone a girl can make excuses. We’ll surprise her and then she’ll have to come through with the friend.”

“Didn’t we do that in St. Louis once? The girl weighed two hundred pounds.”

“Yes, but she was affectionate, wasn’t she?”

“You ain’t kiddin’, Johnny, every pound of her was affectionate. I’m gonna hold out for a girl about Nancy’s size.”

They left the club and had the doorman get a cab for them. Climbing in, Johnny gave the driver Nancy Miller’s Armitage Avenue address.

The cabby made an illegal U turn and headed north up Michigan. Behind them a black Chevvie executed the same illegal U turn. Johnny saw the Chevvie in the rear vision mirror and swore. “You can’t trust anybody these days.”

Sam did not hear him. He was wrapped in heavy thought, pondering about his blind date.