The Long Wait

Chapter Six

I spent the rest of the evening making the rounds of the joints in town. For a couple of hours I put the beer away while I tried to get a line of Vera West and at ten o’clock all I had was two people who remembered having seen her with Servo.

At five minutes after ten I left the Blue Mirror and decided to let the guy who had been tailing me catch up with me. He had picked me up at the second joint I was in and had stuck like a leech ever since.

He was a short stocky guy in a gray suit and gray summer hat who walked with a crab and his left arm cocked at the elbow to keep the rod under his arm in place. The cops in this town certainly needed a few lessons in shadowing.

I turned off the main street, crossing over into a residential district until I found a comer nicely shrouded in shadows. From the way I was walking he must have thought I was going somewhere and figured I wouldn’t be thinking of having a tail.

When I made the corner I stepped back into the hedges and waited for him to come around the bend. He walked right into my hands and I had his elbows pinned behind his back before he even started cursing. I shoved my knee into his spine and jerked him back like a bow. “Just make one funny move and you’re gonna break in two, mister.”

So he didn’t move a bit. Not an inch. He let me pull his rod out and drop it on the turf then fish for his wallet. I dropped that and all he had in his pockets and what I was looking for he didn’t have. A badge.

I gave another little twitch and the scream that started up his throat got cut off in the middle. “Who sent you, pal?”

His head came back and his hat fell off. In the dull light his eyes were a couple of big glass marbles. The spit ran down the corner of his mouth, dripping off his chin. I eased up and asked him again and that was as far as I got. Someplace far off there was a sharp crack and the night got darker and darker until it was just an empty void and I was floating in the middle of it.

After a while the floating merged into a series of hard jolts that was a hammer beating against my skull. There were voices and sounds again, coming back slowly. Moving hurt, so I sat where I was until the blasting inside my brain subsided.

One of the voices said, “Goddamn it, he nearly cracked me in half!”

“Ah shaddup, you asked for it. You was climbing up his back all the way.”

The first voice let out a series of curses that took in everybody. “You wasn’t supposed to be more’n a block away, goddamn it! You took your time about getting there.”

“So what. We got there, didn’t we? There was a red light before we made the turn. You want we should get a ticket?”

“Ticket hell. For a ticket I should get a broke back? Some son of a bitch is gonna pay for this. Damn ‘em, this guy was supposed to be a drip. Easy, the son of a bitch said. He’d shake in his shoes if you yelled at ’im.”

“Quit crying. You found out who he was. He got medals in the army fer being a rough apple.”

“So what? The lousy bastard said he was one of them fatigue cases. He was yellow. He was scared of fighting any more. Maybe I shoulda asked him first, huh? Maybe I shoulda found out for myself before I got my back damn near broke!”

“He’s here, ain’t he?”

“So’m I, but I don’t feel so good. For a guy what’s supposed to be yellow he damn near done all right. Maybe these big guys get yellow after a while, but they don’t stay that way. That war was a long way off.”

The words formed inside my head without being spoken. I felt like thanking the guy. There were a lot of people who thought Johnny was yellow. First Nick. Then Logan. Somebody else figured that way and their boys fell for it. So a guy is yellow because he gets his belly full of killing. He gets so that he doesn’t want any part of killing or the things that cause it and they call him yellow. A typical civilian attitude. Here’s a gun, go get them, feller. Attaboy, Johnny, good job. Here’s some more bullets. What? You’ve had enough of it? Why, you yellow-bellied bastard, get away from me!

Somebody next to me started laughing at the argument and I turned my head. The guy caught the movement and the snout of a gun rammed into my ribs. “Sonny’s awake back here,” he said.

The little guy who had tailed me turned around in his seat. His arm was a blur of motion and his fist cracked across my mouth. “You bastard, I’ll show you something.”

He would have done it again if the guy beside me hadn’t shoved him back. “Lay off, jerk. You pile us up and you’ll be the one getting a ride, not him. Now sit down and keep your trap closed.”

It was nice knowing what was going on. I wiped the blood off my lips with the back of my hand. I said, “So this is it?”

The gun in my ribs pressed a little deeper. “That’s right, sonny, this is it. Let me tell you something. You’re a big boy and you like to play rough, but this gun is loaded and cocked and the first move you make you get it sideways, right across your belly. It’ll take a long time to die that way. Be nice and it’ll all be over with quick.”

“Thanks.”

I sat back and enjoyed the ride. Hell, what else was there to do? We were out on the highway and the city was only a faint reflection in the rear-view mirror. There were cars going by every once in a while, but going too fast to yell and attract attention before I caught a bullet in the ribs. The car was a two-door job beside, so there wasn’t any chance of taking a dive even if I wanted to.

We must have been about a half hour out of Lyncastle before the guy at the wheel pulled off the highway onto a dirt road. Until then it hadn’t been so bad. Now my heart started pounding against my chest like a wild thing trying to beat its way out. The guy beside me felt me stiffen up and nudged me with the gun as a reminder that he was still there.

It was pitch black, darker than the void I had swum in, with the driver feeling his way along on his dimmers. The road curved and started to rise, then flattened out and disappeared altogether. Just before the lights went off entirely I had a chance to see the reflection of the stars in the water and knew that the road was a dead end up to a quarry of some sort.

The guy said, “Out.”

One of the others held the seat down so I could crawl out the door. He had a gun facing me for insurance.

I started to think a lot of things right then. Most of all I was thinking what a damn fool I was for not playing it safer. Those guys had been on my tail all day waiting to get me off someplace where they could pick me up and I go and make it just perfect for them.

The gun rammed me in the spine again. “Start walking over there to where the hole is.”

“Listen, I...”

“Keep quiet and walk. Don’t make it rough on yourself.”

They formed a fan around me, flanking me in as nice as you please. Like Nazis, that’s what. I did everything but dig my own grave. They had it just right, too... back far enough so I couldn’t make a stab at one of the rods and close enough to see my outline even in the dark.

God, I couldn’t just go easy like that! I had to do something!

Before anyone could tell me to shut up I said, “I want a cigarette.”

A voice said, “Give him one.”

“What the hell for!”

“I said give him one.”

Paper rustled and a cigarette came to me out of the dark, held lightly in the ends of the fingers. I stuck it in my mouth and groped for a match. The guy who complained about giving me the butt started to complain again and the other voice cut in with “He’s clean. You don’t think I’d let him be packing a rod around, do you?”

I almost felt like answering him myself. I swung around so I’d be facing them and flicked the wooden match with my thumbnail. They were just stupid enough not to see what I did. My eyes were shut tight, I felt for the butt, lit it and shook the match out. Then I opened my eyes.

I was the only one who could still see in the dark and while they were still seeing a great big bright spot where the match had been I leaped off to the left, hit the dirt and rolled.

The shots came blasting out with the shouts and curses, stabbing the air where I had been, trying to search me out with orange tongues of flame. The slugs were smacking the ground, wining off into the brush splatting the walls of the quarry and tearing into the foliage with a harsh, ripping sound.

I had a rock under my hand and threw it. A frenzied yell welled out in a hoarse throat and the bullets spit in a direction away from me. The guy doing most of the shooting wasn’t three feet away. I came up behind him, choked off a scream with my forearm and wrenched the gun out of his hand. I clipped him once behind his ear, stuck the gun in my pocket and heaved him as hard as I could.

One bullet gouging into soft flesh made the nastiest noise I ever heard.

There was no sound after that for a few seconds. Just the dull rumble of the echoes down there in the quarry. A guy said, “That one got him.”

I heard their feet on the gravel, the grating of a match and there they were, the two of them, bending over the body. He was sprawled face down and one guy turned him over. “Cripes, it’s Larry!” The whole thing hit him at once and he tried to shake the match out.

I shot him in the head while I could still see him and he gave one convulsive leap that threw him over backwards into the quarry. You could hear him bouncing off the rocks until there was a faint splash. I didn’t even try for the other one. He didn’t waste any time about moving. The air was so still, so quiet now that I could hear his feet slipping in the soft loam and the way he dragged his breath in as he battered a path through the brush.

Just to leave a nice clean camp I put my foot under the body of the one called Larry and shoved. He went down there in the wet with his friend. Then I tossed the gun down after him.

It was nice of them to leave me the car. The plates were from out of state and there were some toys on the floor in the back, so it was a sure bet the heap was stolen. I kicked it over, swung around and took the road back to the highway.

I should have felt good. I was dirty as hell but I was still alive. That should make anybody feel good. That is, anybody but me. A gun felt too natural in my hand. I got too much pleasure out of seeing a guy die even if he did deserve to die. I was thinking things that no right guy would ever think of, like getting the powder marks out of my hand before the police could make a paraffin test on me. I knew how to do all that and I didn’t know what or who I was more than a few years ago.

A shudder pinched my shoulders together and I could feel the damp of the sweat on the back of my neck. I knew too goddamn many things for my own good, all right, but in a way I was lucky I knew them.

I found a drugstore still open on the edge of town, bought a few things and sat in the car washing my hands. When I was done I wasn’t worried about paraffin tests any more. I threw the bottles and the jar of solvent out of the window, started to turn the key and noticed the pad on the seat.

It was just a cheap loose-leaf job with a small pencil stuffed between the rings. Whoever used it tore the pages out as they were used up, and except for the first page it was completely empty. Right at the top of the page one was the notation, “John McBride, registered own name Hathaway House. Check both entrances.”

They had it down pat. If they missed me in town I would have been picked up at the hotel. I grinned a little bit, ripped the page out and tossed the rest of the pad out the window.

That made two attempts to knock me off and I could damn well expect a third. I must have been some boy to be so important dead. Brother! I gunned the motor and drove into town.

The hotel was out now. There was no sense building my own trap. When trouble came I wanted to pick the spot myself. Between times I wanted someplace where I could hole up and think if I had to without worrying about who was waiting outside ready to use me for a target.

It was after two when I left the car in front of police headquarters. Hell, I wasn’t trying to be wise about it. But it helps when the other guy knows you’re cocky enough to pull a stunt like that. It makes them a little cautious, and in the time it takes to be cautious you can make them wish they hadn’t been, if you get what I mean.

A family-type gin mill was going strong on the corner. Everybody had a package on including the bartender and they were all huddled together giving some Irish ballads a working over. Nobody noticed me slip into the phone booth and nobody cared.

I got the Lyncastle News office first and the night editor gave me Logan’s home number. It took five minutes of steady ringing to wake him up and he wasn’t the happiest sounding person I’d ever talked to. He barked, “Who the hell is this and what d’ya want?”

“It’s Johnny, kid. Got some news for you if you’re interested.”

His voice tightened up. “Find her?”

“Nope. Somebody found me. I got taken for a ride.”

“God! What happened?”

“There’s a quarry of some kind outside of town. Know where it is?”

“Yeah, yeah. What about it?”

“There’s two bodies down there. The third got away from me.”

“Did you...” He hung there expectantly.

“I did one, friend. The other was knocked off by his buddy. The third lad is going to carry the story home and we better get our licks in first.”

“Johnny, this is going to be rough. Lindsey’ll love it.”

“Uh-uh. Not if we handle it right. Whoever put them on me can’t talk without exposing himself and there’s no reason why I should get tied into it. Can you keep it quiet?”

“I sure can try. I’ll round up the boys and get out there now.”

“Good. See if you can find out who they are. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if they were hauling in ringers now,” I said dryly.

“They?”

“Yeah. It goes back a long way, friend, but it’s just now paying off. Somebody is scared silly. I’ll call you in the morning. By the way... they used a stolen car. I left it in front of police headquarters.”

“You’re a damn fool, Johnny!”

“Everybody keeps telling me that. Someday I’ll believe it. One more thing before I forget. ”Servo’s got a red-headed tomato up his place. Who is she?”

“Slow down, Johnny. You haven’t been fooling around with her, have you?”

“Not exactly. The pleasure was all hers.”

He said a couple of nasty words under his breath. “You’re just looking to get killed, aren’t you?”

“That’s not the question.”

“If you gotta know, her name is Troy Avalard.”

“The hell with her name. What about her?”

“She’s been living with Lenny for a couple of years. She came through with a show one time, made a big play for Lenny and he bought out her contract to keep her around.”

“You know how he does it?”

“I’ve heard.”

“Doesn’t she ever get out?”

He didn’t answer right away. I could hear his fingernails rattle against the phone impatiently. “When she’s out Lenny’s with her,” he said. “Troy’s a good hand at steering a sucker who’s loaded with dough to a dice table.”

“A nice friendly gesture that helps out Lenny’s friends, is that it?”

“Sort of.”

“Who held her contract, Logan?”

I hit him with the question so fast he choked over a curse. When he got his voice back it was soft with amazement. “You should have been a cop. Sure as hell you should have been a cop. You can smell out the damndest things.”

“Yeah?”

“Lenny paid fifty grand for that contract. It was supposed to be a hush-hush deal but it got noised around. That’s too much cash to hand out for a chunk of sex so I checked on it. The guy who held the contract sold it for five.”

“That leaves forty-five G’s to go, kid.”

“I know. Most of it was deposited to the account of Troy Avalard a few days later.”

“She sure must have a lot to offer,” I said. “Maybe I better look in on her again.”

“Damn it, Johnny, you...”

“Logan,” I laughed, “you ought to see her with an ice cube. It’s really something.”

I hung up while he was sputtering into the receiver and got back out on the street again. I kept wondering whether two hundred grand was worth a double try for a kill and decided that it was well worth it if the guy you were trying to kill was important enough.

About two blocks over I picked up a cruising cab and climbed in the back without giving the driver any kind of a chance to get a look at me. I said, “Pontiel Road. Drop me off on the corner.”

“Right, Jack.”

He looked like the kind of cabby who liked to gab, so I turned on the radio that was built into the side and picked up a network news commentator who did all the talking for the both of us.

I got out on the corner of Pontiel Road, paid off the cab and started walking. It was a long walk. The road started off as a residential street, kept on going with more and more spaces between the houses, passed a few acres of empty lots, wound into a wooded grove and came out in a gentle upgrade where a few more houses were in the early construction stage.

The white house on the crest of the hill had the choicest location of all. Evidently it had been built some time ago with an eye to the future, the builder expecting an expansion of the suburb in this direction. You could look down and see the whole city at a glance, yet be far enough away to enjoy some of the advantages of the country.

I walked up the flagstone path, took the steps to the porch that had 4014 in brass numbers tacked over W. Miller and looked around for a flowerpot. It was in back of the pillar and the key was there where Wendy said it would be.

There was an amber night light in the foyer that was enough to show me the stairs. I went up, found the bathroom with the light switch beside the door jamb, stripped off my clothes and climbed into the shower. The patch on my head got wet, so I took it off after I dried down and made a new one out of the bandage and tape in the closet, then hung my clothes up in the closet.

There were two doors leading off the bathroom. I opened one and it smelled of perfume and powder like every other woman’s bedroom in the civilized world, so I closed it softly and tried the other. That was better.

I tossed the towel in the hamper, walked over to the window and opened it and stood there breathing in the fresh air. The moon was just coming up behind the town, a mellow, peaceful moon all red around the edges.

A benevolent moon, I thought, smiling down on a malevolent city.

I let it douse me with its yellow light a minute longer, grinned back at it, then felt around for the bed and perched on the edge for a last cigarette. The breeze felt good on my bare skin, cool and comfortable. I stuck the butt in my mouth and snapped the match on the folder.

Her voice was a gentle whisper coming out of the darkness. “You look nice without anything on, Johnny.”

The match froze there in my fingers, dropped and went out on the floor. But not before I saw her on the other side of the bed, her body a naked splash of white before it dipped under the covers.

My benevolent moon smiled again and its light made a play of shadows over the firm sweep of her breasts, wavering gently with her breathing.

“Sorry, kid,” I said hoarsely, “I... thought... this room was... empty.”

She stretched her arms out in a lithe, lazy motion, her mouth a dark oval that barely moved. It usually is, Johnny.”

I would have left, but her hand reached out and touched me, the tips of her fingers inviting little feathers against my skin and there was something animal-like in the way she moved under the covers.

Then she was all animal and so was I, a warm, fragrant animal who made whimpering noises until I stopped her with my mouth and who clawed and clung in a mad frenzy of motion until her breath hung in her throat and it was over.

She was still asleep when I got up in the morning, curled up on her side with her face buried against my shoulder. I tucked the cover under her chin, got dressed and went downstairs to the kitchen. I had the coffee done and breakfast on the stove when I heard her come through the door. Her hair looked like yellow hay blowing in a wind, her mouth a scarlet smile that said, “Good morning.”

She was wrapped up in a red quilted housecoat that didn’t hide a thing. “Nice,” I grinned, “very, very nice. Sit down and eat.”

Wendy pulled out a chair with her toe and parked. “I wanted to make breakfast, Johnny.”

“You were domestic enough last night, girl. Besides, I’m in a hurry.”

Her eyes were curious. “Going somewhere?”

“Yeah. I’m going looking for the somebody who wants me dead.”

Her eyebrows made two little arcs.

“I got taken for a little ride last night. That makes twice they tried.”

“Who...”

“I’d like to know that myself. Ever hear of a girl named Vera West?”

“Why, certainly! Wasn’t she...”

“The one I was in love with. She worked in the bank,” I finished.

Wendy frowned and sipped her coffee. “She was Lenny Servo’s girl too.”

“Uh-huh. And now she’s missing. I want to find that babe.” I tapped a cigarette on the table and lit it. “How easy is it to disappear right here in town?”

“Not very easy, but it has been done. Do you think she’s here?”

“Maybe. I heard something about where the girlies wind up in Lyncastle. You know anything about it?”

“There are... houses. It is possible, though it doesn’t seem logical. Why would she want to disappear?”

“That goddamn tart framed me. She...” I stopped in the middle of the sentence. “How good are you at keeping your mouth closed?”

The coffee cup made a faint clink against the saucer. She read the expression on my face and stiffened. “That isn’t very nice.”

“I don’t do nice things, Wendy. But I want you to know. I may shoot off my mouth because you and Pop did me a favor, but if you sound off to anybody you’ll never be able to do it again. You understand that, don’t you?”

Her face was white with anger. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” she snapped.

“No, I don’t have to, but I can think better when I talk. Listen all you want to, but keep it to yourself. Like I said about Vera West, she told Gardiner I was using a set of books I had no business seeing. She had it all arranged so in case she was caught she’d be able to shove everything on me. Well, that’s just what happened. She was the one pulling the fancy stuff. She was dummying the books and I took the rap for it!”

“You... went to the bank?”

“Yeah, and saw Gardiner. He’s going to look for her too.”

“You’re sure about this?” she asked seriously.

“As sure as I can be without any proof. If I knew more about how the hell a bank runs its books I could have put the questions right.”

The eyebrows went up again. Higher this time. “But you...”

“I never worked in a bank,” I said, “because I’m not Johnny McBride. You’re the second person I’ve told this to and you’re going to be the last, but Johnny McBride is dead. I’m just a guy who looks like him.”

I gave it to her with as few words as possible and she sat there with her mouth open trying to absorb it all. I motioned to her to eat while she was listening and finished about the same time she did.

She took the cigarette I offered her, dragged in a light and let the smoke curl out with her words. “It’s incredible, really. Nobody has thought different so far?”

“Not so I’d notice. I’m going to play the game right up to the hilt until I find out why Johnny left like he did. If you’re wondering why I bothered telling you all this it’s because I’m going to need you.”

“And Nick... are you going to tell him?”

“No. Pop’s okay, but he’s too old to help me much. I’m glad he picked me up when he did and he’s got my thanks.”

“You’d better stop calling him ‘Pop.’ He hates that. You’re supposed to know him well enough to know what he’s called.”

I nodded. “Thanks for reminding me.”

“What do you want me to do, Johnny? I mean...”

“Keep it Johnny. I want you to help me find Vera West. Women are good at asking questions right. Try the gang that comes through your place.”

“But they’re all from out of town.”

“That’s all right. She may not be in Lyncastle. If she changed her name she’s probably still using the same initials... like Veronica Waverly or something. Put out a few feelers with your friends, but cook up a good story to go with it in case they start asking questions.”

I pushed my plate back and got up.

“All right, Johnny. And you can take my car if you want to. I’ll use the old one. It’s in the garage.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that. Don’t wait up for me,” I grinned.

“You’ll be back?”

I looked her up and down slowly. “What else?”

Her eyes half closed and she tilted her head up. “Kiss?”

“Uh-uh. I wouldn’t think of spoiling your paint job.”

“Rat.”

“Ain’t I?”

She stuck her tongue out at me.

Wendy was a pretty head, all right. A little on the hard side when you looked close and the make-up didn’t take away the brittle lines that were etched in the corner of her mouth and eyes. She was a million bucks in a green dress under artificial lights and two million in bed. A dime a dozen in the daytime though.

I told her so-long and went out to the garage.

The car was a black Ford coupé in good condition parked alongside a decrepit Model A that probably had made a reputation for itself in college ten years ago. Some of the witty sayings still showed through the finish and there were coon tails hanging from the chrome guides on the fenders.

I backed out to the street, drove down Pontiel Road and cut over toward the center of town. At a candy store I stopped and picked up a copy of the Lyncastle News, then sat in the car to see what it had to say. It said plenty. Page one had a big splash of the cops hauling a pair of bodies from the quarry under the spotlights from a police car. The story was that an anonymous tip to the News brought out the police who recovered the bodies and made an immediate identification. The men were a pair of medium-sized hoods whose activities were usually centered around Chicago. One was wanted for parole violation and the other was wanted for questioning in a series of stick-ups in Florida.

Lindsey made the statement that it was undoubtedly a revenge killing by some gang outside the state and hoped for an early arrest. Apparently the cops and the reporters on the scene had messed up any extra footprints or car tracks because nothing was said.

Buried on page four was a squib mentioning the fact some joker had stolen a car, taken it for a joy ride and abandoned it in front of police headquarters.

When I closed the paper I dug a nickel out of my pocket and went back into the candy store, looked up the number of the Hathaway House and dialed it. I asked for Jack, heard the desk clerk hit the bell a few times, then got my party.

I said, “This is Johnny McBride, Jack. Can you take a few minutes off and meet me somewhere?”

His voice was guarded. “Certainly, sir. Topps’ Bar and Grill you say? In fifteen minutes. Yessir.”

I told him fine and hung up. Topps’ was about six blocks from the hotel and I made it before he did. I took a table in the back, asked for coffee and waited. A couple minutes later he came in, saw me and came back to the table.

“Hi ya, Mr. McBride.” He sat down across from me and I signaled for another coffee.

“My room still empty?”

“Sure. You had a couple calls to see if you were in last night and this morning. Didn’t leave their names though.”

“Anybody staked out around the lobby?”

He screwed his face up. “Not now. Some character was there most of the night. I kind of thought it was a new dick.”

I peeled off two tens and a five from my roll and tossed them across the table. “When you get back pay for my room and check me out. I left a suitcase with some old clothes in it under the bed. Throw that in the ash can. I won’t be going back to the hotel.”

“You got trouble?”

“Plenty. I’m not well liked around here.”

Jack grinned broadly. “Yeah, I asked about that. What’s the story?”

“Don’t believe what you hear,” I said.

“You got framed, eh?”

“What makes you think so?”

“Coming back. If you pulled that bank job you’d still be a thousand miles from here. Whatcha want with me?”

The waiter came with the coffee and I waited until he was back at the other end of the room before I said, “Not meaning to be impolite, but since you do a little pimping on the side you might know something I need.”

“If it’s about dames, sure.”

“Ever hear of Vera West.”

He let out a low whistle. “You’re working the top brackets now, ain’t you, Johnny? She’s one of Servo’s ex’s.”

“Where is she now?”

His eyes lost that young look. “Seems like a lot of people are looking for her.”

“Who?”

“Just people. A pair of chicks I have on call both were tapped with the same question. They didn’t know.”

“Do you know?”

He dumped milk and sugar in his coffee and stirred the concoction around slowly. “I only saw her once after Servo dumped her. She was just getting off the night train and she was carrying a suitcase. I remember that she looked pretty upset or something. Anyway, one of Servo’s boys happened to be in the station putting some tomato on the train and when she saw him she ran like hell for a cab. I never saw her again after that.”

“Which way was the train going?”

“It was the incoming train, the express that comes in from Chicago to the state capitol, turns south and goes through here down to Knoxville.”

“I see. Who was the guy she saw?”

“Eddie Packman. He’s a right-hand man to Lenny Servo nowadays. Thinks he’s big stuff. Hell, before he hit Lyncastle he was small potatoes. He gimme a hard time in a poolroom one day and I beat his ears off. I wouldn’t try it now.”

“Why not?”

“Because now I’m small potatoes and he’s Servo’s boy,” he grinned.

“So you think Vera West left town, is that it?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think anything. I remember seeing her last coming into town and remember that she and Servo split up right around that time, but I never had any reason to think about her. Maybe she’s right here in town.”

“The last time you saw her, what did she look like?”

“Scared.”

“Describe her.”

“Well,” he squinted in thought, “she was usually half in the bag, and this time she had a beaut of a hangover. Her eyes were red. She sure had pretty hair. Used to keep it in a page boy, you know, down around her shoulders curling up inside on the edges. Like gold. Outside that she was medium. Guess you’d say a nice build. I never looked too close.”

“Okay,” I said, “now suppose she never did leave town. Where could she hide out?”

“Well, for one thing, all she had to do was dye her hair red or brown or something and that’d help. There’s places she could work like the laundry and rooming houses she could live in. If she didn’t move around too much she could stay under cover. I know a couple of kids who were hot, one with the feds, and they stayed right here in town while they did some job of searching, but they got away with it.”

“I see. One more thing. Why did she break with Servo?”

Jack looked a little pained. “You ask the damnedest questions.”

“You know?”

“I got a good memory and a good imagination. I put two and two together, see? If you’re going out and mess around with Servo and my name gets mentioned, me and Lyncastle will have to part company and I like it here.”

“Nuts,” I said, “you won’t get involved in anything.”

“Okay, then I’ll tell you what I think. It ain’t what I know, remember that. Lenny Servo’s got a way with the broads. He treats ‘em nice so long as they treat him nice, but he don’t like any one of ’em around too long. Now I know a couple others he brushed off and they didn’t like it. Life was too nice while Lenny paid for it so they put the squeeze on him. Hell, they musta seen it coming and worked up a little insurance. Anyway, they don’t know what Lenny won’t squeeze. He gives them the business the hard way and they scram. No fooling around. Not if they want to keep their own teeth and noses. You get the idea?”

“Yeah, I get it. So where would somebody like Vera go... working the houses?”

His shoulders shrugged unconcernedly. “That’s as likely as anything else. She’s a tramp, she stops giving it away and starts selling it.”

“Servo got anything to do with those houses?”

“Naw, this is Lyncastle, not New York. They’re on their own, pay off the cops regular and let it go at that. Hell, with all the free stuff coming through here who’s going to play around in those bug mills? Me, I got some fancy women working. I catch the legitimate traveling trade, but the houses don’t get anything but the low-down stuff.”

“Do I need an introduction to get into ’em?”

Jack grinned, finished his coffee and set the cup down. “Go to 107 Elm Street. Tell the bag in charge I sent you. You’ll get in.” He grinned again. “You oughta let me fix you up instead.”

“I’ll fix myself up,” I said.

“You’ll do that all right, down in those joints.”

I fished a buck out of my pocket and started to get up. Jack picked the bills off the table and I waved at them with my thumb. “Keep whatever’s left over.”

“Sure, thanks. If you need me again, look me up. I’ll see what I can do finding the broad for you. Maybe the dames know something.”

“Swell.” I paid for the coffee, let Jack have a few minutes start while I picked up some butts, then got back in the car. This was the day I was going to dig up my life history. Or Johnny’s rather.

It didn’t take long. In a way it was fun. Here I was practically a celebrity and nobody knew who I was. Five years sure go a long way with the public when it comes to remembering. I started off with the records in City Hall, found out I had been born December 9, 1917, lost my parents while I was in high school and was legally adopted by a bachelor uncle who died while I was overseas. I checked the registration rolls of my family, found out where we had lived, went back to the library and dug around in the papers and got a partial history of my service record. Along with several hundred others I had enlisted the day after Pearl Harbor, taken basic training down South, then was assigned to O.C.S. and sent overseas.

I went over all the details until I had them set in my mind and if anybody asked there wasn’t much I couldn’t tell them. When I left the library I didn’t stop to light a cigarette on the steps. I used the side door, ducked down the back alley to the car and hopped up to the main drag for a quick lunch.

At a quarter after two I called Logan. There was something funny about his voice when he told me to meet him in the parking lot outside a bowling alley on the west side of town.

I found the place without any trouble, drove up to the fence and killed the engine. A couple minutes later I saw his car turn in the drive and I waved him up next to me. He got out, opened the door next to me and sat down.

“Any news?” I asked him.

“Plenty.” He glanced at me queerly.

“You found out who the boys were?”

“No... I found out who you were.” He reached in his side pocket for an envelope. I waited while he drew out some clippings and a folded printed circular. “Take a look,” he said.

I spread it out and took a look. I took a good look because it was a police circular with a picture of me on it that said my name was George Wilson and I was wanted for armed robbery, burglary and murder, and the description it gave fitted me to the screwy color of my eyes and the tone of my voice.