Figure it Out For Yourself

Martha scratched her head with the paper-knife while she thought.

'I suppose I could find out for you,' she said, a little grudge-ingly. 'Syd Silver runs the biggest colour agency in New York. He's a friend of mine, the dirty little rat! I'll ask him. If his boils aren't bothering him, he might find out for you. Anything in it for him?'

'A hundred bucks.'

Martha's eyes popped.

'Why, for a hundred bucks that guy would drown his mother in a quart of beer.'

I said I didn't want him to drown his mother in a quart of beer. All I wanted was the lowdown on Souki.

'Consider it done. I'll have some dope for you in a couple of days. Will that do?'

'I'll make it a hundred and fifty if I can get it by tomorrow morning and if the dope's worth having.'

'You'll get it,' Martha said, climbing to her feet. That guy's a genius at stirring up dirt. That all?'

'Yeah. Well, thanks, Martha, you're always helpful. I don't know what I'd do without you.'

Martha grinned.

'Tell me something, Vic. When are you marrying that dark-eyed lovely you keep in frustration in your office?'

'If you mean Paula, I'm not marrying her. I wish you wouldn't keep harping on that subject whenever we meet. Haven't I told you she isn't the marrying type?'

She gave me a nudge that nearly dislocated my spine, and let off a laugh that rattled the windows.

'You ask her and see,' she said. 'There's no such animal as a non-marrying woman. Those who aren't married haven't been asked.'

V

I parked the Buick in the forecourt of the apartment house on Jefferson Avenue and walked into the quiet of the lobby.

A girl, not the foxy-faced Gracie, was sitting behind the counter, the telephone harness hitched to her chest. She was chewing gum and reading the funnies, and from the bored expression on her face I concluded they were no funnier than those Gracie had been reading the first time I had come in here.

Maxie, the bowler-hatted bouncer, popped out from behind his pillar and scowled at me.

'Hello,' I said, and gave him the teeth. 'Where do we talk?' His small eyes, set deep in the fat-veined face, showed suspicion and surprise.

'What do we want to talk for?' he growled, his moustache bristling. 'I haven't anything to say to you. Besides, I'm busy.'

That seemed to be the cue for the mercenary theme, so I took out my bill-fold and hoisted a ten-dollar bill into sight.

'Let's go somewhere quiet and talk,' I said.

He studied the ten-dollar note thoughtfully, groped with a thick, dirty finger amongst his back molars, fished out a slab of something and deposited it on the seat of his trousers. Then he looked at the girl behind the counter.

'Hey! I'll be downstairs if you want me. Don't let anyone up.'

She didn't bother to drag her eyes away from the funnies, but she did manage to incline her head a couple of inches to show she heard and understood.

Maxie plodded off towards the elevator.

We stood side by side, breathing over each other as the elevator took us down to the basement.

He led the way along a white-tiled passage, lit by lamps in wire baskets to a small office that consisted of a desk, two chairs and a signed photograph of Jack Dempsey over a soot-filled fireplace.

He sat down behind the desk, pushed his bowler hat to the back of his head and relaxed, breathing gently through his thick, fat nose. His eyes never left the ten-dollar bill for a second.

I gave it to him. I knew he wouldn't concentrate on anything else until he had it. Fat, nicotined fingers closed on it and stowed it away in a pocket somewhere in his rear.

'Perelli,' I said.

He wiped the end of his nose on his coat-sleeve, puffed out a small quantity of garlic and beer fumes and sighed.

'Aw, hell! Not him again?'

'Certainly. Why not?'

'Every cop in the City has been talking to me about Perelli. I've got nothing to tell you I haven't told them.'

'That doesn't mean a thing, since I don't know what you told them. Suppose you answer a few questions: questions I bet the police didn't ask you.'

'Well all right,' he said with no enthusiasm. 'So long as you pay for my time I don't care.'

I rolled a cigarette across the desk to show him this wasn't going to be a hurried session, and he wasn't to get any false ideas about the value of his time, and lit one for myself.

'Do you think Perelli kidnapped Dedrick?'

The small eyes blinked. He hadn't been expecting that one.

'What's it matter what I think?'

'Plenty. And, look, don't let's waste time. If you don't want to answer questions, just hand back my dough and I'll find someone who will.'

We stared at each other across the desk, and he decided I meant business.

'Beer?' he asked. 'Might as well make ourselves comfortable.'

He produced two cans of beer, levered off the caps with a jack-knife and handed me one.

'Happy days.'

'Happier nights.'

We drank, sighed as men will, and set the cans on the desk.

'I don't reckon he did it. It wasn't in his line.'