Hit and Run

Joe was staring at him with round eyes.

'What happened to them?'

'They were both knocked off. Nutley was found in the Washington Hotel, shot through the heart and the night clerk bashed over the head. The killer walked in, persuaded the night clerk to tell him in which room Nutley was, then killed him. He then walked upstairs and shot Nutley to death. He killed the girl as she was leaving her apartment.'

'It's not even in the paper,' Joe said indignantly.

'Yes, it is. It rates ten lines; but boy! it's going to hit the front page tomorrow. We're working on it now. We're trying to get a line on O'Brien's racket. The police commissioner thinks he was hooked up with some gang. Sullivan thinks he was a blackmailer.'

'How about the guy who ran over him?' I asked. 'Haven't they found him yet?'

Buckley shrugged his shoulders.

'They have twenty-three damaged cars at police headquarters and they're checking every driver's alibi. They reckon they'll find the killer among these twenty-three drivers, and I guess if they do find him, they should give him a medal. If O'Brien hadn't been killed, this would never have come out.'

'This girl who was killed last night: didn't she sing at the Little Tavern?' I asked as casually as I could.

'That's the one: a nice-looking wren who couldn't sing for dimes.'

I asked an inspired question.

'Who's behind the Little Tavern?'

Buckley lifted his shoulders.

'That's something I've tried to find out when I have had nothing better to do. It's registered in the name of Art Galgano, but no one seems to know who he is. I don't reckon he lives in town. The joint is run by Jack Claude, who is no better than he could be. What makes you ask?'

'I heard last night there's a roulette table upstairs and the stakes are high.'

Buckley stared at me, then shook his head.

'That's just talk. Gambling is out in this town. A number of smart operators have tried it, but the commissioner has slammed them shut before they have had a chance to wear the shine off the ball. The Little Tavern has been going now for three years. We'd have heard about it if they had a table there.'

'Would you? Sure? I was in there last night, and a guy told me there was a table upstairs.'

Buckley stroked his thick nose. His eyes showed his interest.

'Now wait a minute,' he said, staring fixedly at me. 'O'Brien covered that sector. He could have kept them in the clear. Say, this could be something! Maybe that's where he got his money from! You go there often?'

'I don't go there often,' I said. 'I go there sometimes.'

'You couldn't find out for sure if there is a table upstairs, could you?' Buckley asked, squirming forward on his seat.

'Hey!' Joe broke in. 'You have a nerve, haven't you? Why should Ches do your dirty work for you?'

Buckley waved his hands impatiently.

'I have as much chance of finding out if there's a wheel up there as a cop has,' he said. 'This guy goes to the place. If he feels like it, why shouldn't he help me?'

While they were arguing, I did some quick thinking.

'I'll find out for you if I can,' I said. 'I'll go out there this afternoon, and if I have any luck I'll telephone you.'

Joe stared at me as if he thought I had gone crazy, but Buckley reached forward and patted my arm.

'That's the boy, and let me tell you, the Inquirer won't forget. The next time your salesmen come to us for space, I'll see you get what you want.' He took a card from his wallet and gave it to me. 'If I'm not around, ask for Jack Hemmings. He'll handle anything you give him. If there's a table up there, then we'll really start trouble. Listen, suppose you come down to my office and I'll give you a camera. If you can get a photograph of the table, we'll really have them on ice.'

'I don't imagine they'd stand for that,' I said.

He closed one heavy eyelid.

'Wait until you see the camera. It fits in your buttonhole. All you have to do is to press a shutter release, hidden in your pocket. The lens and the film will take care of the rest. Get us a picture of the table, Scott, and you'll practically own the paper.'

'I'll expect to.'

He patted my arm.

'I'll guarantee it. Come on, let's get the hell out of here. Let's go talk to my boss.'

As I got to my feet, Joe grabbed my arm.

'Wait a minute, Ches,' he said. 'You could be sticking your neck into trouble. Suppose you and me go? What's the matter with that?'

'No, Joe,' I said. 'Two would be a crowd. Take it easy. I'm not walking into anything. I'll handle it.'

'Sure he will,' Buckley said. 'There's nothing to it. It's my bet there isn't a table in the joint, but if there is – boy! won't we shake the commissioner right out of his pants.'

'All the same,' Joe said obstinately, 'I want to go with you. Two may be a crowd but, in trouble, a crowd is pretty cosy.'

'No, Joe,' I said. 'The chances are I won't even get upstairs. Two of us would be a little too obvious.' I slid out of the booth. 'And another thing, the table may not be operating in the afternoon.'

Joe joined me, his expression still obstinate.