Hit and Run

Welliver, who had just found a seat at the table, glanced over at me, his face showing surprise, but he had found a seat and he wasn't going to lose it, so he smiled drunkenly at me and said something about seeing me later.

As the two men moved me out of the crowd, I had an unpleasant feeling deep down inside me that I would be lucky if I saw anyone later.

The fair one said: 'Take it easy, buster, let the legs walk. We can handle it if you want to get rough.'

They released my wrists but, like two expert sheep dogs, they managed to keep me moving by jostling me gently forward with their shoulders.

No one in the crowded room paid any attention to us.

I suppose I could have started to sling punches and yell for help, but I was sure it wouldn't get me anything except a blackjack behind the ear while the fair one or the dark one explained to the crowd I was just another tiresome drunk.

So I walked with them across the room to a door which the dark one opened. They eased me through as if I were a millionaire invalid with four days to live and who hadn't as yet paid his doctor's bill.

We went down a short passage to another door.

The fair one knocked while the dark one breathed gently down the back of my neck.

A voice said: 'Come in,' and the fair one turned the handle and pushed open the door.

The dark one nudged me into a room that didn't seem to know quite whether it was an office or a sitting-room. It had a desk by a big window hidden by flame-coloured drapes. There was an executive chair behind the desk and to the right was a steel filing cabinet. The rest of the room was full of lounging chairs, a radio set with a separate corner horn, a small bar and a divan covered with a Spanish shawl.

Behind the desk, in the executive chair, sat a fat, big man in a tuxedo. His hair was a mixture of grey and red; his fleshy face was set in one of those bland expressions that mean nothing; his small, ice-grey eyes were motionless and slightly out of focus as if he were thinking of something pretty important when we interrupted him by coming in.

At a guess, he was around fifty-five to sixty, still in good physical shape in spite of his fat. His hands, slightly freckled and covered with fine red hair, lay relaxed on the snowy white blotter on his desk.

The dark one edged up to the desk while his companion shut the door. I could have been mistaken, but I was pretty sure I heard the key turn in the lock.

I was feeling uneasy by now. If they found the camera on me, I would be in trouble.

The man at the desk stared at me, then looked inquiringly at the dark one and lifted his eyebrows.

'Non-member,' the dark one said in a soft drawl.

The fat man who I guessed would be Jack Claude shifted his ice-grey eyes on me again.

'Sorry about this, friend,' he said in a deceptively mild voice, 'but you can imagine we don't welcome gate-crashers. Could I have your name?'

'I'm Chester Scott,' I said. 'What's all the excitement about? Phil Welliver brought me up here. He's a friend of mine.'

Claude didn't seem particularly impressed.

'Where do you live, Mr. Scott?' he asked.

I told him.

He reached forward, picked up the telephone book that was lying on his desk and checked my address.

'Mr. Welliver should know by now he can't bring friends up here without my say-so and unless his friends pay the subscription fee.'

I began to get less flustered.

'I didn't know that,' I said. 'Welliver didn't mention a fee. I'm willing to pay it. How much?'

'Twenty-five bucks,' Claude said. His eyes shifted away from me to the dark one who still remained at my side.

'Do we know anything about Mr. Scott?'

'He was in last night,' the dark one said. 'He went back-stage and talked to Miss Lane.'

I began to sweat again.

A remote look came into Claude's eyes. He shifted in his chair, then, as polite as a dentist asking me to open wide, he said: 'You know Miss Lane, Mr. Scott?'

'No. I heard her sing,' I said. 'I thought she was pretty good. I asked her to have a drink with me.'

'And did she?'

'No.'

'But you talked to her in her dressing-room?'

'Yes: we talked. Why all these questions?'

'What did you talk about?'

'This and that,' I said. 'What makes it your business?'

Claude looked at the dark one.

'Anything else?'

'Not that I know of.'

There was a pause, then Claude said: 'Sorry to be bothering you, Mr. Scott. That'll be twenty-five bucks.'

I took out my wallet, found two tens and a five and laid them on the desk.

He wrote a receipt and handed it to me.

'We have to be careful, Mr. Scott,' he said. 'I don't have to tell you that. I hope we see you here often.'

'You probably will,' I said, not believing it had smoothed out this easy.

The dark one and the fair one had moved away from me. Their faces were now bored and disinterested.

I put the receipt in my wallet and my wallet in my pocket.

'Well, thanks,' I said and began to back away.

Then I heard the door open behind me and I looked around.

Oscar Ross came in.