Manhunt. Volume 14, Number 1, February/March, 1966

“Gortoff also owns the inn,” he said. “Tell Art to send someone else over here to check in as a guest. Might be a good idea to keep an eye on what goes on. I’m going to make a try at meeting him tonight. Looks quiet inside — the usual crowd from here and the mainland in this sort of place. And you might tell the Coast Guard people that I’ll probably be aboard the Stardust tonight. I’ve a hunch Gortoff does his business aboard rather than inside the Inn.”

Padgett watched as the N Man left the car and waited a few minutes after he left, watching the inn for any sign of observation or unusual movement. A man and a woman left the inn by it’s parking lot exit and entered a Triumph with its top down. Padgett watched as it passed his Chev, waited a few minutes and walked back into the inn. The barman had apparently sent word along that a friend of the owner was at the bar.

“Same?” the barman asked.

“Please,” Padgett smiled.

“I’m Coleman, Jim Coleman,” a suave, smiling resort manager greeted him before the Ballentine’s was placed on the bar.

Padgett acknowledged the introduction and introduced himself. “Good to meet you. I was looking for Karl. If he’s around, you might tell him I’d like to see him.”

“I’ll see if he’s in,” Coleman smiled as he left. He turned to the barman. “Mr. Padgett’s tab is on the house, John.”

“Nice of you, Coleman,” Padgett smiled as he mentally laughed, “this one won’t be hard on the taxpayers!”

Aboard the Stardust, Gortoff, slouched in a berth inside the master’s cabin. He talked on a ship-shore phone. “Like I said, I want that capper up on 19th Avenue and I want him tonight. Dead. He had over three ounces of pure stuff and the sonuvabich swung with it — or peddled it himself. He sold Bello a thousand caps of sugar and quinine. Bello got it tonight on Turk Street from the junkers and now all hell’s broke loose in town. Feed him to the sharks in the Bay. Nobody crosses me and lives. Where is he?” Gortoff snarled into the phone. “If he’s not at his place, he’ll be lying up with that dame on Fulton Street. Get her too. She knows too much. And then lay low for a while. You say there’ll be a panic with no stuff on the corners? Get word around that there’ll be a new supply on Friday. And there’ll be a panic for you if you don’t take care of that double-crossing capper and his broad.”

“You’ve nothing but trouble, Karl, darling,” Marie Hein purred. The blonde slipped down beside him in the berth and pushed towards him.

He ran a heavy but carressing hand lightly over her pointed nipples pushing prominently through green silk pajama tops. He smelled the musty odor of marijuana. You’ve been blowing pot again, baby. How many times have I told you not to bring that tea aboard without telling me. Have your fun, baby, but keep me clued up on when you’re having it. You’ll reek of that stuff some time when I have the wrong kind of guests aboard. She smiled and twisted suggestively towards him in the berth. He responded and slowly, even delicately removed her pajama top. While he kissed her he ran his fingertips lightly, in a circling motion, up and down her smooth, naked back. He moved his lips, carressingly down to her throat and his fingertips to her upper arms. One middle fingertip stopped as it ran back and forth on her inner, right forearm. He sat up with a jerk and snapped on the berth light. He looked at the arm. He saw the tattoo-like scar and dark blotch on the smooth, white flesh.

“You damn little fool. You’re mainlining stuff!”

“Just a joy pop, darling,” the blonde smiled up at him. “Not enough to get hooked.”

Gortoff was on his feet. He raved. “Not enough to get hooked? Just a joy pop? Anybody who mainlines that stuff is hooked. And where’s the gawdamn works? Don’t tell me you got it with you. Don’t tell me you’re carrying any stuff around with you when you’re with me!”

“Karl, darling, calm down. You know I’ve better sense than that.”

“Well, where in hell is it?”

“I left it at our place on Grant, dear. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry,” he raged. “You know what happened at that pad earlier tonight? It was taken apart by a mob of junkers. And the law was in it a few minutes after. Oh, you dizzy bitch. You had to get hooked. The one thing I can’t have is a junker broad hanging around me. I told you and told you. But you had to play games. You know something. I make a million clear a year from this racket and I never touch the stuff. And no one gets around me who touches the stuff.”