Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 12, No. 6, May 1963

I used to live in Buffalo for awhile, so I knew my way around. But it still took me the better part of a week to find what I wanted. But I found it. Just about right, too — a medium-small building on Delaware Avenue, not too far uptown. It was what I was looking for. Not too big, about twelve rooms — they called them apartments — easy to take care of. But somebody else was in the job.

I hit the owner anyway.

“The guy I got is all right,” he said. “He’s a good man, long as he lets liquor alone. That’s the only thing that worries me a little. I can’t trust him out of sight once he starts drinking. He’s fine when he behaves himself. But let him get one drop down his gullet and he’s through. He’s been taking care of himself pretty good lately and I hope he won’t have any more trouble. He’s a good Joe when he’s on the wagon. Anything happens, though, I’ll keep you in mind.”

“Will you?” I asked.

“Didn’t I say so?”

I knew that wouldn’t do me any good, so I looked the guy up. He was a real nice fellow. Big guy, pleasant round face, real friendly.

“Hello,” he said. “Looking for somebody?”

“Looking for a job like this,” I said. “I used to take care of a building in Toledo. I hit town a couple of days ago, and thought I might locate something.”

“Ain’t a bad town,” he said, “if you can stand the winters.”

“Can’t be worse than Chicago,” I said. “I was out there a couple of years.”

“Pretty bad when the wind and snow come off the lake.”

“Don’t know a place about like this that could use a man, do you?”

“Can’t rightly say I do. Ain’t many like this around.”

“How long you had this?”

“Close to a year now. And I aim to be here a few more. It’s a comfortable place. Boss ain’t hard to please, so long as you keep your nose clean.”

“You hear about a spot like it, lemme know.”

“How’m I gonna let you know?”

“I’ll double-check you,” I said.

I had about seven bucks left out of my nineteen. I didn’t have any time to fool around. I made out on an egg sandwich and a cup of Java that night and then I bought a pint. Next afternoon I stopped by again.

“Hi,” he says. “Locate anything?”

“Nothing but nothing,” I said. “You sure you don’t know a similar place I could try?”

“Wish I could for your sake. Why don’t you try down the docks? You might catch on loading grain. Only the season’s out now. The lake’s still froze tight.”

“I don’t want a dock job. This is the kind of place I’d like.”

“Better look some other neighborhood then. Ain’t nothing in this area I can bring to mind.”

I brought out the pint from my pocket, unscrewed the top and took a drink. I held it out to him.

His eyes glistened and he licked his lips. “I better not,” he said.

“What’s the matter?”

“Sort of gives me trouble, mostly.”

“Well, in that case, you’re right. Better not.”

I tilted it up to my lips like I was drinking again but I was tonguing the bottle and nothing went down my throat. Then I put it back in my pocket.

“Getting colder out there,” I said. “Little nip sort of helps in this weather.”

“Thass right,” he agreed.

He took a look at the heater. It was a cinch, an oil burner with a thermostat a baby could have run.

“Might better give ’em a little more heat if it’s turning off cold,” he said.

“Right,” I said.

I brought the bottle out again, put it to my mouth and tilted it. Then I took it down, put the cap back on and put it away. He watched it like it was the fourth ace in the deck and he had one in the hole.

“Gonna get pretty cold tonight,” I said. “Little drink feels good in this weather.”

He didn’t say anything.

After awhile I pulled the bottle again and went through the motions of having another shot.

“Maybe just—” he said and stopped.

“No, I wouldn’t if it don’t agree with you,” I said.

“Just a nip wouldn’t hurt if it’s gonna be cold.”

“Yeah, you’ve got something there. Just a little one, then.”

I handed him the bottle. He turned it up and took a short drink.

“Oil burner don’t warm a basement up good like an old coal furnace used to,” he said. “Man can stand a little something to warm his insides down here.”

“You said it.” I tilted the bottle again but didn’t drink.

This time I didn’t put the bottle away. After a few minutes he held out his hand for it. This time he took a real drink.

Then we passed it back and forth. I didn’t drink but he did. In less than an hour it was empty. He’d had the whole pint except the first drink I’d taken. He staggered when he went to look at the thermostatic control.

“Why don’t you take a little rest?” I asked him.

The door to his little room was open. I led him in and put him down on the single bed. He mumbled something about a few winks and turned over. I went outside the room and waited a few minutes. When I looked in again he was asleep.

I went over to the thermostat. I had in mind dropping it down and cooling the place off but when I looked at it I had a better idea. I pushed it up close to 90, which was more like what a drunk would do with the cold coming in.