Night Extra

“No — he was in here two days ago with Ike. That’s all. I know. Want me to ask around?”

“Absolutely not. Forget it.”

“Whatever you say.”

Terrell glanced at his watch. “That’s enough. I’ve got to be going.”

He paid Nick, tipped him a quarter and slipped into his topcoat. His heart was beating faster, and he could feel the excitement running through him; he had the story now. Proving it was another matter, but he had the blunt, ugly outline: Ike Cellars had hired a hoodlum to kill Eden Myles and thus frame Caldwell. That wasn’t a hunch, or a clever inference, that was the truth. But what was truth? Something twelve men could agree on. Could he make a case against Cellars that a jury would believe?

Terrell was turning toward the street entrance, when a man’s voice said, “Sam boy, just a second.”

He looked around and saw that one of Cellars’ men, Big Manny Knowles, was smiling at him from the doorway that led to the lobby. Big Manny was a sheepish giant, with small, near-sighted eyes, and an expression that usually registered something just short of bewilderment. He strolled toward Terrell, rocking from side to side like a buoy in a gale, and dropped a hand gently on his arm. “Ike wants to see you, Sam,” he said. “Let’s don’t keep him waiting. You know how busy he is.”

“I worry about it a lot,” Terrell said. “For about six seconds on the first of each month I worry about Ike. Sometimes I have to rush it a little, but it’s the feeling that counts.”

Big Manny glanced uneasily toward the lobby. “Get it out, Sam,” he said. “You know he don’t like being kidded around with.”

“Take your hand off my arm, for Christ’s sake,” Terrell said. “You think I’m one of your numbers writers?”

“There’s no point yapping at me,” Big Manny said. “I’m just doing what I’m told.”

“All right, let’s enter the presence. Do we go in backwards or on our hands and knees?”

“I wish you’d cut it out,” Big Manny said. “You know how he feels about smart talk. Why not be polite? It don’t cost a damn thing.”

“Just a little self-respect,” Terrell said.

“Why be so serious about everything? Everybody respects you, Sam.”

“Let’s go,” Terrell said.

Cellars was standing at the cigar stand, leafing through a magazine, a healthy-looking man with dark brown skin and hair as lustrous and beautiful as old silver. He wore a light gray flannel suit, a luxurious, well-cut garment, and a camel’s hair coat with slash pockets and hand-stitched lapels. On either side of him were big, purposeful-looking men in dark clothes. They studied Terrell carefully, then let their eyes slide off his face to check the crowds hurrying past Cellars.

“Good to see you, boy,” Cellars said smiling, putting out a wide, soft hand. “You’re a scarce character.” The smile narrowed his black eyes to slits, but it didn’t affect the cold, heavy turn of his lips. “I been trying to catch up with you for a couple of days.”

“Did you try the office?”

Cellars turned his palms upward in a gesture of self-deprecation that was patently phoney. “I got no system. I just go around hoping I’ll bump into people I want to see. Most of the time I do.” He put a hand casually on Terrell’s arm. “Here’s what I wanted to see you about. We’ve got some really but terrific pictures from the circus. You know, our big day with the kids. You know, eh, Sam?”

“Yes, I know,” Terrell said. Each year Cellars sponsored a well-publicized outing for a group of the city’s orphans. They were fed lavishly, entertained at the. circus, and photographed extensively with Cellars, Mayor Ticknor, and other civic dignitaries. Local papers covered the affair dutifully, but Cellars’ press agent complained that the story was played down because of a prejudice against Cellars’ gambling interests. Most editors agreed with him. Some even suggested that orphans were picked because they didn’t have parents to protect them from Cellars’ shoddy publicity stunts.

“This year was the greatest,” Cellars said, chuckling in a deep, confident voice. “It would have put years on your life, Sam, to watch those kids enjoying themselves. And the food they put away! I used up the best part of fifty turkeys, and that was just the start.” Without turning his head he said, “Ben, let’s have those pictures.”

Ben Noble, his press agent, said, “Right off the griddle, Ike,” and put a thick manila envelope into Cellars’ outstretched hand. “Get a look, Sam.” Cellars removed a dozen or so glossy prints. “I don’t want to take up your time now. You can go through them later at the office. But how about that blond kid with the lion tamer? Ever see anything like that?”

“It’s great,” Terrell said. “Moving.”

“I’ll have my girl send you over all the material you need,” Cellars said. “Names, ages, some cute little stories and gags that Noble came up with. She’s got a regular file, Sam. Real clean stuff. The sort of thing decent people go for.”

“People like my readers, is that what you mean?”

“Yeah, something like that.”