The girl was Rita Haskins. She saw me. And as she saw me I spotted the roll of bills that she shoved into her handbag.
It gave her a shock all right as her face slipped around Gregory’s left arm, and her eyes narrowed — grew suddenly wide — and her large mouth opened, the hole in her face distracting from her beauty. But her surprise was genuine. Maybe not surprise — maybe just amazement — and maybe a touch of fear. Anyway, she cried out.
“Look out!” She fairly shot the words at Gregory Ford. There was no doubt. I heard it and Gregory heard it, and anyone else passing, who had a mind to — or rather, an ear to — heard it. And then she said something else. I’m not sure what it was, but will give it as a guess on my part. She said, I think: “That’s him now.”
Anyway, Gregory Ford ducked a hand quickly under his armpit and swung around, still holding the girl with his left hand. His eyes met mine almost at once, shot to the left and right and behind me — then he half turned back to the girl, and did himself a bit of a curse.
The girl twisted suddenly, brought a hand sharply down on Gregory’s funny bone — and was gone, moving quickly to the corner and around it.
Gregory hesitated about following her, I think. Saw the eyes of a curious few, who loitered and looked back over their shoulders, and decided to let her go. Which was just as well, considering her slender but muscular young body and Gregory’s huge bulk. Gregory Ford was built for comfort, not speed. But he came up to me now, passed me, looked into the lobby, and as I started down the steps swung and caught me by the arm.
“Anyone pass you — anyone at all, Race?”
“Sure.” The street was pretty well crowded. People were passing in and out of the hotel. I shrugged my shoulders. “She got some money out of you — didn’t she, Gregory?” I asked him.
“Yeah.” He tilted his hat on the side of his head as he looked the crowd over. “But I won’t worry about that. She’ll give me the real name of this Fisher or return the money — or I’ll drag her in. It wouldn’t be hard to hunt up something on a dame like that if a guy was of a curious turn of mind.”
His hand fell upon my shoulder.
“There’s a job open for you, Race, with me.” He snapped out his watch. “Open until say — dinner time. You’ll get me here at the hotel. After that—”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll think it over.” And then to myself I thought, Why not? I’d be through with Hulbert Clovelly within the next hour. I might make a better deal with Gregory. Business is business. So, as he left me, I said:
“I’ll look you up by dinner time, or—”
“You’ll work alone, eh?” His eyes got beady and studied me. “Where you going, now?” he added shrewdly.
“To see a man about a dog,” I told him, and left him flat.
But over my shoulder and through the corners of my eyes I saw Gregory run a hand through his hair and nod his head slightly towards me. A man loitering in front of the hotel pulled down his hat, jerked his jacket by both lapels, screwed his face into that “honest citizen” look and moved his dogs in my direction. No. Gregory may not have looked the detective of fiction, but he acted like one. Operator 666 was on the job. “Follow that man,” was his watchword — and the man was yours truly, Race Williams.
My shadow was a second edition of Gregory Ford. A bit smaller, not quite so heavy, more chunky, perhaps, than stocky, but the same extra assortment of chins. “Be nonchalant” was his motto as he slowed down with me and gazed into shop windows. I grinned to myself. It’s easy to take private dicks off your tracks.
I just walked along until I spotted two taxis, one behind the other. The two drivers were talking. I gave them the hearty smile and the heavy hand — full of money. But the conversation first.
“You have the second cab,” I said, when I found out which was which. “Well — I’ll hop this first one, and a squatty guy will come up to you and ask you to follow me. There’ll be a ten spot for driving him around the first corner and letting me go my way in the first cab. He’s a private dick, hunting divorce evidence,” and with a wink that I knew that sensuous mouth would understand — “He might get it. I’ll give your buddy, here, the ten for you if you work it right.”
“Okey, Boss.” And we became partners in the little affair of the grand runaround for the imaginary wife.
So I hopped the first cab, drove off, and had the satisfaction of seeing the astute operator, 666, jump into that second cab, talk hurriedly to the driver and slam the door.
I knew my ten was good. I know how these operators work and just what they can run in on an expense account. Operator 666 might be good for a bunch of promises and a ten-cent cigar. Anyway, the cab behind turned the first corner and kept right on going. The ten had worked. Money well spent, and not so much of it — besides which, I got results before I parted with that sawbuck. It was good pay for the driver of that second cab — good money for a half-block ride.
I leaned over and slipped the ten into my own driver’s hand.
“For your buddy,” I said. “Now — the railroad station — and there’ll be another ten in it for you to forget where you took me.”
I smiled in satisfaction — then I frowned. I leaned forward and told my driver to take a right turn. The next block I ordered a left turn — and later another right. After that I was as sure as I could be, without a written affidavit, that another little shadow was on the job. The car that followed me this time was not a taxi. Maybe I’d get arrested for holding a parade without a license. This boy in the flashy gray sedan that tailed me must be one of the Bronson outfit, or maybe another Ford operator — which second thought I liked because it flattered my vanity.
But the station it was, and I let it go at that. It would be as good a place as another to lose a lad — better, no doubt.
The lad in the sedan had a good driver. I could see the figure in the rear lean forward and talk to him as we approached the station. And the driver did his stuff in and out of the traffic which closed up the gap between us considerably. It was nice driving. Disarming, under ordinary conditions too. Just a man in a hurry to make a train. So it was that the car behind was smack on our heels, or on our rear wheels, as I left the taxi, paid the driver without glancing towards the car behind. I had a good slant at my shadow in the mirror of the taxi as he stepped from the car and slipped quickly to the protecting shadows of the wall.
Yep — I knew him. He was the boy who had tried to take a bit of a chunk out of my shoulder with the knife, there by the warehouse. But he didn’t recognize me as the lad who had slapped him down with a gun muzzle. At least, I don’t think he did. For there was nothing in his face that showed it. Anyway, that was my conclusion. Maybe I was wrong. I have been wrong before, you know. And what’s more, I expect to be wrong again.
This lad was not an expert shadow, or he knew I was on — and didn’t care. He stuck pretty close to me as I entered the station and went straight to the men’s wash-room. It was a good hour. Not many were hunting up trains. I wanted to get rid of him, and I didn’t intend to do it by jumping in and out of taxis at ten dollars a jump. Besides, I didn’t like this bird. He came from the enemy’s camp. He had tried to take a shot at me, had nearly dug a piece out of my shoulder — and he couldn’t very well appeal to the police — and neither could I.
There was a bit of a thrill in walking down that station to the men’s washroom. My right hand was sunk in my coat pocket. Of course it would be foolish for the lad behind me to open fire there in the public station. But such things have been done, you know. Anyway, at the first shot I’d swing, draw and knock him over — that is, of course, if that first shot missed. That was where the thrill came in. And the longer the thrill, the more I began to dislike this second rate gunman who was following me. I have pride in my work. This lad should be disposed of quickly, cheaply. The finesse necessary for Gregory Ford’s little shadowing act would be wasted on this bird. What he needed was a pop in the mouth. And life is funny that way. You generally get what’s coming to you.