The bee was on me. I had to develop the shoes into a big lead in nothing flat Because I had opened my big mouth, I was costing my boss another two thousand dollars. I went up and sat in my room and did a little thinking. I had thought about Thomason enough so that it was easy to visualize him — a slight quiet little man of about forty, with thin lips and oversize hands, receding hairline and a nose that had been busted a few times. I had already found out that he lived in the Princess Hotel, a flea bag outfit in nearby Casling. There was something about him that I couldn’t put my finger on. Suddenly I remembered what it was. I snapped my fingers, and hit myself on the head with the palm of my hand. I realized that without actually noticing it, I had seen him coming out of the kitchen and hanging around the new hatcheck girl.
Then I did some more thinking. I liked the looks of the little gal, a roundfaced blonde with kind of a Dutch air about her. She looked as though she scrubbed her red cheeks with a big brush. I remembered the lights in her blue eyes and the trim, pert little figure that went with that pretty blond head. Jerry Bee her name was.
I glanced at my watch. Four-thirty. She would be coming back on duty about now. I couldn’t take the time to case her carefully. You have to take some people on trust. I decided to enlist her in the save Howler campaign.
I went downstairs and found her sorting out the tags for the evening business. She smiled up at me with professional cheer and said: “I didn’t know you wore a hat, Mr. Morse.”
“The name is Bud, Jerry, and I got to talk to you. Alone. Quick.”
“Why... ah... sure, Bud. Is this a fancy line? You want to try to make a date or something?”
“I would, sometime, but not now. I got other things to talk about. You know where that grapevine thing is? That white wooden thing over across the lawn? See you there in two minutes.”
I walked off and went through the kitchen. Thomason was fiddling with the controls on the dishwasher. He didn’t look up. I went out the back door and walked over the yard to the grapevines. I lit a cigarette and in about a minute she came hurrying across the grass, looking as cute as a bug and very earnest.
I gave it to her quick. “A mob is shaking the boss down. The mob has somebody planted in the joint. I figure it’s Jake Thomason, the dishwasher. They’re forcing the boss out of business. I’ve seen Thomason hanging around you. What’s he said? What does he act like?”
Her mouth was a round O of amazement. Then when she realized what I wanted, she began to look disappointed. “Gee. He’s just acted like any other guy. He all the time wants me to go out with him. I don’t want to go out with no dishwasher.”
“He hasn’t hinted anything about having more dough than a dishwasher should have? He hasn’t tried to sound important?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
It was discouraging. I sighed and said: “O.K., Jerry. Thanks anyway. Guess I’ll have to take it alone from here.”
“What you going to do?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“I don’t know. Follow him, maybe. Try to get into his room, I guess.”
She stepped forward and grabbed a button on the front of my jacket. She twisted it in her fingers and looked at it as she said: “Gee, Bud, that sounds so exciting. Do you think maybe that I could... help?” As she said the last word, she slowly raised her eyes up toward me. I was surprised to notice how long her lashes were. That slow look flattened me.
“Sure. Meet me as soon as the joint closes. Sure.” I stood and watched her walk back across the yard toward the joint. She was put together in the proper manner. I tried to put my cigarette in my mouth and found that my mouth was open and I was still saying: “Sure.” I stopped talking and chewed the end of the cigarette.
During the long evening I fretted about the job of following Thomason. I knew that having the gal along would make it easier if he noticed us. We could just be having a routine date. It wouldn’t look as fishy as if he found just me on his trail.
The Howler is one of those people who like to have things all cleaned up before the joint is closed. That fit in nicely with my plans. It meant that Thomason would be running stuff through the dishwashing machine long after the last customer had left. I strolled out into the kitchen a few times between my shows and tried to get a good clean look at him without his noticing me. There was nothing to see. He stood beside the splashing, humming machine and fed in the dishes with quick easy movements. I felt an all-gone feeling in my middle, and hoped that I wasn’t wrong — and yet there was the matter of the shoes...
I told Hoffer, the statuesque citizen with the South Jersey accent who keeps a fatherly eye on most of the employees, that I was checking to see how many of our people brought their own cars. I didn’t want to ask about Thomason by name, so I had to stand and look interested while he rambled through a long list. Finally he said: “And the dishwasher, Thomason, he drives an old heap that I make him park down in the pasture beyond the parking lot.” I asked some more questions about matters I didn’t give a damn about, and then drifted off.
The half moon outlined the square frame of Thomason’s car. Hoffer had been right when he called it a heap. It squatted in the tall grass looking like the nucleus for a junk yard. The fenders were frayed and it looked old enough to have a bulb horn. I stood in the night breeze and listened. The music blatted away in the club a hundred yards behind me. I suddenly realized that if I was right, I could be given a large hole in the head. I shivered slightly and stepped forward to where I could read the license number with a match. Then I hurried back.
Jerry finally scurried out of the barn that the Howler had converted into living quarters for the women. It was twenty to three. The last bunch of noisy customers had driven away. From where I stood I could see the kitchen lights still blazing.
I didn’t waste time talking. I grabbed her arm and hustled her over to my coupe, I opened the door and handed her in. Then I ran around the car and jumped behind the wheel. As I backed out and turned around, I noticed that her perfume smelled good in the closed car.
“What are we going to do now, Bud? Where’re we going?”
“Thomason’s crate is parked back in the pasture. He’ll be through pretty soon. We got to be where we can tail him no matter which way he goes.”
She quivered and slid over close to me. “Gee, this is exciting,” she said. I drove about two hundred yards down the road and backed into the driveway of our nearest neighbor. His house was dark. I cut my lights and we sat where some high bushes made the gloom thickest.
“We can have a cigarette, but we got to throw out the butts soon as he drives out. If he goes home, he’ll go right by us here, out to the main drag.”
She agreed and we sat quietly waiting. I found her hand and held it tight. Somehow it was less lonely, having her along — and yet I didn’t let myself think of what I might be exposing her to.
Our cigarettes were well down when some dim lights flashed on in the pasture. I heard a roar as an aged motor clattered into life. We ditched the cigarettes, and in a few minutes the old car banged by the driveway.
Jerry gave a little squeak of excitement and I turned out after him. I didn’t turn my lights on. I stayed well back. I figured that the noise of his motor would cover any sound we might make. I hoped that no eager cop would notice our lights and decide to get official.
The old car looked anything but ominous swaying along ahead of us. He kept up an average speed of twenty-five. He stopped at the corner and turned toward Casling. Somehow, that was a disappointment. I had wanted him to go off somewhere and report to somebody. I switched on my lights when we hit the town. He turned into a dark parking lot opposite the Princess Hotel. I drove on by and went around the next corner. I parked and ran back to the corner. I stuck my head around the bricks just in time to see him walk up the steps to the entrance. I gave him plenty of time to get out of the lobby, and then Jerry and I went on in.