“So my old buddy Billings tips you to me before he’s found dead with twelve G’s in his pocket. So I’m on the spot. Oh, man, this is crazy. What was I supposed to do... get so shook that I left a hole in my scheme somewhere that I’d try backtracking until I tripped myself up?”
I let go of the mad slowly, and when I had it down where it belonged, I grinned at them. “Laddies, you’re devious thinkers, but you thunk wrong. I got you by the short hairs now. I’m in and you’re out. I’m going to ride this one for all it’s worth. I’m so far ahead of you right now it’s pathetic and it’ll stay that way. You tell the boss man to get that pile of small bills ready, y’hear?”
They didn’t answer me.
“I want one more thing,” I said. “I want a copy of my ‘appointment’ and a number where you guys can be reached sent to me care of General Delivery at 34th Street. I want a license for this gun and the number is 127569. Remember it. Now blow out of here and don’t bother laying a tail on me. It won’t work. If I want you I’ll call and that’s the only progress report you’ll get.”
You go up 16 floors and you get off in a plush foyer surrounded by antique furniture and a lovely redhead who smiles and you are encompassed by Peter J. Haynes, III. Co., Inc.
She looked up at me, button by button until she came to my eyes, then she stopped and smiled a little bit bigger. To her I was something different than the usual Haynes client even though mine was a $200 suit. The shirt was white and the collar spread. The tie was black knitted and neat and the cuffs that showed were the proper half inch below the coat cuff. The links were plain, but gold, and they showed. The only thing out of place was my face. I don’t think I looked like the typical Haynes client. I wasn’t carrying a briefcase, either. I was carrying a rod, but that was one reason for the $200 suit. It didn’t show.
The redhead said, “Good morning.”
I said, “Hello, honey.”
She said, “Can I help you?”
I said, “Anytime.”
She said, “Please...”
I said, “I should be the one to say please.”
She said, “Stop it!”
I said, “What’ll you give me if I do?”
Then she smiled and said, “You’re crazy.”
I smiled back, “Is Carmen Smith here?”
“It would have to be her,” she said. “Yes, she’s here. Is she expecting you?”
“No.”
“Then you can’t see her.”
“Who’s going to keep me out?” I said.
She got the grin back. “Nobody around here, I guess. Miss Smith is down the hall, at the end. She’ll be mad.”
“Tough.”
She went down the buttons again in reverse. “I hope so. Stop by to say so-long.”
I grinned at her. “I will, don’t worry.”
Miss Smith was encompassed by two girl secretaries and a queer. She was behind a desk talking into a hush-a-phone, doodling on an early Times edition. When I walked in, I waved a thumb at the dolls and they got out. The queer took longer until he looked straight at me. Miss Smith said something into the HP and hung up. Then she pushed back her chair and stood up.
Most times a woman is nothing. Sometimes you can classify them as pretty or not pretty. Sometimes you can say this one I like or this one I do not like.
Then one day you see one who is totally unlike all the rest and this is one you not only like but one you must have. This is one who has been waiting a long time for somebody and instinctively you know that until now she hasn’t found that one. She’s big and beautiful and stands square-shouldered like a man, but she’s full-breasted and taut and completely undressed beneath the sheath she has on. She’s not trying for anything. She doesn’t have to. You don’t have to look to know she’s long-legged and round and in her loins there’s a subtle fire that can be fanned, and fanned, and fanned.
I said the obvious. “Miss Smith?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Ryan.”
“I have no morning appointments.”
“Now you have, kitten.”
I let her take a good look at me. It didn’t take long. She knew. I wasn’t taking any apple out of her hand.
“Can I help you?”
“Sure, honey. That you can do.”
“Well.”
“A flower shop... the Lazy Dazy... in Brooklyn, tells me you sent a bouquet to a friend of mine.”
It would be hard to describe the brief play that went across her face.
“Billings,” I said. “He was killed. He got one bunch of flowers. Yours.”
Again, it happened, that sympathetic sweep of emotions touching her eyes and her mouth. She sat down at an angle, woman-like, with her knees touching, and her hand on the desk shook a little.
“You... are a friend?”
“Not of his. Were you?”
Her eyes filled up and she made a motion with her head before reaching for the tissues in her drawer. “I’m sorry. I can never quite get used to people dying whom I know.”
“Don’t let it get you, sugar. He wasn’t worth it.”
“I know, but he was still someone I was familiar with. May I ask who you are?”
“The name is Ryan, honey. In common parlance I’m a hood. Not a big one, but I get along.”
There was a silent appeal in her eyes. “I don’t... quite...”
“Where do you come off knowing a bummer like Billings?”
“Why should I tell you?”
“Because if I don’t get the answer, the cops will.”
She sucked in her breath, filling the tanned skin of her bosom, swelling it against the dress.
I said, “How well did you know Billings?”
“Tell me something first. Since you seem so interested in me, have you... let’s say... investigated me in any way?”
“Nope.”
“Mr. Ryan... I’m a gambler.”
“A good one?”
“One of the best. My father was a professional. According to his need or current morals, he would work it right or wrong. No better card mechanic ever lived. He supported me in style.”
“You...?”
“Mother died at my birth. My father never married again. He gave me everything including an education in mechanics to the point where I can clean a table any time I want to.”
“This doesn’t explain Billings.”
“I’m a card player, Mr. Ryan. I’m in on all the big games that ever happen in this city. I win more than I could possibly make at a mundane job from fat little men who love to show off before a woman. If you’re really a hood, then ask around the slap circuit who I am. I’m sure they’ll be able to tell you.”
“I don’t have to ask. But that still doesn’t explain Billings.”
“Billings was a queer draw. He was a good mechanic at times, but not good enough to work against the big ones. Straight, he was all right. One day he sat in with us and I caught him working and cut him loose. He never did figure it until I got him invited again. You see, Mr. Ryan, these types are fun for me. I was able to chop him down to nothing just for the fun of it.”
“How much did you take him for?”
“Just for hundreds. He had money, but we were playing for cards, understand? Money isn’t quite that important.”
“He was good?”
“Very. But just not that good.”