“Uptown.”
“You know what happened?”
“Not yet.”
“So what do you want with me?”
“Just talk, Mom.”
“So ask.”
“Suppose you tell.” I grinned at her. “Maybe you want the third degree, sweetie, just like in TV . . . okay?”
She waved her hand at me. “That stuff is dead. Who hits old ladies anymore except delinquents?”
“Me. I hit old ladies.”
“You look like the type. So ask me.”
“Okay . . . any friends?”
She shook her head. “No, but he makes phone calls. One of the hot boys . . . never shuts the door.” She nodded toward the pay booth in back.
“You listened?”
“Why not? I’m too old to screw so I get a kick out of love talk.”
“How about that?”
“Yeah, how? ” She smiled crookedly and opened herself a Coke. “He never talked love talk, never. Just money and always mad.”
“More, Mom.”
“He’d talk pretty big loot. Five G’s was the last . . . like he was a betting man. Was he, son?”
“He bet his skin and lost. Now more.”
She made a gesture with her shoulders. “Last time he was real mad. Said something was taking too long and wanted more loot. I don’t think he got it.”
“Any names?”
“Nope. He didn’t call somebody’s house, either.”
I waited and she grinned broadly.
“He only called at a certain time. He had to speak up like wherever the other party was, it was damn noisy. That’s how come I heard him.”
“You’d make a good cop, Mom.”
“I been around long enough, son. You want to know something else?”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“He carried a package once. It was all done up in brown paper and it wasn’t light. It was a gun. Rifle all taken down, I’d say. You like that bit?”
“You’re doing great. How’d you know?”
“Easy. It clunked when he set it down. Besides, I could smell the gun oil. My old man was a nut on those things before he kicked off. I smelled that stuff around the house for years.”
Then I knew what bugged me right after Basil Levitt died. I said my thanks and turned to go. She said, “Hey . . .”
“What?”
“Would you really hit an old lady?”
I grinned at her. “Only when they need it,” I said.
I stood in the room that had been Velda’s and scanned the other side of the street. It didn’t take long to sort out the only windows that were set right for an ambush. Ten bucks to a fat old man got me the key with no questions asked and when I opened the door to the first one that was it.
The gun was an expensive sporting rifle with a load in the chamber, blocked in on a tripod screwed to a tabletop and the telescopic sights were centered on the same window I had looked out of a few minutes before. There were two empty cigarette cartons beside the gun, a tomato-juice can full of butts and spent matches, and the remains of a dozen sandwiches scattered around.
Basil’s vigil had been a four-day one. For that long a time he had waited. At any time he could have had Velda. He knew she was there. He told me so. He had watched her that long but couldn’t move in.
The reason for his wait was plain now. It wasn’t her he was after at all. It was the kid. He wanted her. He was on a contract to knock her off and had to wait for her to show.
Only she didn’t. Velda had kept her upstairs out of sight. It was only when I came on the scene that he had to break his pattern. He didn’t know why I was there but couldn’t take any chances. I might be after the same target he was after but for a different reason: to get her out.
So now it was back to the little Lolita-type again.
CHAPTER 4
It had been a long time since I had seen Joey Adams and his wife Cindy. Now, besides doing his major nightclub routines with time off for tent-circus Broadway musicals and worldwide junkets, he was president of AGVA. But he hadn’t changed a bit. Neither had Cindy. She was still her same stunning self in the trademark colors of scarlet and midnight whamming out a column for TV Guide.
I told the girl not to announce me and when I went in Joey was perched on the edge of his desk trying to talk Cindy out of something new in minks. He wasn’t getting anywhere. I said, “Hello, buddy.”
He looked over his shoulder, grinned, and hopped off the desk with his hand out. “I’ll be damned,” he said, “you finally picked up the rain check. Where you been?”
“On the wrong street.” I looked past him. “Hello, beautiful.”
Cindy threw me a flashing smile. “I told Joey you’d show up. We’ve been following the obituaries. You leave a trail, Mike.”
“I was following one.”
“That’s what Hy said. You big fink, why didn’t you come visit when you needed help?”
“Hell, kid, I didn’t need any help to stay drunk.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Joey waved at her impatiently. “Come on, come on, what’s new? Look, suppose we . . .”
“I need help now, pal.”
It caught him off balance a second. “Listen, I’m no AA, but . . .”
“Not that kind of help,” I grinned.
“Oh?”
“You’ve been bugging me to play cop for how long, Joey?”
His eyes lit up like a marquee but Cindy got there first.
“Listen, old friend, you keep my boy away from the shooters. Like he’s mine and I want to keep him in one piece. He’s just a comedian and those gun routines are hard on the complexion.”
“Cut it out, Cindy. If Mike wants . . .”
“Don’t sweat it, friend. Just a simple favor.”
He looked disappointed.
“But it’s something you can get to where I can’t,” I added.
Joey laughed and faked a swing at my gut. “So name it, kid.”
“How far back do your files go?”
“Well,” he shrugged, “what do you want to know?”
I sat on the edge of the desk and lined things up in my mind. “There was a showgirl named Sally Devon who was in business over twenty years ago. Name mean anything?”
Joey squinted and shook his head. “Should it?”
“Not necessarily. I doubt if she was a headliner.”
“Mike . . .” Cindy uncoiled from her chair and stood beside Joey. “Wasn’t she Sim Torrence’s wife at one time?”
I nodded.
“How’d you know?” Joey asked.
“I’m just clever.”
“What do you know about her, honey?”
“Nothing at all, but I happened to be talking politics to one of Joey’s friends and he dropped her name in the hat. He had worked with her at one time.”
“Now she’s in politics,” Joey grunted. “So who were you talking to?”
“Bert Reese.”
“What do you think, Joey? Do a rundown for me? Maybe Bert can steer you to somebody else that would know about her.”
“Sure, but if it’s politics you want, Cindy can . . .”
“It’s not politics. Just get a line on her show-biz activities. She would’ve been in from twenty to thirty years back. Somebody at Equity might know her or the old chorus-line bunch. She was married to Sim Torrence while he was still a small-timer so the connection might bring somebody’s memory back. Seem possible?”
“Sure, Mike, sure. The kids always keep in touch. They never forget. Hell, you know show business. I’ll dig around.”
“How long will it take?”
“I ought to have something by tomorrow. Where’ll I get in touch?”