"How you gonna find him?"
"Did you know Green?"
"You kiddin'? Him and me grew up together on the same block. I took more raps for that punk when I was a kid... aw, forget it."
"Okay, now Green was a stickler for detail. He kept records somewhere. He passed on his business to his partner, Quincy Malek."
"I knew him too."
"Now Quincy kept the records. Wherever they are, they'll have a notation of the transactions carried out by the business. It will show the property locations and we can run them down one by one until we get the place Blackie bought from him.
"You think Blackie'll still be there?"
"He hasn't showed up any place else, has he?"
"That just ain't like Blackie." He rubbed his hands', together and stared at them. "Maybe I didn't know Blackie so good after all. Now what?"
"Did you know Quincy Malek?"
"Sure. From kids yet. Him too. He was another punk."
"Where would he put something for safekeeping?"
"Quincy? Man, who knows?" He chuckled and leaned back against the cushions. "He had places all over. You know he operated a couple of houses without paying off? The boys closed him on that one."
"The records, Sonny. Right now we're checking up on all of Quincy's former properties and every commercial warehouse in the city, but if you remember anything about what he had you can cut the time right down."
"Mister, you're dragging me back thirty years."
"What did you have to think about all the time you were in prison, Sonny? Whatever it was belonged back there too because in prison there was nothing to think about."
"Broads," he grinned. "Until I was sixty all I thought about was broads. Not the used ones I had before, but ones that didn't even exist. Maybe after sixty I went back, but it took some time."
"Now you got something to think about."
Sonny sat there a long moment, then his mouth twisted into a sour grimace. "Tell me, mister. What would it get me? You it would get something. Me? Nothing. Trouble, that's all it would bring. Right now I ain't got nothin' but I ain't got trouble either. Nope. Don't think I can help you. I've had my belly full of trouble and now it's over. I don't want no more."
"There won't be trouble, Sonny."
"No? You think with all the papers down my throat I'd get any peace? You think I'd keep the lease on the shoe shop? It's bad enough I'm a con and a few people know it, but let everybody know it and I get booted right out of the neighborhood. No business, nothin'. Sorry, mister."
"There might be a reward in it."
"No dice. I'd have everybody in the racket chiseling it outa me. I'd wind up a drunk or dead. Somebody'd try to take me for the poke and I'd be out. Not me, Mister Hammer. I'm too old to even worry about it."
Damn, he was tying me up tight and he was right. There had to be a way. I said, "If I wanted to I could put the heat on you for the Howie Green kill. The way things stand I wouldn't be a bit surprised if we got some quick and total cooperation from the police."
Sonny stared a second, then grunted. "What a guest you are. You sure want me to fall bad."
"Not that bad. If you want to push it I'd probably lay back. I'm just trying you, Sonny."
Once again his eyes caught Velda's legs. She had swung them out deliberately and the dress had pulled up over her knee. It was enough to make Sonny giggle again. "Oh, hell, why not? So maybe I can feed you something. What's it they call it? Public duty or some kind of crap like that."
"Quincy Malek, Sonny."
He sat back and squinted his eyes shut. "Now let's see. What would that punk do? He up and died but he never expected to, I bet. He was the kind who'd keep everything for himself if he could. Even if he left something to his family I bet they'd have to dig for it.
"Quincy owned property around town. Tenements, stuff like that. He'd buy cheap and hold. Got plenty in rentals and he seemed to know what was coming down and what was going up. Always had a hot iron in the fire."
"Would he keep any records there?"
"Nope, don't think so. Something might happen to 'em. My guess is he'd leave 'em with somebody."
"Who?"
"Something about old Quincy nobody knew. He kept a pair of sisters in an apartment building he owned. Tricky pair that. Real queer for anything different. I got the word once that he had a double deal with them. They owned the apartment with some papers signed so that he could take it back any time he wanted. He couldn't get screwed that way. Me, I'd look for those sisters. That building would be the only income they had and they couldn't dump it so they were stuck with it, but since it was a good deal all around, why not, eh?"
"Who were they, Sonny?"
"Now you got me, mister. I think if you poke around you'll find out who. I remember the deal, but not the dames. That any help?"
"It's a lead."
"Maybe I'll think of it later. You want me to call if I do?"
I picked a scrap of paper off the table, wrote down the office and home numbers, and gave them to him. "Keep calling these numbers until you get me or Velda here."
"Sure." He tucked the paper in his pants pocket. Then he got an idea. "Hey," he said, "if you find that crumb Blackie, you let me know. Hell, I'd even like a feel of that money. Just a feel. I think I'm entitled. It cost me thirty years."
"Okay, a feel," I said kiddingly.
Then Velda swung her leg out again and he grinned. "You know what I'd really like to feel, don't you?"
With a laugh Velda said, "You're a dirty old man."
"You bet, lady. But I'd sure like to see you with your clothes off just once."
"If you did you'd drop dead," I told him.
"What a way to go," he said.
Pat wasn't bothering to get any sleep either. I reached him at the office and gave him the dope Sonny passed on to me. He thought it had merit enough to start working on and was going to put two men on it right away. Nothing else had paid off yet, although they had come up with a few former properties Malek had owned. They had made a search of the premises, but nothing showed. A team of experts were on a twenty-four-hour detail in the records section digging up old titles, checking possibles, and having no luck at all so far.
Offhand I asked for Quincy's old address and Pat gave me the location of his home and the building the real estate agency was housed in. He had checked them both personally and they were clean.
I hung up the phone and asked Velda if she wanted something to eat. The Automat was right down the street so she settled for a cup of coffee and a sandwich. We waited for the light, cut over, and ducked inside.
Right at the front table Jersey Toby was having coffee and when he saw me he simply got up and left with his coffee practically untouched.
We fed nickels into the slots, got what we wanted, and picked a table.
Outside the damn rain had started again.
Velda said, "What's on your mind?"
"How can you tell?"
"Your poker face slipped. You're trying to think of something."
I slammed the coffee cup down. "One lousy thing. I can feel it. One simple goddamn thing I can't put my finger on and it's right there in front of me. I keep for getting things."
"It'll come back."
"Now is when I need it."
"Will talking about it help?"
"No."
"You're close, aren't you?"
"We're sitting right on top of it, baby. We're riding three million bucks into the ground and have a killer right in front of us someplace. The damn guy is laughing all the way too."
"Suppose the money isn't there?"
"Honey... you don't just lose that kind of capital. You don't misplace it. You put it someplace for a purpose. Somebody is ready to move in this town and that money is going to buy that person a big piece of action. If that one is as smart as all this, the action is going to be rough and expensive."