“I pay him a small salary to plug me to the right people.”
Susan looked at Sam Cragg. “I see you’ve gotten your trousers back.”
Sam reddened. “Oh, we’re in the dough.”
“Because of Mr. Esbenshade?”
“I suppose some girls prefer men like Esbenshade,” said Johnny. “But what fun is there in counting money and clipping coupons? You just get callouses on your fingers. Although I wouldn’t mind counting about a thousand dollars right now.”
“What would you do with a thousand dollars?”
“The question should be, what am I going to do if I don’t get a thousand dollars?”
Susan looked at him in surprise. “You’re in debt a thousand dollars?”
“Not exactly. As a matter of fact, I’m not in debt at all. I don’t owe anyone a dime. I did owe a little hotel bill yesterday, but I took care of that.”
“Then why do you need the thousand dollars?”
“Why, as that bright little bellboy told you, I, ah, pledged Sam’s suit to pay the hotel bill. And then in order to get Sam’s suit back for him, well, that’s cost me eleven hundred dollars, so far...”
“That suit certainly didn’t cost eleven hundred dollars.”
“Twenty-seven-fifty, lady,” said Sam Cragg. “I walked up a flight of stairs and saved ten bucks. They’ve got ’em all over the country.”
Chapter Nineteen
Orville Seebright came back to the table. He seated himself and looked reproachfully at Johnny. “I’ve just had to assure Mrs. Doniger that there isn’t and hasn’t ever been anything between her husband and a switchboard operator named Violet”
“Who said there was?”
“They seemed to think you intimated such a thing.”
The waitress brought the steaks for Johnny and Sam.
“Where’re the ham sandwiches?” Johnny demanded.
“The cook says he hasn’t got no more ham and furthermore, customers we got plenty of, customers that don’t all the time send things back to the kitchen.”
“That’ll hold me,” said Johnny, “but remember, comes the revolution and the customer’s going to be right again.”
“Maybe,” said the waiter. He slammed down the dishes and went off, in the direction of the kitchen.
Johnny shook his head sadly. “And I was going to give him a fifty cent tip!”
Jefferson Todd and Doug Esbenshade bore down on the See-bright-Fair-Fletcher-Cragg table. “Well, well,” said Johnny. “Look who we’ve got here.”
“Whom,” corrected Todd.
“Just to pick a fight, Jefferson, I stick to who—”
“Fletcher,” said Esbenshade, “I’d like a word with you.”
Johnny got up. “Me, too, with you.” He led the way to the men’s washroom, where he handed fifty cents to the attendant. “Mind stepping out for a minute?”
The attendant went out. “Fletcher,” Esbenshade began, “I’ve been thinking things over and I’ve decided—”
“I’m ready for that thousand dollars,” Johnny interrupted.
“What thousand dollars?”
“The thousand you said you’d give me when I got the murderer.”
“What are you talking about?” Esbenshade demanded angrily.
“We made a deal, didn’t we? A thousand dollars when I gave you the name of the person who killed Marjorie Fair.”
“And you know?” Esbenshade said, grimly. “And can prove it?”
“The police will prove it.”
“All right, what’s the name?”
Johnny evaded a direct reply. “About seven o’clock this evening a man was arrested at the corner of Lenox Avenue and One Hundred and Thirty-fifth Street. He attacked a policeman with a blackjack, but was beaten into submission. He gave me what you see on my face. He was hired to do it by the man who killed Marjorie Fair.”
“Who?”
“The police can make him tell.”
“But you don’t know yourself?”
“After all, Mr. Esbenshade, I was kidnapped and tortured for hours. I was glad enough to get away. But that’s a technicality. The police are very good at making people tell things.”
Esbenshade went to the door of the washroom. He opened it and looked out for a moment. Then catching someone’s eye he signaled. After a moment Jefferson Todd came into the washroom with Doug Esbenshade.
“Todd,” Esbenshade said, “you told me that you had an in with the police department.”
“Sure,” Johnny said, “he can fix a parking ticket anytime, by paying the fine.”
Todd scowled at Johnny. “I’ll have some things to say to you later. What is it you want to know from the police, Mr. Esbenshade?”
“A man was arrested this evening,” Esbenshade said, then looking at Johnny: “Where did you say?”
“One Hundred and Thirty-fifth and Lenox, in Harlem...”
“And?”
“Fletcher claims that this man was employed to beat him up. Employed by the man who killed Marjorie Fair.”
Jefferson Todd snorted. “You see, Mr. Esbenshade, this is the sort of thing I meant — the man gets into a brawl somewhere and makes a story of international intrigue of it.”
“Are you talking about me, Todd?” Johnny demanded.
“I wasn’t talking about Sherlock Holmes.”
Johnny reached under the washbowl and brought out a Manhattan telephone directory. He found the number he wanted and took a nickel from his pocket. Then he stepped to a wall phone, took down the receiver and dropping in his nickel, began dialing.
“Hello, Police Station?” he asked a moment later. “Well, look, one of your officers arrested a man this evening, shortly after seven o’clock. On the corner of Lenox and one Hundred and Thirty-fifth Street. The man attacked an officer with a blackjack and I believe the policeman had to subdue him with his club... What...? You’ve got the report right there? That’s right... Officer Holtznagle, a fine man... Eh...? No, no, I was merely one of the witnesses. ’Bye...!”
He hung up. “He didn’t handcuff Georgie and while he was putting in the call for the wagon, Georgie made a break for it. He got away...!”
Todd laughed raucously. “See what I mean, Mr. Esbenshade?”
“Are you calling me a liar, Todd?” Johnny asked savagely.
“What do you think?”
Johnny brought out another nickel. “Here, you call the Harlem Police Station, this time...”
Todd brushed away the suggestion. “Oh, there might have been some such incident in Harlem. It’s nothing unusual. You probably saw a squib in the paper. But the man involved is probably someone you never even saw in your whole life.”
Johnny looked at Esbenshade. The Iowan’s face was cold and impassive. “Keep the money I gave you, Fletcher. But forget the rest of it, will you?”
“If I’m not working for you,” Johnny said grimly, “I’ll work for myself. And I’ll get the man who—”
“And stop annoying people,” Esbenshade went on curtly.
Johnny slammed out of the washroom. He returned to his table. “Come on, Sam!”
“But I ain’t through eating yet, Johnny,” Sam protested.
“You’ve had more’n I’ve had.” He nodded to Seebright and Susan. “Excuse us, please...”
“Think over what I’ve told you, Fletcher,” said Seebright.
Johnny didn’t bother to answer. He started to leave and the waiter who had served them, headed him off. He had a bill for fourteen dollars and eighty cents in his hand. “Your check, sir...”
Johnny noted the amount. “That was a great dinner, garçon. And well served.” He took a ten and a five dollar bill from his pocket. “Keep the change.”
The waiter said some things, but Johnny was too angry to bother retorting. He stalked out of the Club Mague.