Vengeance Is Mine

I think if I had had a license it would have been gone right there, friend or no friend. All I had was a name on the door that didn’t mean anything now. Pat looked at me with disgust and said, “What a great Captain of Homicide I am. The D.A. would give his arm for a recording of this little conversation. Okay, Inspector, I’m waiting for my orders.”

I gave him a two-fingered salute. “First, we want a killer. To get him we need to know why Wheeler was killed. If you were to mention the fact that a certain guy named Clyde was heading for trouble you might get results. They won’t be pretty results, but they might show us where to look.”

“Who’s Clyde?” There was an ominous tone in his voice.

“Clyde is Dinky’s new moniker. He got fancy.”

Pat was grinning now. “The name is trouble, Mike. I’ve heard it mentioned before.” He stood up and pulled a cigarette from my deck of Luckies. I sat there and waited. “We’re getting into ward politics now.”

“So?”

“So you’re a pretty smart bastard. I still say you should’ve been a cop. You’d be Commissioner by now or dead. One or the other. You might still be dead.”

“I almost was this afternoon.”

“Sure, I can see why. This Clyde guy has all the local monkeys by their tails. He gets everything fixed, everything from a parking ticket to a murder rap. All you have to do is mention the name and somebody starts bowing and scraping. Our old friend Dinky has really come up in the world.”

“Nuts. He’s a small-time heel.”

“Is he? If it’s the same guy we’re talking about he’s able to pull a lot of strings.”

Pat was too calm. I didn’t like it. There were things I wanted

to ask him and I was afraid of the answers. I said, “How about the hotel? You checked there, didn’t you?”

“I did. Nobody registered the day of the killing, but there were quite a few guests admitted to other rooms that same night. They all had plausible alibis.”

That time I let out a string ‘of dirty words. Pat listened and grinned again. “Will I see you tomorrow, Mike?”

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

“Stay away from store windows.”

He put on his hat and slammed the door. I went back to looking at the pictures Velda had left on my desk. The girl named Marion Lester was laughing into the camera from the folds of a huge furcollared coat. She looked happy. She didn’t look like she’d be drunk in another couple of hours and have to be put to bed by a friend of mine who died not long after.

I slid all the photos in the folder and stuffed them in the desk drawer. The bottle was still half full and the glass empty. I cured that in a hurry. Pretty soon it was the other way around, then there was nothing in either of them and I felt better. I pulled the phone over by the cord and dialed a number that I had written on the inside of a matchbook cover.

A voice answered and I said, “Hello, Connie . . Mike.”

“My ugly lover! I thought you’d forgotten me.”

“Never, child. What are you doing?”

“Waiting for you.”

“Can you wait another half-hour?”

“I’ll get undressed for you.”

“You get dressed for me because we may go out.”

“It’s snowing.” She sounded pained. “I don’t have galoshes.”

“I’ll carry you.” She was still protesting when I stuck the receiver on its arms.

There was a handful of .25 shells in the drawer that I shoveled into my pocket, little bits of insurance that might come in handy. Just before I left I pulled out the drawer and hauled out the envelope of photographs. The last thing I did was type a note for Velda telling her to let me know how she made out.

The guy in the parking lot had very thoughtfully put the skid chains on my buggy and earned himself a couple of bucks. I backed out and joined the line of cabs and cars that pulled their way through the storm.

Connie met me at the door with a highball in her hand and shoved it at me before I could take off my hat. “My hero,” she said, “my big, brave hero coming through the raging blizzard to rescue poor me.”

It was a wonderful highball. I gave her back the empty and kissed her cheek. Her laugh was little bells that tinkled in my ear. She closed the door and took my coat while I went inside and sat down. When she joined me she sat on the sofa with her legs crossed under her and reached for a smoke. “About tonight . . . we are going where?”

“Looking for a killer.”

The flame of the match she held trembled just a little. “You . . . know?”

I shook my head. “I suspect.”

There was real interest in her face. Her voice was soft. “Who?”

“I suspect a half-dozen people. Only one of them is a killer. The rest contributed to the crime somehow.” I played with the cord on the floor lamp and watched the assorted expressions that flickered across her face.

Finally she said, “Mike . . . is there some way I can help? I mean, is it possible that something I know might have a meaning?”

“Possibly.”

“Is that . . . the only reason you came here tonight?”

I turned the light off and on a few times. Connie was staring at me hard, her eyes questioning. “You don’t have much faith in yourself, kid,” I grinned. “Why don’t you look in the mirror sometime? You got a face that belongs in the movies and a body that should be a crime to cover. You have an agile mind too. I’m only another guy. I go for all that.

“The answer is yes, that’s all I came here for tonight. If you were anybody else I still would have come, but because you’re you it makes it all the nicer and I look forward to coming. Can you understand that?”

Her legs swung down and she came over and kissed my nose, then went back to the couch. “I understand, Mike. Now I’m happy. Tell me what you want.”

“I don’t know, Connie. I’m up a tree. I don’t know what to ask for.”

“Just ask anything you want.”

I shrugged. “Okay, do you like your work?”

“Wonderful.”

“Make a lot of jack?”

“Oodles.”

“Like your boss?”

“Which one?”

“Juno.”

Connie spread her hands out in a noncommittal gesture. “Juno never interferes with me. She had seen my work and was impressed with it. When I had a call from her I was thrilled to the bones because I hit the top. Now all she does is select those ads that fit me best and Anton takes care of the rest.”

“Juno must make a pile,” I said observingly.

“I guess she does! Besides drawing a big salary she’s forever on the receiving end of gifts from overgenerous clients. I’d almost feel sorry for Anton if he had the sense to care.”

“What about him?”

“Oh, he’s the arty type. Doesn’t give a hoot for money as long as he has his work. He won’t let a subordinate handle the photography, either. Maybe that’s why the agency is so successful.”

“He married? A wife would cure that.”

“Anton married? That’s a laugh. After all the women he handles, and I do mean handles, what mere woman would attract that guy. He’s positively frigid. For a Frenchman that’s disgraceful.”

“French?”

Connie nodded and dragged on her smoke. “I overheard a little secret being discussed. between Anton and Juno. It seems that Juno met him in France and brought him over here, just in time for him to escape some nasty business with the French court. During the war he was supposed to have been a collaborator of a sort , . . taking propaganda photos of all the bigwig Nazis and their families. As I said, Anton doesn’t give a hoot about money or politics as long as he has his work.”

“That’s interesting but not very helpful. Tell me something about Clyde.”

“I don’t know anything about Clyde except that looking like a movie gangster he is a powerful attraction for a lot of jerks from both sexes.”

“Do the girls from the studio ever give him a play?”