I called his apartment, hoping that I’d find him in and not have to try and track him down, and I got lucky.
“Hank, it’s Jacoby.”
“Jack, hi. What’s up? I was just on the way out.”
“Are you busy?”
“I was just going to get some breakfast—”
“No, I don’t just mean now,” I said, “I mean, are you really busy?”
“Oh. Well, no, I’m not really busy. I mean, I don’t think I’m in any danger of being sent out of town in the near future. Why, you got a tough one?”
“I’ve got two, which is why I need you.”
“Which one do I get?”
“The one I’m getting paid for,” I said. “This way I can pay you, too.”
“Well, it sounds encouraging already.”
“Why don’t we get together for lunch and I’ll fill you in on the details.”
“Fine. Where?”
“What’s easy for you?” I asked, and then at the same time we both said, “Debbie’s.”
“Okay. I’ll see you there around twelve.”
“Sounds good.”
“All right, Hank, and thanks.”
“See you later.”
When I hung up I felt a little better. Hank would continue to search for Melanie, while I worked on clearing Wood. There was no reason for me to feel guilty about either case anymore.
I took out the photo of Melanie and looked at it for a moment, but when I thought I started to detect a reproachful look on her face I put it away and left for my office.
Debbie’s was a special hangout of Hank Po’s. It was a little no-name tavern on Tenth Avenue, just off Eighteenth Street, two blocks from his loft apartment. Debbie was a gorgeous blonde who ran the place with her cousin Rosellen, an equally beautiful strawberry blonde. Both of them had blue eyes you wouldn’t believe, and the food in the place was the same way. I’d often wondered about Hank’s relationship with the two girls, but I’d never asked.
I had stopped by my office first to pick up my file on Melanie, and to let my fingers do a little legwork on finding the other two bookies, Mort Snow and Leo Piper, over the phone.
Before leaving for my appointment with Hank Po I ran through my mail. I put aside the bills for later and was surprised to find a postcard from Hollywood, from Tracy Dean.
Before she went to California, Tracy and I had had a relationship that was hard to define. She had been a model and soft-porn movie actress, but some time back she had gotten an offer to go to Hollywood to appear in a legit motion picture. It had been a small part, but it had led to another, and I felt that she was now firmly entrenched in California. She’d probably never return to live in New York.
Her postcard merely said that she had gotten a part in a third movie, and that things were really going well for her. She hoped that they were going well for me, too.
I missed Tracy, I’d admitted that to myself not too long ago. I had taken her for granted for a long time, and just when it had seemed that things might progress between us past the physical stage, she’d received that offer from Hollywood. Now she was gone.
I had put aside the postcard, picked up the file, and left to meet Hank. He was already at Debbie’s when I arrived, seated at the bar talking to the owner herself.
“Hello, Jack,” she said, favoring me with one of her sunny smiles.
“We don’t see enough of you around here,” she said.
“Didn’t he tell you?” I asked. “Your friend Po here threatened me if he ever saw me around you.”
“Don’t I wish,” she said, smiling at both of us. “You fellas plan on having lunch?”
“You bet,” I said.
“Well, grab a table then and I’ll send Rosellen over to take your orders.”
“That alone will be worth the trip,” I said.
Hank Po laughed and said, “Come on, Jack. We’ll have a couple of beers while we’re waiting, Deb.”
I walked to a table by the front and Hank came after me with two bottles of Bud.
“Here’s the file,” I said, putting the brown envelope down in front of him. “You can read it later, but I’ll run it down for you now, briefly.”
I gave him everything I had on Melanie and the people at the institute, then told him about the attack on me, and the phone call from Fallon.
“You fucked up,” he said.
“Tell me about it.”
“It’s understandable, though. I probably would have gone the same way, Jack.”
“No, I don’t think you would have, but thanks for saying so, anyway.”
At that point Rosellen came over and asked us what we’d like. Hank and I exchanged glances, then decided to play it straight and gave her our orders. She was taller and not as full-bodied as Debbie, but she didn’t give away much to her gorgeous cousin.
“Ginger might be the easiest to talk to,” I continued, “or she might not. It depends on what her relationship is with Fallon, who is the smarter of the two.”
“What about the fellas, Foster and the others?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t observed them all together long enough to see if she’s hooked up with any one of them. The older one, Brown, seems a bit possessive about the women, but that doesn’t necessarily mean there’s anything going on outside of his imagination.”
“You haven’t got an address on him,” he said, looking over the file which was, at best, skimpy. Keeping records is not my strong suit.
“He’s not an institute student anymore.”
“They might have something on him, though, even if it’s an old address. I’ll check it out.”
Henry Po had been in the business longer than I had, and his experience was showing.
“Here,” I said, taking out the photo of Melanie and handing it to him. “Bayard, the director of the institute, has the other one. I’ll call him and let him know about you.”
“Okay,” he said, looking the picture over. “Pretty girl.”
Fourteen
Before taking up my search for Mort Snow and Leo Piper I stopped in to see Heck. As I entered I caught Missy with her right leg up on the desk. She was removing one of her skintight legwarmers and the hem of her brown skirt had ridden up her thigh. I didn’t know why I had never noticed it before, but she had absolutely perfect legs.
She looked up when I walked in and when she saw who it was she went back to doing what she was doing. If a stranger had walked in I felt sure she would have taken her leg off the desk top and stood up. I didn’t know whether to feel complimented or insulted.
“Hello, Jack.”
“Hi, Missy.”
While removing her other legwarmer she told me that Heck was in court on another of his cases and probably wouldn’t be back until late. I told her to let him know that I was no longer working on the missing girl case, and was therefore devoting all of my time to Wood’s.
“How are you doing on that?” she asked, dropping her left foot to the floor and smoothing her skirt over her thighs. Her outfit was held at her waist by a wide belt and it hugged her like a long-lost lover.
“I have a few leads that I’m following up, but nothing concrete yet.”
“Did you find the girl you were looking for?” she asked, seating herself behind her desk.
“No, but I’ve got someone else working on it for me. Remember Henry Po?”
“Of course. He’s a good man.”
“Yeah, he is. If anyone can find her, he can. God knows he won’t mess it up the way I did.”
She frowned and said, “Is there a problem, Jack?”
“Not anymore, love,” I said, “and don’t tell Heck I said that, all right? I’m just a little down about some things.”
“Anything I can help with?”
“Not really, but if I come across something I think you can help with, you know I’ll tell you.”
“You’d better,” she said, and then changed the subject. “I was trying not to ask, but what happened to your fa
ce?”
“Oh, this? I’ve been working out with Billy Palmer, using karate to get back into shape. I think we may have gotten into it a little heavier than we intended the other night. It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“It looks terrible.”
Actually, I didn’t think it looked all that bad. I had some discoloration on each side of my mouth, and a split lip. It was what she couldn’t see that hurt most of all, and that was my sore kidney.
“It’s not that bad,” I said, again. “What time do you expect Heck, anyway?”
“He should be back later this afternoon, before he goes home. He’s got some papers to sign and pick up and . . . and we’re going out to dinner.”
“Oh, really?”
“Don’t get smart, Jack. We’re just having dinner. We’ve done that before.”
“Oh, really?”
She gave me a stern look and I said, “All right. Tell Heck I’ll check in with him from time to time, okay?”
“Sure.”
I started for the door, but turned when she called my name.
“Jack?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful, huh? I mean, at karate practice?”
I touched my bruised mouth and said, “Oh, sure, Missy. I’ll be careful.”
I left the office, knowing full well that I hadn’t fooled her, and wondering why I’d even tried.
When I returned to my office I found a message on my answer phone. It was from what the newspapers call an “unimpeachable” source, and it was telling me where I could find Mort Snow at 3:00 p.m. A check of my watch told me that I had an hour and a half before I’d find him there. Since finding Snow would take me in the direction of Bogie’s, I decided to stop in there to talk to Billy about something that had been bothering me.
“Are you all right?” Karen Palmer asked me as soon as I entered.
“I’m fine, Karen.”
“Your face doesn’t look fine.”
“But then that’s what comes from having been a fighter, right?”
“Oh, shut up.”
Karen was a bubbly, energetic woman with soft brown eyes and brown hair who never seemed to run down, and she and Billy complemented each other perfectly.
“Billy around?”
“He’s in the back in your—I mean his—ohh, he’s in the office,” she said, laughing.
“Good,” I said, because that was what I wanted to talk to him about. “I’ll go and talk to him and see you on the way out.”
“I won’t be here,” she said. “I’ve got to run, but I’m glad I got the chance to see you.” She gave me a hug, then and said, “Be more careful, huh? We like having you around.”
“Don’t worry,” I said, “I like being around.”
We said goodbye and she went her way, and I mine, to see Billy.
When I walked in on him he was seated behind his desk in his office—struggling with his bookkeeping.
“Sometimes,” he said, looking up at me, “I wish you were an accountant instead of a detective.”
“Sure,” I said, “and my mother always wanted me to be a doctor.”
He laughed and said, “How do you feel?”
“Fine, physically.”
He put down his pencil and said, “That means you’ve got something on your mind.”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“This place,” I said, indicating his office.
“What about it?”
“I’ve used it long enough,” I said. “In fact, it’s getting to the point where I’m abusing your hospitality.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he said, “but go ahead and have your say.”
“Remember, when we made this arrangement it was supposed to be temporary.”
“That may be so, but don’t move out now because you’re feeling guilty. If you want your own place, that’s another thing, but you’re still welcome here as long as you like.”
“I appreciate it, Billy—”
“Just don’t make a big thing out of it,” he said. “Next thing I know you’ll want to pay me for karate lessons.”
“That’s another thing—”
“Forget it!”
“No, not that,” I said. “It’s about the institute. You’d better tell your friend Olden that Bayard and I had a talk.”
“He told Bayard about you, didn’t he?”
“You knew?”
He shook his head.
“I figured, from the way he was talking . . . did it hurt your case?”
“No, I managed to do that all by myself.”
“Boy, we’ve got some case of the guilts today, haven’t we?” he said with mock severity.
“Yeah,” I said, grinning sheepishly, “I guess I do.”
I checked my watch and it was time to go and have my talk with my old friend, Mort Snow.
“I’ve got to get going.”
“We’ll talk again,” he said. “Where are you off to now?”
“I’ve got to see a bookie about some old bets.”
Fifteen
My informant had told me that Mort Snow would be at an address on Tenth Avenue and Twenty-eighth Street at 3:00 p.m., which was perfectly reasonable. Snow always liked to be set up within spitting distance of Madison Square Garden.
I had Mort Snow down in my book as the one bookie—that I knew of—who had never taken a bet on me. He wasn’t one of my staunchest supporters during my ring days, which stemmed from the time I had laid him out during an argument. The way he told the story he hadn’t blinked when I hit him with a right, but what he never told anyone was that he was unconscious, and few people blink when they’re in that condition.
The doorway was unmarked, but judging from the addresses on either side it was the right place. I walked up a flight of steps, careful to avoid the urine puddles but unable to avoid the stench. When I reached the top the door was locked and I knocked. At best, the light bulb in the hall was twenty watts, and had probably been there for years. It was one of those bulbs that would probably always seem to be on the verge of winking out. It did more to hurt the eyes than help them.
When the door opened a crack and a gray eye appeared I said, “I want to see Snow.”
“Who are you?”
“Jacoby.”
“Wait.”
The door closed and I waited in that dank, dark, smelly hall to see a man I didn’t like.
When the door finally opened again the same eye appeared and the same voice said, “He ain’t here.”
“You tell Mort that I want to place a bet.”
“He ain’t—”
“Tell him.”
“Uh, what kind of a bet?”
“Tell him I want to bet that he doesn’t make it through the day without not blinking.”
“What?”
“Tell him.”
There was a moment’s hesitation and then he said, “Wait.”
Finally the door opened again, this time all the way.
The owner of the eye was a man of medium height who looked as if he’d once been a fighter during Packy’s era. Squat, going to fat, with lumps on his face where many a fist had landed, I wondered if I’d remember him if I heard his name.
“I know you,” he said.
“Do you?”
He closed the door, then turned to peer at me intently.
“I know the name.”
I couldn’t wait for him to figure it out and I didn’t have the inclination to help him, so I simply said, “Snow.”
“Right. Follow me.”
The apartment wasn’t much better than the stairway and hall had been, but then I expected as much from Mort Snow. He was never one to operate above his station.
The ex-pug led me to a closed door, opened it, and said, “Here he is, Mr. Snow.”
“All right, Mickey,” Snow said. “Get lost.”
As Mickey closed the door behind me Snow’s phone rang, but he ignored it.
Mort Snow was an offensive man
. His personality was offensive, his appearance was offensive, and even his odor was offensive. He’d always smelled as if he’d had onions for lunch, and this occasion was no different.
“Christ, Snow, you stink.”
“That’s precisely what you did in the ring, Jacoby,” he said, unruffled. “What do you want?”
Snow was in his mid-forties, a small man who wore elevated shoes because he thought adding two inches to his five-foot-two-inch frame made a big difference. I had almost felt bad about laying him out five years before, but the feeling had passed as soon as he woke up and opened his mouth again.
It struck me then how much he would look like Arnie Court in about twenty years.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
“Don’t I know it,” he said with a look of disgust, “I’ve been avoiding you. How’d you find me?”
“I have my sources.”
“Bullshit. I doubt that you’re any better a detective than you were a fighter.” He peered at me then and added, “And judging from your face, you haven’t improved much in that area, either.”
“Look, Snow, I didn’t come here to lay you out again, but the temptation is getting more powerful by the minute. Can we get to what I did come here for?”
“I wish you would,” he said, and when his phone rang again he added, “You’re putting a crimp in my business. What do you want?”
“I want to talk about Alan Cross.”
“Cross? The guy they collared that Chink for killing?”
“His name’s Knock Wood Lee.”
“Typical Chink name. What’s that got to do with me?”
“I understand Cross was into you for a tidy sum.”
“Who told you that?”
“Those sources that you don’t respect.”
“They lied.”
“No, they didn’t. Look, it’s just me now, Snow, but I could come back with a cop.”
“I wouldn’t be here.”
“I’d find you again.”
He frowned and said, “Yeah, you probably would. One thing you always were was stubborn.”
“Careful, Snow. That sounded awfully close to being a compliment.”
“Bite your tongue.”
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