Louise stared at him, her mouth slack and some of the color gone from her cheeks. The music stopped and Louise said, “Oh,” and her voice was no longer husky but scarcely a whisper. “What makes you think so?”
“The A.M.G. finds out a lot of things.”
He watched the orchestra file out through a passageway beside the platform. He saw Louise take a cigarette from Watrous’s case and pick up the lighter before he could help. When she had a light she also borrowed Watrous’s drink and her glance was fixed at some indefinable point above the bar. Murdock’s shoulder still touched her. He could feel the warmth of her through his jacket and the fragrance of her hair and skin was very real.
“A lad came to see Professor Andrada the other day while the professor was out,” he said. “A lad named Lorello. Were you there then? Did you happen to see him?”
Louise looked at him strangely. “Why, yes. That is, I caught a glimpse of him. A dark-haired boy.”
“Is that the one? With the guitar?”
Louise turned and stared over her shoulder. The trio was just climbing onto the stand and while one of them slid down onto the piano bench another straightened the bass and plucked it softly. The third, a slim, good-looking youth, got the guitar on his lap and fiddled with the resonator.
“Yes,” Louise said. “Yes, I’m almost sure—”
She stopped suddenly. She looked back at Murdock and her eyes were veiled and she pushed her lower lip out at him.
“So that’s why you wanted to come to the Silver Door? And all the time I thought it was because you liked me.”
“I do like you,” Murdock said, and grinned. “I think you’re wonderful. Of course I think you might prove a little expensive for a captain or a press photographer, and then too you have a career which should be considered—”
“All right,” she said. “I forgive you. I like you too. I’d like you better if you’d relax a little more.”
Murdock kept his smile but it only touched his mouth. He was thinking about Lorello and what he could say when the time came. When he saw Carl Watrous stand up at the table in the corner, he changed the subject quickly before Louise got to wondering why he was interested in Lorello.
“Carl’s coming back,” he said. “How’re you doing with him? Are you going to get the part?”
“Oh, I’ve got a part, all right.” Louise yawned. “Not the lead, of course. I doubt if I’m that good. About third lead, I’d say. In three or four scenes—with one song. I’m trying to talk Carl into making it two.… Hello, darling. I don’t think you’re very polite.”
“Musicians,” Watrous said wearily. “God!”
Murdock glanced at the bar as he stood up. He said he wanted to say hello to the bartender and would they please excuse him.
The trio was doing a lazy, solid I Can’t Get Started With You, with a nice beat and plenty of tenths in the full left hand of the piano player. Murdock listened approvingly as he picked his way to the bar. A man moved slightly to let him in and he leaned across the mahogany.
“Steve,” he said.
The bartender was busy and he looked annoyed. He glanced up, did a delayed take, and stopped being busy. He wiped his hands on his apron and thrust the right one out.
“Well, what do you know?” he said. “A captain it is, eh? You look grand, boy. I’m glad to see you.”
Murdock said he was glad to see Steve. He said he just wanted to say hello and when Steve got around to it would he make him a Scotch and water.
He looked into the mirror next to the cash register and found the man next to him already watching him. He was a compactly built man in his middle thirties, quietly dressed, with a look of sinewy toughness about him and a sharply chiseled face. Even in reflection his eyes were quick and observant and there was a slight upward slant at the corners so they seemed perpetually suspicious.
“Is that the blonde?” Jack Fenner said, speaking diagonally in front of him.
Murdock took his drink from Steve and thanked him. “That’s the one.”
Steve was still busy but he was trying to talk to Murdock. He was asking him had he ever run into this fellow and that one, and Murdock was listening and answering and he was also listening to Fenner.
“You can pick ’em,” Fenner said in that flat, quiet voice of his. “You always could. You blow into town one night and the next you’re rubbing shoulders and talking soft to a dish like that.” Fenner swallowed some of his drink. “Me, I give ’em quite a lot of time and thought and you know what I get? A tramp or some dame that’s in love with her husband.… Do I start tailing her tonight?”
“That’s the general idea,” Murdock said. He put down a dollar and said he’d see Steve later and started back to the table.
Carl Watrous and Louise were arguing about her part in his projected musical. A waiter put three fresh drinks down and Louise smiled up at Murdock.
“You take care of the drinking for us while Carl and I—”
“I’ll take care of my own drinking,” Watrous said and grabbed his glass.
“Now, please.”
“I wish that orchestra had stayed. They were good and loud. I couldn’t hear a thing then.”
“But, darling, you must listen to me,” Louise said. “It’s very important. Now what I thought was, Grace Manning can’t sing all the numbers—”
“I’ve got a guy named Tom Grayson, too,” Watrous said dryly.
Louise pouted. “You know what I mean. Grace can’t carry the whole thing. Of course she’s very good, I know. But wouldn’t it get tiresome, her down stage singing all the time? I mean the songs that Tom Grayson doesn’t sing? Of course I haven’t any name and no one knows me now and probably I can’t sing like Grace and all that, but I could walk around and”—she smiled at Murdock—“dress up the production. I mean, Grace can sing but that isn’t everything in a musical, is it? Besides dancing. I’m not talking about that. You need something else when Grace isn’t on. For contrast.”
“I’m going to have it, damn it! I’ll have fourteen dolls with gams and what goes with them and they’ll be the most luscious, the most—”
“Of course, darling. I know. Girls, yes. But your principals. It isn’t an operetta, is it? You could have something specially written. That shouldn’t be hard. Something that wouldn’t be suited for Grace. Not necessarily a production number but it could be although maybe something simple would be better; perhaps a little dramatic unless—”
“You can talk plainer than that,” Watrous said. “I’ve heard you.”
Louise let her green eyes work for her. Watrous looked at them. He drank and put his glass down hard.
“What do you want? I told you what I’d pay and—”
“Oh, the money’s perfectly all right—this time.”
“I told you you could sing a song.”
“I want two,” Louise said. “Oh, it doesn’t have to be a solo. I thought maybe if I did a duet with Tom Grayson— That might be quite nice.”
Watrous sighed. He pulled at his jaw like a man stroking a beard. He found Murdock grinning at him and scowled blackly at Louise and then he had to grin too.
“You’ll have a number,” he said patiently. “You’ll be in four or five scenes. You can have costumes. I’ll get Manfried to design ’em. You can have sequins and feathers and gold lamé and a gown cut ’way down to here.” He stopped, drew back to get a better look. Still grinning, he undressed her with his eyes. “That might be good, hunh?”
He banged his glass again. “But I’m not promising you can sing two numbers because I don’t even know if I’ll have two numbers. You saw me talking with those two screwballs, didn’t you? Song writers. The way things stand now—”
He glanced up as someone approached. Murdock saw that the trio had finished. Two of them had put aside their instruments and disappeared. Tony Lorello stopped at the table. He smiled at Murdock but it was to Watrous that he spoke.
“Hello, Mr. Watrous.”
Watrous had
been scowling again and now the scowl went away. “Hello, Tony.” He took the hand Tony offered and Tony said hello to Murdock. “That’s pretty solid stuff you’re beating out,” Watrous said.
“We’re trying hard,” Tony said.
“You’re doing yourself some good here, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I think we are. Of course—well, you know.” Lorello was leaning on his hands and he glanced down at them and was embarrassed. “I’d like to get into something better if I could. I don’t suppose you’d know of anything?”
“Not right now.”
“We’ve got a couple of recordings,” Tony said. “I’d like to send them to you. We think the arrangements are pretty good and—you might hear of something.”
“Sure, Tony. Glad to listen to them. If I hear on anything I’ll put in a pitch for you.”
Lorello’s smile took in the whole table. “It’s a lot different from the 44 Club, isn’t it, Mr. Watrous? You’re right up there now.”
“Up and down,” Watrous said.
“Well—I just wanted to say hello.”
Murdock expected some impatience or even annoyance in Watrous’s attitude by this time, but there was nothing like that in his voice or in his face. He was pleasant and seemed genuinely friendly.
“There’s a cabaret scene in a thing I’ve got coming up,” he said. “It isn’t set yet. There’s just a chance—I’ll keep you in mind, Tony.”
Tony beamed. He said that would be swell and went away. Murdock felt Louise watching him and he was watching Tony and finally she turned to Watrous.
“Where did you know him?”
“I used to own a very small piece of a dump called the 44 Club—on Fifty-First Street. Tony played in the band for a while.”
“He must have been awfully young.”
“He was,” Watrous said. “Just out of high school.”
The regular band came out and began to blast again. They sat listening for a few minutes and then Louise began gathering her things. She said she really had to be going. Watrous agreed. He said enough was enough and called for the check.
“Leave it,” Murdock said. “I’ll stay around awhile longer.”
“Okay.” Watrous buttoned his coat and the waiter came with the check. Watrous reached out and took it.
“Wait a minute,” Murdock said. “This was my idea, coming here.”
“When Watrous goes out,” Watrous said, “Watrous pays. Don’t argue with me.”
Murdock stood up and watched them go. He ordered a drink to hold the table, then went over to the bar. Steve wasn’t so busy now and presently he came to the end where Murdock was standing.
“Is there a fellow who comes in here and draws sketches of the customers?”
“Sometimes,” Steve said. “Name of Carroll. Clever, too.”
“I heard about him,” Murdock said. “What does he get for them?”
“Whatever the chump wants to give. Two bucks—five bucks. Depends on who he is and how he likes the sketch.”
Murdock listened to the band and waited for Steve to make two drinks for a waiter. When he could he said:
“He wasn’t in tonight?”
Steve said no. “Last night either. There was a guy came in and asked about him, said he wanted his picture done. Some friend of his had one made and he wanted one of himself.” Steve rubbed at the bar. “Only Carroll wasn’t here. So the guy waited and then wanted to know where was he. I finally sent Tony—he’s a friend of Carroll’s—over to his place—Carroll only lives three or four blocks from here—to tell him to come down and pick up some change for himself. He wasn’t home so he missed out.”
“What time was that, Steve?”
“Around a quarter of eleven.”
Murdock turned on one elbow and looked at the band. He did not actually see them; he did not see anything in the place. His gaze was fixed and intent but right now he was seeing things with his mind instead of his eyes. Finally he asked Steve if he knew where Tony Lorello lived, and when he had the address he went back to his table and spoke to the waiter. Presently Lorello came from behind the orchestra shell and walked to the table.
Murdock told him to sit down and would he have a drink. Lorello said he guessed not, thanks. “That Watrous is a great guy, isn’t he?” he said. “Smart. I’m glad he caught my trio.”
Murdock talked about the trio a moment. He said he liked it and the arrangements and who made them?
Lorello smiled and tapped his chest.
“I missed you in Italy,” Murdock said. “I heard you were around. Like it?”
Lorello said it was swell. He said he had a bum ticker and the Army wouldn’t take him but he felt he’d helped the boys a little. He said he hoped to get back after he’d put a little cash aside.
“I suppose you ran into a lot of local boys,” Murdock said. “Had to bring messages to their families and call the mothers and deliver letters and things?”
“Oh, sure. Mostly the boys just wanted me to call their mothers and tell them they were all right.”
“You brought something back for Bruno Andrada, didn’t you?”
Murdock was looking right at him as he spoke. There was a half smile on Lorello’s face and he opened his mouth and said, “I—”
Something flickered in his eyes and was gone. Then they were staring straight at Murdock, revealing nothing, and now the smile was fixed and rigid. “Who?” he said.
Murdock repeated the name. He knew he had to play it straight now. He had groped for a better approach and tried to get his answer by surprise but somehow he had muffed it. He had seen the reaction in Lorello’s face and his interpretation of that smile struck a spark of hope, but it was not enough. He said:
“You brought a letter back for him. For George Damon.”
Tony Lorello’s swart, thin face was blank. Too blank. He moved the ash tray with long, graceful fingers and began to trace a circle with it.
“Not me,” he said. “You mean George Damon, the fellow that runs the Art Mart? I didn’t even know he had relatives in Italy.”
“Have the police been around to see you yet?”
Lorello took a breath and his lips tightened. “Police?” he said woodenly. “About what?”
“You know Professor Andrada was murdered sometime last night, don’t you?”
“I—I just read about it. You know—I get up late and sometimes I don’t get out of the house before dinnertime. I read about it in tonight’s paper after I came to work.” He glanced up. “I don’t get it, Murdock. I mean what—”
“You went to see Andrada the other day.” The orchestra stopped suddenly and Murdock found himself shouting. He hesitated and continued evenly. “The police will want to know why, Tony. And where you were last night around a quarter of eleven. Look, nobody’s going to make any trouble about the letter you brought for George Damon, and all you have to do—”
He stopped and battled his irritation when he saw the waiter nudge Lorello. Lorello glanced round and saw the rest of his trio on the stand. He stood up.
“I have to get to work,” he said, and looked relieved. “This other thing, this letter—it couldn’t have been me. I don’t even know Professor Andrada and that’s a fact.”
Murdock watched him go. He heard the waiter saying it was the last call for drinks. He sat there quite a while, staring straight ahead, his narrowed gaze dully brooding. Finally he roused himself and looked at the check the waiter had left. He paid it and watched the trio get up and turn off the lights on the stand, close the piano, and cover the bass. Tony went out back, carrying his guitar.
Murdock got up and moved slowly past the bar. Steve, his bottles all put away and locked up, called good night. Murdock got his hat and coat and stood for a moment at the door. He had not finished with Tony Lorello. With nothing but his own hunch and a fleeting reaction from the guitar player that made him a little surer of that hunch, he told himself that Lorello would be an ideal messenger for a man like Bruno Andrada.
> “So I’ll wait for him,” he said, half aloud.
He went out on the darkened sidewalk, realizing there probably was a back door that Tony could use. Most of the customers had gone now but there were a couple of taxis waiting down the street. He crossed over diagonally and stood in the shadow of a telephone pole and lit a cigarette.
Beyond the taxis a car’s headlights sprang into sudden brilliance. The car pulled slowly out and past the cabs and cut in toward the curb in front of the entrance, then eased on a few more feet and stopped.
A minute or so later two men walked out of a narrow passageway between the Silver Door and the adjoining building and disappeared in the night. Murdock studied the car. It was a big black sedan and though he could not hear the motor he could see a wisp of vapor curling upward from the exhaust and looking almost white against the blackness beyond. He saw, vaguely, a man behind the wheel and glanced at the license tag. It was a low number and as he read it over again Tony Lorello walked out of the passageway.
Murdock straightened and tossed away his cigarette. He watched Tony start to turn right, then stop as though someone had called him. He stepped to the car window nearest the curb.
Before Murdock could move, the car door opened and the motor accelerated. He started to hurry and then knew that this was not the thing to do. He was in the middle of the street when the door slammed and the sedan pulled out fast and picked up speed. He reached the curb and signaled to the first taxi.
He waved violently and that was just a waste of time so he whistled. Finally the car’s lights flashed on bright and the cab lurched ahead. He went to meet it and climbed it.
“Did you see that big sedan that just pulled out?”
“No,” the driver said. “I was readin’ me paper.”
Murdock glanced through the windshield. The street ahead was dark and empty. “Oh, fine,” he said and sank back and blew out his breath. “Scollay Square,” he said. “If that fits in all right with your plans.”
Chapter Ten
UNSEEN DANGER
Jade Venus Page 10
