“One condition: From here on, you’re to tell no one what we discuss. No one. Not Rogers or your butler. Not Mr. Hill–”
“Surely you don’t suspect James–”
“People let things slip. To a girlfriend, a buddy, somebody who doesn’t even look like part of the picture. No one.”
He hesitated, unaccustomed to ultimatums. Then he nodded.
“Could I hear about the attack on you, Miss Sullivan? You say you’re okay, but you’ve clearly had injuries.”
As briefly as I could I told him about the alley. Then I put my coffee cup down and he walked with me to the door. He took my hand.
“Stuart does quite well on his violin. I’ll bear in mind what you told me about his concern.”
* * *
With no coat, I didn’t want to walk from McCrory’s, so I had the cab drop me off at the coffee shop across the street from my place. It was small, and most of the working crowd had been and gone, leaving a single cake donut for me to have with my coffee. I wolfed it down in half a dozen bites and eyed a couple of raised ones, but they’d be like eating nothing at all.
I knew Wildman wouldn’t object at the price of a coat and the other clothing I’d have to replace showing up on my expense account, along with my hospital bill for the previous night. That was down the road, though, and I needed a coat today. Rike’s would probably have some swell sales, it being so late in the season. I’d have no problem putting one on credit there, either. But I didn’t like buying things on credit, and had only done it a couple of times.
Still feeling glum about it, I left the coffee shop and immediately spotted Jenkins’ halo of curls at the entrance of my building across the way.
“Mags! Are you okay?” he called loping toward me. We met in the middle of Patterson and he trotted beside me.
“One time in the whole time I’ve known you, you show up without food – and right when I need it,” I grumbled.
“Have to get to an assignment. Already late.” He opened the door to my building’s small lobby. “Word is, somebody tried to run you down last night and damn near succeeded. True?”
Behind his specs his eyes were uncommonly serious. The concern embarrassed me
“Yeah, but they didn’t.”
“You still going to tell me this has to do with some pickled socialite?”
“My poking around may have stirred something up,” I acknowledged.
“You have a knack for that.” His words were dry. Without missing a step he reversed course back toward the street. “Duty calls. I don’t have that phone number yet, but I’ll get it for you. Be careful, Mags.”
Twenty-six
Resigned to a couple of hours without even a paper to pass the time, I settled in at my desk. In an hour or two it would warm up some and I’d dash uptown as briskly as my scraped up leg and other injuries allowed to shop for a coat. Before I could even work up a good sulk about my situation, my phone rang.
“Rachel says you like people to make an appointment,” a voice said.
“Pearlie?”
“Yeah, and I’m making one.”
“Did you have a time in mind?”
“Ten minutes.”
He rang off before I could say anything. I sat back with my brain on full alert.
Somehow I didn’t think Pearlie had been promoted from so-called ‘boyfriend’ to secretary. Nor did I get the impression Rachel was likely to be part of this meeting. Coming fresh on the heels of how my previous day had ended, Pearlie’s call made me plenty uneasy. I leaned back in my chair and let my fingers touch the reassuring curves of the .38 stowed in a holster tacked to the seat bottom.
On the other hand, if there was going to be anything sinister to Pearlie’s visit or if he meant to harm me, why not show up without warning? I was still searching for an answer when there was a knock at the door.
“It’s open.”
Pearlie glided through and closed it behind him before I finished saying it.
“You’re early,” I said.
“Don’t own a watch.”
“Have a seat.”
Ignoring the chair I offered he moved past me to lean on the back wall. Able to keep an eye on the door. Able to keep an eye on me. A window in easy reach if he needed a fast exit. It was the spot of choice for a gunney. It made me wonder why Rachel needed someone with his particular set of skills.
“You got plenty of guts, line of business you’re in and no gun in your desk,” he observed. “Figure you’ve got one stashed somewhere else. Thought you might take it the wrong way if I poked through your things that first time Rachel and I stopped by.”
He gave a stray dog’s grin. I waited. He took a cigarette out and scratched a match with his thumb to light it. The cigarette tilted up in his jaw, toward the ceiling. He crossed his arms. He was watching me closely.
“Rachel wants to know, you still interested in finding out about Draper’s partner?”
“I am.”
“Somebody you might want to meet then. Man you don’t want to make an enemy of. Kind of touchy.”
He reached over and cracked the window an inch. It let some of his smoke out, but it also let out some of the heat. I decided not to argue about it.
“What’s the man’s name?”
He regarded me around his upturned cigarette. So far he’d managed to talk without removing it from his mouth.
“Don’t matter much unless you decide to meet him. Man’s kinda what you might call reclusive.”
“Reclusive?”
He grinned. His vocabulary skills had won my attention.
“He don’t like people poking into his business. Especially cops. If you was to meet him and mention it to one of your pals, he’d take it real personal.”
I felt myself sitting straighter, not so much on guard about Pearlie now as I was alert at the magnitude of what he was hinting. Before I could form a question, a flurry of knocking rattled my door. Pearlie never seemed to move. His crossed arms still looked relaxed and lazy. But somehow the fingers of one hand now rested just under the breast of his jacket.
“Who is it?” I asked.
The door swooped open as Frank Keefe entered. There was a foil box with a red bow under his arm.
“I am contrite beyond words,” he began. “Please say you don’t really believe I had anything to do with....” He noticed Pearlie.
Pearlie’s cigarette still jutted up. It didn’t seem to burn as fast as other people’s cigarettes. But then Pearlie didn’t seem to move as much as other people. He’d turned stillness into an art.
“Gee, the cops must have paid you a visit,” I said to Keefe.
I’d felt a little bad about siccing them onto Keefe, but Freeze had peppered me with questions at the hospital. I hadn’t mentioned my run-in with Vern because they’d beat a path from him straight to Wildman. Given how Keefe had pestered me to go out with him, though, and the fact he knew where I’d be at a fixed time a day and could have someone watching for me when I left, it had seemed smart to mention the whole deal.
“Uh... yes.”
The sight of Pearlie had distracted him. Pearlie didn’t help any, not even acknowledging him with a nod. I let the curiosity in Keefe’s eyes go unanswered.
“Running late is a nasty habit of mine, I’m afraid. When I got there the bartender told me I’d just missed you – all perfectly innocent, scout’s honor!” He raised one hand in the boyish symbol as his charm began its faltering return. “When I heard how close you’d come to serious injury, I had twice the reason to apologize. Please accept this small peace offering.”
With a flourish he presented the box of what I could see by the name on it were expensive chocolates. I like chocolates well enough, though I’d rather have a good piece of pie. But just as Keefe’s interest yesterday had seemed excessive, so did his current contrition. It crossed my mind that if you meant somebody harm, chocolates would be a fine way to poison them.
“Thanks all the same, but you can keep the
m. Give them to your secretary, or one of your girlfriends.”
Keefe was dumbstruck. Pearlie removed his cigarette and flicked some ash out the window. Keefe’s eyes veered toward him, then as Pearlie resumed his crossed-arms stance, back to me. His mouth opened as understanding hit him.
“You think I did have something to do with what happened yesterday? You think there’s something wrong with the chocolates? Here! I’ll show you!” He yanked the ribbon, opening the box. “Pick one! Pick any one you want. I’ll eat it!”
His wounded earnestness made it hard not to laugh. Frank Keefe was growing on me. When I made no move he plunked the box on my desk.
“Watch!” he said, squeezing his eyes closed and shooting his hand down to grab a chocolate. Still with his eyes closed, he started to chew. “See? Shall I eat another?”
My bruised ribs hurt from the amusement shaking them. I heard another knock at my door.
“Maggie Liz?” called Billy’s voice.
I leaned back with a breath of frustration. “Come on in, Billy.”
Pearlie straightened, his pretense of laziness fading, as Billy and Mick Connelly marched in wearing uniforms. Keefe quickly swallowed the last of his chocolate. The four men all took inventory of each other. My office had become a damned merry-go-round. I started to worry Pearlie would leave.
“They’re sayin’ at the station that somebody tried to run you over,” Billy said planting his hands on his hips and eyeing me with concern that was fixing to boil over into a lecture.
“You know those flatfoots blow things out of proportion. Some nitwit was driving too fast and I stumbled getting out of his way. I’m right as rain. See?” I extended my arms.
Behind him Connelly already had taken in every pore and muscle of my body with a single glance. If Connelly hadn’t heard details of the bruising I’d taken, he’d observed it in the way I was sitting; had analyzed faint variations in my posture and movement. As our gazes connected, I knew he wouldn’t let on to Billy.
“And who are you two?” Billy finally noticed Keefe and Pearlie. Still too upset to give up being a mother hen, he favored them with equal glares.
Keefe recovered first. He kicked into full charm mode.
“Frank Keefe,” he said flashing his smile and extending a hand. “And you must be Maggie’s father.”
“Godfather,” Billy said stiffly.
Keefe and Connelly were eyeing each other like two dogs circling the same steak.
My phone rang. I picked it up thinking I sometimes spent an entire day in my office without hearing another voice.
“Have you remembered anything else about yesterday? Make of car, maybe?” asked Freeze.
“I appreciate it, but I’ve got an office full of people checking to make sure I’m okay.”
He got the message.
“Call back when you can talk.”
I hung up and planted my hands on my desk while I looked at the three men in front of it.
“I appreciate your concern. But I’m trying to run a business here. The gentleman by the window is the only one with an appointment.”
Billy glowered, pursing his lips.
Connelly and Keefe eyed each other, neither willing to give ground.
I leaned forward.
“Out.”
Twenty-seven
“The old guy arrested me once. I was sixteen, seventeen.” With no observable movement, Pearlie had shifted enough he could look out the window. He watched for the trio who’d left my office a minute earlier to exit. “That redhaired cop the one you keep company with?” he asked.
“I don’t keep company with anybody. Tell me about the man who knows about Draper’s partner.”
“May know.”
“Okay, may know.”
Somewhere along the line he’d removed the cigarette from his mouth. He pinched it out and flicked it through the narrow gap in the window. Closing the sash, he crossed his arms again and gave me a long look.
“He’d take it the wrong way if you was to have a weapon. One of his boys will pat you down before you meet him. Got any objection to that?”
“I’d be an idiot if I didn’t – but I’ll go along with it.”
“Won’t be meeting him at an office. Likely to be a junkyard, vacant lot next to a factory that’s gone belly up – someplace like that.”
I nodded.
“Have to go by yourself.”
“I figured.”
Pearlie left the wall where he’d been leaning. He moved toward the door.
“I’ll give you a call around three, three-thirty. Let you know where to meet him.”
“You said you’d tell me his name.”
“Oh. Nico. It’s Nico.”
“He have a last name?”
“Not one you need to know.” Pearlie gave his dog’s grin. He started to turn toward the door. He paused. “I could maybe tag behind in another car if you wanted, park a couple of blocks away.”
I didn’t know what to make of the offer. For that matter I didn’t know what to make of this whole gift of helpfulness. The terms he’d outlined for the meeting had been enough to stir the down at the nape of my neck. On the heels of yesterday’s near miss, I’d have to be blind not to see it could be a trap.
“I’m a big girl. I’ll manage. But thanks.”
His lean face told me nothing. He opened the door.
“One more thing,” I said. “What does Rachel expect in return?”
Pearlie shrugged.
“Rachel don’t consult with me. I just do what she tells me.”
* * *
After he’d gone I sat for an interval wondering about Rachel and Pearlie and the man named Nico. That he was some sort of crime boss seemed clear. Maybe he was part of the Cincinnati outfit that had tried to muscle in on Woody Beale a while back. Except something in the way Pearlie talked about him, coupled with Rachel saying she knew somebody who might be able to find out what I wanted to know, made me think the man I was going to meet had been around for some time.
There wasn’t exactly a way I could check on it. Lacking a last name, or any hint of connection to some business or public office, I couldn’t even wade through papers down at the library hoping to come across something. If I asked Jenkins or Connelly or Freeze what they knew about someone named Nico, they’d start sniffing even if I neglected to mention he was probably shady. Besides, I meant to halfway honor the promise I’d made about keeping my meeting with him confidential.
I returned the call from Freeze and had to wait for a couple of minutes.
“It was getting close to dark by then, but I think the car was black,” I said when he came on. “I don’t remember any snatch of color.”
“That narrows it down,” he said sourly.
“It mostly looks big when it’s coming right at you.” I closed my eyes and tried to remember my dreams. “It wasn’t a teardrop, though. It was older, closer to square.”
“That’s something. Bullet headlights?”
“No. They stuck out.”
All they had to do was check around for a black car, probably older than 1935, or ’36, with a shattered right headlight and bashed in fender from hitting a woman.
* * *
I went upstairs to the loo. Gents was on my floor, ladies one up; same setup on the two floors below. I was back in the office, opening the window to check whether it was warm enough to head out for something to eat and a new coat, when my door got the knuckle treatment for the fourth time that morning.
“It’s Rogers, Miss,” the voice on the other side told me. He looked around with mild curiosity as he came in. He removed his chauffeur’s cap.
“Mr. Wildman asked me to deliver this to you.” He reached across the desk to hand me an envelope.
I expected it to contain a message from Wildman saying he’d had second thoughts about continuing. Instead I found a generous check with a note indicating he’d realized some of my clothes must have been ruined in yesterday’s fracas.
> When I finished, Rogers was watching me with an awkward expression.
“I ... was glad of an opportunity to see you,” he said. “There’s something I’ve been wondering if I should mention. It may not be important–”
Tough Cookie (Maggie Sullivan mysteries) Page 14
