As I was going back to sleep I heard the two of them giggling in the kitchen. When I got up again at two, Betty asked me if it was okay if Baldy had lunch with us. Her eyes were bright. I began to wonder if I had lost Betty.
Baldy took me to the door of Lazardo’s Bar at six and, when he saw through the glass that Kim was sitting at the bar waiting, he said, “Owen to Hale. Over.”
He drifted off into the crowd and I went in and sat at the bar with Kim, sliding up onto the stool before he saw me coming. He bought me a Martini and told a waiter to bring his drink and mine over to a corner table. The next-door booth was empty so we could talk freely.
I had a thought that I had been working on most of the afternoon and I told him. The substance of it was that with Baldy on the job as well as Kim, I was being so well protected that whoever was after me would slide off over the horizon and twiddle his or her thumbs until the mob scene ceased.
He slowly twisted his glass on the black plastic tabletop. “Maybe yes, but just as probably no. The pixie we’re after has been clever up until now. You’ve just been lucky that not one of his tries has worked. A murderer who goes about it the way this one has is probably a shade psychopathic. Guessing at the type of mentality involved, I’d say that all this protection would be considered a challenge. I have a hunch the pixie would very much like to knife in between Baldy and me and rub you out.”
He paused to light my cigarette.
“I’ve been working, Hank,” he went on then. “All morning and all afternoon. I have one or two little items that might interest you. Of course, I didn’t meet Johnny France or your agent, Carl Hopper, yet. I worked on the others. Before I forget, did you see Wint’s column?”
I laughed. “When is the happy day, lover? Or haven’t we decided?”
“What I liked was that business about ‘brilliant young attorney.’ You know, this case may do me some good yet.”
“Get on with the dirt, Kim.”
“How did you know it was dirt? I looked up the ownership of the building where the Staccato Club is located. It’s owned by two brothers named Zachik. I paid a visit, told them I represented somebody who wanted to lease the whole building. They said that the lease of one tenant would run out in six months. I guessed that they meant Sam Lescott. I asked if he’d renew. They said that he would unless my client could offer a startlingly large sum to buy him off his option to renew. I said good-by and checked Sam’s credit. He is more flush than you’d expect. Any competition eager enough to get you out of the way in order to break him would be smart enough to know that getting rid of you wouldn’t do it. So, for a time, we’ll cross any mysterious business interests off our list.
“But checking the credit of Lescott, I also checked this former agent of yours, Roger Blate. He is in rough shape. When your friends worked him over, they also dropped a few words in the right places and a lot of his business has gone elsewhere. Johnny France is the best client he has left. Last month he had to move out of his apartment. Two ex-wives are into him for alimony and he will probably be dodging a process-server one of these days. He has every reason to hate you, but killing you will not, of course, restore his bankroll.
“Now for Donald Frees. His mother spent a lot of her life in and out of sanitariums. There is always the chance that Donald may have inherited a little of his mother’s lack of balance, but it is hard to see what he’d gain by killing you while trying to talk you into marrying him.”
I was impressed. “You get around, don’t you?”
“You are paying for it, Hank. Eager attorney doing job eagerly.”
At the break just after midnight I got Johnny France to come over to the table and meet Kim. Johnny’s real name is Juan Francisco and he’s a good boy to work with. At times he is moody and at other times entirely too gay, but neither emotion affects his singing. Like most people in our business he has had his lean times, and it has taught him a certain amount of humility.
He was in one of his down moods and spent most of the time at our table staring at the tablecloth while Kim’s conversation and mine floated over his sleek head.
After he left the table Kim said, “Moody kid, isn’t he?”
“Up and down. But no matter how happy he is, those big dark eyes of his always look sad.”
Kim was waiting in the alley when I let myself out the side door. The glowing end of his cigarette arced over through the darkness and he stepped out into the light, smiling up at me.
I started down the steps, smiling back when an unseen sledge hammer caught me in the side. It smashed the breath out of me and drove me off the steps, the echo of the shot roaring in the narrow canyon of the alley.
I fell on my side, gagging and straining to get my breath back. Another shot sounded — Kim’s gun. I heard the slap of shoes against the pavement. My side ached and I touched it with my fingertips, feeling for the blood that should be there.
