ooOoo

7

ooOoo

Susan hopped to it and vanished; less than a minute later Nero O'Neill sidled into our digs. I say sidled and I mean it - he sort of inched in, eyes darting around the place suspiciously and looked like he was hoping that if he wished hard enough he might find himself someplace else. He'd been stripped of his hat and coat so it looked like he was there for the duration.

'Mr O'Neill,' I said heartily, 'long time no see! Come to find out how the other half lives?'

He made a rumbling sound that may or may not have contained any words. O’Neill turned his glare on John and my partner returned him a dazzling grin that was designed to infuriate. Judging by the fact that O’Neill’s nostrils had started flaring I’d say that John had been successful. They eyeballed each other and I thought that maybe they weren’t done playing at bullfighting yet, in which case I’d have to get Escamillo over there a red cape and a matador’s hat. Then all we’d need was Della on the sidelines with a mantilla and some castanets and we’d be good to go. Olé.

O’Neill’s lips twitched; he had a look like he’d swallowed a bug; he let out a breath and advanced into the room. ‘Gentlemen.’ It came from between gritted teeth and I guessed that in his estimation he was using that word advisedly.

John was leaning back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly against the desktop. ‘Why don’t you grab a seat? I’m already on the edge of mine.’

'I did not come here to trade insults.'

John's eyebrows went up. 'Who's insulting anybody? I simply extended an invitation and made an observation.'

O’Neill’s eyes flashed; he turned to John, looked down at him. ‘What do you want from me? To say that I made a damn fool of myself yesterday? Very well – I made a damn fool of myself. I allowed my temper to get the better of me and I am sorry for that.’

John’s eyebrow’s went up a quarter of an inch; I'm sure that, like me, he had no illusions that O'Neill was sorry for any insult he may have slung John's way - he was just sorry he'd looked like an idiot while doing it. Even so, guys like him weren't used to playing scenes like this so whatever he wanted had to be worth hearing. John narrowed his eyes slightly, tilted his head back. ‘You really better had sit down, Mr O’Neill – all that unaccustomed apologising must be quite a shock to the system.’

His lips twitched again but this time it looked more like humour. He arranged himself in a chair, picked an invisible piece of lint off his trouser leg and looked at each of us in turn. ‘Before I go any further I should make one thing quite clear: I am not someone who is accustomed to allowing outsiders into their private business, nor am I someone who requires help from anyone else. If I have a problem, I deal with it myself.’

My hands were linked together on my desktop – I spread them slightly, palms up. ‘Okay.’

O’Neill leaned back, pulled a cigarette case out of his pocket; he selected one, tapped it against the flat silver surface then lit it. Once the ritual was over he stared at us through the smoke. ‘I have- Well, I suppose that you could term it a problem.’ He flicked ash into the tray on the small table next to his chair. ‘Earlier this morning I was contacted by a man of whom I had heard but with whom I have never had any dealings, nor would I wish to – that is something else I want to be clearly understood.’

‘We’ve got it, loud and clear,’ John said. ‘Does this character come with a name?’

‘Al Bester.’

I sucked in a breath and my ribs flinched. ‘What did he want?’

It came out harsher than I’d meant it to; O’Neill noticed it – he looked at me, hard, his eyes narrowing a somethingth of an inch.

‘I take it that you’ve heard of him?’

‘You could put it like that,’ John replied smoothly; he looked O’Neill over and his face got that closed-off look that he does so well. ‘I’m going to hazard a guess here – do you mind?’

O’Neill spread the hand that wasn’t clenched around his gasper. ‘By all means.’

‘Bester has something to ... sell. For a high price. Photographs, perhaps?’

O’Neill had himself a good long drag on his gasper and studied John. ‘So. I was right – that is why Della hired you.’ He stubbed out the cigarette, sat up straighter in the chair; he had a lot of expensive material in the suit stretched across his broad shoulders. Crawnley, if I knew anything about it, with a Monteith tie. ‘Yes, the man Bester contacted me and told me that he had certain photographs that had been taken of my fiancée, Maya.’

I put my eyebrows up. ‘Tell us something we don’t know.’

O’Neill growled again, his face darkening. ‘This is not easy for me, Mr Garibaldi. Despite what you may think of me I am trying not to make a bad situation any worse.’

It really was quite a temper he had on him and for a moment I wondered if we’d got it wrong; maybe Morden’s friend with the nifty line in ice-pick maintenance hadn’t been one of Bester’s boys.

‘Was that the first time you’d heard about these photographs?’

He looked at me, puzzled, and it looked genuine. ‘Yes, of course it was.’

‘There’s no of course, bud, the man who had the photos before Bester got ‘em wound up nice and dead yesterday.’

His lips writhed. ‘And you think that I- Just who the hell do you think you-’

‘Ah, knock it off.’ John glared at him. ‘Who the hell do we think we are? Who the hell do you think you are coming in here throwing your weight around? If you don’t like it, skip it.’ He jerked his thumb. ‘There’s the door.’

Nine times out of ten John was just plain old Mr Sheridan but then once in a while the military colours put in an appearance and on that morning it was very definitely Captain Sheridan who was in the building.

O’Neill subsided; his lips pushed out and in and he gave his nostrils another flare. 'Until this morning, I had no idea that such photographs even existed. There. Does that satisfy you?'

John shrugged. 'I guess it'll have to.'

‘Kind of you.’ O’Neill tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair; I wouldn’t say that he was squirming exactly – guys like him don’t, as a rule – but it was obvious that the situation had got away from him somehow and he wasn’t quite sure how it had happened. And he didn’t like it one bit. But something was keeping him and his bulk squashed into our beat-up old best chair with the leather coming away from the studs and it wasn’t just to give us an update on the latest business proposition that had been slung his way. He breathed out heavily down his nose. ‘The photographs that you quite correctly deduced, Mr Sheridan, as being in Mr Bester’s possession have been offered to me in return for ten thousand dollars; I requested assurance that this transaction would include any and all prints as well as the negatives. Such assurance was not forthcoming.’ He paused again and redistributed himself in the chair. ‘I pride myself on being well able to attend to my own affairs; had this been a simple business transaction I would have paid Bester and have been done with it but I am not so foolish as to be unable to recognise when I am in a situation beyond my ability.’

I looked over at John and he was looking over at me; he put his eyes back on O’Neill and said, ‘I’m guessing that somewhere under all of that is a request for something – why don’t you just come right out and tell us what it is?’

O'Neill located another piece of invisible lint; maybe he had an invisible valet who wasn't up to the job to go with it. ‘I have my own people-’ he allowed himself a smile at that, ‘-but I prefer that as few people know about this as is absolutely necessary.’

It would be tough for any guy to take that his girl was being used as a pin-up by any number of other unknown specimens but for a character like O’Neill there was that whole public standing thing that would come under threat and by that time I had figured that it was that fact that had seen him haul himself across town.

‘You are both already involved in this affair and you seem ... capable.’ His eyes slid across to John. ‘As I said, Bester’s asking price is ten thousand but I do not suppose that any blackmailer stops his games when he knows that there is more money to be had; I will pay you twice that amount – twenty thousand - if you retrieve the photographs, the negatives and all prints.’

‘And is that just another simple business proposition?’

I’d been so busy watching O’Neill squirm that I hadn’t even noticed that the office door had not been closed properly, nor that it had been pushed slightly wider and that a girl had been standing there listening to all of it. Maya Ramir had a spot of bright colour in each cheek and her eyes glittered. She’d dropped the coy act and she was all woman – claws out and teeth bared. O’Neill turned in his chair, started, stared at her and then stood up.

‘Maya.’

‘What is this? Grand Central Station?’ I asked no-one in particular.

O’Neill took a step and stopped. I didn’t blame him – the look she laid on him would have stopped a charging lion dead in its tracks and sent it running for the hills. Even so, he still aimed a scowl at her that surpassed anything he’d produced so far. ‘What are you- How did you know I was here?’

‘Because I saw your car on the street where you’d left it, you-you great lug! Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Just how stupid do you think I am?’ For a moment I thought she was going to stamp her foot and also thought that if she was, it was a shame that O’Neill’s toes wouldn’t be under it. ‘How dare you! How dare you do this behind my back! You didn’t even have the decency to consult me.’

His chest swelled up. ‘There was nothing to consult about. Go home; leave this to me to deal with.’

Her eyes flashed – she must have been taking lessons from Della. Maya took a few steps forward and glared up at him – even in her heels she only just cleared his chin but that didn’t seem to bother her. O’Neill looked down at her but he was the one who was looking uncomfortable. I folded my arms and waited for the fireworks.

‘Leave this to you – why should I?’

‘Perhaps because I’m the one to whom Al Bester offered to sell your ... foray into the photographic arts.’

She sucked in a breath. ‘And it never occurred to you to discuss this with me? To actually consider me in any of this!’

He stared at her. ‘Consider you- I have done nothing but- My God! I have tried to spare you-’

‘Spare me!’

‘-Spare you and your family any inconvenience and this is the thanks I get!’

‘Thanks?’ Her lips curled and her eyes narrowed, cat-like. ‘Thanks for what, exactly? For treating me as though I were a child?’

It was his turn to sneer. ‘Perhaps you should stop behaving like one.’

I would have expected her to throw a tantrum at that – and thus rather prove O’Neill’s point for him. She didn’t. Instead, Maya went very quiet, very still and when she spoke her voice was low, steady and clear as a bell. ‘I am aware of the mess that I have made – all too aware; I know that other people, my sister, have paid the price for that. But I don’t need anyone to remind me of a fact that I already know – least of all you.’

I almost felt for the guy – he looked like a man who has been playing with his favourite kitten and can’t believe that it’s just put out its claws and scratched him. His mouth opened but no words came out for a moment.

‘Maya-’

‘I know what people think of me and that is all my own fault entirely; and I know what you think of me, Nero, having to settle for second-best just because you failed to get engaged to my sister.’

His lips went white, eyes blazing. ‘That engagement was Greybourne’s idea, not mine. And I never settle for anything.’

There was a pause then and they stared at each other; I had them both in a little more than profile and John was getting a great view of the back of O’Neill’s head.

Maya kept her eyes on his while they stood there saying nothing, then her feet started to shuffle and she looked down at the floor for a change of scene. O’Neill looked even more uncomfortable than he had the entire time he’d been there – which was saying something – and I got the feeling that those two might have got somewhere if they’d taken the apparently unheard of step of having a proper conversation with each other.

She looked up again, kept her chin high. ‘I’m sorry that you’ve been dragged into this ... rather sordid affair. I am. But as I have told these gentlemen and as I will tell Della when I see her, I will take full responsibility for this. The fault was mine and so too will be the remedy. I don’t want your money; you are under no obligation to me.’

He looked at her; one hand was clenched tightly at his side and I saw it relax a little. ‘I see. I do not consider myself under any obligation, as you put it; you may not require or even wish for my help, but you have it – as well as any resources necessary. No strings attached.’

‘Is that another business proposition?’

His hand clenched again. ‘That is not what I intended; but if that is how you prefer it...’

The two bright spots of colour had faded but there was still colour in her cheeks, warm and diffuse. ‘Thank-you, Nero.’

O’Neill made a noise in the back of his throat; when he’d finished with that he pivoted on his heel and turned his eyes on us. ‘About the ... situation ... I had mentioned-’

John held up a hand. ‘Maya already knows the routine – I suggest you ask her for the details. But we, uh, we will have to deal with Bester again and it might suit us to represent ourselves to him as your agents – is that okay with you?’

O’Neill’s shoulders moved fractionally. ‘Considering that that was the intention... I suppose that it will have to be.’ He paused. ‘Well.’

‘Well.’ John leaned back in his chair and he was smiling again – not the full-beam and not the one designed to annoy but something slow and amused like he had some private joke.

‘It would seem that there is nothing else.’ O’Neill turned again. ‘If you will permit me, Maya... That is, if I may take you home?’

He almost managed to sound humble and it would have worked except for the way he was looking at her – up and down like he had some propositions in mind that had nothing to do with business. Maya wasn’t buying it either but we had already established that she was a game girl and she seemed to be willing to play this particular game. She gave herself a few seconds to consider his offer, her head tilted to one side.

‘All right,’ she said casually, ‘why not?’

O’Neill’s lips twitched. They both murmured their farewells and took themselves out. I leaned back in my chair and restored my feet to their favourite position on the desk.

‘That was quite a performance,’ I said. ‘What odds do you want on their marriage still going ahead as planned?’

John grinned and shook his head. ‘No bet.’

‘You think they’ll make it?’ I was sceptical.

‘Buddy, I think they’ll not only make it, I think they’ll downright enjoy it.’

I guess he was right at that, but why was beyond me. Like I said, I don’t get dames; the whole thing was screwy. ‘I hope you were taking note, by the way – one will get you twenty that that kind of, uh, temperament runs in the family.’

I had thought that it might wipe the grin off his face. It didn’t. If anything, I got an even better look at his pearly whites; he put his hands behind his head and eyeballed me. Susan stepped in and John swivelled in his chair to face her.

‘I suppose that you let her in and let her listen in at the door?’ He narrowed his eyes, looked accusing.

She returned the gaze and didn’t even try to look sorry. ‘Well, you know how I feel about indoor sports and that was a doozy.’ Susan perched on the arm of the chair. ‘She’s a funny little thing.’

John raised his eyebrows, grunted in agreement.

Susan shook her head. ‘No, I mean really – she stole my letter-opener.’

Now that did wipe the grin off his face.

‘She did what?’

‘She stole my letter-opener,’ Susan repeated.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure. It was right there on the desk and now it’s gone. Apart from Mr O’Neill, no-one else has been out there.’

‘Maybe he took it,’ I said.

Another shake of her locks. ‘No, it was gone before he came in, I just didn’t put it together at first.’

John looked at me. ‘Who the hell steals a letter-opener?’

I considered this. ‘Maybe that’s the answer to the age old question – what do you get the girl who has everything?’

Susan sniggered; John looked pained. I smirked at them both.

‘Say, just how many people have hired you two clowns for the one job?’

I ran it over in my head. ‘Today’s tally brings it up to, uh, four. And a grand total of twenty-six thousand dollars.’

Susan pursed her lips, eyes widening. ‘That’s not a bad little haul.’

I laughed. ‘Isn’t it just.’ I jerked my head at John. ‘Now, why don’t you tell her how much we’re actually taking for it.’

‘Four hundred dollars.’

Dammit if he didn’t sound proud of that fact.

I looked back at Susan. ‘You hear that?’

‘I hear that.’

‘Six hundred. That’s twenty-five thousand six hundred dollars less than the grand total. You know, we could have just taken all of those commissions, got the damn snaps back and let them fight it out between themselves.’

John put his eyebrows up and looked amused. ‘You done?’

I blew out a breath. ‘Yeah, I guess. You’re a lousy businessman, you know that?’

‘Just as well I’m not in business then, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, and what do you call this?’

‘An honest living.’

I snorted. ‘Honesty is overrated.’

John and Susan shared a look and she slid off the arm of the chair, smoothed down her dress. Neither of us ogled her, exactly, but she got our attention all right.

‘Are we going out for lunch?’

‘There she goes with this “we” again,’ John observed.

I nodded. ‘I noticed.’

‘And I’m hungry,’ she said. ‘Well? Are we?’

John put both palms flat on his desktop, pushed himself up. ‘Okay, okay, get your hat and come on. The Great White Hope over there could probably do with something to keep him going anyhow – it’s going to be a busy day.’

I groaned audibly – truer words were never said.

ooOoo

I’d been bracing myself for the inevitable all morning and after our interview with Nero O’Neill I knew how we’d be spending our afternoon. The Black Omega looked the business at night when its lights were low and the booze was keeping its patrons in that happy, hazy place where everything is beautiful. By day and with the house lights on full it just looked overblown and tacky.

After our guests had departed we had taken Susan to the Babylon for lunch and drawn up our plan of attack. Not that it was much of a plan. I remembered from Talia that Bester had one day a week, Friday, where he arrived at the club midday and stayed until closing – as luck (if you want to call it that) would have it, we were on Friday. So, after we’d let Lon feed and water us and listened to one of Gerry’s interminable and incomprehensible stories we gave Susan the rest of the day off and headed across town to the Omega.

'Promise me one thing,' John said as we hoofed it up the steps.

'What?'

'That you'll keep your head in there; I don't much feel like dodging blows.'

'Yeah,' I agreed, 'it might mess up your suit.'

He gave me one of those looks.

'Okay, okay, I promise. Have I ever let you down before?'

He was behind me and paused on the steps. 'Do you really want to pull on that thread?'

I'd already pushed the door open and it took too long for me to come up with a reply for that; John picked up the pace and marched through the door ahead of me, leaving me hanging on the handle. I muttered something under my breath and then followed him in.

We hanged a right past the coat-check desk that was now missing one coat-check girl, which was a pity because she’d been a cute little number and there are very few circumstances where the sight of a pretty face is unwelcome to the discerning male. And I can discern with the best of them. There was one familiar sight, however, and I recognised the big square even from behind.

‘Well, well – Mercury gets some time off from playing messenger boy after all.’

The big lug actually jumped and manouevred himself around to glower at us. I let out a low whistle.

‘What happened – you walk into a door?’

He had a bandage across his whole nose and two black eyes; I admired John’s handiwork and had to admit that when he set about something he did it properly. No wonder Mercury had hoofed it so fast the night before.

‘Wise-guy.’

I clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Listen, Mac, you really should consider getting yourself a wider vocabulary. Vocabulary,’ I enunciated clearly, ‘it means the range of words that you know and can use and in your case it’s very limited. Limited. That means you don’t know that many words – you following this, Mac?’

Mercury let out a rumble and the little eyes in his big round face narrowed – but they kept darting towards John who was standing a little behind me with his hands shoved in his pockets and his head tilted back. He was smiling slightly and it was the one that usually meant he was spoiling for a fight and I thought it was a shame that he’d laid down that whole blow-dodging stipulation before we’d even made it inside.

‘Nice to see you again,’ John said lightly, then added, ‘We’re here to see your boss.’

‘Don’t bother bestirring yourself,’ I added, ‘we already know the way.’

‘He ain’t here!’ Mercury started after us.

‘Oh, ain’t he? Don’t worry, we’ll wait.’

We strutted down the staircase, Mercury puffing behind, and onto the main floor. The only other people were the cleaners working the dance-floor up to a nice shine and the band who were lounging around near the bandstand. Steve was in the middle of them, leaning back with his sleeves rolled up. He glanced across and I saw his eyes widen when he saw us. He moved forward, making to get up and I shook my head a little, just enough for him to see. He settled back but I could feel his eyes on us all the way across until we rounded the corner for the stairs up to Bester’s office. When we made it to the end of the corridor I threw the doors open and had the gratifying sight of Bester looking up at us, startled. He put his eyes on us and then they slid past us.

'I'm sorry, boss, I told 'em-'

'It's all right,' Bester snapped. 'Leave us.'

'But boss!'

I rounded on Mercury. 'You heard the man, Mac, get lost.' I glanced at John. 'You do the honours?'

His lips curled. 'Gladly.'

He closed the door in Mercury's big face and I hoped he managed to clip the lug's nose while he was at it. John dusted off his hands and we both sauntered across the room. The office looked just as tacky as it had the night before only more so with daylight coming in at the windows. There was something else different about it too, something I couldn’t quite get a handle on. I shook it off and concentrated on Bester. He had taken the opportunity to get himself arranged and he had this weird rictus grin that didn't do much to improve his looks.

'Mr Garibaldi,' the so-called smile widened, 'this is an unexpected pleasure.'

'Isn't it just,' I agreed.

His shark eyes moved to John. 'And I take it that this is Mr Sheridan?'

'You're right,' John said to me, 'there really are no flies on him.'

I sniggered and we both sat. Bester kept his face in its arrangement but the hand resting on top of the desk was clenched a little too tight.

'Could I offer you gentlemen any refreshment?' His smile turned sly. 'A drink, perhaps?'

I crossed one leg over the other and gave this some consideration. 'I think I'll pass. John?'

'I'm good.'

'But it's decent of him to ask.'

'Oh, definitely,' John agreed, 'in fact, we must remember to return the favour as soon as we can.'

'That's a great idea.' I turned to Bester. 'Isn't that a great idea?'

'You find yourselves very amusing, don't you?'

‘Yeah, we’re thinking of starting a side-line for parties and bah mitzvahs.’ I gave him an eyeful of my teeth. ‘How’d you like to be our first booking?’

Bester’s eyes glittered. ‘Trust me, the only type of booking that I would have in mind for you really isn’t the sort that you’d be interested in.’ His fingers tapped out a rhythm on the top of his desk; he was making a pretty good show of not being too bothered by our having taken up occupation of his fancy office but I could tell he was rattled. ‘Well, gentlemen, to what do I owe this honour exactly?’

‘Two words,’ I said, holding up my fingers and counting them off, ‘Nero O’Neill.’

‘I see.’

‘As I understand it, you got in touch with him - and then he got in touch with us.’

Bester’s eyebrows moved fractionally. ‘Ah.’

John leaned towards me. ‘You have to admit, he has a way with grunts.’

I nodded. ‘Oh, he does.’

‘I must confess to being somewhat surprised,’ Bester said, ‘I would not have thought that someone who moved in Mr O’Neill’s circles would be so...’ he lifted one hand and tilted it, one way then the other, ‘...apt to move in yours.’

‘Are you kidding me?’ I held up my hand, crossing two fingers and waved them at him. ‘We’re like this.’

One corner of Bester’s mouth twitched. ‘I see. So. I assume that Mr O’Neill has asked you to act on his behalf.’

‘Sure, you can assume that,’ John said pleasantly. At least, it sounded pleasant on the surface; what went on beneath that was a whole other ball game. ‘And in return we can assume that you’re looking for some sort of transaction.’

His hand tilted again, just the one way this time. ‘Of course – that is how business works.’

‘Business?’ John let out a snort of laughter down his nose, glanced around the room. ‘Is that what you call this dump?’

‘This dump, as you call it, is a perfectly legal, perfectly respectable establishment.’

‘Oh? You’re stretching the definition of that word “perfectly”, aren’t you?’

Bester’s mouth gave another twitch. He would have said something but he was stopped when a door to our left opened; a girl took a few steps in, saw us and came to a halt.

‘Oh. I’m sorry, I, uh, I didn’t...’

Lyta Alexander, the chantoosy with the red hair and the big eyes stood in the doorway and looked uncertain. Her gaze darted between us and Bester and I could have sworn that her eyes lingered on me a little but I figured that was a screwy notion.

‘What is it?’

‘The boys need the programme for tonight approved.’ She walked across, held out a sheet that looked like it had a list written out – probably the band’s numbers for that night. Bester took it, gave it a cursory glance and dropped it onto his desk.

‘That’s fine.’ He glanced across at us. ‘Gentlemen, this is Miss Lyta Alexander – she fills the spot that the late, lamented Miss Winters filled so admirably.’ He had one paw at the small of her back; she just stood there, impassive and I wondered just how badly she wanted her break if she was prepared to be groped by the sleazeball-in-chief. ‘Say hello, Lyta.’

She put her eyes on us. ‘Hello.’

We stared back and John inclined his head to her.

‘Why don’t you run along?’ Bester slid his hand down a little before removing it and Miss Alexander still didn’t look like she cared one way or the other. She didn’t bestow a glance on any of us as she took herself out the way she had come in. Bester let out a long, contented breath. ‘Lovely girl, don’t you think, Mr Garibaldi?’ He had that sly look again. ‘Or do you prefer blondes?’

I’d known before even going in there what it would be like and I’d promised John that I wouldn’t put my hands on him; even so, my nails dug into my palms. ‘That’s just a myth,’ I told him, ‘gentlemen don’t have a preference, we take them anyway they come.’

Bester actually allowed himself a snigger then, leaned back in his chair. ‘So. I believe we were about to talk business. You are aware of the amount involved?’

‘Ten thousand dollars,’ John said. ‘That’s a pretty high price for a bunch of snaps.’

‘Well, these aren’t just any photographs. Imagine the sensation they would create on, say, the front page of the New York Times. I’m sure that Mr O’Neill would wish to spare so lovely a lady as Miss Ramir – not to mention his own reputation – so ugly a public censure.’

‘No doubt.’ John paused. ‘That price will also cover the negatives as well as any and all prints.’

‘Hm.’ Bester’s lips pushed out. ‘That is a matter for consideration.’

It was John’s turn to smile and he did so – grimly. ‘That wasn’t a negotiation, it was a statement of fact. We’re not haggling at some market stall, we’re buying outright. Consider it a hostile takeover.’

Damn, maybe he would have made a go of it on Madison Avenue after all.

There was another pause then John added, ‘Besides, I’m sure that your interest lies in something beyond a mere ten thousand dollars – something, say, connected with Richard Morden?’

Bester leant his head back, looked down his nose at us from under half-closed eyes. ‘You two do seem to have taken quite an interest in that young man.’

‘Well, we’re not the only ones,’ I put in. ‘After all, isn’t he the reason you’ve been sending your boys to pay house calls on unsuspecting slobs?’

His fingers had taken up the beat of their tattoo again. ‘Have I?’

‘You have,’ John informed him. ‘You must want it pretty badly.’

There was a fraction of a pause in the beat, an eighth of a second, where he was probably deciding whether or not to call our bluff. ‘Mr Morden ... removed a certain item of mine from my possession. I would like it back.’

‘And just what is it worth to you?’

‘Is there a chance that you may be able to retrieve it?’

‘There is.’

Bester watched John for a while, as though he thought that if he studied him for long enough he’d be able to see inside his head. I could have told him it was a waste of time; I’d been trying to get a bead on John Sheridan for two years and I knew as much by the end of it as I had when I’d started.

‘I would be interested to know how you would propose to set about that when you don’t know what the item is.’

John shifted in his chair a little, his hands resting loosely on the arms and looking entirely at his ease. ‘I never said that we didn’t.’

It was the first time I’d ever seen it – Bester actually looked genuinely amused. ‘Well, well. Let’s just see what good detectives you really are; if you are able to retrieve my property I will return the photographs - the negatives and the prints – to you.’ His dark eyes hardened, flashing unpleasantly in the dying sunlight. ‘And then you can use them as you will.’

It was like dancing with the devil and it left me feeling dirty; even if we were just playing at exchanging civil words with that man I’d still sooner have ripped his throat out with my bare hands. We hauled ourselves to our feet, crossed the room. John opened the door, stepped out into the corridor and waited for me; at the threshold I stopped, repeated the salute that Bester had given me the night before.

‘Be seeing you.’

Mercury was skulking in the corridor, looking like he was just killing himself to give something a tune up with those big hams of his. He looked at us suspiciously.

‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘he’s still breathing – but only just.’

Like the boy scout he was he worked his bulk down the corridor at speed to see what state his beloved boss was in. I allowed myself a good sneer and John all but rolled his eyes at me.

‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s blow this joint before you start raising cain.’

We reached the main floor again. The band was on a break; some of them were lounging in chairs giving their pieces a bit of solo action all at the same time; Miss Alexander was leaning against the piano, both her elbows on the closed top, chatting with the guy with the hang-dog expression on the stool. Steve detached himself from them and made straight for us.

‘Hi.’ He nodded at us. ‘You two okay?’

‘It’s fine, Doc,’ John said.

‘Okay. Good. Well, I just wanted to say hello. You guys should stop by one of the after hours places sometime – we’ve got a great jam going on most nights.’

‘We’ll do that.’

He looked twitchy and I narrowed my eyes at him. He swallowed.

‘Okay.’

Then he stuck out his hand and I took it. And I felt the sharp edges of a piece of paper pressed into my palm.

‘You guys take it easy.’

‘You too, Doc.’

John stared after him. ‘What the hell was that?’

‘I haven’t had a note passed since seventh grade.’

‘Huh?’

I waited until we’d hit the sidewalk and had a few clear blocks between us and Al Bester before I told him.

‘Well, what does it say?’

I unfolded the slip and read it out.

‘”The Astoria Apartments, room seven a, tomorrow. Ten O’Clock. L. Alexander.”’ I looked up at him. ‘I did not see that coming.’

He looked thoughtful, his jaw doing that twitch thing it had going on when there was some serious mental workout underway.

‘It could be one of Bester’s games – setting us up with his floozy.’

‘You think?’ He was still doing thoughtful.

‘You don’t?’

‘I don’t know – she didn’t look too happy about him having his hands on her.’

‘She didn’t exactly fight him off,’ I complained.

John gave me an indulgent smile. ‘She may have had her reasons.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘One date and he thinks he’s the oracle on all things female. Listen, brother, you still have a lot to learn about women – take it from one who knows.’

‘Oh, I do, absolutely,’ he said, ‘after all, the things you don’t know about women could fill a warehouse.’

‘Nicely played.’

‘Thanks.’

We went another block or so and then passed a bar that looked like an inviting place for two honest gumshoes. We agreed that we deserved something restorative to burn the taste of Bester’s club off our palates. We went in, took a booth and got ourselves a round of bourbon with a bourbon chaser. Once the liquor had started to instill that peaceful easy feeling I said, ‘It’s a nice case you’ve got for us, by the way. Work out what the thing was that was stolen by a guy who was dead before we ever met him and was so important that he obviously thought it was worth dying for. Nuts. This is the screwiest case.’

John blew out a breath. ‘I hear that.’

I shook my head. ‘What the hell could be so valuable that he’d sooner have got an ice-pick in the neck than give it up?’

John took a swallow, kept his hands cupped around his glass on the table. ‘Maybe that was a mistake; those goons of Bester’s don’t seem too bright and I can imagine that they might be a bit more ... enthusiastic ... than necessary.’

My ribs gave a twinge in agreement. I inhaled the bourbon fumes, let them roll around my head some and then had me a good yawn.

‘You look all in,’ John said, eyeing me critically.

‘I feel all in.’ It was a fact; aches were starting to make themselves felt again and it seemed a lot more difficult to keep warm than it had a few hours before. I though longingly of food, a hot shower and stretching out under a ton of blankets.

John looked at his watch. ‘There’s probably nothing doing now anyhow; I guess it makes sense to start again tomorrow. Who knows, maybe Miss Alexander will be the making of us in the morning.’

I squinted at him. ‘You’re an optimist, you know that?’

‘Can you imagine what it would be like if we were both like you?’ He grinned at me. ‘Go on, go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

We agreed to meet one block up from the Astoria Apartments before we peeled out of our booth; I laid out the jack for the drinks, as it was the least I could do after John had saved me from an even worse beat-down than the one I’d actually got.

Outside we treated ourselves to a few lungfuls of exhaust fumes; John shoved his hands into his pockets and studied the sky for a few moments.

‘You headed home? I asked.

He lowered his head and his eyes flashed – amused, not annoyed. ‘Eventually, I’m sure.’

We traded a few more insults then called it a day; he took himself off down the street and I have to admit that what happened after that was not my finest hour. I was not tailing him, I was just keeping an eye on him; plus, I had a feeling that I knew where he was going and I was curious. I wanted to know just how serious they were and how much of it was just a performance for my benefit. I’d always had this theory that you could tell a lot about a person just by watching them walk down the street; it had always been one of those ideas that actually paid off and it was an interesting experience watching John make his way across town on foot when he didn’t know I was watching him. He still moved like a soldier – back straight, shoulders set, his arms moving slightly and regularly as he walked. And people got out of his way – boy, did they get out of his way. Not because he barged at them or demanded it, it just sort of happened. I’ll bet he was so used to it he didn’t even notice it; and the people doing the side-stepping around him probably couldn’t have told you why, either.

And I can tell you, getting that reaction on the streets of New York City is no mean feat. Like I said, you can tell a lot about a person.

I kept well back; even though I’m the one who was actually trained in this stuff and John wasn’t, he wasn’t half-bad at the whole covert stuff. There were times when I thought he knew I was there – times when I’d lose sight of him or when he’d suddenly stop, look in a window. In the end I figured that he really was just browsing and after about half-an-hour I knew that my first instincts had been right. I was even more sure when he disappeared into a florist’s – one of those ritzy ones with the girls with the perfumed hair and the shiny lipstick. He was in there for a while and I blended in by getting the evening edition off a newsie and leant against a wall on the other side of the street pretending to read it. After enough time had passed that he must have looked at every flower they had and when the girl had finished batting her eyelashes at him – trust me, she would have been; they always did – he emerged, clutching a bunch of bright blooms almost as big as the dish they were intended for.

I ditched the paper and resumed my stalking; we skirted the park and I started to hang back further as there were fewer people walking along this particular street. John mounted the steps and Drahl didn’t keep him waiting for too long; when the door opened he was probably only held up another five seconds before he headed on in. The front door closed and I moseyed along the street, looking up at the front of the house. The streetlights had come on and the occupied rooms had a similar glow of lamplight from inside.

I wasn’t even sure what it was that I expected to see but it never hurt to take a good long look. After a while I saw it – two shadows cast against the blinds in one of the upstairs rooms. They were either side of the window, facing each other and then they weren’t two figures anymore, just the one, all blurred together and they stayed that way for a good while.

And it was about that time that I started to feel sort of cheap and a lot of a louse so I turned up my collar, pulled down my hat and headed home.

TBC