“Right,” Steve said. “The report will read that, during dinner the surveillance of the subject was joined by Mark Taylor himself, in the company of a longhaired hippie freak.”
Taylor grinned. “I would imagine that would piss off their client.”
“It ought to,” Steve said. “And wouldn’t it be particularly nice if that client happened to be David C. Bradshaw?”
“You think it is?”
“It stands to reason. Bradshaw’s scum. The girl’s class. I can’t imagine her associating with him unless he’s got something on her. If he does, he probably hired detectives to get it.”
“Probably right,” Taylor said, He stood up. “Excuse me a minute. One of my men’s heading for the bathroom. Time for me to slip him the car keys.”
Taylor went out the door and down the stairs.
Left alone, Steve Winslow took the chance to size up the occupants of the far table. The girl who had called on Bradshaw was younger and prettier than the other woman. Steve placed her age at around twenty-three or twenty-four. The fact that she had called on Bradshaw in the afternoon, and then spent a leisurely day shopping, indicated that she was obviously not a working girl, but a woman of independent means.
The couple was different. The man was a nine-to-fiver. His suit, slightly wilted from a long day’s work, indicated that he had come to dinner straight from the office. The purposeful aggressiveness in the man’s demeanor led Steve to speculate that his occupation was insurance, advertising, or real estate.
His wife seemed older than the other girl. She was thinner, more angular, and seemed more sophisticated. Her makeup, though impeccable, seemed severe. The general impression Steve got was cold and catty.
Mark Taylor came back, sat down and took a slug of bourbon. “No food yet?” he said. “I’m starving.”
“I think this is it coming now,” Steve said.
The waiter stopped at their table and put the huge hamburgers in front of them. “You Mr. Taylor?” he said.
Taylor groaned. “Oh shit. That’s timing. Phone call, right?”
“At the desk.”
Taylor glanced ruefully at the basket of burger and fries, then pushed back his chair, got up and went to the cashier’s booth, and took the phone.
He was back in a minute. He sat down, picked up his burger, and took a huge bite.
“What’s up?” Steve said.
“Bradshaw went out.”
“How?”
“In a taxi.”
“Got him covered?”
“I’ll say. I’ve got two cars on him this time. We’ve got him bracketed, one car in front of the taxi, and one car behind. He may know he’s being followed, but there won’t be anything he can do about it.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Mark. Bradshaw’s tricky.”
“Sure he’s tricky, but this time we know it. He ditched my shadows this afternoon because it seemed like a routine job and no one suspected he was wise. My men are onto him now. They’ll stick like glue.”
“You sure of that?”
“Of course I am.”
“Wanna bet?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll bet you dinner Bradshaw walks away from your men again.”
Taylor rubbed his hands together. “You’re on, Steve. Shit, if I’d known that I’d have ordered steak.”
“I thought you liked the burgers here.”
“I do. But I love to gamble.”
“Big deal. All we’re really betting is whose expense account it goes on. So it’ll come back to me anyway.”
“I know, but what the hell. You want a side bet?”
“No. It’s a bad bet for me anyway. If I win, I lose. But-” Steve broke off. “Son of a bitch!”
“What?”
“Don’t look around, but there’s a girl with blonde hair and big round glasses sitting at the end of the bar.”
Taylor grinned. “No shit? Your secretary? Why don’t you ask her to join us?”
“It’s not funny, Mark. She’s playing detective. I don’t like it.”
“She know you saw her?”
“I don’t think so. Stay here and don’t look at her. I’m gonna head for the men’s room.”
Steve got up, went out the door and down the stairs. Instead of continuing down to the men’s room, he went up the stairs on the other side. He circled around the bar, came up on Tracy Garvin from the other side, and slid onto the bar stool next to her.
“You come here often?” he said.
Tracy turned to give him an exasperated are-you-really-trying-that-old-line look. Then she recognized him. For a second her eyes flashed embarrassment, then anger. Then she smiled and said, calmly, “No. First time. And you?”
Steve frowned. “Look. You’re playing detective, and I don’t like it.”
Tracy’s eyes flashed. “Oh, yeah,” she said. “What are you gonna do, fire me? I already gave notice. And it’s after hours, and what business is it of yours where I eat?”
Steve took a breath. “Look. This isn’t a game. If the girl spotted you watching her, it could be serious.”
“She won’t.”
“I spotted you.”
“Bullshit. You
Steve frowned again. She was right. Women who were right exasperated him. “All right.” he said. “Since you’re here, you might as well join us.”
“Thanks for the invitation,” Tracy said, pointedly.
They got up and went back to the table.
“Look what I found, Mark,” Steve said.
Mark Taylor actually stood up, which Steve thought was overdoing it. “Hi, Tracy. Sit down. Join the fun.”
“Go ahead and fill her in, Mark,” Steve said. “She’s gonna pump you for the information anyway.”
“O.K.,” Taylor said. “Now, if you promise not to turn and stare, I’ll tell you who everyone is.”
“I know that,” Tracy said. “I just don’t know who is who.”
Taylor frowned. “What?”
“There’s the two guys over by the wall, and the nitwits entertaining the blonde. I just don’t know which pair is yours.”
Taylor looked at her. “Son of a bitch,” he said. “The nitwits happen to be mine. But how the hell’d you spot them?”
“The blonde pretending to be a pickup is one of their wives. She’s wearing her wedding ring. If she were a real pickup, and she were married, she’d leave her ring off as a matter of course.”
Mark Taylor stared at her.
Steve shook his head. Jesus Christ. A ridiculous, farfetched piece of deduction, that absurdly happened to be true. It was a little much.
The waiter came back. “You got another phone call.”
Mark Taylor pushed his chair back. “Our bird must have lit somewhere. I’ll find out where he went.”
He went over to the cashier and took the phone.
“What’s that all about?” Tracy asked.
“Bradshaw went out. We’re tailing him.”
“And Mark just got a report?”
“Maybe. I just bet Mark dinner Bradshaw’s gonna ditch his men again.”
“Why’d you do that?”
