Don't tell me, Jimmy. Tell Meyer. Tell the Cellini brothers, Max Courtney, Trigger Mike Coppola, and Frank Ritter. Tell Sam Giancana, when you see him.'
Maybe I will at that,' shrugged Nimmo. He glanced around the Playboy Club and shook his head, sadly. This place is nice, you know? But it won't ever compare with some of those Havana clubs. The Shanghai, or the Wonder Bar. Remember those places, George? Remember what it was like?'
I remember that nigger at the San Francisco,' said White. Superman. I don't see how anyone could ever forget him. Certainly not the ladies he obliged.'
Or that broad who used to do the trick with the lighted candle. What was her name?'
Aurora Borealis.'
Aurora Borealis,' repeated Nimmo. Finishing his second Bourbon, he sighed loudly. We've seen the best of it, George. The good times are gone for ever.'
Jimmy? You don't just look like Victor McLaglen. You sound like him, too.'
The cold awakened Jimmy Nimmo. He threw off the blankets and walked to the window with the view of Lake Michigan. He closed it, and was heading to the bathroom when the telephone rang. It was Sam Giancana.
I hope I didn't wake you,' he said politely.
No, I was up and around,' yawned Nimmo.
Did ya have a late night?'
Not as late as I'd have liked.'
The Drake's okay, but there's not much action on the magnificent mile. Unless you happen to like jazz. You like jazz, Jimmy?'
I love jazz.'
Then you got the Cloister on North Rush Street, real close by. Not to mention the Club Alabam. Gene Harris, who owns the place, is a friend of mine. It used to be one of Chicago's major speaks. And the food's the best.'
I'll remember that for the next time I'm in town.'
When are you going back to Miami?'
First thing tomorrow.'
Then why not spend your last night in Chicago at my own motel? It's right by O'Hare. There's a swimming pool, and the Chez Paree Adorables are really something. Chicago's number one chorus girls. I could introduce you to some of them if you have time.'
I've always got time for chorus girls,' said Jimmy.
It's not the Minsky show at the Dunes, but it'll do, you know? Look, Jimmy, why don't I have a car pick you up outside the Drake at eleven? Take you to the Thunderbolt Motel, and then bring you here for lunch?'
Where's that?'
The Armory Lounge, in Forest Park. What do you say, Jimmy?'
Jimmy smiled silently. He knew what to say all right. Before George White had turned up on an errand for Meyer Lansky, he might have had some doubts about meeting Mooney Giancana. They had met on the occasions when Giancana was in Miami, and had even got along all right, but Nimmo didn't feel he owed the boss of the Chicago outfit a thing. Meyer Lansky was a different proposition, however. Saying no to the little man from Poland was like forgetting to send a Christmas thank-you letter to your Dutch uncle. He said, Sure Sam, I'd be delighted to.'
By the time Nimmo was shaved and showered it was nine thirty. Ignoring the Chicago Daily News he brought with him to the restaurant, he ate a light breakfast and thought about Sam Giancana and the favour he would ask. His thoughts were inconclusive. Whichever way he looked at a problem involving the local teamsters it was something only Santos Trafficante, who controlled most of the organised crime in Miami, and Giancana could fix. It was going to be an interesting day.
He finished his breakfast and went to pay the hotel bill, only to discover that it had already been settled.
By who?' Nimmo asked the desk clerk.
We have a certified cheque from the Miami National Bank in the name of Manhattan Simplex Distributing,' explained the clerk.
When did you get that?'
Last night. I took it myself.'
From a guy wearing a light-coloured single-breasted topcoat with cuffed sleeves, grey hat, glasses, mid- fifties, around a hundred and eighty pounds, right?'
Yes.'
It had been George White. A little courtesy from Lansky. He hadn't heard of Manhattan Simplex Distributing, but rumour had it that using Lou Poller as a front, Lansky had helped the teamsters to take over the Miami National Bank, as recently as 1958.
My uncle,' said Nimmo. Seeing the puzzled frown on the desk clerk's face, he added, He's a lot older than he looks. I bet you wouldn't believe it, but that guy is eighty-five. He takes monkey glands. Like that English writer. Somerset Maugham.'
At exactly eleven o'clock, Nimmo brought his own bag down, to find a black Oldsmobile waiting for him outside the hotel front door. The driver was in his early thirties, medium height, with thinning dark curly hair and tinted glasses. Nimmo had been expecting muscle in a suit but this man didn't look like he could have punched a hole in a wet paper bag.
Good morning,' said the driver politely. He took Nimmo's bag and placed it carefully in the trunk of the Olds, which contained nothing more lethal than a tyre jack and crate of beer. Nimmo sat in the back.
They drove north, along the lake shore, and then west on North Avenue, toward the Chicago River.
Would you like the radio on?'
No, thanks.'
Nimmo's foot was already tapping to the jukebox that was playing in his head: Duke Ellington's Satin Doll'. Nimmo had a real memory for music. His brain could chew on the recollection of a tune he had heard like a stick of gum. It was an ability that had kept him amused on many a long stakeout. Satin Doll' was one of his favourite tunes. But gradually the policeman's curiosity to know more about his driver and, as a corollary, his host, pushed Ellington's big band sound into the back room of his thoughts.
What's your name, fella?'
Chuck.'
Tell me, Chuck, do you fart when you take a honeymoon in Niagara?'
How's that?'
Simple question. Do you fart when you take a honeymoon in Niagara?'
Chuck shrugged and stayed silent as he tried to figure out how to answer that.
It was a joke,' explained Nimmo.
My wife and I took our honeymoon in Los Angeles. That was eleven years ago, in the spring.'
Congratulations. My wife left me three years ago, last Fall. She was from Yuba City, California. Her daddy was a prune farmer up there. Well, she loved prunes. Couldn't get enough of them. Even took some on our honeymoon in Niagara. Of course, sooner or later, prunes get to you. And they got to her. She made all the wrong noises, at all the wrong times. I mean, you expect a woman's pussy to fart some after you've pumped her full of meat and air. But not her ass as well, right? And certainly not while you're minding the store.'
Chuck, the driver, was laughing now.
You think that's funny?' grinned Nimmo. It's a tragedy, that's what it is, fella. Been driving long for Mooney? Or Momo? Which is it?'
Only his close friends call him Mooney,' explained Chuck. As a matter of fact, I rarely ever drive for him. He has his own people do that. I run the motel.'
What did they do? Take out a wanted ad in Black Mask?'
Chuck smiled a good-humoured smile. I guess you could say that it's a family business. Mooney's my eldest brother.'
Pretty good catering qualification,' said Nimmo.
As a matter of fact, the place is completely legitimate. The only thing it fronts is the River Road. I'll admit, it wasn't always that way. When it was still the River Road Motel, Willy Daddano used to run a vice racket out of the place. But I'll think you'll find it's now a very pleasant place to stay, Mister Nimmo. Sure, we have some fairly
