“You wouldn't bet on that, would you?”
Pug squinted at me doubtfully. “Why'd you quit McGee if he's Mr. Big?”
“I'll show you that, too.”
We rode back with Ginger. Pug drove and Ginger sat in the middle. The bodyguards followed in the other car. We made the hundred miles in an hour and twenty minutes. We killed two chickens, a road-runner, a chipmunk and a black-and-white dog. I didn't think Pug was going to be able to stop the coupe in Paulton, we went so fast, but he did, right in front of the County Building.
“Where are those records?”
“Second floor.”
“You wait here, baby,” Pug said to Ginger.
She didn't know what was going on. I winked at her, but she looked scared. We went up the stone steps and into the building. The old clerk got out the papers for us. Pug scowled when he saw McGee listed as the owner of all the places I asked for. He named some more: the Savoy Ballroom, the Beachcombers, The Hut, Cecil's Grill. McGee owned them, too.
At the Arkady I had Pug come in with inc. “Any calls for me?” I asked the clerk.
The clerk saw Pug, and for once he didn't giggle. “There's a long-distance call from Kansas City, Mr. Craven.”
While we waited for the call, I told Pug about the guy McGee had hired to tail me. The clerk put the call on an extension in the manager's office. I picked up the receiver. “Hello.”
“Well, I've done what you told me, Mr. Craven.”
“Listen, Kansas City,” I said; “there's a fella here I want you to tell what you told me last night. Who paid you, and what he wanted you to do. Wait a second.”
I gave the phone to Pug. He listened, asked a couple of questions and then turned to me. “Anything you want to say?”
“Tell him I'm mailing the other half of the bill.”
Pug told him and hung up.
“Now you get the idea,” I said.
Pug said: “You were trying to muscle in on McGee, weren't you?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe hell, fatty. Why else would he try to run you out of town?”
“All right,” I said. “But remember he's going to do the same to you.”
“Oh, no, he's not.”
“I'll tell you one thing,” I said. “McGee has a library with french windows. It's in the back of his house.”
Pug scowled at me.
“If anybody should want to ... see him, he works there every night until one.”
Pug gave me a deadpan stare and then went out of the hotel and got in Ginger's car and drove away. I said to the clerk: “If there're any more calls, I'll be back in half an hour.”
Chief of Police Piper was drumming on his oak desk with my card. “Sit down,” he said. He didn't look up. His round face was tired, and most of the red had gone out of the skin. There were purple veins on his cheeks. I sat down.
He hit the table with my card again, then stared at it. “We don't like private dicks in Paulton,” he said, raising his eyes. He blinked at me. He was thinking he'd seen me before. “No.”
“No.” He watched me. “What can I do for you?” He said it like he wanted to know so he could refuse. I said: “It's more what I can do for you, chief.”
“One of those smart ones, eh?”
“I don't know.”
“Well, go ahead.” He was still curious about my face, but he was tired. “What can you do for me?”
“A couple of things,” I said. “How would you like to have another high-class murder in town?” His mouth came open. “What do you mean?”
“It'd be your bucket, wouldn't it?”
“Now look here...”
“You're in a jam,” I said. “They're after you because Waterman was killed. Isn't that so?” His face began to get red.
“And if there's another big killing, you'll be out.” I let this sink in, and then said: “And some people will be asking if Pug Banta was really in jail the night of the Papas shooting.”
“Pug was in jail.” The chief made a pretty feeble attempt to roar. “Anybody who says different...”
“All right. He was. But some people are saying...”
“I can prove it.”
