CHAPTER VIII
JOHNNY ROSE TO HIS FEET as Jules Tremaine entered the Alden lobby, a fat man in a flamboyant green suit on his heels. “Eddie!” Johnny called as Tremaine headed for the elevators.
“Ho, there, Big Bear,” the fat man returned in a high, piping voice. “Here's your boy. Good thing I went over there.” He glanced sardonically at the big man, who had stopped and was listening with every indication of impatience. The handsome face looked angry, Johnny thought. “No one was happy to see me, strangely enough. Not Dameron. Not your boy here, either.”
“When I need help, I'll ask for it.” Jules Tremaine bit off the words viciously.
“You needed it when I got there, son,” Eddie Lake told him unruffledly. “Dameron's boys were leanin' all over the apartment help to get a positive identification,” he explained to Johnny. “The first go-round the help had said well, now, we're not sure. After some pullin' an' haulin' the police had one of 'em teeterin' on the verge of sayin' positively. When I got my lawyer in there he broke it up.”
“When I need help-” the big man began again in his clipped, British accent, and looked at Johnny as though a new thought had just occurred to him. “How the devil did you know where to find me? They let me speak to no one.”
Johnny nodded at the cigar counter. “Your friend there.”
“Friend?” Tremaine looked in the direction Johnny indicated. “What friend?”
“The clerk,” Johnny said impatiently. “I don't know his name.”
Jules Tremaine's smile was mirthless. “I'm quite sure I don't, either.”
“What's the gag?” Johnny inquired. “Very hush-hush he told me you'd been picked up. He's not a friend of yours?”
“He'd like to be a friend of mine.”
Eddie Lake chuckled appreciatively and jabbed Johnny in the ribs. “Big Bear, your unsophisticated nature's showing. Don't you know that when a man looks like Tremaine here it's not only the women he has to fight off?”
Johnny looked at the cigar counter again. “I'll be damned. I never had one go to bat for me.”
“With your face?” the fat man snorted. He thrust out a hand. “Drop around sometime when you run out of friends. We'll warm up the pinochle deck.”
“Thanks, Eddie,” Johnny told him, shaking the hand.
“Odd type, that, for a professional bondsman,” Jules Tremaine observed when Eddie Lake had departed. “Cocky beggar. Fairly took over when he walked in down there.”
“You've met so many bondsmen you know the type,” Johnny suggested.
“They're quite of a piece, actually. Come along upstairs.” In the elevator the Frenchman was silent, but he continued in the corridor. “This sending a lawyer and bondsman. I wouldn't have you consider me ungrateful, but I feel quite capable of managing my own affairs. And I frankly don't get the point.”
“Easy,” Johnny said. “I wanted you obligated to me.”
“Indeed?” Jules Tremaine led the way into his apartment. “Why?”
“They asked you over there if you had an alibi for the time the shot came through Madeleine Winters' door?” Johnny countered.
The Frenchman smiled. “It was because they established that I did that your friend had so little difficulty in effecting my release. It quite took the starch out of them. They weren't nearly so assertive then about my alleged presence with Arends.”
“But you actually were there?”
It was Tremaine's turn to ignore a question. From a wall closet he took down a bottle and two brandy ponies. He filled each a third full and handed one to Johnny. “Did you luck into this thing of Hegel's, Killain? Or did you have something regular going with Claude?”
“Nothin' regular,” Johnny said promptly. “Why?” He sniffed at his glass, looked at the Frenchman above the rim and sniffed again. He sipped, and waited. “Man!” he said reverently. He set down his glass, picked up the bottle and revolved it between his palms. “Annagnac. Only the best. Goes down like velvet, an' the glow comes from the inside out.” He picked up his glass and sipped again.
“I've a hundred fifty cases,” Jules Tremaine said casually. Their eyes met above Johnny's glass. Johnny picked up the bottle and looked at it again. “Exactly,” the Frenchman said smoothly. “A deficiency of excise tax stamps.”
“You an' Dechant were bringin' this in duty-free a hundred fifty cases at a crack?” Johnny asked incredulously. “That's a nice piece of pocket change.”
“I supplied the source and the transport,” Tremaine said modestly. “Claude supplied the buyers. With Claude gone, I've a hundred fifty cases and no buyer.”
“Very simple solution, Tremaine.”
“Really? You'll forgive my ignorance?”
“Simple,” Johnny repeated. “Drink it. I'll help.” He held out his glass again.
Jules Tremaine's smile was meager as he poured. “Esthetically I'd agree, but unfortunately it's left me cut off at the pockets. I need the money.”
Johnny sipped thoughtfully at his replenished glass. “You must've had a reason for tellin' me this.”
“You seem an ingenious sort. Since I'm rather at a dead end myself, I'll admit I'm not above taking suggestions where I find them. Or perhaps we might take it a step further.” The liquid dark eye, so feminine in appearance even in so masculine a man, considered Johnny. “You mentioned a desire to have me obligated to you. Why?”
“Maybe I was thinkin' of double-harness.”
“A full partnership?” The Frenchman nodded slowly.
“It had occurred to me.”
“'Course, it'd have to be on shares,” Johnny said. “My contribution is worth a hell of a lot more than yours.”
“But yours is a one-time thing,” Tremaine pointed out.
“Mine is a steady, assured income. And there is the question of relative risk.” He smiled. “However, if we're in general agreement, there's no pressing need for fine print in the clauses right this moment, is there? Let's say that we'll- all-consult on the matter of the Armagnac. I've a couple cases in the closet here. I'll be glad to drop one off at your hotel to aid in your mental processes.”
“You just acquired a consultant,” Johnny said. “Long term.” He pointed at the bottle of Armagnac. “Nobody knows about this, Tremaine?”
“Nobody.” The big man was emphatic. “It was one of Claude's more prominent virtues that his little deals were private. I'm sure he had others-certainly with Stitt-but, as well as I knew Claude, he never dropped a syllable.”
“I was out to see Stitt,” Johnny said. “He's a half owner in the business now. Signed a contract with Arends' widow. He says he's retired from the old game.”
“Has he, now?” Jules Tremaine asked softly. “It would be a shame in a way to permit that source of manipulation to dry up, wouldn't it?”
“He sounded like he meant it.” Johnny rose to his feet. “How quick can you deliver this stuff if I find a buyer?”
“Two hours.” Tremaine looked at him curiously. “Is it that easy? Kindly have the grace to make it look a bit difficult, or you'll have me doubting my own intelligence.”
“It's just an idea.” Johnny moved to the door. “It may not work. Don't forget that consultin' fee.”
Whether it worked or not, he thought on the way down to the street, he had an idea that it could be fun.
Late afternoon sunlight was filtering through the slatted Venetian blinds as Johnny, hearing the sound of a key in the lock, roused himself in the armchair in which he had been dozing. Madeleine Winters entered her apartment with Ernest Faulkner in tow. Her blonde head turned and she addressed him over her shoulder as she closed the door. ”-appreciate it if you would take just a quick look around, Ernest. Ever since the other-” The
