True Detective

The room was smoky and the low-hanging shaded lamp cast its pyramid of light across the green-felt, money- strewn table. Six people were playing; the game was poker. Five of the men had their coats off. ties loosened, hats on. except a hatless. dark-haired dude who had his back to me. and had kept his fancy pinstripe on. I waited till the end of the current hand and said, 'Who's Vince Loga?'

A guy about twenty-two with the sort of bland, baby-faced looks that could, in company like this, mean somebody with something to prove, was right across from me.

'I'm Loga,' he said, not looking at me, looking instead at the cards being shuffled to his left. 'I'm also busy. I also don't know you. Beat it.'

The dude with his back to me turned and it was George Raft.

He stood and smiled at me. extended a hand, which I took. 'Heller.' he said. 'What the hell are you doing here?'

'You're asking me?' I said. 'I'm on business. What are you doing? Making a movie? Sequel to State Fair, maybe?'

'I been in the Tri-Cities for three days.' he said. 'Makin' stage appearances at the Capitol with Pick Up. That's the new movie. You know, I came here from Chicago Saturday; stopped in with Max Baer and saw Barney while I was in town- didn't he mention it?'

'No, but I was kind of busy last week.'

'Yeah, I know. I saw the papers.'

'Can I have a word with you, George? In the other room?'

'Sure.'

We stepped out into the other room, where Reagan was waiting at the bar. I introduced Raft to him and the kid was grinning ear to ear; he'd apparently never met a big Hollywood star before.

'Look, George. I could use a favor.'

'Name it.'

'Tell that guy Loga I'm okay. Tell him he can level with me.'

'Okay. You mind telling me what it's about, first? I don't want the whole story, mind you. Just an idea of what kind of limb I'm out on.'

'It's just a missing persons case. It doesn't connect with anything big that I know of.'

'Fair enough.' He turned to Reagan. 'You like that announcing racket?'

'Sure,' Reagan said. 'But I'd like to be an actor, like you, Mr. Raft.'

Raft's smile, as usual, was barely there. 'Well, be an actor if you like; but don't be one like me. Listen, if you do go out to Hollywood…'

'Yes?'

'Lose the glasses.'

Reagan nodded, thinking about it, and Raft took me back in and said to Loga, 'This guy's a friend of Al Brown's.'

Loga swallowed hard; he was in the middle of a hand, but he put his cards down and went out with me. Raft nodded at me and smiled and sat back down and played cards.

'You're a friend of the Big Fellow?' Loga said, like I was a movie star.

'Never mind that. The question is, are you a friend of Jimmy Beame's?'

Loga shrugged, but not insolently, which was an effort for him. 'Yeah. So what?'

'Heard from him lately?'

'Not since he left here, year and a half ago or so. Why?'

'You know where he is?'

'Chicago, I guess. That's where he said he was going.'

'To do what?'

'Just look for work.'

'What kind?'

Loga smirked. 'Whatever pays the right money, what else?'

'Did he have a contact or anything in Chicago? Anyplace lined up to stay?'

'Not that he said.'

'I hear he hopped a freight to get there.'

'Where'd you hear that? That's the bunk. He had a ride.'

'Oh?'

'Yeah, Dipper Cooney. He's a'

'Pickpocket. Yeah. I know him.'

Loga shrugged again. 'He worked the Tri-Cities for a few weeks; he's been all over Wisconsin and Illinois and