'Yeah ' Raft said, smiling faintly, 'and she stole everything but the camera.'
'How do you two happen to know each other?' I asked Barney, nodding at Raft
'Oh. Georgie's a big fight fan,' Barney said. 'He was a fighter himself, weren't you, Georgie?'
Raft laughed a little. 'Seventeen bouts and ten knockouts.'
'That's a good record,' I allowed.
'Not when it's you getting KO'd,' Raft said.
'You won a few,' Barney said.
'Three,' Raft said, holding up three fingers.
Buddy Gold came over for my order. I asked for a beer. Neither Barney nor Raft was drinking anything. I knew why Barney wasn't drinking: he had a fight coming up later this month in Pittsburgh, with Johnny Dato.
'Don't you want anything, George?' I asked him.
'I don't drink,' Raft said. 'Bring me a coffee, would you, Buddy?'
'Sure thing, Mr. Raft.'
Raft looked my way and said. 'I been following Barney's career real close. He's won me some money. I admit to knowing more about boxing out of the tins than I did in it. I was a fight manager for a while. Discovered Maxie Rosenbloom.'
Something was ringing a distant bell in my mind; like the round-ending bell in the ears of a canvas-prone lighter who's just been saved by it.
¦ -
'Weren't you involved with Primo Camera?' I asked.
Raft seemed to flinch at that, again, barely perceptibly. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Barney's grin disappear. I'd opened a door better left closed I'd been rude to Barney's guest. But I let it ride.
'Not really.' Raft said. 'A friend of mine owned a piece of him.'
'Owney Madden, you mean,' I said.
'Yes,' Raft said.
I could tell this was making Barney uneasy, so I didn't pursue it. It was natural that an honest fighter like Barney would be embarrassed by one of his friends being connected to Primo Camera and Owney Madden. Primo Camera was the big, lumbering heavyweight brought over from Italy who, through a succession of fixed fights and sportswriters on the take, was elevated to the Championship of the World. Camera was a slow, awkward giant with a glass jaw, but he made good show business, until a real fighter, Max Baer, took the championship away from him, and damn near killed the poor clown in the doing. New York gangster Owney Madden owned Camera, and Madden and George Raft were lifelong friends. The story I'd heard had Raft, just prior to his Hollywood days, slipping a mickey to 'Big Boy' Eddie Petersen, a fighter who had refused to take a dive; Raft's mickey had paved the way for Camera's first major victory'- at Madison Square Garden, no less.
I knew Barney knew' this story: it was him who told it to me, with some disgust, when he was noting the climb of this guy Raft in the talkies, this guy who used to be Owney Madden's boy. But that had been a year ago, before Barney was into the heavy purses- and the papers- and before he met Georgie at Arlington Park, where they shared a mutual love.
'I kinda hate to admit how I got a lot of my boxing savvy,' Raft said.
'Why's that?' I asked.
'Well, the boxing arenas were my stomping grounds, back in my pickpocket days. And I understand you're an ex-pickpocket detail dick. Maybe you don't want to be seen in public with an ex-dip.'
I smiled at him, a bit charmed in spite of myself. 'Some of my best friends are pickpockets. And as long as they sit
'I understand you're a private dick now.'
'That's right.'
'Barney says you got an office upstairs.'
'That's right.'
'How 'bout giving me a tour? Who knows. I might have to play a private dick in a movie someday.'
'Sure. You never know. Barney? You coming?'
Raft got out of the booth. 'I'm expecting a phone call. Barney. Would you mind sticking around, in case it comes in? I'm on suspension from Paramount, at the moment, and my agent's Dying to work something out for me.'
Barney shrugged, smiled. 'Sure. See you guys in a few minutes.'
Raft climbed into a black formfitting coat with a velvet collar, pulled a pearl-gray hat down over one eye. With his high trousers, spats, and pointy shoes as shiny as his hair, he seemed a movie star's idea of a gangster- or was it the other way around?
He followed me through the deli out onto the street and up the stairs to my office. He hung his coat and hat on the tree by the door, and took a seat across from my desk before I'd even got behind it. It was clear this was more than a movie star wanting to meet a real private detective for research purposes; besides. I had a feeling George Raft was one Hollywood actor who didn't need help researching underworld-related matters.
I got behind the desk; Raft was eyeing the box against the wall. 'That looks like a Murphy bed,' he said
'I'm supposed to be the detective.' I said.
