I'd just finished my shower and rinsed off the shaving-soap when the front-door bell whirred violently. Slipping on my dressing-gown, I opened up.
Ackie was standing there, his eyes glittering with suppressed excitement. “H'yah,” he said, pushing his way in. His eye spotted the half-pint standing on the mantelpiece and he went straight across and sunk half of it.
“Finish it up,” I said dryly from the door, “don't mind me.”
Ackie shook his head and put the bottle back. “Never drink in the mornin',” he said. “Pity... that ain't bad liquor.”
I said: “Come into the bedroom while I finish dressing.”
He followed me in and sat on the edge of the bed.
“What's the excitement?” I asked, pulling on my shirt.
“I gotta job——” He broke off and gaped at me. “Hi!” he exclaimed, his eyes popping, “what the hell's the matter with your face?”
I shrugged. “Got into a little scrap last night,” I said carelessly. Tell Ackie that a dame had done this? Not a chance! The boys would rib me to death.
Ackie still stared. “Huh,” he said, “gettin' tough, eh?”
“You should have seen the other guys,” I said, knotting my tie carefully in the mirror. “Three great hoodlums set on me——”
“I know... I know....” Ackie grinned. “And you beat hell out of 'em all. Yeah! You don't have to tell me.”
“I ain't goin' to waste time tellin' you anythin' if you ain't goin' to believe it,” I said.
“Okay, then don't, 'cos I won't.”
I shoved my legs into my trousers. “Gettin' back to the point. What's the excitement?”
Ackie stiffened up, as if he suddenly remembered an urgent job. “Yeah,” he said, “I got somethin' for you. How'd you like to pick up a hundred bucks?”
I put on my coat and fixed my hair. Ackie giving away a hundred bucks was someone I didn't know. “Doin' what?”
“You know Colonel Kennedy?”
I turned my head and looked hard at Ackie, but his face was blank. “You don't have to ask that; you know I do.”
“Pretty thick with him, ain't you?”
“Come on, come on.” I stood over him. “What is this? What's Kennedy got to do with it?”
“Listen, Nick, we're in a jam. We gotta see this guy, an' we gotta talk to him.”
This sounded screwy to me. I sat on the table. “Why come an' see me?”
Ackie fidgeted. “Well, this guy's being difficult, see? He won't see anyone. We reckoned you could talk to him.”
My instinct told me that there was a story hanging to this. A story that might be big. Colonel Kennedy was one of those rich playboys with so much dough that he never found time to finish counting it. The kind of guy who gives away a couple of million and doesn't have his bank manager running round in circles.
Some time ago I helped this guy out of a jam. He was running in a yachting race with a nickel cup hanging to it. He could have bought up the whole cup factory if he'd wanted to, but no, he had to go out in a rough sea and try and win it. Just before the gun went, his crew broke his arm. There was Kennedy hopping mad because he thought the cup was escaping him. Well, I was around and I offered to help him out. Somehow or other we got home first, and that guy was tickled to death.
Doing Kennedy a favour meant something. For the first month I was nearly smothered with the things he used to send me. After four weeks of it I couldn't stand any more, so I changed my apartment and got under cover. Now here was Ackie asking me to go through it all over again.
“You'd better tell me the whole story,” I said, “I ain't movin' without it.”
Ackie groaned. “Listen, Bud,” he said earnestly, “this has gotta be done quick. Suppose you come with me an' let me tell you as we go.”
“Go? Where?”
“The Colonel's up at his fishing-place. You know where that is.”
I knew Kennedy had a retreat in the hills where he used to go when he wanted to get away from people. It was sixty or seventy miles out of town. I'd never been there, but I'd heard a lot about it. I was too much the newspaper man to waste time talking, so I grabbed my hat and what was left of the half-pint and went downstairs with Ackie. He'd got a big Packard outside, with two of the boys sitting in front. One of them nursed a camera complete with flashlight on his lap. They grinned at me as I got in the back with Ackie.
The way that Packard shot away from the kerb was nobody's business.
I lit a cigarette and settled down in the corner. There was plenty of room in the car and the springs were swell. “You do yourself well,” I said, bouncing a little to test the springs.
“Official car,” Ackie said. “This is somethin' big, Nick. The old man himself told me to get you.”
“Suppose you let me have it,” I said.
