Grantham to get me an introduction, but he doesn't seem keen. I suppose I'll have to offer him a split in my commission.”
“Does Grantham know Mendetta?” Jay asked, suddenly interested.
“Know him? Why, of course he knows him. I thought everyone knew that. Mendetta put up the dough for this Club. He's got his finger in every pie.”
Jay drank some beer. “Aaah,” he said, putting the glass down, “Mendetta's a bad guy. I'd forget about him.”
Benny shrugged. “What the hell. His dough's good, ain't it?” he said. “I don't care who buys my cars as long as he pays.”
Jay finished his beer. “Maybe you're right,” he said.
Just then a blonde came in, followed by a tall young man with heavy, horn?rimmed glasses. The blonde wore a red dress, very tight across her small breasts, and when she climbed up on the high stool at the bar she showed a lot of her legs.
Benny looked at her. He stared so hard that she giggled suddenly and adjusted her skirt. Benny sighed.
“There're an awful lot of swell dames around tonight,” he said to Jay. “She's nice, ain't she?”
Jay wasn't very interested. “Sure,” he said; “they're all nice. Where's your wife? How is she, anyway?”
Benny still looked at the blonde. “Sadie? Oh, she's fine. She's out there with my party. I sort of wanted a drink. Did I? No, that's wrong. I came out for a doings. Seeing you put it out of my mind. I guess I'd better get on.” He shook hands again and went off.
Jay ordered another beer. While he was waiting for it, he saw Grantham come in. Grantham was very tall and thin, with silver?white hair. His face was hard. Two lines ran from his nose to his mouth, and he looked very grey. Jay only knew him by sight, he'd never spoken to him. When he saw him, he turned back to the bar and paid the bartender.
Grantham came up and stood at his elbow. “What do you want?” he said. His voice was very hostile.
Jay looked at him by turning his head. “Should I know you?” he asked. “Are you someone I ought to know?”
Grantham introduced himself. “We don't have newspaper men in here, you know,” he said; “we don't like them in here.”
Jay raised his eyebrows. “That's interestin',” he said. “That's very interesting. No newspaper men, huh?
And who else? Tell me your black list. I bet you don't like the cops in here either.”
Grantham tapped a little tune on the counter. “Don't let's get sore about this,” he said evenly. “I'm just telling you. Maybe you didn't know.”
“Is this your idea, or did Mendetta suggest it?”
Grantham's face hardened. “That sort of talk won't get you anywhere,” he said quietly. “I'm just telling you to keep out of here, that's all.”
Jay shook his head. “You can't do that. This is a place for public entertainment. I should forget about it. A line or two in my paper could upset your business pretty badly.”
Grantham nodded. “I see,” he said; “I was just giving you a hint. You don't have to take it. You're quite right, of course. You have every right to come here. Only you're not welcomed.”
“Leave me now, pal,” Jay said, turning away, “I'm goin' to have a good cry.”
Grantham looked at the barman and then at the clock. “You can shut down, Henry,” he said, and walked away.
Jay finished his beer, nodded to the barman, who ignored him, and went out into the big lounge. People were beginning to move out. He saw Clem Rogers, who played the saxophone in the band, putting his instrument away. He knew Rogers quite well.
He went to the cloakroom and got his hat, and then he went outside. He had to wait ten minutes before Rogers came out, and then he followed him away from the Club. When they got to the main street he overtook him.
Rogers seemed surprised to see him. “You're late, ain't you?” he said, peering at his wrist?watch. It was just after two o'clock.
Jay fell in step beside him. “We newspaper guys never sleep,” he said. “How about a little drink? There's a joint just down here that keeps open all night.”
Rogers shook his head. “I guess not,” he said. “I want to get home. I'm tired.”
Jay put his hand on his arm and steered him down a side turning. “Just a short drink, buddy,” he said, “then you can go home.”
They went down some steps to an underground bar. The place was nearly empty. A short, thick?set Italian dozed across the bar. He raised his head sleepily as the two entered.
“Good evenin',” he said, rubbing the counter?top with a swab. “What will you have?”
“At this time of night, Scotch,” Jay said. “Bring us the bottle over there.” He indicated a table at the far end of the room.
Rogers followed him across and sat down. He yawned, rubbing his eyes with his hands. “God! I'm tired,” he said. “I wish I could get some other job. This is killin' me.”
Jay poured out a big shot of whisky in each glass. “I ain't goin' to keep you long, but there's just one little thing you might help me with.”
“Sure, I'd be glad to. What is it?”
“You must see everything that goes on at the Club. I've got a feeling it ain't quite on the level. I want to find out.”
Rogers sat back. His sleepy eyes suddenly woke up. “I don't know what you mean,” he said.
“Just that. How does the place strike you?”
Rogers blinked. “You tryin' to get the place shut down?” he asked, a little coldly.
Jay hesitated, then he said, “That's about it. Now, look here, Rogers, you know me. I wouldn't make things difficult for you. I know you've got to think of your job, but if you helped me I'd see you all right.”
“Yeah? How?”
“How would you like to work for Cliff Somers? I could get you an in with his outfit if you fancied it.”
Rogers' face brightened. “Honest?”
Jay nodded.
“I'd like that. I've always wanted to work for Somers. He's got a swell crowd.”
“I know, but I'd only get you in if you made it worth while. You've got to tell me things.”
Rogers shook his head. “I guess that's too bad,” he said. “There's nothin' to tell. The Club's like hundreds of other clubs. Maybe there's a fight now and then between two drunks, but that's nothin'.”
Jay pulled a face. “I didn't think there was anything wrong with the joint,” he admitted, “but I was hoping you'd know something.”
Rogers shook his head. “No, I guess not.” He finished his drink.
“Think back,” Jay urged him. “Hasn't anythin' happened that made you curious? Anythin' that somebody did or said.”
Rogers yawned. “No, I don't think so,” he said, staring with sleepy eyes at the bottle of Scotch. “Mind you, there was one violent drunk that made a bad scene a couple of months ago, but that wasn't anythin' really.”
Jay shifted impatiently. “Well, tell me.”
“There was nothin' to it. Some guy wanted to see Grantham. He wasn't well dressed. Looked like a clerk in an office or somethin'. I thought it was odd that he should come to the Club. When Grantham didn't show up he started to shout. Some bull about where his sister was or somethin'. We didn't pay much attention to him.
They gave him a bum's rush. Treated him pretty roughly. We haven't seen him again.”
“What about his sister?”
Rogers shrugged. “Search me. He's lost her or somethin'. Seems to have thought that Grantham knew where she was. I guess he was drunk.”
“Did he look drunk?”
“No, now you come to think of it, he didn't, but I guess he must have been. You don't start shouting around a joint like the 22nd unless you're drunk, do you?”
“Still it's rum, ain't it?” Jay turned it over in his mind. “Know who he is?”
