He thanked me again and slipped the C-note in his pocket.
I glanced at the roll of bills again, found a ten, and handed it to him with a grin. “And check me out, would you? I like to keep my bills paid up.”
The parents of Magruder Harris had optimistically overnamed their offspring.
Magruder had grown up to become a bail bondsman who was never known by anything except Muddy. Whether
Muddy’s folks were proud of him, or alive or dead, I had no idea. What I did know was, the beach house and the matching set of Caddies he owned, a convertible and hardtop, hadn’t come out of the interest he charged on his bonds.
To the right people, Muddy was known as a fixer and information source par excellence. His eyes and ears— and that filing cabinet mind of his—had cornered a unique market on contacts, and if the price was right, what you needed to know would be for sale.
Heavyset but not fat, well dressed but not flashy, with fleshy features and a comb-over that wasn’t fooling anybody, Muddy sat behind a battered mahogany desk, feet propped on top, his cloudy blue eyes peering at me around the thin tendril of smoke from the butt that swung from his lips.
I said, “Long time, Muddy.”
He barely nodded. “Morgan.” The cigarette shifted to a corner of his mouth seemingly of its own volition. “Wondered when you’d be around.”
“News travels fast.”
“Always has and always will,” Muddy shrugged, and took a drag on the cigarette.
My watch said it was a little after nine. Outside the night had tucked the city under its blanket. I’d spent the day holed up, sleeping, eating, and making phone calls, all in a room at a hotel picked out by nobody but me. I asked him, “Working late?”
“Nope. Just sitting here expecting you.”
“Why?”
“You called Kirk in New York, he called me, so I waited.” He paused a second, then added, “It
“Uh-huh.”
“Long time between scores.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“I’ll say.” The cigarette was almost down to his lips, so he plucked it out, pinched it, and tossed the stub in a wastebasket. “Kirk was plenty happy to hand you over to me. Right now you’re too hot for anybody.”
“So, then, I shouldn’t let the door hit me on the ass on the way out?”
“Naw, hell, man. Make yourself at home.” He folded his hands behind his head and leaned back, those cloudy eyes watching me with interest. “That was supposed to have been you in the Amherst Hotel, wasn’t it?”
I pulled a chair out from the wall with my foot and slid into it. “That’s right.”
For the first time since I got there, Muddy Harris grinned.
“The boys in blue were pretty sore last night.”
“Really? Is this where I bust out crying?”
“Homer Carey had you pegged as familiar but didn’t hit the mug books fast enough to make you. You damn near blew it, though, sticking around that dump that long. Did you know the locals got a murder warrant out on you?”
“I read the papers this morning. All it said was an old lowlevel hotel employee got himself killed by person or persons unknown.”
Muddy grunted. “I guess they aren’t passing everything out to the press...or else maybe the newshounds are cooperating by keeping it quiet a little while longer.” An eyebrow raised above a smoky blue eye. “Your name still moves mountains, though. A lot of strange faces are popping up these days, and they’re all carrying badges.”
“Good for them.”
Muddy squinted at me. “You knock off the old Mexie, Morgan?”
“You know that’s not my style, buddy.”
“Didn’t think it was. If I did, we wouldn’t be here talking.”
“Even so, Mud, you’re taking a big chance right now.”
“Life is all chances, Morgan. If you don’t take a chance, you don’t win a prize. Like, I coulda had the cops waiting right here with me, and picked up that gravy they got ready for whoever turns you in. Trouble is, I don’t get to spend it, because some punk figures me for a squealer and picks me off, or some friend of yours decides to do an unasked-for favor and squeezes my neck for me.”
He shrugged rather grandly.
“This way it’s better,” he said. “Some way, shape, or form, I’ll come out of this thing with a little more bread than when I went in. Playing the angles, but not crossing anybody who’s my friend...or who’s too dangerous
“I’m in the business, too, remember?”
“Yeah, but how does it feel to be hunted?”
“Keeps me on my toes. My chances of survival go up, thanks to all this experience I’m getting.”
“That, Morgan, is one hell of an attitude, even for you. Like that cop...what’s his name? Oh yeah, Walter Crowley. Like Crowley said, whoever takes you down gets the brass ring.”
“Screw Walter Crowley.”
A faint grin cracked Muddy’s lips. “I think you already did—or screwed him over, anyway. He had you and now he doesn’t. That’s why he’s so damn mad. Taking it so damn personal.”
“Is it.”
“By the way, Morg—he’s got it figured out, you know.”
“What has he got figured out?”
“How you busted out of that net they had around you.”
“Oh?”
“They got a partial description of a guy wearing coveralls from Farango’s Car Wash, but nobody that size works there. The cop had a pretty good look at the girl, though. Especially at her titties. They’re shaking down the area looking for her.”
“They better be pretty good at breaking alibis, if they find her.”
Another shrug, not so grand. “Just thought I’d mention it. Now, my old
“You can run a check on the old man killed at that hotel. Somebody paid him off to plant that charge in the room.”
His smile was just another fold in the fleshy face. “That’s what I thought you’d ask for.”
“Can do?”
“Maybe. How much do you think he got for the gig?”
“Not big money. Well, maybe big for him.”
“Chump change to take out Morgan the Raider? How far fall the mighty.”
I waved that off. “My name wouldn’t have meant jack to him, so the price would’ve had to be high enough for him to take it on, but not enough to make him suspicious.”
“You mean not suspicious enough for a possible blackmail shot later on.”
“Right.” This time I shrugged. “I’d guess five hundred bottom, a grand tops. It would be cash, and small bills. Chances are the old man didn’t have a chance to spend it, and he sure wouldn’t carry it around on him. He was a loner, according to my inside source. So anybody making contact with the old boy might get noticed.”
Muddy squinted at me. “You got it pretty well figured out yourself.”
“All part of a pattern, Mud, my man. Human nature doesn’t vary that much.”
“Okay, I’ll look into it.” He leaned forward to light himself a new smoke. “Anything else?”
“Yeah. What do you know about the Consummata?”
Muddy’s eyes got less cloudy. “Not my scene, Morg.”
“What do you know, Muddy?”
He shook his head in a “no way” fashion. “That world’s dark and dank and dangerous, my friend. If she even
