The Snake

too.'

'I think you're nuts,' he said, 'but any time you want to talk about it come back and talk. You're the first company I had around in a long time.'

'Sure. I wrote down my new address on a matchbook cover and passed it to him. 'Reach me here or at the office if you get any ideas. You can earn some cash.'

I put a buck on the table and left. Behind me Sonny was still chuckling. I'd like to be there if he ever got to meet Blackie face to face.

Chapter Seven

I called Hy from a drugstore on the avenue and got Pete Ladero's address from him. I reached him at home and asked him if he could get the newspaper clips on the Motley-Conley job thirty years ago and bring them up to the office. He griped about leaving his favorite TV program, but his nose for news was too big and he said it would take an hour, but he'd be there.

At the Automat on Sixth between Forty-fourth and Forty-fifth I picked up a tray, loaded it with goodies, and went upstairs to think for a while. It wasn't accidental. I knew Jersey Toby would be there the same as he had been there at the same time every night the past ten years. I let him finish his meal, picked up my coffee, and joined him at his table. When he saw me he almost choked, gave a quick look around, and tightened up.

'Damn, can't you get off my neck? Whatta you want?'

'Talk, Toby, just talk.'

'Well, I said all I'm gonna say. Scratch off, Mike. I don't want no part of you, buddy. You know I got asked questions already?'

'Who asked?'

'Some broad in the other joint. She knew you all right. I tried to lie out of it and said you was looking for a dame for that night but she wouldn't buy it. Said she knew you too well. You're hooked for somebody else. You're putting my tail in a sling.'

'So I'll make it short.'

'Like hell. You won't make nothing.'

'Okay, Toby, then tomorrow a pickup goes out on you. You get rousted every time you step on the street. Lineup twice a week, complaints...'

Jersey Toby looked at me, his face white and drawn. 'Come on, you wouldn't do that.'

Try me.'

He finished his coffee, looked around nervously again until he was assured we were alone, and nodded. 'You would at that. Okay, spill it.'

'Let's go back to Dickerson again, Toby.'

'We went through that once.'

'You get the word.'

'Sure... secondhand through the broads.'

'Good enough. What's the word on the money angle? If out-of-town hoods are moving in, something's drawing them. Who's spreading the green around?'

Toby's tongue flicked at dry lips and he pulled on the butt. 'Look... if I prime you, this is the last?'

I shrugged.

'Let's hear it, Mike.'

'You bought it. I'll back off.'

'Okay then, Marge... she's the redhead. She was with... a guy one night. No names, Mike. I ain't giving you names. I specialize in that end of the trade. Marge, she's a favorite with the hard boys. Does a lot of fancy tricks for them, see? Well, this guy... like he's representing somebody big. He's like muscle on lend. He comes in to do a favor. He's Chicago and ready. He ain't saying what's to do, but he stands ready. Now his boss man lends him out because a favor was asked, only his boss man don't do no favors. It's got to be bought or got to be forced. Somebody's got something on his boss man and is making a trade.

'Don't ask what it is. Who am I to know? I just put two and two together until it works out. Somebody is building an organization and although money is there it's the pressure that's bringing the boys in.'

I tipped back in the chair watching him. 'It plays if somebody is building an organization. Whatever the pressure is, it brings muscle in that can't be bought, then the muscle can be used to square the money.'

'You play it, Toby said. 'I don't even want to think on it no more.'

'How many are in?'

'Enough. With a mob like's here I could damn near run the town single-handed.'

'These boys all come from big sources?'

Toby's head bobbed once. 'The biggest. The Syndicate's lending men. They come out of the individual operations, but the boss men are the Syndicate men. You're trouble, boy.'

'Thanks, kiddo. You've been a help.'

'For that I ain't happy. I hope they get you before they tie me into anything.'

'Forget it,' I said and got up from the table.

I left him there and walked out into the rain back toward my office. If Jersey Toby was right Mr. Dickerson was pulling off a cute trick. It figured right, too, because he'd be smart enough and would have had the time to work it out. Little by little he could have built the things he needed to pressure the big ones into line. He had the background, experience, and the desire. One thing led to another. Once the mob was in, an organization could be built that could utilize three million bucks properly.

If Mr. Dickerson was Blackie Conley it fitted just right.

Up in the office I had to wait only fifteen minutes before Pete Ladero came in with a folio under his arm. He laid the stuff on the table and opened it up. 'Do I get an explanation first?'

'Research on Blackie Conley,' I said.

'Aw, for crying out loud, he's been dead for years.'

'Has he?'

'Well...' He paused and searched my face. 'You on to something?'

'You familiar with this case?'

'I ran over it. The magazine writers rehashed it enough so I know the general background. Give.'

'If Conley's alive he's got three million bucks in his kick. He might be old and feisty enough to start trouble with it.'

'Boy, bring-'em-back-alive Hammer.' He reached for the paper. 'You looking for anything special?'

'Conley's connection with the heist. Take half and we'll go through them.'

So we sat down and read. Velda called and I told her to hop over, then went back to the papers again.

The prosecution had a cut-and-dried case. Sonny Motley pleaded guilty since he was nailed in the act and faced an automatic sentence anyway. He ranted and raved all the way through the trial, cursing everybody from the judge down, but Torrence and Conley in particular. Torrence because he wouldn't let him alone, but kept hammering for details, and Conley for the big double-cross and a bullet in his shoulder.

The main item of interest was the missing three million dollars, but despite the speculation and the nationwide police search, not one thing was turning up. Sonny Motley didn't mind spilling his guts if it meant nailing Blackie Conley and the unseen face who engineered the deal. Right then he figured they pulled the double-cross together, but Sim Torrence couldn't get any evidence whatsoever on the one behind the action.

There was another witness. Her name was Sally Devon and she was called because she was assumed to be a confederate of Sonny's. Her testimony was such that she turned out to be the beautiful but dumb type after all, knowing nothing of the mob's operation. Sonny and the others all admitted she was only a shack job as far as they were concerned and that seemed to end her part in the affair. Only one reporter mentioned a statement that had any significance. Just before she was discharged from the stand she said that 'she'd like to get the snake that was responsible.'

And that was what had bothered me. Sue had said the same thing, only there had been a minor discrepancy in her statements. First she said it was a snake that had killed her mother. Later she said the snake! Sue Devon remembered something, all right. Sally had raved in her