My old friend Lippy had been a damn pickpocket.
Velda was already at my apartment when I got there, curled up like a sleek cat at the end of the sofa, all lovely long legs that the miniskirt couldn't begin to hide and a neckline it didn't try to. Those gorgeous breasts were still high and bouncy, flaring out in a wild challenge, her stomach flat until it took that delicious swell outward into her thighs and always that silky pageboy of auburn hair framing a face that was much too pretty for anybody's good.
'You look obscene,' I said.
'It's a very studied pose,' she reminded me. 'It's supposed to have an effect on you.'
'And it does, kitten. You know me.' I tossed the box on the coffee table.
'Why don't you get out of those wet clothes and then we'll talk.'
'Don't mind the garbage smell,' I said. 'It's a dirty business. Make me a drink and take a look at that stuff. Don't touch anything. I'm going to take a hot shower. This racket is beginning to get to me.'
The impish grin she had greeted me with was lost in the look of concern and she nodded. I walked into the bedroom, peeled off my coat, yanked the .45 from the shoulder rig, tossed it on the dresser and got rid of the rest of
my clothes. I spent fifteen minutes under a stinging needle spray, got out, wrapped a towel around my middle and walked back into the living room trailing wet footsteps.
Velda handed me my drink, the ice clinking in the glass. 'Now you look obscene. Why don't you ever dry yourself off?'
'That's what I got you for,' I said.
'Not me. I'd only make you wetter.'
'Someday I'm going to marry you and legalize all this nonsense.'
'You know how long I've been hearing that?'
I tasted the drink. She'd hit the blend right on the button. 'At least you're engaged,' I said.
'The longest one on record.' I grinned at her and she smiled back. 'That's okay, Mike. I'm patient.' Her eyes drifted toward the box on the table. She had dumped out the contents and sorted things out with the end of a ball- point pen. 'Sorry about Lippy, Mike. Pretty disappointing. I always had him figured for a right guy.'
'He gave that impression,' I said. 'What do you make of it?'
'Plain enough. Somebody knew what he did in his spare time and tried to heist his take. He wouldn't tell where he hid it because it wouldn't have done any good since it was in the bank. So he was killed. Getting rid of the stuff is part of the pattern. They take the money and dump the rest. He probably could have tried using some of the credit cards in those wallets, but that doesn't fit a pickpocket's usual routine.'
'Sure looks that way.'
'You go through any of that yet, Mike?'
'I didn't have time. Why?'
'Because Lippy didn't hit just anybody. That's the money crowd you see there. Wait until you check it out. If Lippy was a working dip he wouldn't be allowed inside their circles. He even got to a woman.'
'I saw that compact.'
'Gold with real diamonds. Expensive, but not pawn-able.'
'Why not?'
'Look at the hallmark and the inscription. It's a Tiffany piece given to Heidi Anders.'
'The actress?'
'The same. The donor signed himself Bunny, so we'll assume it's Bunny Henderson with whom she's been seen these last few months. Playboy, jet setter, ne'er do well, but carries a load of power in his back pocket.'
'What's it worth?' I asked her.
'My guess about five thousand. But that would be nothing to her. She's loaded with gems. To her that compact was more utilitarian than ornamental. I'm surprised a pickpocket specializing in wallets would tap a woman's handbag.'
'Women aren't generally wallet carriers, kitten. He could have gotten a handful of money and that at the same time.'
'Your buddy got plenty.' She nodded toward the table. 'Check it.'
I walked over and took a look at some of the wallets she had spread open. All of them were expensive leather items, the plastic windows filled with top-rated credit cards. I picked up a pen and turned a few of them over, then stopped and tapped the inside of the large pigskin job. The top half of two pink pieces of cardboard were sticking up out of the slot. 'There's your answer, kid. Theater tickets. He was working the new Broadway openings. Those ducats are being scalped at fifty bucks a pair which is a little more than the ordinary workingman can afford.'
'Mike ... those bank deposits. They weren't all that big.'
'Because the people he was hitting didn't work with cash. They're all on the credit card system. But at least he knew he was always sure of something.'
'You missed something, Mike.'
'Where?'
Velda pointed to the worn black morocco case at the end. 'He didn't have any credit cards, but there's a driver's license, some club memberships and a very interesting name on all of them.'
I finished half my drink, put my glass down and studied' the wallet. Ballinger. Woodring Ballinger. Woody Ballinger to his friends and the cops alike. Big-time spender, old-time hood who ran a tight operation nobody could get inside of.
'Great,' I said.
'He could have run Lippy down and put some heat on him.'
'Not Woody. He wouldn't take the chance. Not any more. He'd lose his dough and let it go at that.'
'So it had to be someone who knew what Lippy was doing.'
'Pat still has two sets of prints he's checking on.'
'What will you do with this stuff?'
'Take it down to Pat tomorrow and let them process it. The suckers will be glad to get their credit cards back.'
'Mike ...'
'What?'
'You could have brought this right to Pat, you know.'
'Yeah, I know. And they could have gone to the trouble of poking around in Lippy's garbage too.'
'That puts you right in the middle. You're going to stick your neck out again.'
'Something's too off balance for me. If Lippy were big enough they'd be giving this a rush job like they are with Tom-Tom Schneider. Everything gets priority when you're a big name. So now Lippy goes down in the books as a pickpocket knocked off for his loot. Maybe one day they'll get his killer on another charge. End of story.'
'But not for you.'
'Not for me.'
Velda shook her head and gave a mock sigh. 'All right, I took down the names and addresses of everybody heisted. The list is over there.' She pointed to a half-used steno pad on the TV set.
'You always try to outthink me, don't you?'
'Generally,' she said. A smile started in the corner of her eyes.
'Know what I'm thinking right now?'
With a quick motion of her hand she reached out and flipped the towel from around my waist and let it fall to the floor. Those beautiful full lips parted in the rest of the smile and she said, 'Yes, I know what you're thinking.'
CHAPTER 3
Pat made a bit production out of the glare he was giving me, but the edge was all mine because his group should have found the stuff in the first place, not me. It's great to be public-spirited, but not when you're soaking
