opened and she nodded. 'He was about average height ... smaller than you. In his late forties. Not well dressed or anything . .. and he had funny hair.'
'What kind of funny?'
'Well, he should have been gray but he wasn't and it grew back in deep V's on either side.'
I knew it showed on my face. The drink turned sour in my mouth and that strange sensation seemed to crawl up my back. She had just described Lippy Sullivan.
'Is ... something wrong?'
I faked a new expression and shook my head. 'No, everything is working out just right.' I put the glass down and stood up. 'Thanks for the drink.'
Heidi Anders held out her hand and let me pull her up from the depths of the cushions. 'I appreciate your coming like this. I only wish ...'
'What?'
'You could have brought the compact. Police stations scare me.'
'Get me your insurance policy, a note authorizing me to pick it up for you, and you'll have it tomorrow.'
For the first time a real smile beamed across her face. 'Will you?' She didn't wait for an answer. She broke into that wild gait, disappeared into another room and was back in three minutes with both the things I asked for.
She walked me to the door and held my coat while I slipped into it. When I turned around her face was tilted up toward mine, her mouth alive and moist. 'Since you wouldn't take the reward, let me give you one you
Very gently, she raised herself on her toes, her hands slipping behind my head. Those lips were all fire and mobility, her tongue a thing that quested provocatively. I could feel the hunger start and didn't want it to get loose, so just as gently I pushed her away, letting my hands slide down the satin nudity of her back until my fingertips rested on the top of those crazy hip buggers and my thumbs encircled her almost to those exotic areas where there is no turning back. I heard her breath catch in her throat and felt the muscles tauten, her skin go damp under my palms, then I let her go.
'That was mean,' she said.
'So is painting that eye around your belly button.'
The throaty laugh bubbled up again and she let her hands ease down from my neck and across my chest. Then the laugh stopped as she felt the .45 under my coat, and that nervous little glint was back in her eyes.
'Tomorrow,' I said.
'Tomorrow, Mike.' But she said it like she really didn't mean it at all.
The afternoon papers were still splashing the death of Tom-Tom Schneider all over their pages. The D.A.'s office was running a full-scale investigation into all his affairs and connections, the State Committee on Organized Crime had just been called into executive session for another joust at the underworld and anybody with a political ax to grind was making his points with the reporters. Everybody seemed agreed that it was a contract kill and two columnists mentioned names of known enemies and were predicting another gangland war.
Someplace there would be another meeting and the word would go out to put a big cool on activities until the heat had died down and someplace else a contract was being paid off and spent.
Lippy Sullivan had been forgotten. Maybe it was just as well. The guy who died on the subway station wasn't mentioned at all either. When I finished with the paper I tossed it in the litter basket and went into the cigar store on the corner and called Velda.
When she came on I asked her how she made out at the bank and she said, 'The teller remembered Lippy all right, Mike. Seemed like they always had a little something to talk about.'
'He remember the deposits?'
'Uh-huh. Tens, twenties and singles. Nothing any bigger. From what was said he gathered that Lippy was in
some small business enterprise by himself that paid off in a minor fashion.'
'Nothing bigger than a twenty?'
'That's what he told me. Oh, and he always had it folded with a rubber band around it as if he were keeping it separate from other bills. Make anything out of it?'
'Yeah. He was smart enough to cash in the big ones before depositing them so nothing would look funny.' I told her briefly about Heidi Anders identifying Lippy in the crowd.
All she said was a sorrowful, 'Oh, Mike.'
'Tough.'
'Why don't you leave it alone?'
'I don't like things only half checked out, kid. I'll push it a little bit further, then dump it. I wish to hell he hadn't even called me.'
'Maybe you won't have to go any further.'
'Now what?'
'Pat called about twenty minutes ago. He had pictures of Lippy circulating around the theater areas all day. Eight people recalled having seen him in the area repeatedly.'
'Hell, he lived not too far from there.'
'Since when was Lippy a stage fan? He never even went to the neighborhood movie house. You know what his habits were.'
'Okay, okay. Were they reliable witnesses?'
'Pat says they were positive ID's. Someplace Lippy learned a new trade and found a good place to work it.'
'Nuts.'
'So make Pat sore at you. He's hoping this new bit will keep you out of their routine work. Now, is there any reason why you still have to go after it?'
'Damn right. Only because Lippy said there wasn't any reason to begin with.'
'Then what else can I do?'
'Go ask questions around Lippy's place. Do your whore act. Maybe somebody'll open up to you who won't speak to me or the cops.'
'In that neighborhood?'
'Just keep your price up and you won't have any trouble.'
She swore at me and I grinned and hung up.
I was only three blocks away from Irving Grove's Men's Shop on Broadway and there was still time to make it before the office buildings started disgorging their daily meals of humans, so I ducked back into the drizzle and
walked to the corner. A little thunder rumbled overhead, but there were a few breaks in the smog layers and it didn't look like the rain was going to last much longer. In a way, it was too bad. The city was always a little quieter, a little less crowded and a lot more friendly when it was wet.
Irving Grove was typical of the Broadway longtimers. Short, stocky, harried, but smiling and happy to be of service. He turned the two customers over to his clerks and ushered me into his cubicle of an office to one side of his stockroom, cleared a couple of chairs of boxes and invoices and drew two coffees from the bartered urn on the desk.
'You know, Mr. Hammer, it is a big surprise to know my wallet was found. Twice before this has happened, but never do I get them back. It wasn't the money. Three hundred dollars I can afford, but all those papers. Such trouble.'
'I know the feeling.'
'And you are sure there will be no reward?'
'The P.A.L., remember?'
He gave me a shrewd smile and a typical gesture of his head. 'But you are not with the police force, of course. It would be nothing if ...'
'You don't know me, Mr. Grove.'
'Perhaps not personally, but I read. I know of the things you have done. Many times. In a way I am jealous. I work hard, I make a good living, but never any excitement. Not even a holdup. So I read about you and ...'
'Did you ever stop to think that there are times I envy you?'
