I didn’t know what his grouse was going to be, but I didn’t have to be psychic to see he had a grouse.
‘You’re in Tampa City now,’ he said, biting off each word. ‘We like cars parked straight here. Your rear wheels are over the white line.’
I looked over at the glittering Rolls Royce parked next to my car. Its offside wheels were over the white line by three feet, but after all it was a 1954 Rolls and not a 1940 Buick.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m a stranger in town.’
He held out a hand that could have been mistaken for a bunch of bananas in a poor light.
‘Licence.’
I gave him my licence. He brooded over it as if he wasn’t too sure of the longer words, then took out a leather case containing a pad of forms and began to write laboriously.
‘Staying long?’ he growled at me without looking up.
‘I don’t imagine so. I doubt if I’ll be able to afford to.’
He let that one drift, ripped out the sheet he had written on and poked it at me.
‘Five bucks.’
I gave him the five dollars without blinking an eyelash and accepted the receipt. I had been warned by Creed, and Fayette was paying, so why should I care?
The cop seemed surprised there was no fuss.
‘Be careful next time.’
‘I’ll buy myself a spirit level and a T-square,’ I said. ‘I’ll see she’s properly lined up next time I leave her.’
He licked the stub of pencil and wrote down my number. His eyes were no warmer than an iceberg. I could see he would look out for me in the future.
I got into the car.
‘Okay for me to move on?’
He gave me a long, hard stare and walked away. He looked from the back like a small mountain that had grown legs. A nudge from him would have shoved in my ribs.
I drove away, aware that I was sweating slightly and not because of the heat. If this kind of thing was going to happen often, I thought, my temper and nerves would almost certainly become frayed.
Lincoln Drive was in the poorer quarter of Tampa City: that is to say the houses were smaller, and didn’t stand in a couple of acres of screened estates as ninety-nine percent of the rest of the houses in Tampa City did. It was a tree lined street tucked away as if ashamed of itself, but a street that I would have been glad to live in.
A big, fat, solid looking man was fussing over a row of sweet peas a professional would have been proud to have grown in the garden of No. 24. I guessed he must be Bradley. He glanced up as I swung the Buick to the kerb.
He looked every inch a cop; but not a bad cop. His fat weather-beaten face had a half humorous expression that went well with a pair of alert blue eyes. A straggling moustache, a sunburned, balding head and an aggressive chin gave him character plus toughness instead of just plain toughness. I got out of the car and he wandered down the garden path to meet me.
‘Captain Bradley?’ I asked, resting my hands on the gate.
‘Sure, come in,’ he said.
‘Will the car be all right? I’ve already been pinched for parking out of line.’
He laughed.
‘The car’s fine. They don’t make pinches outside my house. Come on in.’
I followed him up the path.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen sweet peas like those before,’ I said, not to butter the old boy, but because I meant it.
‘They’re pretty good. You a gardener?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘Gardening’s for the middle-aged and the old. I’d be lost without a garden now.’
He led me into a neat, comfortably furnished sitting room with casement windows opening out on to the lawn.
‘I didn’t get your name.’
‘Chet Sladen.’
He lifted a bushy eyebrow.
‘You the fella who writes in Crime Facts?’
‘That’s right.’
He beamed.
‘I’m glad to know you. I read all your stuff. Sit down. How about a drink?’
‘Thanks.’
While he was making drinks he said, ‘This is your first visit to Tampa City?’
‘Yes; pretty nice looking town. Looks as if it’s loaded with dough.’
‘It is. Some say there’s more loose money here than in Hollywood. We have thirteen millionaires living here right at this minute. Anyone with less than a five figure income is trash in Tampa City.’ He came over with the drinks and lowered his bulk into an armchair. ‘Well, here’s to you.’
We drank, then I handed him Greed’s letter.
‘This is an introduction, Captain,’ I said. ‘From Captain Creed.’
Bradley’s face lit up.
‘Well, well, I haven’t heard from Tom for years. How is he?’
‘He’s fine. He and I have been working on a case. A lead has turned up here. He thought it might be an idea if I investigated it.’
Bradley looked sharply at me, opened the letter, read it, then returned it to the envelope before saying, ‘Hmm, so you’re thinking of investigating a lead here, are you?’
‘That’s the idea. I understand Doonan doesn’t encourage that kind of thing.’
‘That’s an understatement. If you’ll take the advice of an old man, Mr. Sladen, you’ll get in your car and go back to Welden. The atmosphere in Welden, as far as I remember is a lot healthier than here.’
‘I know, but I have a job to do. I was hoping for a little help from you.’
‘I’m out of the running now. I haven’t been inside headquarters for over a year. There’s not much I can do. Care to tell me what it’s all about?’
I made myself comfortable and took him through the whole story.
He sat still, his eyes half closed, listening intently. I had an idea by the time I had finished, he hadn’t missed a word.
‘That’s an interesting case,’ he said. ‘I think you’re on to something coming here. It may be a coincidence, but you might be interested to know there’s a smart nightclub in Tampa City that’s called the Golden Apple.’
I sat up.
‘Golden Apple? Well, what do you know? What sort of club is it?’
‘A very exclusive one, Mr. Sladen. It’s run by Hamilton Royce, who is a very smart operator indeed. When I was in the saddle I made it my business to check on him. He started life as a card sharper, working the Atlantic liners. From sharping he graduated to share pushing, and he only skipped out of Miami one jump ahead of the law. He got his money out and he settled here. The Golden Apple has two big gambling rooms, and I know for a fact at least two of the roulette wheels are crooked. No one can get near the place without a membership card. Commissioner Doonan, by the way, was one of the first life members, and I hear his entrance and subscription fees were on the house. The club has five hundred members and they come straight out of the Blue Book. None of them has less than a six figure income. It’s quite a place.’
‘It must be. You don’t think I could get myself made a member?’
Bradley laughed.
‘It would be easier to get yourself made the President, Mr. Sladen: a lot easier.’
‘Well, then I guess I’ll have to grin and bear it. Do you know Lennox Hartley? Does the name mean anything to you?’
‘Can’t say it does,’ Bradley said. ‘He’s the fella who claims to recognize the Benson girl?’
