The Tough Guys

"No thanks, I have to shove off. Look, I'll see you before I go."

"You better boy, or I'll come after you. Where you staying?"

I told him the name of the motel, threw some change on the bar, shook hands and walked out to the Ford. Things were looking up. The Bannermans weren't as pure as driven snow after all.

CHAPTER THREE

I had my own contact in Chicago and located Sam Reed who operated a horse parlor two blocks off The Loop. I told him to get me a rundown on what Matteau and Gage were doing in Culver City and after the usual stalling he told me he would. That is, if he could. I wasn't worried about it. One word to the right people and his tail would be in a sling so he'd be in there pitching to get off the hook.

Then I ate supper and drove back out to the estate.

Annie was like a little bird that night, chirping and flitting around me. She had baked all the goodies I used to like and made me try some of everything before I could get out of the kitchen. Miles, Rudy and Teddy had stayed in town attending to business, but Anita was upstairs in her room.

I tapped on the door, went in when she called and smiled at the lovely doll brushing her hair in front of the mirror. She spun, grinned and opened her arms so I could squeeze her right and said, "I've been waiting to see you all day."

"I've been busy, honey." I held her off and looked at her. "If I knew you were going to turn out like this I never would have left."

It was the wrong thing to say. The smile left her face and those great purple eyes were tinged with that funny sadness again. "Please, Cat."

I nodded. "Okay, kitten, I understand." I let her go.

"Vance has been good to me. It . . . hasn't been easy."

"Sure. But I just don't have to like it."

"I think you'll like him, Cat. He's respectable, dependable . . . and he's done so much."

"Like what?"

She turned back to the mirror, refusing to meet my eyes. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"Fine, honey, one word and no more. Whether he's a nice joe or not in your book, he isn't in mine. Anybody who would tolerate those hoods in this house is scratching me the wrong way. So it's your business and I'm not going to interfere, but something is screwy around here and when I go I'll know about it. What I do about it is another thing."

The brush stopped its motion, then she jerked it through her hair and threw it down on the dressing table. Without looking at me she said, "It isn't like when you left, Cat. They're my family. They're all I have. Please don't do anything."

I switched the subject. "You have a date tonight?"

"No . . . Vance is going to stay in town on business. Some property he's involved with."

"Then suppose we just drop the subject, take in a club, listen to some music, see a show and dance. How about it?"

Her smile was like music. "All right, Cat. I'll be ready in fifteen minutes."

"I'll be downstairs."

But I didn't go downstairs. I went along the balcony to Miles' room and pushed the door open. I took five minutes to shake down his place and wasted each one. He was a clothes hog, had expensive taste and had nothing tucked away that pointed to trouble.

Teddy's taste was a little more flamboyant. He had a gun rack on the wall with two shotguns, a rifle and six pistols. There must have been a dozen framed pictures of broads placed around, each professional studio shots of the show-girl types, each signed with endearing bits of garbage to their wonderful Teddy who had probably kept them in mink coats.

It was Rudy who was the image of his old man. The conservative type who liked the big-business front. I went through his closet, and desk and the dresser drawers, again coming up with the big zero. His bookshelves were lined with the latest novels, predominately historical, and a set of legal tomes, just the thing any clean-cut American boy would have around. The only thing out of place was an eight-by-ten photo of a well-stacked brunette in a stage bikini and it wasn't signed. The back was tacky with rubber cement and he had probably swiped it from a display somewhere. At least he showed an interest in broads. I put the picture back and went downstairs to wait for Anita.

She was right on time, her dress a simple black thing that seemed to overflow with her, setting the dark blonde of her hair off to perfection. Just watching her come down those stairs made my stomach go hard and for a few seconds I felt all empty inside and cursed myself for having let the years go by. She had waited. Damn it, she had waited and when I came it was too late!

"Ready?" she asked me.

"Uh-huh. Where to?"

"Well, you said a club . . ."

"Tonight the best. After that it's peanut butter sandwiches."

"The Cherokee is the best."

"Let's go then."

About five miles northeast the shoreline jutted out into a peninsula an eighth of a mile long. Right at the tip the lights from a low, modern building fanned out into the dock area and batteries of spotlights lit up the parking site. Flanking the roadway on either side all the way in were tennis courts, pitch-'n-putt links and two swimming pools. At the very end a sedate neon sign read, Cherokee Club.

Anita said, "How did you know where to go? This has only been up three years."

I didn't tell her I'd been there before checking out the Bannerman credit. "Heard about it in town when I was finding out how much things have changed."

The house was full, and had it not been for Anita I never would even have made the parking lot. Every car there was one of the top three and just as the kid attendant was going to brush me off and catch himself a paste in the mouth, a big guy in a tux came over, saw her and waved the kid away. He threw up a grin and a salute, said, "Sorry, Miss Bannennan, the guy's new here."

"He take the place of the one who got shot?" I said.

"Yeah, and gettin' help ain't easy these days. Punk kids is all you get these days." He stopped and thought a moment. "The other one was knifed, not shot," he added as an afterthought. "Drive up to the door. I'll put your car in Miss Bannerman's usual place."

I slipped the Ford in gear and headed toward the building. "Pretty nice having your own slot. You come here often?"

"Only with Vance. He enjoys the atmosphere."

"He gamble too?"

Anita looked at me sharply, but my face showed nothing. "Very seldom. He's on the conservative side. He prefers investments."

"Good boy."

Inside we got the same preferential treatment from the doorman and headwaiter alike. Before we could be shown to a table a heavyset guy with close-cropped iron gray hair came up smiling, bowed to Anita and gave me a single look wondering where the hell I came from. She introduced him as the owner, Leslie Douglas and when he heard I was another Bannerman the same smile he had for her he gave to me. Old suit or not, if I were a Bannerman I had to be loaded, I guess.

The dining room lay like a horseshoe around a dance floor, butting a stage where an eight-piece band played quiet music. There were two bars, one catering only to the men, with the casino area taking up the entire second floor. The layout was professional. Not the loose Vegas or Reno attitude that would take anybody's nickel, but more on the Monte Carlo style, catering to a single class. Big Money. I felt as much at home as a cat in a dog kennel.

For two hours we drank, talked and danced. For two hours we were those kids again laughing about the things that had happened because now they were pathetically funny. For two hours I lied to her about all those years in between then and now because I didn't want her to know. And for two hours we were in love like nothing