‘Any of these other rooms empty, do you know?’
‘Look and see,’ she said, opened the first door she came to and groped for the light switch. There was an angry yell, and a flood of violent language, and she turned off the light hurriedly.
‘That one isn’t,’ she said, moved to the next door.
‘Wait a minute,’ I said, grabbing her arm. ‘We’ll have a riot up here if you keep doing that. Let’s try the door opposite 15.
We went farther down the passage and paused outside the door opposite 15. I rapped gently. There was a sound of movement and the door opened.
A tall, tired-looking blonde in a none-too-lean wrap peered at me. Her painted face brightened a little, the smudged lips forced a smile.
‘Hello, honey, looking for me?’
Then she saw Myra and her face turned to stone.
‘What do you want?’
Her face was familiar. My mind groped back into the pa remembered a night when I’d been in trouble, had come through the skylight into this passage and the blonde had saved me.
‘Remember me? We had a little fun about two years back,’ I said, moving so the light from her room fell on my face. I went out of the window with half the cops in Coral Gables after me.’
She stared, frowned, then her face brightened again.
‘Jeepers! I’d forgotten you. I remember. You spoilt one of my best sheets, sliding out of that window. What are you doing here ? More trouble ?’
‘Could we come in and talk?’
She looked at Myra.
‘She too?’
‘Yeah; this is business.’
She must have remembered I hadn’t been tight-fisted last time we met, and she stood aside.
‘Well, come on in. It’s not much of a place for visitors,’ she meant Myra.
We went into the room which was small and stuffy and skimpily furnished. A bed, a chest of drawers, a toilet basin and a threadbare rug were the only luxuries it could boast of.
‘I never got your name last time,’ I said, propping myself up against the wall.
‘Lola,’ the blonde said and sat on the bed. She wasn’t at ease with Myra in the room.
Myra rested her hips against the toilet-basin. She looked around the room with unconcealed curiosity. Lola watched her, waiting for some remark that didn’t come.
‘I’m after Betillo again,’ I said quietly. ‘Remember? The last time we met I’d been to see him with a club in my hand.’
‘What’s he done to you this time?’ Lola asked, looking interested. ‘I still hate that heel.’
‘Nothing to me personally, but to her boy friend.’ I said, waving a hand towards Myra. ‘Nick Perelli.’
Lola’s eyes opened.
‘The guy who snatched Dedrick?’ she asked. ‘Gee! I’ve been reading about that business.’ She looked enviously at Myra. ‘Did your honey get away with five hundred grand?’
‘Wait a minute,’ I said hastily as Myra’s pale little face hardened. ‘You’re on the wrong number. Perelli didn’t pull the Dedrick snatch. He was framed for it. He was playing cards with Betillo at the time of the kidnapping, but Betillo has sold him to the cops. That’s why I want Betillo.’
‘That rat would sell his first-born to the cops,’ Lola said in disgust.
I had a sudden idea.
‘You didn’t see Perelli leave, did you?’
‘Leave where? What do you mean?’
‘He was playing cards with Betillo in Room 15. He said he left Betillo at ten-thirty. Betillo said it was nine- thirty. The kidnapping took place just before ten.’
Lola closed her eyes in the effort to think.
‘I don’t remember seeing him,’ she said at last. ‘But then I see so many men during the evening, honey,’
‘He wore a white linen suit,’ Myra said. ‘A navy blue shirt and a white, hand-painted tie.’
Lola gaped.
‘Was that the guy? Why, sure I know him. He told me his name was—’ She broke off suddenly and, probably for the first time in twenty years, she blushed.
There was a heavy, electric silence.
Myra said, ‘Go ahead: don’t mind me. Was he with you ON that night?’
Lola jumped to her feet; her face still red, but her eyes angry and hard.
‘Get out, you two! I’m talking too much. Go on, beat it. I’ve said all I’m going to say.’
‘Don’t get excited,’ I said soothingly. ‘This is important Lola. Perelli’s in a jam. If you can help him, you’ve got to do it. If you know he left here at ten-thirty, you can save his life. Was he with you on that night?’
Lola gave Myra a quick, calculating look.
‘I’m not talking,’ she said curtly. ‘Get out; both of you!’
‘All right, Myra,’ I said, and went to the door, opened it and jerked my thumb. Wait for me in the car. I have a little business deal to settle with Lola. I’ll join you in a couple of minutes.’
‘How about Betillo?’ Myra said. ‘He’ll be up here any minute now.’
‘Never mind Betillo. Wait for me in the car.’
She went out, her back very straight, her face white. I closed the door.
‘That was a bit of bad luck,’ I said, took out a pack of cigarettes and offered it to her.
She looked at me, grimaced, and took the cigarette.
‘Think twice the next time you make up your so-called mind to bring a woman into a hole like this,’ she said savagely. ‘What kind of spot do you think you’ve put me in?’
‘Yeah; I’m sorry, but I wasn’t to know. As it turns out, it may be a lucky break. Don’t be coy with me, Lola; was Perelli with you?’
‘Of course he was. He played cards with Betillo and then came over to me. I was always seeing him. He’s one of my regulars.’
‘Remember what time he left you?’
‘It would be about half past ten. I don’t remember to the minute.’
‘That’s swell,’ I said sarcastically. ‘So Betillo was telling the truth and Perelli was lying.’
She didn’t say anything.
I guess he didn’t want Myra to know what he was up to,’ I said, and shook my head. ‘He must have gambled on Betillo backing up his story. You may have to be a witness, Lola. He’s got to have an alibi.’
‘I don’t care.’ she said, shrugging, ‘but she will. I know her type. She thinks once a man falls in love with her he’s hers for keeps. It doesn’t work out that way.’
I took out a hundred-dollar bill.
I owe you this for spoiling that sheet of yours. Keep your mouth shut about Perelli, Lola. I’ll tell you if we want you at the trial.’
She took the bill, folded it and pushed it down the top of her stocking.
‘What pigs men are.’ she said, and threw the half-smoked cigarette contemptuously into the fireplace.
III
I opened the Buick door, slid under the wheel and trod on the starter.
Myra was smoking, a brooding look on her face.
‘So we don’t touch Betillo?’ she said in a low, flat voice.
‘As it happened,’ I said, not looking at her, ‘he was telling the truth. Nick parted company with him at nine- thirty.’
