round after a while, and her eyes fluttered at me.
“Bet she asks where she is,” Davis muttered. “They always do.”
But she didn’t. She took one look at me and dived off the settee to the wall. She gave us the fright of our lives. “Now take it easy,” I said.
“Let me handle this,” Davis said, “She knows me.” He advanced towards the girl with a kindly leer on his fat face. “Hi, Miss Brodey, remember me? Jed Davis of the Morni
She stared at him, tried to speak.
“Now don’t get upset,” he went on gently. “Come and sit down and tell me all about it.”
“He’s taken him away,” she blurted out in a thin, hysterical voice. “He made him go with him.”
Davis led her back to the settee. “All right, kid,” he said. “We’ll fix it. Just sit down and tell us about it.”
She gave me a scared look. I stood behind her so she couldn’t see me. Davis was patting her hand, clucking over her. I was surprised at his technique.
He got the story out of her inch by inch. She told us she’d been asleep, and voices coming from her father’s study had woken her. She’d gone down. The study door was ajar and she peeped in. Brodey was up against the wall with his hands in the air. A man in a brown suit was threatening him with a gun. She heard the brown man say: “Okay, if that’s the way you want to play it. Come on, we’ll go for a ride.” She wanted to get help, but she was too scared to move. The brown man hustled Brodey out of the room. It was dark in the passage and neither of them saw her. They went out the front door, and a moment or so later she heard a car drive away. Then I showed up.
Davis and I exchanged glances.
“Seen this guy before?” Davis asked.
She shook her head. She was shivering with shock and looked as if she’d pass out any moment.
Davis tried to make her take another drink, but she wouldn’t; she kept saying: “You must get him back. Please. Don’t sit there. Get him back.”
“We’ll get him back,” Davis assured her, “but we must know who took him. What was this guy like?”
“Short and thickset,” she said, putting her hands over her eyes. “He was horrible—like an ape.”
“Did he have a scar down the side of his face?” Davis asked, stiffening.
She nodded.
“Know him?” I asked.
“I guess so,” Davis said, his eyes popping. “Sounds like Bat Thompson, Killeano’s strong man. He’s one of the tough boys from Detroit, and make no mistake, brother, he’s tough.”
“Know where we can find him?”
“I know where he hangs out,” Davis said. “But we don’t want to find him. He’s a guy best left alone.”
“Where does he hang out?”
“Sam Sansotta’s gambling joint.”
“Okay. Let’s see how tough he is.”
Davis sighed. “I knew you were going to say that. You’re a nice reckless sort of a punk for me to fall in with.”
“Get the police,” Miss Brodey said, crying.
“We’ll get everybody,” Davis said, patting her shoulder. “Now go to bed and wait. We’ll get your poppa back for you.”
We left her sitting on the settee, her eyes like great holes in a sheet.
“Listen, Cain,” Davis said, when we reached the car. “You ain’t really going to call on Bat, are you?”
“Why not? We want Brodey, don’t we?”
“Listen, Bat’ll tear your ears off. He’s a bad hombre. You’re not going to scare him.”
“I can try,” I said, getting into the car.
“My pal,” Davis said, but he got in too.
5
Sansotta’s gambling joint was at the far end of the coast road, leading out of Paradise Palms. It was a squat building, three storeys high; a broad verandah, on which stood tables and chairs, circled the building. Beyond, two large glass doors gave on to the main hall.
Although it was after one o’clock, the place was still lit up. A number of people sat on the verandah, and dancing was going on in the hall.
Davis parked his car on the opposite side of the road, reached for the bottle, swished it round, drained it. He threw the bottle at the sandy beach.
“My need’s greater than yours, pal,” he said.
I was studying the lay-out of the place. You don’t think you’re going to walk in there and bring Brodey out, do you?” Davis went on, mopping his face with a not over-clean handkerchief.
“That’s the general idea,” I said. “Superman stuff, eh?”
“That’s it.”
“Well, count me out. I’m too big a target to take Bat on. He’s a killer.”
“So am I,” I reminded him.
He looked at me. “Well, brother, I’ll be sitting out here admiring the view. I’ll write you a nice obituary when they carry you out. What flowers would you like?”
“You’re coming in. I’m a stranger seeing Paradise Palms for the first time, and you’re showing me around. Somehow you’re going to get me upstairs because that’s where Brodey is.”
“Oh no,” Davis said emphatically. “Not me. I’m staying right here, keeping my nose clean. I’m not easily scared, but that guy Bat sure makes my flesh creep.”
I stuck my Luger into his fat ribs. “You’re going in,” I said, giving him the hard eye, “or I’ll make holes in you.”
He looked at me, saw I meant business, sighed.
“Well, maybe I’ll go buy a drink,” he said. “No harm in that, is there?”
He opened the car door and we walked across the road, up the steps into the brightly-lit hall.
No one took any notice of us. We went to the bar. The-barman nodded to Davis and set up a bottle. He seemed to know Davis.
We had a couple of snorts before a thin little man with polished black hair, polished black eyes and a paper- thin mouth came out from behind a curtain and joined us.
“’Lo, Sansotta,” Davis said, tipping his hat. “Here’s a pal of mine who’s blown in looking for a good time. George, this is Sansotta, I was telling you about.”
I nodded to the little man, thinking he looked a tough egg in spite of his size.
“Hi yah,” I said. “Glad to know you.”
He nodded. His puss didn’t reveal anything.
“Nice town you have here,” I said, like I thought he owned the burg.
“Fair,” he said, looking around the room. His eyes were continually on the move.
I trod on Davis’s foot.
He grunted, then said, “Any poker going on tonight? My pal’s anxious to lose his roll.”
Sansotta looked me over, and then looked at Davis. He raised his eyebrows.
Davis nodded. “He’s okay.”
“He can go up. They’re playing in room 5.”
“Thanks,” I said, finishing my drink. “Coming?” I said to Davis.
He shook his head. “I’ll stick around for a drink or two, then beat it. You can get a taxi back.”
“Okay,” I said, and started up the stairs.
Half-way up, I glanced back, paused.
Flaggerty appeared in the main doorway. He was still wearing his green gaberdine suit, and a cigar burned
