Part 48 (1/2)
”If it's at all risky . . . ” I said, but her stare killed the sentence while it was still in my mouth.
”Isn't giving out that information a felony?” she asked.
”Only if you're caught.”
”Seems to me somebody said that to Tony once.”
I was prepared to take whatever abuse she might throw my way. It was a rotten thing to ask, a rotten position to put her in. Had it not been for her concern over Tony and my promise to try and help, I could never have broached the subject. I'm sure all of that was racing through her mind.
”Look,” I said, ”if you don't trust me, forget it. I'm still going to get a line on Tony for you, if it's possible.”
”Thanks for telling me that, anyway,” she said. She stared at the floor some more. I decided to push it.
”There are laws that make it possible to put people away,” I said, ”people who deserve to be put away, if we can prove their money is earned illegally. I believe Cohen is a money man for the Mafia. That's who tried to kill us last night.”
She looked up sharply, her concern tempered by curiosity.
”It isn't the first time they've tried to put me away,” I said. ”I have a bullet hole in my side as a memento from their last try:”
She kept staring without comment, making me work for it.
”Would you like to hear how they make their money? Or what they do to people who get in their way?”
”I got a hint of that last night,” she said, getting up and taking the tray back to the kitchen. When she returned, she said, ”Come on, I'll take you to the hotel.”
She didn't say anything else. She got her things together and checked the door to make sure it was locked when we left. Just a couple of normal folks heading off for the daily grind. In the daylight her street was like a picture from an eighteenth-century history book. I almost expected to see Ben Franklin strolling by with a kite or Thomas Paine ranting on the street corner. It didn't seem possible that Front Street was only a few blocks away.
DeeDee didn't say a word on the way to the Ponce. When we got there she turned to me, her face tortured with anguish and anxiety.
”I know how to reach you,” I said. ”I'll call, even if I don't hear anything definite.” I started to leave the car.
”Jake?”
”Yeah?”
She sat for a minute longer, then shook her head. ”I can't do it,” she said. ”I owe a lot to Charles Seaborn, and somehow what you're asking seems like an affront to him. When Tony got in all that trouble, some of the directors at the bank wanted Mr. Seaborn to fire me. They felt it gave the bank a bad image. He stuck by me through it all, never said a word or asked anything more of me than I usually gave. I didn't even know about it for months. Lark found out and told me. I'm sorry, but what you're asking . . . I'd feel as if I'd done something to him personally.”
”My mistake,” I said. ”I never should have asked.”
”I'm glad you did,” she said. ”I'm glad you felt comfortable enough to ask me. I'm just sorry I feel this way.”
”Loyalty's a rare commodity, don't apologize for it,” I said. ”I'll be talking to you.”
”Thanks again,” she mumbled as I got out of the car. I watched her drive away and went into the hotel. The Stick was sitting in the lobby reading the morning paper.
”This is a terrible hour to be getting in,” he said drolly. ”What'll the neighbors think?”
”You know what you can do with the neighbors,” I snapped.
”Uh-oh. Get out on the wrong side of the bed?”
”I never got into bed.”
”Ah, that's the problem.”
I glared at him and suggested breakfast in the room to save time. ”I need a shower,” I growled.
We went to the room and I ordered food. I needed more than the toast and coffee DeeDee had provided. Then I got Dutch on the phone and gave him a quick report on the night's activities, not wanting him to hear it from anybody else. In the excitement at the movie theater I had forgotten to tell him about my meeting with Harry Nesbitt. I started off with that, finis.h.i.+ng with the shootout at Casablanca.
The latter got him fuming.
”I'll have Kite pick up that son of a b.i.t.c.h Nance now,” he growled.
”Won't do any good. He's probably got a dozen people who'll swear he was six other places at the time.”
”So what do we do, ignore it?”
”For the time being,” I said. ”When we get him, I want to get him good-and I want it to stick.”
”What do you want to do about Nesbitt?” Dutch asked. ”It doesn't sound like his info on Nance was too swift.”
”Maybe Nance went around the bend,” I said. ”I can't imagine Costello or Chevos pulling a stunt that stupid the way things are.”
”Why not?” the Stick cut in. ”If he'd nailed you, they could've written you off as another victim.”
”I made a promise to Nesbitt and I'd like to keep it,” I told Dutch. ”Can we find a couple of honest cops who'll smuggle him down to Jax and stick with him until his plane leaves?”
”I'll take care of it,” Dutch said. ”Let me know when you hear from him.”
”Thanks. Stick and I are working on some other things. I'll catch up with you later.”
He rang off and I gave Stick the license number of the black Pontiac. He called the DMV while I showered and shaved.
The license plates were hot, stolen a few hours before Nance and company came calling on me.
”s.h.i.+t,” I growled, ”the way this day is starting maybe I ought to go back to bed and start over.”
A bellhop who didn't look a day over fifteen showed up with breakfast. The phone rang and I answered it, trying to eat, talk, and put fresh clothes on at the same time.
”Good morning, darling.” Doe's voice was as soft as lambskin and husky with sleep. ”Sleep late?”
I looked over at Stick, who was back into his newspaper, then turned my back to him and dropped my voice an octave.
”Yeah. A late night. A lot happened.”
”I thought about you all day and all night.”
”Me too,” I mumbled.
”It was torturous being with Harry after the other night.”