The Devil You Know (10 page)

“For whom? I’ve friends employed by various Chicago papers and none of them dress so well.”

“
The Times
is involved,” said Barrett. “London, of course.” He’d played up his accent, trying to sound more English, I guess. I wanted to kick him.

“And I’m the Duchess of Windsor,” said Clapsaddle, waking up more. “What’s the story, Fleming?”

“You’ll read it in
Atlantic Monthly
,” I said. “Or
True Detective
, I’ve not made up my mind where to send it.”

Clapsaddle growled, but it turned into a groan, and cupped his head with one hand. Green from the neck up, he was in no condition to attempt to scoop me.

“Where does Brogan hang his hat on a Monday night?” I asked. “His trucking firm?”

“Hardly. He has lesser minions running that place. It’s gone legit now, anyway. He’s got other businesses like that chop-house over on . . . oh, that burned down.”

“Gang war?”

“Drunk cook. Brogan invested in a new place, trading the cook for a bartender and dancing girls, but you can still get a good steak if you know to ask for it.”

“Where’s the new joint?”

“Do I look like a telephone operator? There’s a precinct house up the street; ask the desk sergeant. The police usually know where to find someone like Brogan; it’s putting and keeping a collar on him that’s the hard part.”

During this exchange, Izzy futzed with the typewriter, dropping a cover over it and straightening papers. I threw a glance her way, but she just shook her head again.

“Leave me out of it,” she said. “You don’t work here; I do, and I like it.” She jammed a hat on her head, pulled on a coat, got a purse and gloves from a desk drawer, and marched out. “Get some sleep, Clappie. I’ll see you Wednesday. Bye, Fleming.”

“Don’t we owe her a meal?” asked Barrett.

“That would be the lady’s choice,” I said. “She’s not interested.”

“Then perhaps I can make this fellow a bit more cooperative.”

He wanted to hypnotize Clapsaddle, who was still squiffy as hell from his weekend party. I didn’t care to stand around and watch that. “Forget it. Let’s find that precinct house. See you around, Clapsaddle.”

“If the gods decree such a calamity, then somehow I must endure.” He eased back on the couch with a groan and put one arm over his eyes.

I led the way out. Barrett hesitated, but caught up with me in the hall.

“This is not good,” I said.

“In what way?”

“Say we find Brogan, and say he’s behind the body you found. Someone like Fleish Brogan is no small fish. He is a big bad shark surrounded by other sharks. We can probably get past that and isolate him, but then what? What do you do with him?”

“It does bear consideration,” he admitted.

“Which you haven’t done.”

“I never thought we’d come this far.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Really, Fleming, all you have is a name on a trucking firm and the say-so of a drunkard that there is a connection between that name and a missing lawyer. There’s no proof that the body I found was Endicott’s. It could be some other man.”

“Then we should stop now and go back to your house.”

“We cannot. Whoever shot us might discover that it didn’t work. They could return later to make a better job of it, and that puts members of my household in danger. I won’t have that.”

“Then you want to carry this through?”

“Yes.”

“How far?”

“What do you mean?”

“You mentioned retribution. I know how messy that can get. Make too much of a mess and you lose that quiet life on your estate. You’d have to pull up, leave, and not come back. If the cops don’t come looking for you, the bad guys will.”

He looked annoyed. “My choices are not at all appealing. I can drop matters now and hope to not be bothered again.”

“Hope, yeah. Hope is such a wonderful thing.”

“Or track down the guilty party and see to it he leaves me alone.”

“Evil-eye whammy, yeah, good stuff. Not permanent, but good.”

 
“Or . . .what?”

“Make a mess, but make sure you’re not blamed for it.”

“How does one do that?”

“Guys like Brogan always have enemies. Sometimes you don’t have to look very far to find them. Let’s track him down, size up his situation, and take it from there. This could run for a few nights, though.”

He shrugged. “This city has many fine hotels. I can telephone a neighbor to look after my horses, and I’ve a bag of my earth in the car. What about you?”

“It’s in my money belt.”

“Interesting. I should obtain one of those.”

 
“Great, fine, and we have to lose our names.”

“Sensible.”

“And I’m in charge. That means you don’t try to help unless I ask for it. That bit you threw in about
The Times
took Clapsaddle off the rails.”

“On the contrary, I distracted him from becoming too curious about you.”

“Which I could have handled. You want this resolved, then I have to run the show. If horses come into it, then you’re in charge, but this is stuff
I
know.”

“I suppose you do.”

“There’s another part to it—I need to know you can watch my back.”

That surprised him. >

“Good. Mouth shut, eyes open, we’ll do okay.”

“You’re different, Mr. Fleming.”

I tried not to ask, but the words popped out. “Oh, yeah?”

“Calmer, more confident than I remember.”

Could have knocked me over with a feather. “It’s the suit.”

“If you say so.”

“I do, and what’s with you giving Izzy the eye?”

“I’m undead, not dead.”

“No argument, but I’ll remind you that only last night you were crying into your teacup about Emily.”

He considered that. “True. But what you said opened my eyes.”

“Hah?”

“Your unexpectedly profound statement about it being the lady’s choice. Such is my situation with Emily. The lady made her choice.”

“You bounce from Emily to a new girl just like that?”

“Hardly. But Emily’s gone for good, and I’ve been moping for over a month about it. The fact is, it was rather a relief. We’re no longer fighting and hurting each other. I hope she finds happiness. Why should I not seek a portion for myself?”

“No argument, but—”

“I have been told many times that it is a free country. Miss DeLeon is over twenty-one and quite able to make her own decisions.”

 
“Yeah, but. . .”

“What?”

I looked him in the eye. “Izzy is a friend of mine.”

 
“Yes. . .?”

“Make her cry and
I
will
hurt you.”

He stared, then chuckled. “Well-a-day. Perhaps there is a gentleman lurking under that fedora after all.”

I wanted to pop him one, just as a public service.

He looked toward the city room and Clapsaddle’s office. “I still think I should try getting through to that fellow. It won’t take long.”

“Maybe, but this will be faster.”

“What will?”

I punched the button for the elevator. The doors parted instantly since it was still on our floor. Izzy was inside, arms and ankles crossed, leaning on the wall as though settled in for a long wait.

“This,” I said, stepping in. “There are two things you can rely on in the news trade: that Isabelle DeLeon never turned down a chance for a scoop or a free meal.”

“Smart aleck,” she said, and told the operator to take us to the lobby. The doors silently shut us in.

“Can you find Brogan for us?” I asked her.

“Only if I come along to watch.”

“Deal.” I put my hand out and we shook, again knowing that Barrett could make her forget anything inconvenient.

“But Mr. Clapsaddle said that this Brogan was dangerous,” said Barrett. “I should not like to take the lady into anything approaching peril.”

“Trust me, you want Miss DeLeon where you can see her. It’s when she’s out of sight that she can be a problem.”

“Really, Fleming—”

“Yeah, really. She once slipped into the White House without anyone being the wiser.”

“Indeed?” He looked at her, clearly curious.

“I’ll tell you about it over dinner, big boy,” she said, linking an arm through his. “A
nice
dinner. . . .”

I didn’t say a word about being relegated to the backseat of the Studebaker while Barrett tried charming Isabelle in the front. She’d gotten faster and sharper in two years—and that from a running start—so I wasn’t worried he’d seduce her off her feet when I wasn’t looking. It was educational watching him trying to find out about her while she returned the favor, neither of them getting far, but enjoying the game.

Izzy gave directions to a New York hotspot that was popular enough to bring in crowds even on a Monday. Well-dressed people loitered around the entrance, waiting for or emerging from cabs. There was no parking nearby, of course. Barrett found an opening a block away, this time pulling in sedately. She told him to lock it, which he did with a slight shrug, then they linked arms and strolled. I was a few steps behind.

“Fleming?” Izzy paused and turned, her unoccupied left elbow out. “Hang it here.”

I did so, and she looked very pleased with herself, walking between us. “What gives?”

“How many times do I get to ankle into a swank club with two handsome men to look after my every wish?” she asked.

“
One
handsome man,” said Barrett.

“Aw, don’t sell yourself short, big boy,” she said in a comforting tone.

* * * * * * *

* * * * * * *

The club’s lobby was impressive,
taking all comers who could afford the outrageous two-fifty cover charge. On a weeknight? Barrett beat me to the punch, but I grabbed the tickets for our hats and coats when we checked them.

The music was loud; I leaned in close so Barrett and Izzy could hear. “You two are Mr. and Mrs. Howard, got that?”

“No wedding ring,” said Izzy.

“Keep your gloves on.”

“And if I meet anyone I know?”

“Tell them about your romantic elopement, Mrs. Howard. I’m Mr. Taylor, and from this point on you both do what I say. Got it?”

They got it, but looked amused.

The evening’s first show had just ended and patrons were leaving. A hostess led us to a table near the dance floor and a moment later a waiter came to see if we were thirsty. Barrett and I took coffee, and with a straight face Izzy ordered a Shirley Temple.

“Nothing stronger?” I asked.

“I don’t like the taste of booze.”

She’d also seen what it was doing to Clapsaddle. I wondered how deep their working relationship ran.

Barrett discussed the possibility of obtaining a steak for the lady. The waiter was encouraging. I looked around, studying the operation. I couldn’t help but compare it to my own club.

Lady Crymsyn was swank, but not on the same scale as this joint. The stage and dance floor were huge; there were five times as many tables, and the bouncers certainly outnumbered the drunks. It was packed. During the week I was lucky to fill half the tables. Weekends were when I made the real profit. This one was doing two shows a night to full houses.

Different town, different patrons
, I thought.
Apples and oranges
.