‘You seem to know quite a lot.’
‘I make it my business to know a lot of things, Mister Merak.’ There was a sardonic chuckle in the voice as if the other was secretly amused. ‘Sometimes, I find it pays dividends.’
‘It could also be dangerous.’
‘Perhaps. But like you, I’m an expert in taking chances.’ For a moment, there was only the humming of the wires, then the other went on. ‘I still think you ought to see me, Mister Merak. Shall we say tomorrow morning, nine o’clock, at the Golden Horseshoe?’
‘And I suppose I’d walk into a couple of your hired gunmen and get a bellyful of slugs for my trouble,’ I said sarcastically.
‘I guess that’s a chance you’ll have to take.’ The phone clicked, the line went dead.
I replaced the receiver in its cradle and sat back in my chair. Dawn came into the room, looked at me curiously.
‘I thought I heard the phone,’ she said quietly.
‘You did,’ I nodded. ‘Some guy who wouldn’t give his name. Wanted to meet me at nine tomorrow. Said he had information for me about tonight’s murder.’
‘Are you going?’
‘I’m not sure. It sounds too much like a trap to me. After they failed tonight, it’s just the sort of thing they might try. On the other hand, it may be genuine, and he didn’t want to give his name for fear of retaliation.’
‘It sounds like a trap.’
‘I know. That’s what I’m afraid of. At the moment, I’m trying to figure some way of getting around it if it is. I suppose I could call Grenville and tell him what’s happened. He might be able to figure a way of watching the place in case of trouble, and I could take this—’ I picked up the Luger, checked its buttered smoothness, then replaced it in my pocket ‘—only I’m afraid that if I did that, this guy, whoever he is, might smell a rat and he wouldn’t turn up. That could destroy the only lead I’ve got.’
The multitude of thoughts had a fine chance to run around my brain as I ate the meal Dawn had prepared; but deep down inside, I knew that the outcome was certain. That I would go down there alone and see this man, take the chance on it being a trap. Somehow, I thought fiercely, this game was becoming a little more complex and dangerous than I had figured at the beginning.
CHAPTER TWO
TONY VITELLI
There was something uncertain about the city the following morning. I sensed it as I eased the car away from the kerb and headed out in the main stream of traffic. The mist still hung around in patches, shreds of grey stuff which occasionally hid the fronts of the stores and the people going about their everyday activities. I worked my way downtown, keeping my eyes peeled for anything which might give me a lead on what I was heading into. There wasn’t much. I needed another drink, but it was still too early for any but the more flashy bars to be open in this district, although the Golden Horseshoe would have stayed open until around four in the morning, and would be open again once I reached it.
I stopped the car at the end of the dingy street, sat behind the wheel smoking. It still wanted ten minutes to nine o’clock, but on a blind date like this, I needed time in which to watch the joint, I needed to know the entrances and exits, whether the place was being watched by anyone apart from myself; and if so, by whom. More than once in the past, this caution had paid handsome dividends. Some guys had died quickly, if not cleanly, because they’d overlooked the most elementary details and had walked in to death with their eyes shut.
I finished the cigarette and decided that there was nobody watching the front entrance to the Golden Horseshoe. That didn’t mean it was clear, but it certainly began to look as if my unknown informant was on the level.
Five minutes’ wait before I stubbed out my cigarette, checked the Luger in my pocket, then got out of the car. Far enough from the entrance to make things difficult for anybody trying to shadow me in, but close enough if I had to make a run for it. Five minutes more cut out of half an hour. I laughed at myself, nervous and impatient, like a kid fresh out of high school waiting for his first date.
I crossed the street quickly, melted into the shadows on the other side, then cut down a narrow alley which led to the back of the line of buildings. Maybe I’d tagged this guy wrong. Maybe he was a right guy trying to help me along. But there weren’t many who’d do that for Johnny Merak, who had deliberately spat in the faces of the big men of the Underworld and turned his back on them. Anybody helping me was virtually signing his own death warrant if the big boys found out. That was one of the reasons it was so difficult to get information now, why I had to follow every possible lead, taking the risk of it being a trap.
The rear of the buildings, like the front, was no fancy place. I made it through a dark, garbage-strewn alley which angled between a couple of the buildings, spotted the one I wanted, and eased my way quietly along it. There was a high wall at the end of it and I pulled myself over it. My feet didn’t make a sound when they hit the concrete on the other side and I was away into the shadows before any bright boys inside, who may have been on the lookout for me, thought of looking in my direction. After that, it was comparatively easy.
I pushed open the back door and stepped into a narrow corridor. There was the smell of stale beer and tobacco smoke in my nostrils. There was another door at the end of the passage. I felt the comforting hardness of the Luger in my pocket before pushing my way through the door. The bar was half empty. Some guy was seated at the piano in one corner, thumping out a tuneless rhythm on the keys, head dropping forward as if he was drunk or half asleep.
The barman gave me a funny look, sizing me up with his eyes. I could almost hear his brain ticking over. Maybe he recognised me, maybe not. But there wasn’t any doubt he was in the pay of the big boys, and would report anything unusual, no matter how trivial it might seem.
‘Looking for somebody, friend?’ asked the barman too casually, ‘or are you just down for the drink?’
‘Both,’ I said. I knew better than to enlarge on that. Either he would shut up like a clam, or slip off at the first opportunity and phone someone in the Organisation that there was a guy there asking too many questions about the wrong things.
Somebody crushed into the seat beside me. I knew better than to turn round right away. The barman moved away and the voice beside me said:
‘Hello, Johnny. Glad you decided to come.’
I looked round, forced evenness into my voice. ‘Tony Vitelli. I thought I recognised the voice over the phone, but I couldn’t be sure.’
He sat huddled up on the bar stool, staring straight ahead of him into the mirror at the back of the bar. A short, suave guy, well-dressed, but not flashily so like most of the others. From the outside, you’d have taken him for a regular business guy, the kind you meet in the middle of Los Angeles any day around five, going back to a respectable suburban home, a wife, and a couple of kids.
That was on the outside. On the inside, he was a professional killer who had learned his business the hard way in Detroit and Chicago. I knew his past record; arrested twice on suspicion of murder, more times than I could count for illegal possession of dope. But none of the charges had ever been made to stick, and all of that was pretty old stuff from a few years back.
‘Tell me about yourself, Tony,’ I said easily.
‘You in on this case about Caroline Lomer,’ he said. ‘This Federal guy Grenville is pretty sure that it’s a mob slaying, and he’s put you onto the scent to try to smoke out the killer. Right?’
‘Could be. Don’t tell me that the Organisation has given you the job of seeing that I’m kept out of the case?’
The drinks came and I sipped mine slowly. Vitelli threw his over in a single gulp, turning the empty glass over slowly in his hands. If he had felt the insult, he