Ride the Pink Horse (1946) by Dorothy B. Hughes

Author:Dorothy B. Hughes
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Mystery, Thrillers & Suspense, Hard-Boiled, Thriller & Suspense, Suspense, Literature & Fiction
Publisher: Mysteriouspress.Com/Open Road
Published: 1946-12-14T00:00:00+00:00

3

It wasn’t more than a few minutes past five when he came up from the men’s room. He’d washed up, brushed himself off as best he could. He didn’t look as if he’d been sleeping in the park. The patio was filled but quietly; a few, not many persons milled in the lobby. He started towards the Cantina. Started and didn’t dare turn aside when McIntyre rose up to meet him. Mac hadn’t any business being here yet. It wasn’t time for his appointment McIntyre said, “Hello. You’re early.”

“A little.” It hadn’t occurred to him that Mac would be here waiting. He didn’t know what to say to the cop. He couldn’t tell him to beat it until his own private confab with the Sen was done. He had to carry Mac with him. Not knowing if the Sen would join him if he saw the cop there. Not knowing how he’d get rid of Mac for the necessary moments alone.

“Going in now or wait for him here?” McIntyre asked.

“Might as well go in,” Sailor said. He laughed a short one. “Maybe he’s still in there.”

McIntyre followed Sailor this time. He said, “He isn’t. He and his party left about two o’clock.”

McIntyre was watching close. Watching the Sen as close as he was watching Sailor.

Sailor asked wryly, “You been counting noses in the lobby all afternoon?” But he wanted to know.

McIntyre said, “No. I took a nap.”

Were McIntyre’s eyes knowing? He couldn’t tell. Did McIntyre know he’d been sleeping up on the Federal lawn?

He asked ironically, “You haven’t been doing Fiesta?”

McIntyre chose the table again. Not in line of the entrance this time. Around in back of the tree where the Sen would have to look for them. And finding them couldn’t act as if he hadn’t seen them. McIntyre was smart as hell. He even chose the chair he wanted, putting Sailor’s back to the entrance, placing himself where he could glimpse anyone coming in. But the branches of the tree hid his face.

“I caught a bit of the parade,” McIntyre said, “but I decided to skip the Chocolate. Not that it didn’t sound peaceful but the fashion show with it—” he shook his head. “I didn’t think a guy like me would be any asset.” He smiled. “Mrs. McIntyre will be mad at me for missing it.”

He’d never thought of McIntyre having a Mrs. McIntyre. He’d never thought of McIntyre having any life but on the Chicago streets. Like a dog. Smelling out trouble, trotting after trouble, digging up old bones of trouble. Until the commissioner boosted him to a desk and a leather chair. Where he could rest his nose and his feet, send other cops out to follow trouble.

Sailor said, “I didn’t know you were married.”

“Eighteen years,” Mac said. “Have one girl in college this year.”

The waitress who came to the table wasn’t pretty or young; her mouth wore tired lines and she didn’t care that they weren’t ready to order. She left the table and stood with another waitress by the open-air fireplace.

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