The Shadow - 296 - A Quarter of Eight by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant [Grant, Maxwell]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1945-10-21T15:40:06+00:00

CHAPTER XI

FROM the moment that he entered the Cafe Trinidad, Jim Brodick wisely decided to make his business quiet and confidential. That meant going to the back of the bar-room that constituted the visible portion of this waterfront dive, because the place was well stocked with a noisy throng of typical characters found in these parts.

The back of the place was even noisier because of a strident, garish juke-box standing by a door that led to a rear room. But there was a long-jawed, high-shouldered man behind the bar who looked ready for an interview, particularly when Jim heard one of the customers call him by his name, which happened to be Charley.

Propping an elbow on the bar, Jim gave a nod and said:

“Howdy, Charley.”

The long-jawed man gave a narrow-eyed squint as though trying to recognize

this stranger. Then:

“Rico told me to stop by,” said Brodick. “Provided I didn’t hear from him,

which I haven’t.”

Charley’s eyes stayed steady and hard.

“Which Rico?”

“The one from Martinique,” supplied Jim. “Down there they knew him as Enrico Envares.”

Big Charley stepped from behind the bar, opened the door to the back room and bawled above the racket of the juke-box:

“Hey, Juju!”

What stepped to the doorway was so big it made Charley look little. It was

so big, in fact, that Brodick wondered how it had gotten through the doorway in

the first place. Such was Juju, a huge West Indian, whose complexion had the tawn of a lion’s mane. With features as massive as his build, Juju specialized on ears. Evidently he was proud of them, because he had adorned their lobes not

merely with coins, but with a pair of unmatched bronze medals that dangled from

gold rings.

Little Big Charley said something in a gibberish tongue that Juju understood. It referred to Jim Brodick because Charley helped the visitor into the back room by clamping a hamsized hand upon his back and hoisting him across

the threshold. Brodick would have sprawled if it hadn’t been for Juju. With a raucous laugh the giant spread one great paw, caught Jim with it, propelled him

to a chair and eased his landing by clutching his vest with a plucking motion.

Juju didn’t sit down. There wasn’t a chair in the place that would have supported him. He just touched the door with his elbow and it slammed; then, spreading himself against the door, Juju queried:

“You friend of Rico?”

“Used to be,” nodded Brodick. “Up to his last cruise.”

“Where you meet him?”

“Lots of places. Martinique for one.”

“When you meet him in Martinique?”

It took plenty of nerve for Brodick to grin; more for him to do it in wise

fashion, nevertheless Jim managed it. Then he explained himself by simply saying:

“We don’t talk about Martinique.”

When Jim Brodick played smart, he played smart. His statement satisfied Juju for the giant gave a short nod that made his ear-medals swing like pendulums. Then he asked:

“Why you come here?”

“To get some mail that came for Rico,” explained Brodick. “He wanted me to

pick it up if anything happened to him.”

“Mail from where?”

“From Spain for one place.

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