You've Got Him Cold by Thomas B. Dewey

Author:Thomas B. Dewey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery, detective, crime, sleuth, murder
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2015-08-12T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

His complexion wasn’t too swarthy. He was of medium size, skinny, not stocky. He had very white teeth. His suit was sharply cut, inexpensive but clean and stiffly pressed. His mouth twitched.

“I didn’t catch the last name,” I said.

“Royal. Nick Royal.”

“This is Mac,” Marianne said. “Mac, say hello to Nicky.”

“I did,” I said.

He nodded jerkily at Marianne.

“Some kid,” he said. “She rocks me, this kid.”

“Yeah?” Marianne said. “Listen, I’ve got a new job, how about that? I’m working for Mac.”

“And the lunch hour is over,” I said. “Drop you somewhere, Nicky?”

I couldn’t see his white teeth any more.

“No hurry,” he said. “What kind of work, kid?”

“Research,” she said.

Nicky came along with us to the street.

“What kind of research?”

“I’m writing a book about Steel City,” I said.

“What do you know?”

I picked three newspapers off the rack. Nicky took a match out of his mouth and waved it at me.

“I know some stuff about Steel City,” he said, “that you won’t find in the papers. I could write a book myself.”

“Where can I get in touch with you?” I said.

“I’ll be around. Marianne knows where I am.”

“The right kind of information is worth money to me,” I said. He nodded, shrugging and twitching and tossed his match into the gutter. I led Marianne to a waiting cab. When I looked back, Nicky was standing in the depot entrance, watching us go. “What was it about having your tonsils out?” I asked her.

“What—? Oh, you mean Nicky. It’s all right to tell Nicky. He’s my friend. He wouldn’t talk to cops. He hates cops.”

“Then everything’s all right.”

“Sure.”

I told the driver to go here and there and after a few blocks, stopped him at a streetside telephone booth.

“You had a call to make,” I said. I gave her the change for it. “Somebody to work for you?”

“Oh, yeah. Charlene, I guess.”

She got out and went into the booth and we waited about five minutes. She came back fuming.

“That bitch Charlene! All my tips for a week!”

“How much do you make in tips?”

“Fifteen, maybe twenty dollars.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“I never saw such a stingy character.”

I got her into the cab.

* * * *

The Broadview Apartments were stacked in a brick building on a semi-commercial street. From a window we could see the old courthouse. Beyond it and looming above was the Prescott Hotel. So at least everything was well centralized. If nothing should come of it, we wouldn’t have a long trip home.

The apartment had a bedroom, dressing room, kitchen and living room. It was nothing much and it made that kind of impression. Marianne put her feet on the coffee table and brooded.

“When do I start?” she said. “What do I do?”

“Nothing now. I’ll be out for a while.”

“You’re not going to stay here?”

“I’ll be in and out. You’ll be safe here. Just don’t let anybody in.”

“Nobody?”

“Nobody, including Nicky.”

“What’s wrong? You jealous of Nicky because he hangs around with me?”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “I guess that’s it.”

I turned on a couple of lamps and went into the bedroom and turned down her bed.

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