Strictly For Cash (16 page)

I grinned.

"Sorry, but this place gets me."

Then I noticed a convertible Buick, drawn up outside the main entrance of the casino.

"Some car," I said.

It was a glittering black job, with scarlet leather upholstery, disc wheels and built-in head and fog lamps.

"Like it?" she said. "It's Paul's. He always used it when he stayed here. It's yours, now, Johnny."

"Mine?" My voice croaked.

"Why, yes." She smiled, but her eyes were as hard as stone. "Yours, until they find out he's dead. I don't suppose they'll let you keep it then."

I felt suddenly creepy. That was the second time she had cracked that one in ten minutes. I didn't like it.

"What's the idea, Della?"

"No idea." She walked over to the car, opened the offside door and got in.

I leaned on the door, looking down at her.

"Are you trying to tell me something?"

"Get in, Johnny. They're watching you."

I looked up. A few of the rich sofa-pets were hanging over the verandah rail staring at us. I got in under the steering-wheel.

"We'll go and look at the town," she said. "Drive to the gates and I'll tell you from there."

I switched on, trod on the starter and drove the car down the broad carriage-way.

"You still haven't answered my question."

She turned her head: her face was expressionless, and the dark-green sun-glasses masked her eyes.

"I'm not trying to tell you anything. All this is yours and mine until they find out he's dead. That's a fact, isn't it, Johnny?"

"Yeah, I guess that's right, but there's still the half million. You make it sound as if that was nothing. It'll buy something, won't it?"

"Do you think it could buy the casino and all that goes with it?"

"I guess not, but it could buy this car and a lot of other things."

"Have you thought how long a quarter of a million would last you, Johnny?"

"I'd invest it. It'd pay off a respectable income. What are you getting at?"

"You wouldn't have a lot left to invest by the time you had bought a car, a house and a wardrobe. I know I wouldn't."

"What's on your mind?" I asked, sure now she was preparing the ground for something. "I thought all you wanted was the half million."

"Turn right at the gates and then follow the main road," she said, and leaned forward to wave to the guards who were opening the gates. "Nothing's on my mind - yet. I'm wondering how we'll feel in a year or so, knowing Reisner's the boss of Lincoln Beach, and you and I have only a lump sum that'll melt like snow in the sun, and not a chance of making any more."

"Now, wait a minute," I said. "We're talking about half a million. That's not going to melt all that fast. You're exaggerating, and besides, we haven't even got that yet."

"That's right, Johnny."

I couldn't figure out what she was getting at, but I didn't like her tone nor the hard look in her eyes.

"We're going to Bay Street," she said, opening her bag for a cigarette. "Ever heard of Bay Street?"

"No. What's special about it?"

"Paul built every brick of it. They call it the Kasbah of Florida. I don't know what the take is, but I do know Paul collects fifteen per cent, and it's free of tax."

"This husband of yours must have been quite a guy."

"He was. None of the others have the magic touch Paul had."

Eventually we arrived at Bay Street: a misnomer to call it a street. Actually it was no better than an alley, about a hundred yards long and scarcely wide enough to take two cars - but what an alley!

I had thought the honky-tonk district of Pittsburgh was an eye-opener, but it had nothing on Bay Street. Packed shoulder to shoulder, amid blatant signs that left nothing to the imagination, were burlesque bars, saloons, palaces of peel, gambling-dens, brothels, a couple of dubious looking hotels, restaurants and gin dives.

"Pull over to the parking-lot," Della said. "We'll walk."

"You mean Wertham owns this as well as the casino?" I asked, as I drove into the lot and cut the engine.

"He leases it to a syndicate with a controlling interest. He knew sooner or later the millionaires, their wives and girl friends would get tired of the luxury of the casino. So he created Bay Street where they could work off their repressions, and he could still make money out of them. Handled properly, vice pays dividends, and nowhere is it better handled than here."

We walked across the street to a large building plastered with neon lights and crude, lifesize pictures of half-dressed showgirls.

"Liberty Inn," Della said. "It's run by Zoe Eisner. She's big people in Bay Street. You'd better come in and meet her. And, Johnny, remember you're big people, too. Ricca is well known by reputation heed."

We went in and met Zoe Eisner: a gigantic, middle-aged, chemical blonde who must have weighed over two hundred pounds. She made a great fuss of Della and treated me with a deference that embarrassed me, insisting on serving champagne while we talked. The speciality of Liberty Inn, she told me with a leer, were muscle dancers and strippers.

"They're hand picked, Mr. Ricca. We change them every month, and they come from the four corners of the earth. You want to come in around midnight when we're really kicking the can around. It's someihing to see."

From the Liberty Inn we went across to the Pump Room, a plush and gold gambling saloon, where I was introduced to Jerry Itta, a hawk-faced man in shirt sleeves who ran the joint. He told me the poker game in session at the moment had been on for three days.

"We get ten per cent of the final hand," he said, chewing on his dead cigar. "And by the look of it, it'll be worth five grand."

Both Zoe Eisner and Itta seemed scared of Della, and they enquired after Wertham with bated breath. It was the same story wherever we went. Our visits were brief, our reception royal, and Wertham's power always obvious.

"Time we got back," Della said after we had met a dozen or so characters and looked over most of the sin-dives. "We have a date with Nick."

"There must be a fortune tied up in that alley," I said as I got into the car. "Don't the cops interfere with this set-up?"

"They would if they weren't taken care of," Della returned, and laughed. "Captain of Police Hame collects five hundred a week from Reisner. You'll meet him before long. He's all right 80 long as he gets his money, but if it stopped, he'd slam us shut overnight."

"How do you reckon this set-up will make out now Wertham's dead ?" I asked, steering the Buick through the stream of traffic.

"I don't think Nick can handle it. Zoe and Itta have ideas, and would like to break away from us if they dared. That's why I wanted them to meet you."

"What's that got to do with it?" She gave me a queer little smile. "It may have plenty to do with it, Johnny."

VI

Reisner was sitting behind a big, flat-topped desk, a cigarette drooping from his thin lips. To his right, lounging in an armchair, was a short, thick-set man whose iron-grey hair was clipped short, and his square, brutal face burned red by the sun. He jumped to his feet when he saw Della, a wide grin lighting up his face.

Della gave him a bright, provocative smile, and allowed him to hold her hand a little longer than necessary.

"It's nice to see you again. I'd like you to meet Johnny Ricca who's in charge of the Los Angeles casino." Turning to me, she went on, "This is Captain of Police Jim Hame. He's a very good friend of ours."

Hame lost his smile as he shook hands with me. He tried to crack my knuckles, but my grip was a little stronger than his.

"Glad to know you, Ricca," he said curtly. It seemed he only kept his charm for the ladies. "I've been hearing about you."

I said I had been hearing about him, too. Reisner got to his feet and began to mix cocktails.

"Jim has bad news for you, Mrs. Wertham," he said as he gave Della a dry martini. "Tell her, Jim."

Hame settled himself in his armchair again. He took a highball from Reisner with a grunt of thanks.

"We've found your car," he said.

"You have?" Della's expression was a nice blend of surprise and admiration. "Why, that's quick work, Captain."

"It was easy," Hame said, and his cold, blue eyes brooded over her face. "A report came in last night, and when Nick phoned this morning it clinched it."

"Clinched - what?"

"There was a smash on the road out of Pelotta last night. Both drivers were killed. One of them was driving your car. It's completely burned out."

Her look of startled consternation was just right.

"Burned out? Paul will be furious!"

"Yeah, that was a swell car," Hame said, stroking his heavy jowl. "How come you give this fella a ride?"

While Della was going through the story again, Reisner came over to me.

"What'll you drink? Scotch?"

Without thinking I said, "I don't touch the stuff. I'll have a beer."

The black eyes surveyed me. "I thought you lived on Scotch."

Then I remembered Ricca was a whisky-soak and my heart skipped a beat.

"I'm on the wagon now. I've taken up beer."

I don't know if he spotted my shifty look, but his face was expressionless as he opened a can of beer.

Hame was saying, "Dangerous to give a stranger a ride, Mrs. Wertham. You should know that."

"I had Johnny with me. It never crossed my mind."

I thought it was time I showed a little interest in the proceedings.

"Who was the guy, anyway?"

Both Reisner and Hame looked at me.

"There wasn't much left of him by the time we got him out of the car," Hame said, "but he's been identified. His name is Johnny Farrar: a third-rate fighter who was hitch-hiking his way to Miami. He stopped off at Pelotta and got himself a fight at the stadium. After the fight he disappeared. He must have taken a liking to the Bentley."

"You certainly have collected a lot of information fast," I said. "Nice work."

"Nothing to it, once you know how and have got the organization," Hame said, lifting his massive shoulders. "Farrar had a silver medallion in his pocket. A woman who runs a cafe in Pelotta gave it to him. She identified it, and a guy named Brant, who gave Farrar a suit of clothes, identified what was left of the suit."

"Well, I don't give a damn who he was," Della said. "It's the car I'm worrying about. Paul will be furious. He had the body specially built."

"Just one of those things," Reisner said. "I've contacted the insurance people. They've agreed to settle."

"Thank you, Nick."

"Just to keep the record straight," Hame said, looking at me, "can you give me a description of Farrar? I have one from Brant and this woman. I'd like to see if it checks with your man."

I hadn't thought of that angle. Did they suspect I was Farrar ? For a moment I was flustered.

Della cut in smoothly before I could think what to say.

"Funnily enough he wasn't unlike Johnny to look at: same build, fair and tall. He wore a white linen suit, a green and brown tie and a cream silk shirt."

"That's the fella," Hame said. "Well, what do you know? Nick and I were a little foxed. The description of Farrar seemed oddly like Ricca. We couldn't figure it out."

"He was very like Johnny," Della said, completely unruffled. "But Johnny wouldn't have it. I pointed it out at the time, but I guess he thinks he's a lot better looking than he really is."

That got a laugh from Hame, but Reisner continued to stare thoughtfully at me.

Hame rose to his feet.

"Well, I guess that takes care of that," he said. "I'll be running along. We won't need either of you at the inquest. Our yarn to the coroner will be that Farrar stole your car from the parking-lot, and you didn't catch sight of him. Okay?"

"That's very sweet of you," Della said.

"Glad to save you any bother, Mrs. Wertham." Again she let him hold her hand longer than necessary. "Look me up when you're passing headquarters. Always glad to have a beautiful woman in the office." He nodded to me, "So long, Ricca."

When he had gone, I said, "Nice obliging cop."

"So he should be," Reisner said curtly. "We pay him enough." He moved to his desk and sat down. "Well, now we've got that straightened out, let's get down to business."

"Yes," Della said, "Paul wanted Johnny and me to check the books, Nick."

Reisner favoured her with a cold stare.

"You? First time you've had anything to do with the business, isn't it?"

There was a short pause while they looked at each other, then Della laughed.

"I have to make a start sometime. As Paul couldn't come himself, he asked me to represent him."

Reisner picked up a paper-knife and began to dig holes with it in his blotter. There was a vague littie smile hovering around his thin lips.

"So you're his representative? That's interesting. Have you got it in writing?"

Della's eyes snapped.

"Writing? Are you trying to be funny, Nick?"

"No." Reisner leaned back in his chair. "Paul told me Ricca was to check the books. Okay, he can check them, but Paul didn't say anything about you taking a look, and you don't until I have Paul's authority."

Reisner dug more holes in the blotter.

"I'm not interested in what Paul said to you. He didn't say it to me."

"Now, look ..." I began heatedly, but Della cut in.

"Keep out of this, Johnny. I can handle it." She stood up. "Paul thinks you've been dipping into the reserve," she went on to Reisner. "We're here to check it. A stall like this won't get you anywhere. If you don't want to get the heave, you'll give me the keys."