Killer Mine (10 page)

In its day it had been a flash spot and the histories of two great trumpets and the world’s hottest sax had begun right here. But now all were dead, and on the relics the tourists had built legends and a purpose in keeping a gaudy gin mill operating.

I walked past it to the cab stand at the corner where three hacks edged the curb patiently and nudged the driver in the first one awake. He came to with a sleepy grin and started to reach back to open the door.

“Thanks anyway,” I said, “but I’m looking for Guy Rivera. He here?”

He sat up and pawed at his eyes. “Guy? Oh… yeah.” He waggled his thumb over his shoulder. “The last one down. Little feller.”

I slipped a buck in his hand. “Here, go back to sleep.” He grinned back and tucked the bill in his shirt pocket.

Guy Rivera had his head down reading the pink edition of a tabloid by the map light under the dash. I said, “Rivera…” and his head jerked up. He squinted, trying to see my face. “Yeah?”

I moved into the light and when he saw me little concentric arcs grew at the corners of his mouth. “Listen, Mr. Regan…”

“Don’t get nervous, Guy. I’m not on your back. Mind if I sit in the cab?”

He shook his head, but his mouth stayed tight. I opened the door, climbed in and leaned back against the seat. I said, “You know why I’m here?”

His tongue wet his lips down and he coughed into his hand. “Look, you know what I said at the trial. So I said it and that’s it. What’d I do?”

“You were on the stand no more than ten minutes, Rivera. You made a statement of fact that 
you
 picked me up here, drove me to Marcus’ place and all the while I rambled on about killing somebody. You weren’t even cross-examined.”

Rivera coughed again and nodded jerkily. “And it’s the truth. What’d you think I could say. Hell, Mr. Regan, why’re you picking on me, now. You got off. You…”

“I said I wasn’t on your back.”

“Then whatta you want from me?”

“A couple of minor things that never came out at the trial. Let’s ask them now.”

“Sure.”

“You remember everything that happened?”

“How you expect me to forget? Here I drive you out so you can…”

“Drop it. Let’s start at the beginning. Where were you when I got in the cab?”

“In the front spot. Chick and Dooley were right behind me.”

“And I came out and got in the cab?”

“Yeah.”

“I was supposed to have been pretty drunk.”

He fidgeted in his seat and tugged at the shift lever. “Well, you got in. The place was closing up. You weren’t the only rum dum coming out.”

“Think hard, Guy. Who put me in the cab?”

“How do I know! Hell, you know how it is. Drunks all over the place. Somebody gives them an arm in. All the time it happens.”

“I never get that soused, friend. Who was doing the favors?”

He shoved the lever away from him and twisted around. Worry and fright were stark things that drew thin lines down the lean cheeks and a fine bead of sweat wet his forehead. “I don’t want to make trouble, Mr. Regan.”

“You won’t.”

“Well… they didn’t let me say much at the trial. Just asked a few questions. But when… that… happened I kept thinking about it, me being so close to it. Hell, I could even have stopped it if I knowed. You come out of there with a bunch of people, but some broad stuffed you in the cab.”

“Broad?”

“Yeah. Now I didn’t see her face good because I wasn’t looking, see? But she was a redhead. Looked real. Only thing I remember is her pocketbook. I thought it was binoculars first, then she opens it and drags out a pack of smokes so I knows it’s her pocketbook. Big letter B in gold on one side. While you’re getting in she asks you if you still want to see-some-rat-and-what-was-his-name. That’s when you started mumbling about Leo Marcus and how you’d kill ’im. She asks where he lived and you told me. Top of High Street, you said. Big brick house. She made you pay in advance with a fin so I took you there, all the time talking about this Marcus.”

“How come you didn’t refuse the fare, Guy?”

“Ah, it was drunk talk, Mr. Regan. You know how it is. Guys talking to themselves. Sometimes it’s worse if you refuse. Then there’s real trouble. Anyway, I took you there.”

“Right to the door?”

Rivera made a face. “Naw. To the curb. You got out and just stood there. That’s when I drove away.”

“I was in pretty bad shape?”

“I’ve seen worse. Not often, though.”

I said, “Rivera… there’s a steep flight of stone steps going up to Marcus’ front door. You think I could have made it?”

He squinched up his face again and hunched uncomfortably. “Maybe you weren’t so bad off, after all. Sometimes…”

“I didn’t ask that.”

For a few seconds he didn’t say anything, then quietly, “No.” He swiveled around in his seat and gave me a searching look. “You know what’s got me, Mr. Regan?”

“What?”

“I’d say you were so stiff you couldn’t see to you-know-what. How you could pump six slugs into a guy’s head is beyond me.”

“It’s beyond me too.”

“Whatcha going to do now, Mr. Regan?”

“Find the girl.”

“I’m gonna tell you something.”

“What?”

“I ain’t never seen her again.”

“You said you didn’t see her face.”

“I know, but all the redheads I seen so far around the joint I know. This one I didn’t know. See?”

“You’ll keep looking?”

“Sure. So long as there’s no trouble.”

“You won’t get bothered.” I reached for a bill in my pocket and he waved it off.

“This is for friends, Mr. Regan.”

“Okay. If you want me leave a call at Donninger’s. You know where it is?”

“I know.”

“And thanks, Rivera.”

“Anytime.”

The bartender at the 
Climax
 wore a stitched nameplate that read “RALPH” in red caps on his white mess jacket, a busy little guy with all the touches of a long time pro. He didn’t see me come in, but rather felt my presence behind him and turned with a “What’ll you have?” smile.

It lasted only a second, then it was gone and he nodded coolly and said, “Evening, Mr. Regan.”

“Hello, Ralph.” He waited for my order. “Tall ginger,” I told him.

He set it up, his eyes wary, and when he took my change started to turn away.

“Come here, buddy.”

He turned around, frowning. “I got nothing to say to you, pal. Nothing. Just keep off me, or I’ll call in for a prowl car.”

I looked at him for a long time. Too long for him. He almost dropped a glass he was wiping. “That could be a mistake, buddy.”

He worked his mouth, then muttered softly, “Okay, whatta ya want?”

“Talk.”

“You already heard everything I got to say.”

“Somebody else was asking the questions.”

“Well I got nothing else…”

I cut him off. “Let’s say I want an opinion, huh?”

Ralph glanced around nervously, but nobody else was at the bar. “Like what?”

“You remember everything that night I was here?”

He shrugged and scowled. “I remember you getting stoned.”

“Not quite.”

“Whatta ya mean! I see you…”

“You saw me stoned, not 
getting
 stoned. There’s a difference. You remember what you served me at the bar here?”

“Sure. You had a couple rye and gingers. Hell, I knew who you were then from your pictures in the papers.”

“Two drinks didn’t stone me, friend. I came in here sober, remember?”

Ralph didn’t like what I was getting at a bit.

I said, “You testified I was drinking here for about three hours until the place closed up. But all you actually saw me have was two drinks.”

“Listen, Mr. Regan, I work drunks. When I see a drunk I know…”

“How’d I get so drunk, buddy?”

Suddenly his face got red and tight lines stood out in his neck. His breath came out in a hiss. “If you think I slipped you a mickey, pal, you’re crazy. Real crazy. You…”

“I went back to a table,” I said softly. “I was sitting with Stan The Pencil. I was asking questions and he was able to answer some. He took me to another table and introduced me to a couple of local characters…”

“You was with Popeye Lewis and Edna Rells. Artists. I can…”

“I know who they are, friend.” I paused, then: “Who waited on that table?”

“Spud. That’s his section. But don’t think he fed you anything, Mr. Regan. That old man has been here ten years and worked this neighborhood all his life. He’s square all the way.”

I grinned at his loyalty. It seemed out of place in a gin mill. “Just curious, Ralph. Just curious. You remember anything about a redhead who joined the table?”

He shrugged. “Who looks at redheads? Here they’re a dime a dozen.”

“One helped me into the cab. She was a stranger here.”

“If she didn’t drink at the bar, then I don’t remember her.”

“Call Spud over.”

He shook his head, annoyed at the whole routine, but walked to the end of the bar, scanned the back room, then waved. A minute later a grey-haired waiter in a tired tux worn thin from too many pressings came in, smiled and waited patiently for a complaint or compliment. On a second studied look he recognized me and glanced to Ralph for an explanation. The bartender shrugged and pointed his thumb at me.

“You remember me, Spud?”

He nodded. “Yessir.”

“You remember the party that night?”

He made a small gesture with his shoulders. “I remember some. I had a party at every table that night.”

“But you’ve had reason to remember this party, Spud. With all the publicity and having it start right here I bet you’ve thought back on it plenty of times.”

When I stopped and waited he shuffled his feet and fidgeted. “I gave it some thought,” he finally admitted.

“Who was at the party?”

He stared at me blankly a moment, thinking. “Popeye, Edna, then Miles Henry came in with them two pictures of Popeye’s that the boss bought and then a lot of people came over to look at the paintings.”

“I remember the art work,” I said. “Seems to me that’s about the last I remember.”

The old man didn’t believe me at all. His eyes tightened at the corners and his face reflected the cynicism the years had built up.

I said, “Do you remember me being drunk or sober then?”

“Mister,” he said, “I wasn’t paying attention to anybody being either way. In this business nobody ever gets more sober with each drink, they only get more drunk. I watched it happen but I didn’t pay attention to it, otherwise when I see pictures of drunks smashing up people with their cars or shooting their kids in bed I’d maybe start drinking myself because it’s partly my fault. So for you, I don’t remember anything. Later on I noticed you all shook up because you were a quiet drunk and at that stage them’s the kind to watch out for because the fuse was lit and with another few you’d be roaring. I’ve had some of ’em go for me when they were like that and now I watch for it. Sure I remember you then, and later too because you were crocked like hell and couldn’t hardly walk and everybody was laughing at you.”

It was quite a speech. I ran over it in my mind before I asked him, “Who was everybody?”

Again I got that noncommittal shrug. “There was a crowd at the table then.”

“You know them?”

“Nope. Stan The Pencil had gone to make book in the other joints and Popeye and Edna stayed with the boss the rest of the night. You had a bunch of strangers with you. That’s the way it goes here. Parties. Always parties.”

“Who footed the bill?”

“You paid by rounds. Everybody had money on the table in front of them. You too.”

“Remember a redhead at the party? She carried a handbag that was shaped like a binocular case.”

“Sure,” he said.

I didn’t interrupt him. I let him reach for it himself. “A big beautiful job and she was all over you. She got you outa here when we closed up.”

Inside my chest I felt all tight and my mouth had a dry feel. Quietly, I said, “Who was she?”

Then the tightness turned into an inaudible curse. Because he gave me that shrug again and said, “I don’t know. Just some broad.”

I fished four bucks out of my pocket and split it between the two of them. “Thanks. If you see her around, give me a call. I’m in the book.”

Ralph just nodded. Spud looked thoughtful a moment, fingered the two bucks in. his hand, then looked at me purposefully. “Mr. Regan…”

“What?”

“I don’t think you could’ve bumped that guy.”

“Why not?”

“All my life I worked drunks. I know what they can do. You couldn’t see to bump anybody that night.”

“That’s what I tried to tell them, Spud.”