Black Mask (Vol. 29, No. 3 — January 1947)

“The only reason you come here,” he told me calmly, “is because no other joint in town would let you in. A gum-shoe, a shamus — they ain’t so democratic, them other joints.”

“Tonight,” I told him, “I’m going to the Golden Pheasant. I’ll bet they let me in. I’ll bet I get a ringside table.”

“That I want to see,” Mac scoffed. “You should live so long.”

“You should see me with my new suit on,” I said. I paid him, and left.

The new suit was a dark blue cheviot, looking like more than it had cost — I like to think. With it, I wore one of my two remaining white shirts and a blue and silver striped tie. I hoped that this Pheasant wasn’t one of those snobbish places where formal clothes only are admitted. Maybe the Dusy would impress them.

This Golden Pheasant was one of those snobbish places. The doorman looked down his nose at me, while he told me this. It was a long and thin and haughty nose. He didn’t even glance toward the Dusy, parked just across the street.

“It’s business,” I assured him. “It’s urgent business with Mr. Every and I’m sure he’ll fire you if he hears you’ve kept me out”

“I’m sorry, sir,” the doorman said. “I’m very sorry. Perhaps it would be better if you were to go some place and phone Mr. Every.”

“O.K.,” I said. “It’s about Miss Harlin. You tell him that when you see him.” I turned and started to walk away.

“Just a moment, sir.” There was some urgency in his voice.

I waited.

“You didn’t give me your name, sir. Mr. Every will want to get in touch with you, I am sure.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” I told him. “He seemed to be a hard man to approach. Tell him I might drop back. Or I might not.”

He was worried, I could tell.

He said humbly: “Wouldn’t you care to wait inside?”

“In these clothes?” I said wonderingly. “In these old rags? Jeeves, I’m disappointed in you. Just tell him I might drop back.”

“You could wait in the bar, sir,” he suggested. “I’m sure there’d be no complaint. I’ll explain it to the bartender.”

I appeared to consider this. I pursed my lips and wrinkled my brow. “They have whiskey in there?” I asked him finally.

“Of course, sir. Including some bonded whiskey.”

“Well,” I relented, “in that case, I might wait around for a while.”

We went in together, and he went down to the end of the bar to explain it all to the bartender.

It was quite a place. There was silver in the decorating, and some pale blues. There was a misty, romantic quality in the atmosphere. All women would look glamorous in this light, all men interesting.

It was early, and there wasn’t much of a crowd. Through the archway, I could see that most of the tables were empty. The bar was semi-circular, attended by five men in white. Only two of them were busy at the moment, the others stood around in a sort of parade rest position. They looked well-disciplined.

One of the men in white was standing before me now.

“Scotch,” I said, “with seltzer.” I examined my nails and pretended that I wasn’t more at home in a spot like Mac’s.

It tasted like all Scotch tastes — like liquid smoke, but I drank it manfully, while I surveyed the place.

Whoever said crime doesn’t pay? He must have meant small crime doesn’t pay much. Val Every had made the money for this joint in a variety of ways, all of them dishonest. He was probably making money here — just meeting the payroll would be big business. And Val wasn’t the biggest operator in this town, not by a long, long way.

From the dining room, now, I could hear the sound of a violin — softly muted music, sad music.

It dug into me, inside, where I live.

Chapter Three

No Logic in Love

Then a feminine voice brought me back to here and now. “Were you waiting for Mr. Every?”

A blonde. She’d been some places and seen some things, I would guess. That was in the dark blue eyes. She wasn’t hard. She was dressed daringly in a sheath of black satin, but she was dressed expensively. The humorous slant to her full mouth saved the face from being just another blonde’s face. She had all she needed.

“I am,” I said. “Has he come in yet?”

“Not yet.” She climbed up onto a stool next to me, and gestured the bartender over. “Rye,” she told him, “with a little water, Jim.”

“Right, Miss Meredith — same as always.”

She turned to me. “My first name is Judy, if you’re interested. Did you bring some news about Flame?”

I shook my head. I told her my name. “I just wanted to talk to Every about it,” I explained. “You work for him?”

She looked at me doubtfully. She smiled. “Work — why, yes, I guess it’s work. You might say I watch out for his interests.”

“Miss Harlin would be one of the interests?”

“Yes, damn it.” Her drink came, and she studied it. “Yes, she would be the big interest. I was hoping she was dead.”

I said: “The venom clamours of a jealous woman — poison more deadly than a mad dog’s tooth.”

“Was she poisoned?” Judy asked. “Tell me she was poisoned.”

“No,” I said. “At least, not to my knowledge. It’s the music. I always quote the bard when I’m emotionally stirred.”