The Leather Duke

“It so happens that that’s one thing I’m good at,” Johnny declared. “For instance, did you know that the man in the black Chevvie’s having an awful time keeping up with us?”

Linda started to look over her shoulder, but Johnny exclaimed, “No — don’t. Look in the rear vision mirror.”

Linda followed his order. “There’s a black coupe behind us, all right, but what makes you think it’s following us?”

“Turn left at the next corner.”

Linda gunned the motor of the Cadillac, then made a left turn that caused the tires to screech, Johnny looking in the mirror, saw the black Chevrolet careen wildly as it almost missed the turn.

“Now make a complete turn around the block and get us back on Larrabee,” Johnny said. “If he’s still with us then, he’s following.”

Three minutes later they were back at their starting point and the black Chevrolet was seventy feet behind them. “Okay,” said Johnny, “he’s following us.”

“I can lose him,” cried Linda.

“What’s the good of that? Then I’d only worry about him. Continue on to the Fluttering Duck.”

Chapter Twelve

Ten minutes later Johnny and Linda got out on Wabash, turning the yellow Cadillac over to the doorman of the Fluttering Duck. The black Chevrolet was double-parked a short distance away.

They entered the restaurant and the headwaiter immediately escorted them to a table.

“I’ll have a dry Martini,” Linda said, as they were seated.

“Beer for me,” said Johnny.

“Beer!”

He grinned. “I’m a working man. By the way, are you sure you didn’t have a lunch date today with Freddie?”

“Why, no. And if you don’t mind I’d just as soon not talk about him.”

“Well,” said Johnny, “we don’t have to talk about him, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to talk to him, because here he is.”

Fred Wendland, his hair nicely pomaded, was bearing down on them. His face had a sullen, unhappy expression.

“Linda,” he said, “I thought I might run into you here.”

“Oh, did you?” Linda asked coolly.

Wendland pulled out a chair. “D’you mind?”

“Yes,” said Johnny.

Wendland had not even looked at Johnny so far and if he heard him he gave no sign. He sat down. “I called your home and the butler told me you’d gone into town with your father. It’s about tomorrow night, the fraternity’s asked the alumni to a housewarming, for the new house and I thought—”

“Which team are you on?” Johnny asked. “Fraternity or Alumni?”

Wendland turned deliberately and looked at and through Johnny. “Oh, hello, Fancher, isn’t it?”

“Fletcher.”

“Ah yes, Fletcher. From the tannery, aren’t you?”

“The factory, son. And ten’ll get you twenty that you get sore before I do.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”

“For example, what business are you going into after you get out of school?”

“Stop it, Johnny,” said Linda. “Fred’s been out eight or nine years.”

“But he was just talking about his fraternity house...”

“He’s an alumnus and you know it very well. Let’s have a more or less peaceful lunch, shall we? I’m hungry.”

“You order for me,” Johnny said, “I want to have a little chat with the man from the black Chevvie.”

“He’s come in?”

“Little table, just inside the door.”

Johnny got up and crossed the room. He pulled out a chair opposite the man who had followed them to the Fluttering Duck. He was a rather insignificant-looking man of indeterminate age, but probably in his late thirties.

“Mr. Smith, I believe,” Johnny said.

“I beg your pardon!”

“Aren’t you John Smith of Keokuk, Iowa?”

The man shook his head. “You’ve made a mistake.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Johnny easily. “Let me see, you drive a black Chevrolet coupe, License 7 S 57–08... My name is Johnny Fletcher, I work for the Towner Leather Company, and the young lady with me is the boss’s daughter, Linda. The fellow with the shiny hair who just broke in on us is Freddie Wendland, her fiancé. Next question?”

“If you don’t mind,” the insignificant-looking man said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just stopped in here to have my lunch...”

“Who put you on my tail?”

“Tail? I don’t think—”

“You don’t think you know what I’m talking about. Never heard of Al Piper either, did you?”

“Wasn’t a man by that name, ah, murdered yesterday?”

“Right!” cried Johnny, “and for that you win the jackpot, and the mink coat, and the furnished house and lot and the table model electric refrigerator, plus a ten year’s supply of Royal Snus snuff. And would you like to try now for the sixty-four dollar question?”

“Got a big mouth, haven’t you?” the man across the table asked, “and I see somebody bopped you one recently...”

“Last night, on Oak near Milton. Didn’t happen to see it?”

“No, but if you play a return engagement, let me know and I’ll make it a point to be there.”

“Oh, you’ll be there, all right. That’s your job, isn’t it? To follow me.”

“You’re doing all the talking.”

“You’ve done a little yourself.”

The man signaled a waiter. When the latter came over, he said: “I’d like a bacon and tomato sandwich on toast. Plenty of mayonnaise...”

“Mayonnaise,” said Johnny in disgust, and getting up returned to his own table.