James Chase - Tiger by the Tail

“Did you give Johnny Fay Carson’s address?” Adams demanded.

“I told him where he could find her.”

“Where was that?”

“I told him she went to the Blue Rose most nights.”

“You didn’t give him her address?”

“I don’t know it.”

“What time did you tell him?”

“About eleven, I think it was.”

“So Tux works for O’Brien?” Adams said, aware he had made an important discovery.

“Yeah. O’Brien has always been his boss.”

Adams looked at Watson.

“Got it all?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Louie, you’re going to sign this.”

He read Louie’s statement over to him, held the book while Louie scrawled his signature on each page, then he got Watson also to sign each page.

“I’ll take it,” he said to Watson, and slipped the notebook into his pocket. “Come on, you don’t have to waste any more time with this punk.”

Outside in the passage, he went on, “Keep your mouth shut about this statement, Watson. There’s a political angle to it that could be tricky. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Watson said blankly. He didn’t understand, but he had long ago learned it wasn’t safe to ask Adams questions.

“Okay. Come with me. I have a job for you.”

Bewildered, Watson followed Adams down the steps and across the sidewalk to his car.

It took Ken forty minutes to reach the waterfront. He was afraid to get on a bus or take a taxi. Adams had said every cop in town was looking for him by now, and he wasn’t taking any chances of being recognized.

He kept to the back streets, walking close to the buildings and shops where the shadows were darkest.

From time to time he spotted ahead of him a patrolling cop, and he hastily turned down a side street to avoid passing him.

When eventually he arrived at the waterfront, the rain that had been falling began to ease off.

It was dim, damp and smelly by the water. On the street side was a row of cafes, popcorn stalls, shops selling fishing tackle and nets, a dingy hotel and an amusement arcade.

Ken stood on the edge of the wharf and looked across the broad stretch of oily water to the distant estuary. It was too dark to see if any boats were anchored out there, but Darcy had said that was where Willor Point was , and Ken had no reason not to believe him.

He would have to find a boat to take him out there. He had little money on him and he might need every nickel before he was through. He wouldn’t be able to afford to rent a boat, he would have to borrow one.

But before he tried to find a boat, he had to know exactly where Willow Point was anchored.

He looked over at the lighted amusement arcade, hesitated, than walked slowly across the wet street and glanced in.

There were only a few youths playing the pin-table machines. A girl in a grubby white overall leaned against one of the machines while she cleaned her long painted finger-nails with a chip of wood. She was white-faced and tired; a kid of about eighteen, old in sin and experience if he could judge from her hard expression. She had a leather satchel for giving change hung over her shoulder.

He walked into the arcade and, going to a pin-table machine near where the girl was standing, he began to play, shooting the balls up the channel, watching the coloured lights spring up as each ball tapped the pins.

After he had shot off a complete row of balls, he paused to light a cigarette, and he was aware the girl was looking curiously at him.

He met her blue, dark-ringed eyes and he smiled.

“Some way to waste an hour, isn’t it?” he said.

She lifted her shoulders indifferently.

“No one’s asking you to do it.”

He left the machine and came over to her.

“Would you know anything about the boats anchored in the estuary?” he asked. “I’m looking for Willow Point.”

Surprise and suspicion jumped into her eyes.

“I’m not stopping you,” she said, slid her hand through the opening in her overall and scratched herself under her arm.

“Would you know where it’s anchored?”

“I might. Why?”

“I want to find it,” he said patiently.

“Are you sure you do, handsome?” she asked, leaning her hips against the pin-table machine. “Do you know who owns Willow Poi nt. ”

He shook his head.

“Tux,” she said, “and he’s a guy you want to keep away from.”

“I’ve got to find the boat,” Ken said.

She studied him.

“Look, handsome, hadn’t you better go home? You’re likely to get into trouble if you start messing around with Tux.”

“I’m in trouble already,” Ken said.

“Well, I don’t have to be,” she said, and abruptly moved away to give

change to a fat man who was tapping impatiently on the glass top of a pintable machine.

Ken lit a cigarette and went back to his machine. He began to play again, watching the girl out of the corner of his eye.

She moved around the arcade aimlessly, and after about five minutes she came slowly back to where he was standing.

She leaned against the machine he was playing and began to clean her nails again with the chip of wood.

“Won’t you help me?” Ken said, keeping his voice low. “Won’t you tell me where Willow Poi nt is?”

She gave a little shrug.

“Last time I saw it, it was anchored off North End.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything. I don’t know the river. How far out?”

“Half a mile. North End is the light you can see from the wharf.”

He looked up and smiled.

“Thanks.”

She shook her head at him.

“You’re heading for trouble, handsome. Tux is a mean guy.”

He shot another ball up the channel before saying, “I want a boat, but I can’t pay for it. I’ve got to go to Wi llow Point. ”

“What do you expect me to do?” she asked, not looking at him. “Steal one for you?”

“I’d do that myself if I knew where to find one.”

“Does Tux know you’re coming?”

Ken shook his head.

“How hot are you?” she asked. “Is it the cops?’*

“Something like that.”

“You’ll find a boat under the jetty. The guy who owns it leaves around dawn, so you’d better get back before then.”

“Thanks,” Ken said.

“Watch your step, handsome. Tux doesn’t like unexpected visitors. He’s tough.”

“I’ll watch out,” Ken said, and walked out into the drizzling rain.

He found a dinghy berthed under the jetty. A rod, can of bait, an oilskin and oars lay in the bottom of the boat. He swung himself down into the boat, cast off and began to row towards the distant light that she had told him was North End.

It seemed to him he rowed for a long time before he saw some way ahead of him the shadowy outlines of a cruiser, silhouetted against the dark skyline.

Ken rested on the oars and watched it, wondering if it were the Willow Point. As he sat in the gently bobbing boat he heard the sound of a distant motorboat engine. He looked quickly across the waterfront, half a mile from him.

He saw a powerful motorboat leaving the jetty. It headed towards him. He wondered in alarm if it were a police boat. He began to row away from the course set by the motorboat, then shipping his oars, he crouched down in the boat so his head and shoulders weren’t outlined against the skyline.

He watched the approaching motorboat anxiously.

It was coming fast, but he saw with relief it would pass him by some three or four hundred yards unless it altered course.

The boat roared past him, and its wash sent his boat bouncing violently.

He heard the engine suddenly cut out. The motorboat vanished into the darkness of the cruiser’s side.