Ричард Деминг - She’ll Hate Me Tomorrow

Stella smiled and the farmer said, “How do you do, ma’am?”

They moved over to the porch, where Ross introduced Stella to the plump Mattie.

“Can you put Stella up for a while?” Ross asked.

“Of course,” Mattie said. “We’ve got plenty of room.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t mention to any of your neighbors that you have a visitor,” the gambler said. “And if anyone drops in, keep her out of sight.”

The couple regarded Stella curiously, but without alarm. “The law after her?” Jerrel Tobin asked interestedly.

“She’ll tell you about it. Stella, you can trust the Tobins completely. They’re old friends.”

“Mattie wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for Clancy,” the farmer said to Stella. “He flew in specialists from New York at his own expense after local doctors had given her up, and I’ve never even been able to get out of him how much they cost, so I could at least try to pay him back a bit at a time. You don’t have to tell us anything, if you don’t want to. Anybody Clancy brings around is automatically a member of the family.”

For the first time since Stella had known him, Ross momentarily lost his suave poise. He actually looked embarrassed.

“I’ve eaten up more of Mattie’s food than those doctor bills ever cost,” he growled. “I have to get back to town, so I’ll leave Stella in your care.”

“You’re not leaving without dinner,” Mattie protested. “We’re eating in ten minutes.”

Glancing at his watch, Ross saw that it was twenty after five. “Afraid I’ll have to pass it this time, Mattie,” he said regretfully. “I really have to get back right away.”

Returning to the car, he carried Stella’s suitcase to the porch and set it down. “I’ll come back and get you as soon as things quiet down,” he told the girl.

She looked at him wistfully. “I’m an awful lot of trouble, aren’t I?”

Cupping her chin, he gave her a light kiss on the nose. “You heard what Sam said. I enjoy trouble. Take care of yourself and don’t talk to any strange men.”

Climbing into the car, he waved a general good-by and drove off.

It was just six p.m. when Ross got back to Club Rotunda. Sam Black hadn’t closed down the first-floor portion of the club, as this was an entirely legitimate business operation, and the dining room was well crowded with patrons.

In addition, there were seven cops clustered in front of the mirrored elevator doors. Two of them carried fire axes. Sam Black, wearing his stupidest expression, was listening to the leader of the squad.

Detective Lieutenant Niles Redfern was in charge of the raiding squad. He was a tall, lanky man with a lean, intelligent face and a perpetually morose expression. It was a tribute to his ability that he had ever made lieutenant in St. Stephen, for he wasn’t a part of the system. Personally incorruptible, he was also realist enough to know any attempt to reform the corrupt force for which he worked would only get him demoted, and long ago had settled for performing his job as honestly and capably as he could under the circumstances without stepping on any influential toes. Ross tended to like him.

However, his liking didn’t show on his face when he asked mildly, “What’s up, Lieutenant?”

“You’re just in time, Clancy,” Redfern said. “Your boy Sam insists you’re the only one with a key to the elevator, and I was just about to give the order to smash those pretty mirrored doors with an axe.”

The gambler’s black eyebrows raised. “You’re a little free with the city’s money, aren’t you, Lieutenant? Or don’t you think I’d sue for damages?”

Grinning sadly, the lieutenant held a search warrant under Ross’ nose. “You must have missed a pay-off to some politician,” he said cynically. “I have orders to confiscate all gambling equipment found on the premises.”

“What makes you think there’s any here?”

Lieutenant Redfern said in a bored tone. “You going to unlock that elevator, or you want us to use an axe for a key?”

“Be my guest,” Ross said, walking over to the mirrored doors and unlocking them with a small silver key.

Two of the policemen were ordered by the lieutenant to stay downstairs to make sure nothing was removed from the building. The other four, including the pair carrying axes, crowded into the elevator with Redfern and Ross. When Sam Black raised his eyebrows in mute inquiry as to whether or not Ross wanted him to come along, too, the gambler gave a slight shake to his head.

Lieutenant Redfern looked thoughtful when the doors closed and instead of one-way view glass, he was confronted by opaque metal. His expression turned glum after they got off the car at the second floor. Stopping in the archway of what had been the gaming room, he surveyed the small orchestra stand with a piano and microphone on it, and the linen-covered tables spaced uniformly about the room.

“We use this room for overflow from downstairs,” Ross explained blandly.

The lieutenant snapped orders and his squad began a thorough search of the room. After ten minutes of wall tapping, they gave up.

Grimly Lieutenant Redfern strode back into the small second-floor lobby and marched to the open door of one of the poker rooms. The round table was covered by a linen cloth and was set with silver service for eight.

“Private dining room,” Ross offered helpfully.

Ordering his men to stay in the lobby, the lieutenant checked the small barroom, the other poker room and Ross’ office. When he finished, he marched into the elevator cage without comment. His four men trailed after him, then Clancy Ross.

“Up,” Redfern said sourly.

Obediently Ross punched the button for the third floor.

The search of Ross’ apartment proved as unproductive as the search of the second floor. The police filed silently into the elevator again. Ross asked the lieutenant, “What were you looking for?”

“Gambling equipment,” Redfern snapped.

“In my apartment?”

“I’m searching the entire building.”

“Just for gambling equipment?”

The lieutenant looked at him suspiciously. “What else?”

Ross shrugged as he pushed the main-floor button. “Amos Morton was around earlier inquiring about one of my employees. Something to do with a shoplifting charge. This happens to be the girl’s night off, so I couldn’t help him. I thought maybe you had some wild idea that I’d taken up harboring criminals.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Redfern said. “But my orders are just to confiscate gambling equipment. Incidentally, what time was Morton here?”

“Couple of hours ago.”

“Hmm. The accident must have happened just after he left here, then.” “What accident?”

“His driver made a sudden stop and bounced Amos’ nose into the windshield. He called in from City Hospital that he was having a busted beak taped up.”

That was the subtle hand of Bix Lawson, Ross thought. Amos Morton wouldn’t have had brains enough to decide on his own that having Ross arrested for assault would likely result in having the whole story of Stella Parsons plastered all over the papers. But the last thing Lawson would want would be newspaper publicity. Morton must have made a phone report to the racket chief and received instructions to forget the incident.

Thirty minutes later the lieutenant and his squad had covered the rest of the building, including the basement. They failed to turn up anything even as sinister as a pair of dice or a deck of cards.

As Redfern gathered his squad together to leave, Ross said politely, “Better luck next time, Lieutenant.”

The lieutenant grinned at him sourly. “You know, I like you in a begrudging sort of way, Clancy. But I’d pass up my next promotion to nail you solid on a gambling charge.”