Dan Marlowe - Shake a Crooked Town

“You're not all that old,” she announced firmly. “You have an interesting face. Sort of grim. I think we're going to be very good friends.” Her face lighted up suddenly. “Are you any good at algebra?”

“I'm the world's worst.”

“Oh, well,” she sighed. “You can't have everything.” She sailed grandly back into the living room and picked up her books. The eyelashes fluttered at him from the doorway. “See you later, large man. It's been the most.”

“It sure has,” Johnny agreed. “Hey! Can you press a suit?”

“One dollar per each, satisfaction guaranteed or your money back,” she said briskly.

“Hot up your iron. I'll bring it right down.” At the top of the stairs he encountered Mrs. Peterson, her dust mop exchanged for a broom. From her position it was obvious she had heard every word from the hallway below.

“Thanks for the way you handled that,” she said to Johnny when he went to pass by.

“You don't want to get mad at the kid. She's just testin' her wings.”

“Her generation defeats me,” Valerie Peterson said darkly. Her hands opened and closed on the broom handle. “We thought about the same things when we were her age, God knows, but it's their credo to proclaim it. I walk a tightrope trying to decide what's talk and what isn't.” Her eyes went down the stairs broodingly. “I guess I'll have to give up this business before long. Right now she's still afraid of my hairbrush but when the day comes that she isn't-” She shrugged. “Well. This floor is off limits to her, incidentally. Our bedroom is downstairs.” Johnny nodded. “There was a man here asking questions about you just after you went out.”

“He say who he was?” Johnny asked quickly.

“He didn't have to say. I was born and raised in this town. His name is Kratz. He has a used-car lot on the edge of town. He's also mixed up in local politics.”

“What did he ask you, Mrs. Peterson?”

“Just who you were. He seemed surprised when I told him.” Maybe it had been a break at that, using his own name, Johnny reflected. Kratz had been trying to pick up the alias. With him using his own name it might slow them down a little wondering about his backing. They'd picked him up so fast there sure as hell wasn't anything the matter with their liaison.

Valerie Peterson was watching his face. “I want no trouble here,” she warned him. “I know this Kratz. You mind what I say.” She walked away from him, down the stairs. In his room Johnny took down his suit from the closet and headed for the kitchen and Jingle.

Jessamyn Burger was both an attractive and comfortable dinner companion, Johnny decided. She had appeared in a conservative woolen suit firmly attached to a not-so-conservative figure. She had held up her end of the conversation, had laughed at his jokes, and had gradually turned serious when he described-still in a humorous vein-his encounter with Savino on the library steps and his reception at police headquarters. If she had heard the story before she was a good enough actress to disguise it.

“I think that you were luckier than you know,” she said quietly when he finished. “You're a stranger in this town. You have no idea of the situation here.”

“There was one thing that bothered me,” Johnny admitted. “I'd been in town an hour when Savino tied into me at the library. I couldn't figure how he got to me so fast. I think I know. He wasn't tailin' me. He was watchin' you, an' recognized me when I walked in.”

Her eyes widened. “Watching me? That's the most ridiculous idea I ever-”

“What's so ridiculous about it? You and Daddario were friends. You were in. Now you're out. They might be havin' second thoughts about what you learned about their business.”

“I learned nothing about their business, except what's hearsay in the town anyway.” She said it firmly. “Jim and I were friends for years but we never discussed his political affairs on any but the most platitudinous level.” Her eyes were steady on Johnny's. “We're still friends. I'm positive Jim would never do anything to hurt me or implicate me in any way.”

“Not while things were goin' his way,” Johnny argued. “Right now he's a little shook up. I think he's busy shorin' up the timbers on his political cabin. You might know more than you think.” Jessamyn Burger shook her head decisively and Johnny changed the subject. “Speakin' of hearsay in the town, I understand Dick Lowell has got himself an unofficial first lady.”

Her smile was unwilling. “For the length of time you've been in Jefferson you've certainly improved each shining hour. I don't think that situation is quite the way you'd appraise it from surface appearances, though. The woman's husband left her ten years ago but he's a dog-in-the-manger type who won't give her a divorce. She can't get it without him dragging her name and Dick's through every paper in the state. He's threatened to do it. Dick can't have that, so the status quo remains. It's a sordid but not unusual situation.”

So it wasn't Micheline Thompson with whom Dick Lowell was playing house, Johnny mused. He was surprised at the relief he felt at the news. If she had been involved it would almost have clinched her role in the Manhattan suite. Thinking of her recalled something else. He had called the number listed for Carl Thompson in the phone book before he had left Mrs. Peterson's to meet Jessamyn, and had raised no one. He pushed back his chair and signaled the waiter for his check. “Excuse me a moment,” he said to Jessamyn. He placed a bill beside his plate.

He walked out to the men's room and stepped into a phone booth just outside the door. He dialed the Carl Thompson number again and listened with a gathering frown as the phone rang and rang. He hung up and emerged from the booth thoughtfully. He wondered where Micheline Thompson was spending her time.

Back at the table he smiled down at Jessamyn Burger. “See you home, lady?”

“Oh, don't bother. It's out a little way. I'm-”

“Bother? I want to bother.” Her color bloomed at his inspection. “We'll take a cab out an' I'll walk back. I need the exercise.”

“Well-” He gave her no chance to argue. On the sidewalk he took her arm while the restaurant doorman flagged down a taxi. “The address is 546 Circle Drive,” she said as one pulled in to the curb. Johnny gave the driver the address and settled down beside her. It was a quiet ride.

“I'm sorry I can't invite you in for a drink,” she said when the cab pulled into a curving street lined, with apartment buildings. “As far as their librarian's morals are concerned, Jefferson is a small town.”

“I'll just walk you to the door,” Johnny said as the taxi stopped before a building shabbier than its neighbors. “I'd like to do this again when you can work me into your schedule.”

“I have no schedule,” she said before she thought. She smiled self-consciously. “I really should build myself up to you better than that, shouldn't I?” He took her arm again up the broad cement walk. At the door she turned. “Thank you. I enjoyed it.”

He opened the door. “I'll give you a ring,” he suggested. He stood on the step holding the door. “Is there any-” Over her shoulder as Jessamyn moved inside Johnny saw a shadow that materialized into Jigger Kratz and Tommy Savino standing there, waiting. Without even thinking about it Johnny stepped inside and closed the door.

At the expression on his face Jessamyn turned quickly. “Jigger!” she exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

The big man stood with his hands jammed comfortably into his pockets, a cigarette dangling from a corner of his mouth. “Jim wants you should call him, Jessie,” he said. His lips seemed not to move at all.