Some Die Young. James Duff
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hand away.
“Take it easy, Hap,” said Wheeler.
“He ain’t no friend of mine,” said Rossi.
“Drop dead,” I said.
“All right, all right, you two,” said Wheeler. He rose to his feet, his frame casting a long shadow across the room.
“What in hell’s going on here?” I asked.
“You tell us, wise guy,” said Rossi.
Wheeler asked: “You own a fifty-two Dodge?”
“You know I do.”
“Where is it?”
“The last time I saw it, it was parked right around the corner.” I tried to smile. “It isn’t hot, Adam.”
“Cut the comedy,” said Rossi.
“When’s the last time you saw Jocko Quinn?”
I looked at Adam and he looked at me.
“Come on, Johnny,” said Wheeler. “This is serious. When’s the last time you saw him?”
I shrugged.
“This afternoon.”
“What time this afternoon?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have the habit of timing my movements.”
“Johnny,” Wheeler’s voice was tired.
“Just before I came home,” I said. “Maybe four forty-five, maybe five o’clock. I’m not sure of the time.”
“What did he want?”
I hesitated. Rossi began moving about the room, opening drawers, looking through them.
“What’s that ape doing?” I asked.
“Cut it out, Hap,” said Wheeler.
Rossi glared at both of us, but he stopped his search.
“You didn’t answer that last question, Johnny.”
“I’ve got a client, Adam.”
“And I’ve got a murder, Johnny.”
It hit me. Two and two made four. Jocko Quinn had tried to play it too big. He had said he couldn’t handle it alone. I wondered if whoever had been tailing him had seen him with me. I hoped not.
“Jocko Quinn?” I asked.
“That’s right.”
Rossi made guttural noises at me. Wheeler stared him down.
“Hap,” he said, “you’d better check the rest of the neighborhood. See if anyone happened to see anything.”
Rossi was unhappy with the assignment. He would much rather have played blood-in-the-gutter with me. He slammed the door on his way out.
I offered a cigarette to Wheeler. He shook his head. I lit my own.
“Why, Adam?”
“I was going to ask you that question.”
I moved to the window. It was dark outside. A cat meowed and someone slammed a screen door. Tin cans fell against cement and the cat meowed again. I moved back to the middle of the room.
“You find him in my car?”
“Uh-huh. Two thirty-eight slugs in him. Looks like he was hit over the head first, then shot.”
“I don’t own a gun.”
“I know that.”
“How’d you find him?”
“A woman, walking along the street. He was lying half out of the car. She thought he was just a drunk. She opened the car door and he fell out. She screamed like bloody hell and some guy called us.”
“Simple, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know, Johnny. Is it?”
I sat down on the bed. Wheeler scratched the back of his neck. We looked at each other.
I said: “You don’t think—”
“You’re not that dumb, Johnny.”
“I hope to hell not.”
“What did Jocko want this afternoon?”
I didn’t answer.
“I thought you hated his guts.”
“I do. I did. Everybody did.”
“What did he want?”
I stared at him. He was a smart one. He’d been on the force for fifteen years. Nothing much slipped past this cop.
“I was working on a case,” I said. “He had tailed me, wanted in on it. Apparently, things hadn’t been too good for him lately. That’s all.”
I thought of the $250,000.
“Who’s the client?”
“Can you sit on it?”
“I’m not promising you anything, Johnny. I’ve got a murder on my hands. Murder plays hell in the department. We’ve got to have a killer.”
I said, “I’m not giving you a killer. I don’t know that there’s any connection. My client happens to be Claire Harding.”
His face showed surprise. “The movie star?”
I nodded.
“Traveling big, Johnny? What does she need a goon like you for?”
“That’s private, until you prove otherwise. Maybe she wanted to talk politics.”
He mulled that over, then smiled, the first time he had done so.
“Okay, Johnny,” he said, “that’ll do. You haven’t any idea why Jocko was killed?”
“Not one, Adam.”
Lying comes easy in this business.
“You’ll be around?”
“Of course. I’m going out to the Harding place tonight.”
“Business or pleasure?”
I smiled now. “Business.”
His smile broadened. “I’ve heard of her. Need any help?”
“You’re married.”
“Uh-huh,” he said. He moved to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “You can’t use your car. It’s impounded.”
“Thanks.”
“If you happen to think of anything, any reason for Jocko being killed, you’ll let me know?”
“I can give you a thousand reasons,” I said. “For one thing, he smelled in hot weather.”
Wheeler nodded, seriously. “Dead or alive.” He added: “I’d hate to think you’ve been lying to me, Johnny. I like you.”
“It’s mutual.”
He left.
I took off my pants and went into the shower. The water stung my head, trying to beat some sense into it. I wondered just where that $250,000 Jocko had talked about was. I could use it. The thought of the Riviera came to me again.
3
THE CABBIE SWORE LOUDLY AT THE Cadillac convertible which had swerved in front of us. We turned off Sunset, going north. The houses were in the six-figure bracket, though you couldn’t see them; they were well hidden behind trees and a varying type of high wall; occasional lights sprinkled the dark night and I tried not to think of Jocko Quinn. The cab