along.”
“Tough cop?”
“They say so.”
“Who’re ‘they’?”
“The ones that’ve had dealings with Livingston. I guess you’ll be one of them as soon as he catches up with you.”
Nudger thought it was time to change the direction of the conversation. He motioned with his head. “Who’s the gray-haired guy with Ineida? The one with the pipe.”
“That’s Max Reckoner.” Fat Jack absently swirled his absinthe around in his glass. “He’s a big jazz buff and antique dealer; got himself a string of shops that sell the real stuff as well as reproductions. You might say he’s interested in Ineida, and not in a fatherly fashion.”
“What does she think of him?” Nudger asked.
“She tolerates him while fending him off nicely without hurting his feelings.”
“Does he know who she really is?”
“If he does, he’s not saying. He wouldn’t. Max is a good enough guy; he’s just got glands younger than he is and a wife that understands him too well. That’s her near the end of the table, the tall brunette.”
“How about Marty Sievers? Does he know Ineida’s true identity?”
“Marty? Naw, he’s got no idea. Hey, you want a drink?”
“No, thanks.”
“Sandwich or something from the kitchen?”
“Nope.”
“What then, old sleuth?”
“What I’d like to do now,” Nudger said, “is take a short trip.”
“Lots of folks would like for you to do that.”
“I need to go to Cleveland, Kansas City, St. Louis, and Chicago,” Nudger said, sounding like a public-address announcer at a train station. “I’ll spend maybe a few hours, maybe a couple of days at the most in each city. I’ve got to find out some background on Willy Hollister if I’m going to help you. Are you willing to pick up the tab?”
“I don’t suppose you could get this information with long-distance phone calls?”
“Not and get it right.”
“When do you plan on leaving?”
“Tonight, as soon as I can.”
Fat Jack nodded. He produced a checkbook with an alligator cover, scribbled deftly in it, and tore out a check and handed it to Nudger. Nudger squinted at it but couldn’t make out the amount in the faint light.
“Hey, if you need more, let me know,” Fat Jack said. His smile was luminous in the dimness. “Make it a fast trip, Nudger. I’d like to wind this thing up as soon as possible.”
“Speaking of winding up,” Nudger said, “do you know anything about a couple of muscular robots? One has a scar across his right eyebrow and a face like an ex-pug’s. His partner has a dark mustache, sniper’s eyes, and is named Frick. Possibly the other is Frack. They both talk with thick Cajun accents.”
Fat Jack raised his eyebrows. Fear caused him to reel out a flag-sized white handkerchief and wipe his forehead. “That’d be Rocko Boudreau and Dwayne Frick,” he said, with soft, terror-inspired awe. “They work for David Collins.”
“I figured they might. They warned me to stay away from Ineida.” Nudger felt his intestines twist into Boy Scout advanced knots. He got out his antacid tablets and placed two on his tongue. “They suggested that if I didn’t take their advice, I might take up postmortem residence in the swamp.” As he recalled his conversation with Frick and Frack, Nudger again felt a dark near-panic well up in him. Maybe it was because he was pressed in at the bar with the huge and terrified Fat Jack McGee; maybe fear actually was contagious. He offered Fat Jack an antacid tablet. The big man accepted, chewed the tablet furiously, and washed it down with absinthe. Nudger didn’t think it would do him much good.
“I’m sure their job is to look after Ineida without her knowing it,” Nudger said. “Incidentally, they seem to approve of her seeing Willy Hollister.”
“That won’t help me for diddly shit if anything happens to Ineida that’s in any way connected to the club,” Fat Jack said. “It’ll be Swamp City for the friendly fat man.”
From what
“Tough cop?”
“They say so.”
“Who’re ‘they’?”
“The ones that’ve had dealings with Livingston. I guess you’ll be one of them as soon as he catches up with you.”
Nudger thought it was time to change the direction of the conversation. He motioned with his head. “Who’s the gray-haired guy with Ineida? The one with the pipe.”
“That’s Max Reckoner.” Fat Jack absently swirled his absinthe around in his glass. “He’s a big jazz buff and antique dealer; got himself a string of shops that sell the real stuff as well as reproductions. You might say he’s interested in Ineida, and not in a fatherly fashion.”
“What does she think of him?” Nudger asked.
“She tolerates him while fending him off nicely without hurting his feelings.”
“Does he know who she really is?”
“If he does, he’s not saying. He wouldn’t. Max is a good enough guy; he’s just got glands younger than he is and a wife that understands him too well. That’s her near the end of the table, the tall brunette.”
“How about Marty Sievers? Does he know Ineida’s true identity?”
“Marty? Naw, he’s got no idea. Hey, you want a drink?”
“No, thanks.”
“Sandwich or something from the kitchen?”
“Nope.”
“What then, old sleuth?”
“What I’d like to do now,” Nudger said, “is take a short trip.”
“Lots of folks would like for you to do that.”
“I need to go to Cleveland, Kansas City, St. Louis, and Chicago,” Nudger said, sounding like a public-address announcer at a train station. “I’ll spend maybe a few hours, maybe a couple of days at the most in each city. I’ve got to find out some background on Willy Hollister if I’m going to help you. Are you willing to pick up the tab?”
“I don’t suppose you could get this information with long-distance phone calls?”
“Not and get it right.”
“When do you plan on leaving?”
“Tonight, as soon as I can.”
Fat Jack nodded. He produced a checkbook with an alligator cover, scribbled deftly in it, and tore out a check and handed it to Nudger. Nudger squinted at it but couldn’t make out the amount in the faint light.
“Hey, if you need more, let me know,” Fat Jack said. His smile was luminous in the dimness. “Make it a fast trip, Nudger. I’d like to wind this thing up as soon as possible.”
“Speaking of winding up,” Nudger said, “do you know anything about a couple of muscular robots? One has a scar across his right eyebrow and a face like an ex-pug’s. His partner has a dark mustache, sniper’s eyes, and is named Frick. Possibly the other is Frack. They both talk with thick Cajun accents.”
Fat Jack raised his eyebrows. Fear caused him to reel out a flag-sized white handkerchief and wipe his forehead. “That’d be Rocko Boudreau and Dwayne Frick,” he said, with soft, terror-inspired awe. “They work for David Collins.”
“I figured they might. They warned me to stay away from Ineida.” Nudger felt his intestines twist into Boy Scout advanced knots. He got out his antacid tablets and placed two on his tongue. “They suggested that if I didn’t take their advice, I might take up postmortem residence in the swamp.” As he recalled his conversation with Frick and Frack, Nudger again felt a dark near-panic well up in him. Maybe it was because he was pressed in at the bar with the huge and terrified Fat Jack McGee; maybe fear actually was contagious. He offered Fat Jack an antacid tablet. The big man accepted, chewed the tablet furiously, and washed it down with absinthe. Nudger didn’t think it would do him much good.
“I’m sure their job is to look after Ineida without her knowing it,” Nudger said. “Incidentally, they seem to approve of her seeing Willy Hollister.”
“That won’t help me for diddly shit if anything happens to Ineida that’s in any way connected to the club,” Fat Jack said. “It’ll be Swamp City for the friendly fat man.”
From what
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