Private Dick Casefile 01 - Lily White Rose Red

place.”
    “Maybe the meal ticket had a good reason not to show,” I said. I had a feeling maybe Lily might have been paying the rent, but no point telling Lieutenant Steele that. Later on, he might get pissed at how much I was squeezing out of him while holding out on him, but he might never actually find out.
    “Or maybe someone told the manager to forget what he saw.” I was about to remind him that I hadn’t seen the manager when I realized he wasn’t talking about me. “Papers razzing the force about covering up for someone too important to go to jail for murder?”
    “Yeah, they think we’re keeping the lid on.”
    “And are you?”
    “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” He marched to the door and paused as he was closing it. To my surprise, he gave me a wink.
    “You might be half as tough as you think you are.”
    “Tougher,” I muttered.
    “Nuts,” he returned, and then he was gone too.
    I eased myself up to lean against the file cabinet and rubbed my ribs inside my open shirt, coughing. Through all this, they hadn’t taken my gun, so when the door swung open I reached for it, relaxing when I saw it was only Artie. “No thanks, we don’t want any.”
    “I don’t got any. Why you sitting on the floor?” he asked.
    “Sometimes I like a change of view,” I said.
    “He worked you over nice. No punching the kisser where it would show,” Artie said. He went and sat in my chair, studying my torso with a knowledgeable eye. He was a pug, he knew bruises. “Gonna have a few marks.”

    128

    CATT FORD

    “I’m thinking of starting a collection,” I said, fondly remembering the bruise Phil Martin had left on my bicep. It had been a lot more fun collecting that one.
    “Got a bottle?”
    “Lower right hand drawer.” Just my luck, I get belted around by the cops and then Artie comes by to suck up my booze. “This is the worst party I’ve ever been to.”
    “Be happy they didn’t take you in.” Artie took a swig and then, to my surprise, came around the desk and squatted beside me, offering me the bottle.
    I took a drink, and the burn of the liquor made the burn of the punches fade a bit. “How did you know they were here?”
    “Saw them ride up on their black and white chargers.”
    “Oh.” Somehow Artie had a nose for trouble. He had a way of turning up in the oddest places, although normally I didn’t think of my office as that odd. “Artie, you ever heard of a colored guy called Jazz Morgan?”
    Artie sat next to me on the floor, leaning on the cabinet. “Yeah, he comes by the gym sometimes.”
    “I heard he boxes.”
    “Yeah, he could be good, but he’s too careful of his hands.”
    “Well, he’s a musician. Plays piano,” I explained. I wrestled the bottle back from Artie and took another slug.
    “Ah, that explains it. Don’t want to damage the dollar-earning digits,” Artie said, taking firm possession of the bottle again.
    I pulled my shirt together and tucked it back into my pants.
    “Alliteration.”
    “Male or female?”
    “What?”
    “That literature thing, male or female?” Artie tried to look smart.

    Lily White, Rose Red: Grey Randall, Private Dick Casefile #1
    129

    “Never mind.” Weird how he could come out with them sometimes. “You ever hear of Jazz knocking a broad around? Or a fella? Ever get mad enough in the ring to start whaling on someone?”
    “Nope. Like I say, he’s careful of his hands.”
    “What about someone on the cops? Ever hear of someone rousting a hooker?”
    “That would be telling,” Artie said.
    “Yeah, that’s why I’m asking. So you’ll tell me,” I pointed out.
    “Cops sometimes have a temper too, you know that.” I sighed. Considering I’d just been the main exhibit in a demonstration of a cop having a temper tantrum—but no use being subtle with Artie, although maybe I should try more alliteration. “You ever heard anything hinky about Big Billy? Or Bert Guthrie?” Artie gave me a sly look. “Say I have? What’s in it for me?”
    “Just spit it out, Artie.”
    “Look, he’s not a good man to cross.”
    “Why’s that?” As I thought, given a chance to air his grievance, Artie was off.
    “He likes to box too, but he likes to use a live bag. And you know where the station is?”
    I rolled my eyes. Of course I knew where the station was. I was kind of in the same biz. But I just nodded. I was still trying to get my right and proper quotient of air after having it squeezed out of me