Private Dick Casefile 01 - Lily White Rose Red

player. “I wasn’t hired to prove him innocent anyway. I’m after the guy who did it.”
    Phil Martin’s face got shuttered then, and I had the feeling that he might have an inkling of who I was after. “I wish you luck with that.”
    “While I’ve got your attention—”
    He moved in closer to me and put his hand on the wall by my head to fence me in. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my face.
    “You’ve definitely got my attention,” he muttered with a glinting smile.
    I didn’t move away, although I wanted to run like hell. But he didn’t know that, and I had work to do. “ While I’ve got your attention, how do you bribe the cops?” From his expression, I realized maybe I’d been a little too blunt.
    He seemed to be trying to decide whether to sock me one or laugh. Luckily he opted for disbelieving laughter. And he looked around self-consciously after taking his hand off the wall, which made it a little easier for both of us to breathe. I got the feeling he’d forgotten that he was standing where anyone could see us. And for me—just having him so close again that I could smell him—
    “You’re a firecracker when you’re hot on the trail of something, sunshine, you know that?”
    “It’s a touchy subject, isn’t it? I can’t imagine if Lieutenant Steele walked in here that you’d say, ‘Here’s five large, please look the other way while I knock off a few guys’,” I said.

    Lily White, Rose Red: Grey Randall, Private Dick Casefile #1
    157

    “I don’t rub out my customers too much, it’s bad for repeat business,” Mr. Martin said sarcastically. “And Steele isn’t a likely touch anyway.”
    “So how do you tell? Take out an ad in the police gazette?” Mr. Martin sighed. “I’m giving away the company secrets here, but first of all, word gets around about cops who are looking to build up their pension on the side. Secondly, there’s an etiquette to it, like anything else. He finds some petty violation and suggests that I have it taken care of by a certain date, while implying that he’ll look away for a suitable sum.”
    “How do you know when it’s enough?”
    “If I get a thank-you card, okay?” he growled. Exasperated looked good on him. If I were going to pursue anything, which I wasn’t, I’d have to make a point to ride him just to watch the splash.
    “Anyone dressed in blue come around to collect that night?” For a moment I thought he wasn’t going to tell me, but he was smart. Maybe even as smart as me, which made—but never mind about that. “It was payday, now that you mention it.”
    “And who picked up the bag?”
    “Guthrie. Sgt. Bert Guthrie.”
    “He’s the one who put the finger on you?”
    Mr. Martin sighed. “It’s more complicated than that. Word comes down from above, this day every week and this much. Guthrie’s a runner, that’s all. I don’t know for sure who he takes the package to.”
    “Yeah, don’t try to sell me the Brooklyn Bridge. I taught your granny how to suck eggs.”
    Far from pissing him off, Mr. Martin seemed to find that funny.
    “You’re so smart, don’t you figure it’s healthier for me not to know the details if I’m asked?”
    “You’ve got a point. I’ll take it under advisement. One more thing. Humor me: say you’re some dame’s bank account and you don’t want it known that you’re paying the rent, how do you go about it?
    Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

    158

    CATT FORD

    At first he looked surprised, and then angry, but he decided to play ball. “Of course. The easiest way would be to slip an envelope of cash under the door.”
    “Is that what you do?”
    “Do I look like I need to pay a woman to stick around?”
    “Seems more likely you have to thin the crowd by beating them off with a stick,” I said honestly.
    He laughed. “I try not to leave any bruises.”
    “Where it shows, at least.” I found myself rubbing mine and quit.
    “What if you don’t want the manager to open the door real quick and catch you ditching the envelope?”
    His eyes got suspicious then, like he knew where I was going, and I realized I’d gotten the last useful hint out of him. “Maybe I set up a post-office box for the guy.”
    “Or maybe you own the building?” I suggested.
    His face closed down. “Seems like an expensive way to bankroll a cheap date.”
    “You could always up the rent for the other tenants to even it out.”
    “If they were old and ugly enough,” he