The Anonymous Client

men pick them up?”
    “Uh huh. I had four men on the apartment. Two of them took Bradshaw, and two of them took the girl.”
    “Any idea where they’re headed?”
    “The girl hailed a taxi and started uptown. Bradshaw went to the corner drugstore and made a phone call.”
    “Your man listen in?”
    “He couldn’t get that close, Steve. You told me you didn’t want Bradshaw to know he was being tailed, and my man couldn’t take any chances. But he thinks the number Bradshaw called was busy.”
    “Why?”
    “Because Bradshaw was only in there a minute. Then he came out and walked a block, and made another phone call from the booth on the corner. He got a busy signal again. He tried two more times before he got through. He talked on the phone a few minutes, then hailed a cab and headed uptown. So my man figures Bradshaw got a busy signal on the first call and knew his party was in, so he walked down to where he could get a cab, called his party again, made a date, and that’s where he’s going.”
    “O.K. Just keep him in sight and let me know where he goes.”
    “Will do.”
    Fifteen minutes later an apologetic Mark Taylor was back on the phone.
    “They lost him, Steve.”
    “Shit.”
    “Yeah. I know. I’m sorry, but what can I say. He got out of the cab, walked into a hotel lobby, and disappeared.”
    “Was he wise?”
    “I don’t think so. The two guys I had on him were pros, and they had specific instructions not to tip their hands. I’m afraid it’s just one of those unlucky flukes.”
    “What hotel?”
    “42nd Street and Third Avenue. That was part of the problem. My guys were in a car. You know what parking’s like midtown. There’s none. So one guy stayed with the car, and the other hopped out and followed him into the hotel. When he got into the lobby, the guy was gone.”
    “Hell. Where are your men now?”
    “One’s gone back to cover the apartment in case Bradshaw shows up. The other’s covering the hotel just in case.”
    Steve sighed. “O.K. I guess that’s the best you can do under the circumstances. What about the girl?”
    “She seems to be on a shopping spree. At the moment she’s in Bloomingdale’s trying on clothes.”
    “Got a line on her yet?”
    “Are you kidding? You said you wanted this handled discreetly. I could have my men start shaking down salesgirls and maybe get a look at a charge card receipt, but then the cat would be out of the bag. I’m hoping the girl will go home, so I can get a line on her, but now she’s shopping and there’s nothing much I can do.”
    “O.K., Mark. Do the best you can.”
    Steve Winslow hung up the phone and rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. Tracy, who had been listening on the other line, came in the door.
    “You heard?” Steve asked.
    “Yeah. They lost him.”
    “Yeah. And Mark thinks it was an accident.”
    “And you don’t?”
    Steve shrugged. “I don’t know. But here’s a guy who sends an anonymous ten thousand dollar retainer. He obviously doesn’t want to be found. But I hire detectives and find him. And as soon as I do, he gives the detectives the slip. Now am I supposed to believe that’s just coincidence?”
    Tracy shook her head. “It couldn’t be. He has to be wise. But what’s the point? If the detectives picked him up at his apartment, there’s no way he can keep you from finding out who he is.”
    “Right.”
    “So what’s the point?”
    “He must want to keep me from finding out where he’s going.”
    Tracy’s eyes widened. “Of course. That’s it.” Her face fell. “And now you’ll never know. He’s done it.”
    Steve shook his head. “This is true.”
    “But—”
    The sound of the outer office door opening and closing cut Tracy off.
    “Someone in the outer office,” she said.
    “Our busy day,” Steve said. “Better see who it is.”
    Tracy went out, closing the door behind her.
    She was back moments later. She slipped in theatrically, closing the door behind her, and said, in an exaggerated stage whisper, “He’s here!”

5.
    D AVID C. B RADSHAW MATCHED M ARK T AYLOR’S description—short, tough, scrappy. He also matched Tracy Garvin’s description—pissed off. He had a thin moustache under a narrow, protruding nose, which gave him an insolent quality. He was wearing a gray suit that on someone else might have looked fine, but on him somehow looked cheap. Steve Winslow’s first impression was sleaze.
    Bradshaw’s eyes flickered when they took in Steve