Riggs is Here | Page 6

seen him tonight."
Tommy kept going. It was three thirty when he opened the side door to the Exposition Bar on Larkin Place. There were two men at the bar. Tommy didn't know them, and he didn't know the bartender. But over at a side table sat George Setter.
Setter had a woman at the table with him. She wasn't young, and there was a certain hard look about her--the dark shadows under her eyes weren't eye shadow. Still, she somehow managed to be attractive. She was the first to glance up as Tommy approached the table.
"Hello there, George," Tommy said.
Setter looked up "Well I'll be damned! How are y'u, Tommy boy? Si' down. Have a chair." He waved his arm vaguely, drunkenly
Tommy looked at the woman questioningly. "I don't know if I oughta butt in."
"Sure!" She smiled at him. "Sit down. You're not interrupting anything."
"How are y'u, Tommy boy?" Setter asked again. "Have a drink. What're y'u doin' out so late?" Setter laughed suddenly. "I know!" he said. "Bet y'u're playin' cops again."
"Yeah!" Tommy said. "I'm working on that warehouse case."
"Good old Tommy!" Setter leaned over the woman. "Tommy, here, thinks he's a cop."
Tommy leaned over the table. "Look, George, there's a guy I want to find. A little guy with a broken nose and a way of twitching his mouth."
"Yeah?" Setter stared at him, then at the woman. "That sounds like y'ur brother, Billie. That sure as hell sounds like y'ur brother. Good ol' Dipper."
"Dipper! That's him!" Tommy swung his eyes to the girl. "He--is he your brother?" She nodded. Tommy looked at her for a moment, studying her face as he said: "I found the furs that were stolen, and I thought maybe he could--"
"Foun' the furs?" Setter looked at him owlishly. "Tha's old Tommy for yu--a real copper." He stood up uncertainly. "You stay here, Billie. I'll take Tommy aroun' to find Dipper."
Outside Setter drew in deep breaths of air. "Smells good," he muttered. "Come on Tommy boy." He led the way to the sleek lines of his car.
As they pulled away from the curb, Tommy said: "I never used to be able to figure how you did it, George. Driving a truck for the Hedder Bakery like you do, and on that salary managing to own a car like this and all those good clothes, and money to spend on women."
Setter turned his eyes from the windshield to stare at him. "It's just bein' smart," he said. "Makin' y'ur money stretch."
"I guess that's it." Tommy noticed that Setter wasn't very drunk as he drove. He asked quietly: "You know where Dipper is?"
"Sure!" Setter said. Then: "Where'd y'u find the furs."
"I can't tell anybody that." Tommy answered. "Not until I notify the cops. I haven't done that yet."
Setter laughed--a harsh and sudden outburst. "So this is what all your snooping and wanting to be a cop adds up to! Just waiting your time until you could put the squeeze on somebody."
"I thought--"
"You really had me fooled, Tommy boy." As he talked, Setter lifted his right hand from the wheel, slipped it into his pocket. "I'd never have guessed y'u had the guts. Comin' straight to me when y'u foun' the furs! An' now that y'u've told me about it, how much do you figure you oughta get to keep your mouth shut?"

Tommy shrugged. He looked at Setter's hand in his coat pocket.
"Y'u're a smarter guy than I thought y'u were," Setter said. "An' y'u're a damn sight dumber. I don't know how y'u spotted the furs--but it's sure as hell not goin' to do y'u any good." He jerked his hand out of his pocket. There was an automatic in it--a tiny .25 Colt that he pushed hard into Tommy's side.
"One move now?" He grated, "an' y'u get a gut fulla this!"
"That gun," Tommy's voice was husky, "is the one that killed Pop Dillon!"
Setter's voice was a sneer, "The old fool recognized my voice, yeah, it's the gun! Y'u're goin' to get a taste of it too. Tryin' to chisel in! That's a laugh."
"You'd kill me?" Tommy didn't get an answer to that, but there wasn't any need for one. Setter was keeping to the back streets, heading south and out of the city. His arm, his right arm with the gun, trembled a little bit from the sheer tension as he held the automatic ready to fire at the slightest move from Tommy.
They passed the intersection at Valencia Avenue and Sixteenth Street. Tommy's eyes moved from the street ahead to the rear-sight mirror above the windshield. The car had two--one for the driver, one for the passenger. In his he saw a car following them. It was running without lights about a block behind, and he saw it when it crossed the intersection.
"George," he said quietly. "You