Riggs is Here | Page 2

I dug them out of the bank at the
police range where you were practicing last Wednesday. I'm getting
pretty good at ballistics, and you need a guy like that."
Carey threw the pictures down on the desk top. "Listen! I've told you
before--"
"I've got more than that." Tommy picked out four other pictures, thrust
them into Carey's hand. "Look at those." Each was a fingerprint with its
classification written in ink on the corner of the photograph.
"Those are yours," Tommy said. "I got them off a beer glass you drank
out of at Goldie's. There are only four of them," he apologized,

"because when you were drinking, you held your little finger up."
Carey took a deep breath. As he looked at Tommy Riggs his thin lips
reluctantly spread in a smile. "You're crazy as hell, kid. We don't give a
damn about all this stuff. That's the worry of the cops down at
headquarters." He opened his desk and drew out some papers. "No,
Riggs, I can't do anything for you now."
"You never know when it'll come in handy," Tommy warned. "I'm
good at lots of other things besides." He took a red notebook out of his
pocket. "Now just take a--"
Carey shook his head. "No, kid, nothing doing. You better beat it now.
I'm busy."
"O. K." Tommy stood up and grinned. "I wanted to show you how
good I was at shadowing. I tailed you all day yesterday, and you didn't
even know it."
"You what!"
"Sure!" Tommy said, talking fast, now, before he got sent out. "All
morning you didn't do anything--that is you stayed here. Then you went
out and had lunch at the Miramar. I got the times and everything." He
tapped the notebook "After that you went down to Jones and Turk
streets. It was easy following you there. I live just a couple of blocks
from there."
A frown grew deep between Carey's black eyebrows. He sat perfectly
motionless in his chair while Tommy went on:
"You met a guy in a beer joint there, a little guy with a broken nose and
a screwy way of jerking up the side of his mouth. I'd never seen him
before, but you talked to him quite a time in a booth. Then you went
over to the Freeman Warehouse and talked to Pop Dillon, the
watchman there. After that--"
"Sit down a minute, Riggs." Carey tipped his head toward the chair.

"Let's see that notebook." He thumbed through the leaves slowly,
studying the report of everything he had done the previous day. When
he looked up, his mouth was a tight line.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he snapped. "The slugs
outta my gun, my fingerprints--and then shadowing me! You crazy fool,
if--"
"Listen, mister!" The grin went off Tommy's face. "There's no call to
get sore about it. All I wanted was to show you."
"Oh, sit down!" Carey grunted. "You say you live near the--down by
Turk and Jones streets."
"Sure! You know Ryan's place just up the street from Shanty
Malone's?"
"Yeah, I know." Carey picked up a pencil and traced deep lines with it
on his desk blotter. "I suppose you've blown off your yap all over the
place about following me?"
Tommy shook his head. "Why should I? And anyhow, what difference
would it make?"
"Quite a lot, kid." Carey straightened up in his chair and smiled. To me,
none at all. To you, quite a lot." He tapped the red notebook. "I sorta
like the job you did in here. You might make a good shamus yet, Riggs.
I was wondering if you could keep your mouth shut. A cop's got to do
that!"
"You mean you can find a place for me?"
Carey pulled thoughtfully at the end of his nose. "Not yet, Riggs. I'll
keep this and look it over." He slipped the notebook in his pocket. "If
you can convince me that you know how to keep your trap closed, I'll
begin to think that you've got the makings."
Tommy's grin came back. "That's easy! And I can do more than that,

Mr. Carey. I can work on some case on the outside and show you--"
"Yeah, you do that. And in the meantime, I'll be keeping a check on
you to see just how good you are. A guy that blabs everything he
knows is no good to me."
"Sure!" Tommy's grin was wide. "I knew you'd wake up one of these
days, Mr. Carey."
Tommy Riggs got his chance the night of that same day--a chance to
crack a case on the outside. About midnight, he was at the cluttered
desk in his room. Mendhom's "Psychological Studies of Criminal
Minds," open before him to the third chapter,