Sin In Their Blood | Page 2

a bellhop waiting at the room and I had to give him half a buck for unlocking the door. But he tossed the change on the bed, said, "You don't have to give me nothing, Mr. Ranzino. I was coming from school when you busted that drunken driver's jaw and..."
"Take the change."
"No, sir. They had a hell of a nerve busting you from the force just because he was the mayor's cousin."
"The mayor's family can never be a drunk," I said. That was all only five years ago, now it seemed like another lifetime.
"I followed all your cases in the papers after that, felt I was reading about a friend. I mean, because I was in on that first thing. My name is Jim, Mr. Ranzino, and I'm no movie-happy jerk, but if you should open your own agency again, I'd like a job as office boy. Anything to learn the business. I'm small but tough as..."
"Ask Abe to tell you the secrets of the trade."
"That ape, thinks he's funny giving you a grip-of-iron handshake. He told me all he knows in two minutes. I'm serious Mr...'"
"Don't know exactly what I'm going to do," I said, "but I'll keep you in mind, Jim."
His face showed the let-down at the brush-off, but he said thanks a million and went out. I locked the door, opened my shirt, stretched out on the bed. It was a big, soft bed, a big room. I wasn't tired and I couldn't sleep. I wondered why I'd ever come back to this town. Pops was dead, I had no one. And Abe and this Korea hero crap. And this dizzy kid--must be almost 17 or 18, army-bait unless he was lucky enough to be a moron.
I lay there, lazily wondering what to do--being out of a hospital was a little like getting out of stir. One thing, I'd have to find a room, give my change of address to the government as soon as possible. If my monthly check was held up too long, I'd be in a bad way.
I'd look around out at the beach--be the best place to live. Air wasn't too damp. Get me a cheap room there tomorrow--hell with this big bed.
I turned over and saw my wristwatch. It was after eleven and I went to the neat adjoining bath and washed out a clean glass thoroughly, was downing one of my multi-vitamin pills I had to take three times a day, when the phone rang.
"Hear you just got into town, Matt." It was the smooth, almost purring voice of my former partner--and as unpleasant sounding as ever. Harry must really be a wheel, for obviously although he hated him--or said he did--Abe had phoned him the minute I went up to my room.
I asked, "What's new, Harry?" to be polite.
"Plenty cooking. You feeling okay, Matt?"
"Yeah--guess so."
"That's swell. Must of had yourself a time with those nurses, coming to your bed and throwing it at you all the..."
"What's on your mind, Harry?"
"Why Matt, this is the first time I've talked to you in a year. Get the cigarettes I sent you every month?"
"No."
"That's odd, I sure sent them. Had Flo take care of it. Say Matt, like to make a little real talkie with you. How about dropping over to my office after lunch? Say about one-thirty?"
"Okay."
"See you then, Matt boy. Got a deal cooking at lunch, otherwise I'd break bread with you. I'm in suite 2111, the Grace Building. See you."
I said okay and hung up. Harry was so smooth and full of crap it was comical... the way he told me he was in touch with Flo, and that my office jive. But I didn't give a damn about Flo or the office.
It was almost noon and I was hungry. As I crossed the lobby Abe pretended to read a paper and didn't notice me.
I walked down Main Street and all the eating places were full and I wanted to avoid crowds. Long as I was splurging, I dropped into The Glass Stem, one of the more expensive bars in town. The bar was crowded but most of the booths were empty. I took a booth, told the waiter, "Glass of milk and a lettuce and tomato sandwich on whole wheat toast."
He had fish-eyes and a skinny face and he almost looked pop-eyed as he asked, "You say milk or beer?"
"Milk. Still serve that, don't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Make sure it's fresh."
"Won't serve it if it isn't." He turned toward the bar and called out, "Bob, we-got any fresh milk?"
The barkeep nodded.
A fat, hard face peered out of the booth in front of me, repeated, "Milk?" It was Tops Anderson, a big-time goon, and when his drunken, bloodshot eyes got me in focus, he grinned, said, "Well for--Jesus--Matt Ranzino!"
He got to his