Sin In Their Blood | Page 7

of a revolution started by Al Smith, Roosevelt, and Stalin to make his family poor. He was nutty. So his folks found him a hobby, what they call mental therapy. He started reading all the papers and mags, including the union stuff and left newspapers, filed the names of everybody mentioned there. Tells me for fifteen years he used to work ten and twelve hours a day at it. Realize what that's worth under the McCarran Law? I've a file as good as the FBI's! And the Austin name comes in handy when contacting the big shots. It's a cinch--when we screen a plant or an office, even a school or church, all we do is cheek their employees against our files. Half hour's work and the big shots think I'm a regular Sherlock Holmes because I tell them Joe Blow, their elevator operator, attended a meeting for Roosevelt back in 1937, or something Joe Blow don't even remember himself."
"What does buster need you for? What's his cut?"
Harry laughed and relit his pipe. "You won't believe this but all that jerk gets is sixty a week, his own desk, 'and a bright badge saying he's an honorary Deputy Police Chief. He's happy, and works like a bastard. But I've only scratched the field, Matt; with these files I can cover the country, no telling how big we can get... if I can find somebody I can trust. Be like old times, Matt, we were always a smart team."
"I want to forget old times," I said. "And I'm tired."
Harry waved his hand, as if pushing me away. "I'll be the front man, make the speeches at the businessmen's luncheons, all that bunko. I'm good at it, know how to scare them crazy. You'd run the office, follow up my leads. It's a dream, no danger or rough stuff... and how the dough rolls in."
"Legalized blackmail," I said, thinking it was time for one of my vitamin pills.
Harry shrugged. "I didn't make the laws. All I know is it's legal, patriotic, and pays off. People are scared, worse than during Prohibition. Hell, now people are scared to even look at a sunset any more--it's red. Matt, you interested?"
"Nope." I got to my feet again. "So long, Harry, have fun." As I left the office I heard him say, "You dumb-ox, I'm offering you real dough for no work and..."
When I got downstairs and out on the sidewalk, a horn wailed and I saw, Flo behind the wheel of a sleek roadster. As I got in she asked, "You find an apartment yet, or shall we go to a hotel?"
"I'm going to the High Street police station."
"Aw Matt, honey, you're sore about me taking up with Harry? I told you he doesn't..."
"I'm not steamed about anything, and stop climbing all over me. People are watching us."
"Then let's go to a hotel. I know a..."
"Stop it, Flo. Things have changed--we're done." She put her face next to mine and I twisted away from that mouth, asked, "Baby, you going to drive me to the police station, or do I walk?"
She moved away, started the car. "What's changed? If you're not sore, I mean, what else could I do, get a job in the five and ten or.... God, Matt, you weren't wounded there?"
"No. But I've been... eh... sick--and I didn't get a dose either. Look, baby, I've been away more than a year, and it's all over for us."
"But why?"
"Who knows the way of these things? It just is," I said, sounding like advice to the lovelorn.
She drove expertly through the heavy afternoon traffic. "Aw, Matt, I been looking forward to your coming back. Harry's no good. Sometimes I think he gets more delight out of teasing me, slapping me around, than going with me. You know how I tick, Matt, I got to have a real man."
"You shouldn't have any trouble finding one."
"I thought I had you." Flo sighed. "I don't know, Matt, we should have married and settled down, and by this time I'd be fat and sloppy and with a house full of kids. Now I'm all mixed up. I have money--Harry's good that way, likes to see me dress flashy, the jewels, this car--but it all doesn't add up to anything. Things seem empty. All I think of is how good we had it. Maybe not much real dough, but we were made for each other."
I don't know if it was smelling her, or hearing her talk and remembering--or what, but I was beginning to run a little temperature. Which was funny, because Flo and I were never romantic, merely good between the sheets.
The idea of kissing her, being with her, made me cold with fear and I said, "Cut the chatter, baby. That's over, forget us."
"Just like that, two