"Sure. The back room, right through there." He turned to the other
bartender. "Take over for a while, Frankie." Then he ducked under the
bar and followed the Duke and me into the back room.
We sat down, and I showed him the picture of Lawrence Nestor. "I
understand you've seen this guy."
He picked up the picture and cocked an eyebrow at it. "Well, I
wouldn't swear to it in court, Inspector, but it sure looks like the
fellow who was in here this afternoon--this evening, rather, from six
to about six-thirty. I don't come on duty until six, and he was here
when I got here."
It was just seven o'clock. If the man was Nestor, we hadn't missed him
by more than half an hour.
"Notice anything about his voice?"
"I noticed the lisp, if that's what you mean."
"Did he talk much?"
Darcey shook his head. "Not a lot. Just sat there and drank, mostly.
Had about three after I came on."
"What was he drinking?"
"Whisky. Beer chaser." He grinned. "He tips pretty well."
"Has he ever been in here before?"
"Not that I know of. He might've come in in the daytime. You'd have to
check with Mickey, the day man."
"Was he drunk?"
"Not that I could tell. I wouldn't have served him if he was," he said
righteously.
I said, "Darcey, if he comes back in here ... let's see--Can you shut
off that big sign out front from behind the bar?"
"Sure."
"O.K. If he comes in, shut off the sign. We'll have men here in less
than a minute. He isn't dangerous or anything, so just act natural and
give him whatever he orders. I don't want him scared off. Understand?"
"I got you."
His Grace and I went outside, and I used my pocket communicator to
instruct a patrol car to cover Flanagan's Bar from across the street,
and I called for extra plainclothesmen to cover the area.
"Now what?" asked His Grace.
"Now we go barhopping," I said. "He's probably still drinking, but it
isn't likely that he'll find many little girls at this time of night.
He's probably got a room nearby."
At that point, a blue ElectroFord pulled up in front of us. Stevie
stuck his head out and said: "Your office said you'd be around here
somewhere. Remember me, Dad?"
I covered my eyes with one hand in mock horror. "My God, the fifty!"
Then I dropped the hand toward my billfold. "I'm sorry, son; I got
wrapped up in this thing and completely forgot." That made two
apologies in two minutes, and I began to have the uneasy feeling that
I had suddenly become a vaguely repellant mass of thumbs and left
feet.
I handed him the fifty, and, at the same time, said: "Son, I want you
to meet His Grace, Chief Inspector the Duke of Acrington. Your Grace,
this is my son, Steven Royall."
As they shook hands, Steve said: "It's a pleasure to meet Your Grace.
I read about the job you did in the Camberwell poisoning case. That
business of winding the watch was wonderful."
"I'm flattered, Mr. Royall," said the Duke, "but I must admit that I
got a great deal more credit in that case than was actually due me.
Establishing the time element by winding the watch was suggested to me
by another man, who wouldn't allow his name to be mentioned in the
press."
I reminded myself to read up on the Duke's cases. Evidently he was
better known than I had realized. Sometimes a man gets too wrapped up
in his own work.
"I'm sorry," Stevie said, "but I've got to get going. I hope to see
you again, Your Grace. So long, Dad--and thanks."
"So long, son," I said. "Take it easy."
His car moved off down the street, gathering speed.
"Fine boy you have there," the Duke said.
"Thanks. Shall we go on with our pub crawling?"
"Let's."
* * * * *
By two o'clock in the morning, we had heard nothing, found nothing.
The Duke looked tired, and I knew that I was.
"A few hours sleep wouldn't hurt either one of us," I told His Grace.
"It's a cinch that Nestor won't be able to find any little girls at
this hour of the morning, and I have a feeling that he probably bought
himself a bottle and took it up to his room with him."
"You're probably right," the Duke said wearily.
"Look," I said, "there's no point in your going all the way down to
your hotel. My place is just across town, I have plenty of room, it
will be no trouble to put you up, and we'll be ready to go in the
morning. O.K.?"
He grinned. "Worded that way, the invitation is far too forceful to
resist. I'm sold. I accept."
By that time, we had left several dollars worth of untasted beers
sitting around in various bars on the West Side, so when I arrived at
my apartment on the East Side, I decided that it was time for two
tired cops to have a decent drink. The Duke relaxed on the couch while
I mixed a couple of Scotch-and-waters. He lit a cigarette and blew out
a cloud of smoke with a sigh.
"Here, this will put sparks in your blood. Just a second, and I'll get
you an ash tray." I went into the kitchen and got one of the ash trays
from the top shelf and brought it back into the living room. Just as I
put it down on the arm of the couch next to His Grace, the buzzer
announced that there was someone at the front door downstairs.
I went over to the peeper screen and turned it on. The face was
big-jawed and hard-mouthed, and there was scar tissue in the eyebrows
and on the cheeks. He looked tough, but he also looked worried and
frightened.
I could see him, but he couldn't see me, so I said: "What's the
trouble, Joey?"
A look of relief came over his face. "Can I see ya, Inspector? I saw
your light was on. It's important." He glanced to his right, toward
the doorway. "Real important."
"What's it all about, Joey?"
"Take a look out your window, Inspector. Across the street. They're
friends of Freddy Velasquez. They been following me ever since I got
off work."
"Just a second," I said. I went over to the window that overlooks the
street and looked down. There were two men there, all right, looking
innocently into a delicatessen window. But I knew that Joey Partridge
wasn't kidding, and that he knew who the men were. I went back to the
peeper screen just as Joey buzzed my signal again. "I buzzed again so
they won't know you're home," he said before I could ask any
questions. "Freddy must've found out about my hands, Inspector.
According to the word I got, they ain't carrying guns--just blackjacks
and knucks."
"O.K., Joey. Come on up, and I'll call a squad car to take you home."
He gave me a bitter grin. "And have 'em coming after me again and
again until they catch me? No, thanks, Inspector. In one minute, I'm
going to walk across and ask 'em what they're following me for."
"You can't do that, Joey!"
He looked hurt. "Inspector, since when it is against the law to ask a
couple of guys how come they're following you? I just thought I oughta
tell ya, that's all. So long."
I knew there was no point in arguing with Joey Partridge. I turned and
said: "Want some action, Your Grace?"
But he was already on his feet, holding that walking stick of his.
"Anything you say."
"Come on, then. We'll take the fire escape; the elevator is too slow.
The fire escape will let us out in the alley, and we won't by outlined
by the light in the foyer."
I already had the bedroom door open. I ran over to the window, opened
it, and started down the steel stairway. The Duke was right behind me.
It was only three floors down.
"That Joey is too smart for his own good," I said, "but he's right.
This is the only way to work it. Otherwise, they'd have him in the
hospital eventually--or maybe dead."
"He looked like a man who could take care of himself," the Duke said.
"That's just it. He can't. Come on."
* * * * *
The ladder to the street slid down smoothly and silently, and I
thanked God for modern fire prevention laws. When we reached the
street, I wondered where they could have gone to so quickly. Then the
Duke said: "There! In that darkened area-way next to the little shop!"
And he started running. His legs were longer than mine, and he
reached the area-way a good five yards ahead of me.
Joey had managed to evade them for a short while, but they had
cornered him, and one of them knocked him down just as the Duke came
on the scene. The other had swung at his ribs with a blackjack as he
dropped, and the first aimed a kick at Joey's midriff, but Joey rolled
away from it.
Then the two thugs heard our footsteps and turned to meet us. If we'd
been in uniform, they might have run; as it was, they stood their
ground.
But not for long.
The Duke didn't use that stick as though it were a club, swinging it
like a baseball bat. That would be as silly as using an overhand stab
with a dagger. He used it the way a fencer would use a foil, and the
hard, blunt end of it sank into the first thug's solar plexus with all
the drive of the Duke's right arm and shoulder behind it. The thug
gave a hoarse scream as all the air was driven from his lungs, and he
dropped to the pavement.
The second man came in with his blackjack swinging. His hand stopped
suddenly as his wrist met the deadly stick, but the blackjack kept on
going, bouncing harmlessly off the nearby wall as it flew from
nerveless fingers.
That stick never stopped moving. On the backswing, it thwacked
resoundingly against the thug's ribcage. He grunted in pain and tried
to charge forward to grapple with the Englishman. But His Grace was
grace itself as he leaped backwards and then thrust forward with that
wooden snake-tongue. The thug practically impaled himself on it. He
stopped and twisted and was suddenly sick all over the pavement.
Almost gently, the Duke tapped him across the side of his head, and he
fell into his own mess.
It was all over before I'd even had a chance to mix in. I stood there,
holding an eleven millimeter Magnum revolver in my hand and feeling
vaguely foolish.
I reholstered the thing and walked over to where Joey Partridge was
propping himself up to a sitting position. His right eye was bruised,
and there was a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth,
but he was grinning all the way across his battered face. And he
wasn't looking at me; he was looking at the Duke.
"You hurt, Joey?" I asked. I knew he wasn't hurt badly; he'd taken
worse punishment than that in his life.
He looked at me still grinning. "Hurt? You're right I'm hurt,
Inspector! Them goons tried to kill me. Let's see--assault and
battery, assault with a deadly weapon, assault with intent to kill,
assault with intent to maim, attempted murder, and--" He paused. "What
else we got, Inspector?"
"We'll think on plenty," I said. "Can you stand up?"
"Sure I can stand up. I want to shake the hand of your buddy, there.
Geez! I ain't seen anything like that since I used to watch Bat
Masterson on TV, when I was a little kid!"
"Joey, this is Chief Inspector the Duke Acrington, of Scotland Yard.
Inspector, this is Joey Partridge, the greatest amateur boxer this
country has ever produced."
Amazingly enough, Joey extended his hand. "Pleased t'meetcha,
Inspector! Uh--watch the hand. Sorta tender. That was great! Duke, did
you say?" He looked at me. "You mean he's a real English Duke?" He
looked back at Acrington. "I never met a Duke before!" But by that
time he had taken his hand away from the Duke's grasp.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Joey," the Duke said warmly. "I liked
the way you cleaned up on that Russian during the '72 Olympics."