"The racetrack?"
"Yeah. A lot of Willy's friends hang out in the Clubhouse. You can't
miss 'em. Especially on a weekday like this, they almost got the
Clubhouse all to themselves. The suckers with the little bets hang out
near the rail, but it's the Clubhouse for Willy's friends. You see...."
But Fanetti found himself talking to the doctor and to Laara. Heck had
teleported.
* * * * *
... Out of blackness.
He heard a bugle call. He was high up over a grandstand in a terraced
room almost the size of an auditorium. It was set up like an open-air
restaurant with only one side open. That side faced the racetrack.
"They're coming from the paddock for the fifth race," a loudspeaker
voice announced. "This is the forty-fourth running of the Belvedere
Handicap for four-year-olds. Purse, fifty thousand dollars."
There was a bar and all but two or three of the patrons of the
Clubhouse were clustered around it with drinks. Then, one by one,
they drifted over to the barrier which overlooked the grandstand, the
rail-enclosed viewing area, and the turf.
"Excuse me," Heck began. "I'm looking--"
But they went right by him. They were interested in the horses now
coming to the post for the forty-fourth running of the Belvedere
Handicap. They hardly saw Heck at all.
"Sultan's Lady," said one. "I got a hun'red ona nose."
"Sultan's, stupid. Can't you talk English?"
"Miramar," insisted another with smug confidence.
A bell clanged. A shout went up from below. The horses began to run.
"Excuse me," Heck said.
But all eyes might as well have been glued to the turf. In spite
of himself, Heck watched the brief pounding flurry of the horses'
hooves. When it was over and the crowd below settled back into anxious
whispering, a loudspeaker voice said:
"There is a photo-finish in the fifth race, ladies and gentlemen, with
Sultan's Lady and Miramar neck and neck."
"Sultan's Lady," said one of the Clubhouse patrons.
"Miramar!" hotly contested the other.
"Gentlemen," said Heck.
They all ignored him.
Heck took a deep breath and shouted at the top of his voice: "Mr.
William Talese!"
Two or three of the men turned to him for the first time. "Hey, kiddo.
You mean Scarface Willy? So what about him?" one of them demanded.
"I'm looking for him."
"He's looking for him," one of the thugs repeated in an amused tone.
"We, er, had a business deal," Heck improvised.
"Yeah? What kind of a business deal?"
"I am not at liberty to divulge that. But it will mean millions of
dollars to Mr. Talese and some of his chosen friends. Mr. Talese said
to meet him right here, but I haven't got all day. In fact, it's late
already. So, where can I find him?"
"How do we know you're on the level?" one of them asked.
"Fanetti!" Heck cried on impulse. "Do you know what happened to
Fanetti?"
"Naw."
"Me and Willy shot him," said Heck, "in both legs. That ought to prove
I'm like this--" he crossed his index and middle fingers--"with Willy.
Here, if you don't believe me, call this number."
One of them called the number. And spoke. And listened. And returned
with an awed look on his face. "The little guy told the truth."
* * * * *
At that moment the loudspeaker blared: "In the fifth race, the results:
Miramar and Sultan's Lady in a dead heat."
The two thugs at the barrier began to argue about the respective merits
of Miramar and Sultan's Lady. Numbers flashed on the tote board.
Sultan's Lady had won on the shorter odds and that meant something to
one of the thugs. It seemed to mean the opposite to the other.
"Willy Talese," Heck said. "I've got to find where he hangs out. It's a
matter of life and death. I've got to see him."
"I thought you said business." Suspiciously.
"Well, yes. Of course."
"Pal, I wish I could help you. Hey, do any of you guys know Willy's
hangout address? Confidential, of course. For Willy's good friend here."
They all shook their heads blankly. The speaker told Heck: "And I'm
Willy's number three lootenant. It shows you how careful you got to be
these days. You just can't trust nobody."
"But somebody must surely know!"
"Well, listen," Willy's number three lieutenant said, "you might try
Johnny The Cat Simese."
"Johnny the, uh--"
"Johnny The Cat Simese. He hangs out at Ada's gym, when he ain't
bodyguarding Willy's corpus."
"You don't mean corpus, stupid," one of the other thugs said. "A corpus
is a dead man."
"Well, anyhow," said the lieutenant.
"Ada's gym," memorized Heck. "Johnny The Cat Simese." He teleported. He
vanished.
"Hey, what the hell?" one of the thugs said.