Read Online Everybody Goes to Jimmy's by Michael Mayo - Free Book Online Page B

“You’re the guy who beat that girl … Anna, at that race, and then treated her to a night at the Plaza Hotel. Boy howdy, did she have a lot to say about that. Yeah, you’re him. Well, pal, she’s dead. Did you know that? I guess not. Yeah, somebody shot her. Girls like her, they get all the breaks for a while—champagne and big cars and nights of luxury.”
    Hearing her say that Anna had been killed hit me like a gutshot, and the world slid sideways, but even then I didn’t fully believe it. There was something about the look on that girl’s face and her voice that made it sound like a lie. Maybe she’d heard it or maybe she made it up on the spot because she was jealous that Anna got a night of luxury while she got boozy roadhouses. Either way, it still hurt to hear it.

Chapter Five
    Meet me tonight.
    â€”Anna
    I was still staring at those words, wondering what they meant, when some guy I’d never seen invited himself to take a seat at my table.
    It was a little after eight. Business had picked up, and we had a nice midweek crowd at the bar and in the booths. The place had the happy babble that you want from a good bar—that mix of talk, argument, and drink orders, brightened by a woman’s laugh every now and again. I didn’t notice the guy at first when he eased himself out the crowd and approached my table.
    He was between twenty-five and thirty, medium height and build. His clothes were well worn, and he looked like he’d appreciate a shave and a bath. When he smiled, he squinted in a sly practiced way. I’ve seen other guys do that same thing because it works with some women. He said, “Mind if I sit down?” and dropped his butt into a chair before I could answer. He hiked the chair around so he could see the door, put down his half-finished beer, and leaned toward me. He kept one hand in his pocket.
    He stared hard at me and said, “You’re Jimmy Quinn. I’ve been told that a fellow can trust you. If you take a job, you’ll stick with it. That right?” He had some kind of accent. I couldn’t place it, but he didn’t sound like he was from New York.
    â€œI’m not looking for work. I’ve got a place to run.”
    â€œThis is different. I’ve been told you can take care of certain things.”
    â€œWhat’s your name, pal? I don’t do business with people I don’t know.”
    He snorted. “Name wouldn’t mean anything to you. I could say anything. I could say I was Jimmy Quinn.”
    â€œIf you’re trying to convince me do business with you, you’re making a damn poor job of it.”
    His expression changed then. He’d been coming on like a tough guy, but it looked to me like he thought of something or remembered something and it worried him. “Look,” he said, trying to sound more sincere and leaning across the table, “suppose a guy had a particular item that he needed another guy to hold for him without asking a lot of questions.”
    â€œI’m not—”
    â€œGood,” he said quickly and slid something small under my hand. He did it as smoothly as a three-card monte dealer. If you’d been standing beside us, you might not have seen it. “This oughta buy me twenty-four hours, and there’ll be more later tonight.”
    He scraped his chair as he stood. The chair caught on the carpet, and he had to grab it to keep his balance. I saw that he was missing a couple of fingers on one hand.
    He hurried through the crowd toward the front door, and that’s when the strangeness of the whole day caught up with me. What the hell was happening? Something was going on, Klapprott had said as much, and it was something I didn’t know anything about. I was a simple saloonkeeper. Things like this didn’t happen to ordinary guys like me, but somehow, I was part of it, and that was a damn scary thought.
    Frenchy and Fat Joe had