Read Online Hard Case Crime: Fifty to One by Charles Ardai - Free Book Online
Authors: Charles Ardai
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silence for a moment.
“Oh, come on,” Borden said.
“I’m so sorry, I know you wanted a true story—”
“Come on,” Borden said. “What do you take me for?”
“There’s nothing going on at the Sun!” Tricia said. “There’s nothing, I swear. I looked. I couldn’t find one lousy poker game, one girl turning tricks. Well, okay, there was one—but she was doing it on her own and they fired her for it. Nicolazzo has never shown up once while I’ve been there—I’m not saying not often, I’m saying not once. I haven’t seen any drugs, I haven’t seen any guns. I haven’t even seen any money, other than people paying their drink tabs and tipping the hat check girls.”
“But it says right here,” Borden said, picking up a copy of I Robbed the Mob! , “that Nicolazzo has a private suite in the back, with poker and craps games all night long—”
“I made it up—the whole thing, I made it up.”
“The counting room with the stacks of hundred dollar bills—”
“The whole thing.”
“Even the girl with the...?”
Tricia nodded. “Everything. Out of whole cloth.” Her voice cracked. “Pure, unadulterated malarkey. I’m sorry.”
“But then why,” Borden said, “did those two goons just try to shake us down?”
“That’s what I want to know!” Tricia said. “It doesn’t make any sense. There never was any robbery. There wasn’t any money stolen. There couldn’t have been. I mean, I made it as realistic as I could—I based it on what I know about the place and what I’ve read in the newspapers—but everything about the robbery itself? I made it up. It never happened.”
Borden looked at her sideways, started to say something, then lapsed into silence again.
“Maybe,” Erin said, after the silence had stretched on long enough to become uncomfortable, “those two guys don’t really work for Nicolazzo—but they’d like to. Maybe they’re small timers, they read the book, they figured the robbery really happened, and they thought if they could find the man who stole the money from Nicolazzo they’d have an inside track to his affections—”
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Borden said, kicking a couple of books against the wall, “have you been reading these things again? I don’t pay you to read, I pay you to answer the phones and keep the riffraff out.”
“You hardly pay me to do that,” Erin muttered.
“Wait a second,” Tricia said. “I’m confused. He pays you? I thought you worked for Mr. Hoffman.”
“Who do you think Mr. Hoffman works for?”
“Some woman named Madame Helga.”
“Kid,” Erin said, waving a hand in Borden’s direction, “you’re looking at Madame Helga. He’s the Edmund of Edmund and Edmund, too.”
“Ladies, ladies, if I can interrupt this little tea party,” Borden said, “we’ve got a big problem here. There are men—large men, angry men—who would be happy to do me great physical harm if I don’t give them a piece of information you’re telling me I can’t give them. This is not an acceptable situation.”
“So what do you want me to do about it, boss?” Erin said. “I already gave you an idea and see what that got me. Last time I ever—”
“Trixie,” Borden said, “Trixie, Trixie, Trixie, I’m asking you one more time, my hat in my hand—” he lifted his fedora off a peg on the wall, actually held it out toward her “—you’ve got to give me something here. Something I can use to get those apes off my back. Because if they came after me right now, I’d have no name to give them—other than yours.”
Tricia blanched. “You wouldn’t.”
“I wouldn’t want to,” Borden corrected her. “But after I’d gone a few rounds with the big guy, who’s to say what I would or wouldn’t do?”
While they all stood there pondering that question, a knock came on what was left of the glass of the door.
Through the jagged hole they saw a blue sleeve with metal buttons at the cuff.
Then the sleeve went
“Oh, come on,” Borden said.
“I’m so sorry, I know you wanted a true story—”
“Come on,” Borden said. “What do you take me for?”
“There’s nothing going on at the Sun!” Tricia said. “There’s nothing, I swear. I looked. I couldn’t find one lousy poker game, one girl turning tricks. Well, okay, there was one—but she was doing it on her own and they fired her for it. Nicolazzo has never shown up once while I’ve been there—I’m not saying not often, I’m saying not once. I haven’t seen any drugs, I haven’t seen any guns. I haven’t even seen any money, other than people paying their drink tabs and tipping the hat check girls.”
“But it says right here,” Borden said, picking up a copy of I Robbed the Mob! , “that Nicolazzo has a private suite in the back, with poker and craps games all night long—”
“I made it up—the whole thing, I made it up.”
“The counting room with the stacks of hundred dollar bills—”
“The whole thing.”
“Even the girl with the...?”
Tricia nodded. “Everything. Out of whole cloth.” Her voice cracked. “Pure, unadulterated malarkey. I’m sorry.”
“But then why,” Borden said, “did those two goons just try to shake us down?”
“That’s what I want to know!” Tricia said. “It doesn’t make any sense. There never was any robbery. There wasn’t any money stolen. There couldn’t have been. I mean, I made it as realistic as I could—I based it on what I know about the place and what I’ve read in the newspapers—but everything about the robbery itself? I made it up. It never happened.”
Borden looked at her sideways, started to say something, then lapsed into silence again.
“Maybe,” Erin said, after the silence had stretched on long enough to become uncomfortable, “those two guys don’t really work for Nicolazzo—but they’d like to. Maybe they’re small timers, they read the book, they figured the robbery really happened, and they thought if they could find the man who stole the money from Nicolazzo they’d have an inside track to his affections—”
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Borden said, kicking a couple of books against the wall, “have you been reading these things again? I don’t pay you to read, I pay you to answer the phones and keep the riffraff out.”
“You hardly pay me to do that,” Erin muttered.
“Wait a second,” Tricia said. “I’m confused. He pays you? I thought you worked for Mr. Hoffman.”
“Who do you think Mr. Hoffman works for?”
“Some woman named Madame Helga.”
“Kid,” Erin said, waving a hand in Borden’s direction, “you’re looking at Madame Helga. He’s the Edmund of Edmund and Edmund, too.”
“Ladies, ladies, if I can interrupt this little tea party,” Borden said, “we’ve got a big problem here. There are men—large men, angry men—who would be happy to do me great physical harm if I don’t give them a piece of information you’re telling me I can’t give them. This is not an acceptable situation.”
“So what do you want me to do about it, boss?” Erin said. “I already gave you an idea and see what that got me. Last time I ever—”
“Trixie,” Borden said, “Trixie, Trixie, Trixie, I’m asking you one more time, my hat in my hand—” he lifted his fedora off a peg on the wall, actually held it out toward her “—you’ve got to give me something here. Something I can use to get those apes off my back. Because if they came after me right now, I’d have no name to give them—other than yours.”
Tricia blanched. “You wouldn’t.”
“I wouldn’t want to,” Borden corrected her. “But after I’d gone a few rounds with the big guy, who’s to say what I would or wouldn’t do?”
While they all stood there pondering that question, a knock came on what was left of the glass of the door.
Through the jagged hole they saw a blue sleeve with metal buttons at the cuff.
Then the sleeve went
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