intelligent. His nose had once been broken in a fist-fight. I happen to know this because I’m the guy who broke it.
“Sit down, Matt,” he said, and I instantly suspected him. I took the leather-covered chair alongside his desk. Knowles offered me a cigar from the humidor on his desk. I took it, but I didn’t light it. I stuck it in the breast pocket of my jacket instead.
“You’re looking good, Dennis,” I said.
“Thanks.” He lit his cigar, filling the office with smoke. “What’s on your mind, Matt?”
“Just like that?”
“What would you rather discuss? My nose?” he grinned.
“The slight hook gives you character,” I said.
“Thanks. Such character I could have done without.” He paused. “I never thought I’d see you again. Am I supposed to apologize for having insulted your wife that time?”
“The way I figure it, the broken nose makes us even.”
“The way I figure it,” Knowles said, “the only thing that makes a broken nose even is another broken nose.”
“Meaning, Dennis?”
“Meaning let’s stop playing footsie. What the hell do you want in my office?”
“Ahhh,” I said, “there’s that old Dennis Knowles fire.”
“I’m a busy man,” Knowles said. “If you came here to chat, I’m not a big talker. If you came for a handout, business is bad. If you came for another swing at my nose, I wouldn’t try it again. What’s on your mind?”
“A woman named Christine Archese,” I said.
“What about her?”
“Are you tailing her?”
“Goodbye, Matt,” Knowles said, and he rose and slammed the lid of his humidor shut. He looked bigger standing—but not that big.
“I asked a civil question, Dennis.”
“What gives you the right to ask?”
“Haven’t you seen the morning papers?” I said.
“I never read the papers,” Knowles answered. “They make me nervous.”
“Dom Archese was shot dead yesterday.”
Knowles sat down. He wasn’t shocked or anything. I guess he was just tired. He sat down, flicked ash from his cigar, puffed on it again, and uninterestedly said, “Yeah?”
“Twice in the chest. At his tailor shop. Was Christine playing around?”
“What’s your interest?”
“A friend of mine may be involved.”
“You practicing again?”
“No. I’m doing a favor for a friend.”
“The Good Samaritan,” Knowles said. “There’s such a thing as protecting the confidences of a client, Matt. You know that as well as I do. You’ve also got a hell of a lot of gall, if you don’t mind my saying so. The last time I see you, you break my nose for mentioning what’s in all the goddamn newspapers anyway. Now you come around and ask me to betray a client’s confidence.”
“Your client is dead, Dennis,” I said.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Didn’t you hear me? Dom Archese was shot yesterday.”
“Archese isn’t and wasn’t my client,” Knowles said.
I looked at him and blinked. He didn’t blink back.
“Okay,” I said. “If you won’t help me…”
“I’m telling you the truth, Christ knows why,” Knowles said. “You sure as hell don’t deserve it. But you’re the only bastard who ever threw a punch at me and didn’t get sent to the hospital. I respect fists. I’m not afraid of you, but I respect you. I hope you understand the difference.”
“I understand it.” I paused. “Archese wasn’t your client?”
“No.”
“Who is?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”
I sighed and wiped a hand over my jaw. “Look, Dennis, a friend of mine is in pretty serious trouble. Archese was his partner.”
“His
partner
!” Knowles said.
“Yes. What…”
“Your friend isn’t Johnny Bridges, is he?”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“Well, for Christ’s sake,
he’s
my client!”
The room went very still. Dennis sucked in smoke. I scratched my head.
“Johnny?”
“Yes, yes, Johnny.”
“Your client?”
“My client.”
“Why?”
“Oh, what the hell’s the sense in
“Sit down, Matt,” he said, and I instantly suspected him. I took the leather-covered chair alongside his desk. Knowles offered me a cigar from the humidor on his desk. I took it, but I didn’t light it. I stuck it in the breast pocket of my jacket instead.
“You’re looking good, Dennis,” I said.
“Thanks.” He lit his cigar, filling the office with smoke. “What’s on your mind, Matt?”
“Just like that?”
“What would you rather discuss? My nose?” he grinned.
“The slight hook gives you character,” I said.
“Thanks. Such character I could have done without.” He paused. “I never thought I’d see you again. Am I supposed to apologize for having insulted your wife that time?”
“The way I figure it, the broken nose makes us even.”
“The way I figure it,” Knowles said, “the only thing that makes a broken nose even is another broken nose.”
“Meaning, Dennis?”
“Meaning let’s stop playing footsie. What the hell do you want in my office?”
“Ahhh,” I said, “there’s that old Dennis Knowles fire.”
“I’m a busy man,” Knowles said. “If you came here to chat, I’m not a big talker. If you came for a handout, business is bad. If you came for another swing at my nose, I wouldn’t try it again. What’s on your mind?”
“A woman named Christine Archese,” I said.
“What about her?”
“Are you tailing her?”
“Goodbye, Matt,” Knowles said, and he rose and slammed the lid of his humidor shut. He looked bigger standing—but not that big.
“I asked a civil question, Dennis.”
“What gives you the right to ask?”
“Haven’t you seen the morning papers?” I said.
“I never read the papers,” Knowles answered. “They make me nervous.”
“Dom Archese was shot dead yesterday.”
Knowles sat down. He wasn’t shocked or anything. I guess he was just tired. He sat down, flicked ash from his cigar, puffed on it again, and uninterestedly said, “Yeah?”
“Twice in the chest. At his tailor shop. Was Christine playing around?”
“What’s your interest?”
“A friend of mine may be involved.”
“You practicing again?”
“No. I’m doing a favor for a friend.”
“The Good Samaritan,” Knowles said. “There’s such a thing as protecting the confidences of a client, Matt. You know that as well as I do. You’ve also got a hell of a lot of gall, if you don’t mind my saying so. The last time I see you, you break my nose for mentioning what’s in all the goddamn newspapers anyway. Now you come around and ask me to betray a client’s confidence.”
“Your client is dead, Dennis,” I said.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Didn’t you hear me? Dom Archese was shot yesterday.”
“Archese isn’t and wasn’t my client,” Knowles said.
I looked at him and blinked. He didn’t blink back.
“Okay,” I said. “If you won’t help me…”
“I’m telling you the truth, Christ knows why,” Knowles said. “You sure as hell don’t deserve it. But you’re the only bastard who ever threw a punch at me and didn’t get sent to the hospital. I respect fists. I’m not afraid of you, but I respect you. I hope you understand the difference.”
“I understand it.” I paused. “Archese wasn’t your client?”
“No.”
“Who is?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”
I sighed and wiped a hand over my jaw. “Look, Dennis, a friend of mine is in pretty serious trouble. Archese was his partner.”
“His
partner
!” Knowles said.
“Yes. What…”
“Your friend isn’t Johnny Bridges, is he?”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“Well, for Christ’s sake,
he’s
my client!”
The room went very still. Dennis sucked in smoke. I scratched my head.
“Johnny?”
“Yes, yes, Johnny.”
“Your client?”
“My client.”
“Why?”
“Oh, what the hell’s the sense in
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