Nora tasted her drink and shuddered. “Do you suppose this could be the ‘bitter vetch’ they used to put in cross-word puzzles?”
Dorothy said: “Oh, look.”
We looked and saw Shep Morelli coming towards us. His face had attracted Dorothy’s attention. Where it was not dented it was swollen and its coloring ranged from deep purple around one eye to the pale pink of a piece of court-plaster on his chin.
He came to our table and leaned over a little to put both fists on it. “Listen,” he said, “Studsy says I ought to apologize.”
Nora murmured, “Old Emily Post Studsy,” while I asked, “Well?” Morelli shook his battered head. “I don’t apologize for what I do– people’ve got to take it or leave it–but I don’t mind telling you I’m sorry I lost my noodle and cracked down on you and I hope it ain’t bothering you much and if there’s anything I can do to square it I–”
“Forget it. Sit down and have a drink. This is Mr. Morelli, Miss Wynant.”
Dorothy’s eyes became wide and interested.
Morelli found a chair and sat down. “I hope you won’t hold it against me, neither,” he told Nora.
She said: “It was fun.”
He looked at her suspiciously.
“Out on bail?” I asked.
“Uh-huh, this afternoon.” He felt his face gingerly with one hand. “That’s where the new ones come from. They had me resisting some more arrest just for good measure before they turned me loose.”
Nora said indignantly: “That’s horrible. You mean they really–”
I patted her hand.
Morelli said: “You got to expect it.” His swollen lower lip moved in what was meant for a scornful smile. “It’s all right as long as it takes two or three of ’em to do it.”
Nora turned to me. “Did you do things like that?”
“Who? Me?”
Studsy came over to us carrying a chair. “They lifted his face, huh?” he said, nodding at Morelli. We made room for him and he sat down. He grinned complacently at Nora’s drink and at Nora. “I guess you don’t get no better than that in your fancy Park Avenue joints–and you pay four bits a slug for it here.”
Nora’s smile was weak, but it was a smile. She put her foot on mine under the table.
I asked Morelli: “Did you know Julia Wolf in Cleveland?”
He looked sidewise at Studsy, who was leaning back in his chair, gazing around the room, watching his profits mount.
“When she was Rhoda Stewart,” I added.
He looked at Dorothy.
I said: “You don’t have to be cagey. She’s Clyde Wynant’s daughter.”
Studsy stopped gazing around the room and beamed on Dorothy. “So you are? And how is your pappy?”
“But I haven’t seen him since I was a little girl,” she said.
Morelli wet the end of a cigarette and put it between his swollen lips. “I come from Cleveland.” He struck a match. His eyes were dull– he was trying to keep them dull. “She wasn’t Rhoda Stewart except once–Nancy Kane.” He looked at Dorothy again. “Your father knows it.”
“Do you know my father?”
“We had some words once.”
“What about?” I asked.
“Her.” The match in his hand had burned down to his fingers. He dropped it, struck another, and lit his cigarette. He raised his eyebrows at me, wrinkling his forehead. “Is this 0. K.?”
“Sure. There’s nobody here you can’t talk in front of.”
“0. K. He was jealous as hell. I wanted to take a poke at him, but she wouldn’t let me. That was all right: he was her bank-roll.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Six months, eight months.”
“Have you seen him since she got knocked off?”
He shook his head. “I never seen him but a couple of times, and this time I’m telling you about is the last.”
“Was she gypping him?”
“She don’t say she is. I figure she is.”
“Why?”
“She’s a wise head–plenty smart. She was getting dough somewheres. Once I wanted five grand.” He snapped his fingers. “Cash.”
I decided against asking if he had paid her back. “Maybe he gave it to her.”
“Sure–maybe.”
“Did you tell any of this to the police?” I asked.