Nothing in Her Way — 125
Fourteen
We didn’t get up until late, and around noon she went
out. She was enchanting in a whole new spring outfit,
smart and very lovely from nylons to short-veiled hat,
and when she came to kiss me she left a hint of
fragrance that lingered in the apartment after she was
gone.
“I’m off to betray you, darling,” she said.
I prowled irritably around the apartment. Was he
going for it, or was he just going for her? She was
convinced he was rising to the bait, but just how sure
were we as to what he considered the bait? Maybe, as
far as he was concerned, she was it. Lachlan had money
already. He didn’t chase girls to get money; he used
money to chase girls. And what if Bolton had tipped him
off, as he’d threatened, and he was laughing about the
whole thing, playing along with us while the police
watched, just waiting to spring the trap? I shuddered.
I kept thinking about Bolton, and after a while I
started wondering about Charlie and why we hadn’t
heard anything of him. After a while I couldn’t stand my
thoughts and the apartment any longer and went out
and walked downtown. I had to locate a good bookie
joint, and they weren’t very plentiful any more. The
federal tax and the clampdown by the police had driven
most of them out of business. It took a number of
Nothing in Her Way — 126
telephone calls to some old friends before I got on the
trail of one. It was in the rear of a saloon on the other
side of Market. I finally got in, and sat around for a
while reading a scratch sheet and watching the Santa
Anita results go up on the board. I didn’t need the place
yet, but I wanted to get the telephone number and be
sure I could get in when I did. I made a few random
bets, and lost on all of them.
She still wasn’t back when I returned to the
apartment. I mixed a drink and sat around thinking of
the fine time we’d had at Carmel and wondering if it
could ever be like that all the time. Maybe when we
finished with this…I got up and started pacing the floor
again. Maybe when we finished with this we’d be in
separate penitentiaries.
It was a little after five when she came in, very happy,
and ran to kiss me. They’d had lunch, and then gone for
a long drive down toward Half Moon Bay.
I mixed her a drink, and she told me. “He has all the
parts now, Mike,” she said, talking very fast and
excitedly. She had changed into lounging pajamas and
a blue robe and sandals and was curled up in a big
chair with the drink. “He got it out of me at last.” She
looked across at me and laughed. “I finally told him
about the plant that had fascinated you ever since you
were a child in Peru and how much research you had
done on it. He’d never heard of coca, and the chances
are he’s down at the library right now, looking it up in
the encyclopedia. And when he finds it, he’s gone.”
That was it. Coca was the detonator, the trigger on
this booby trap she had rigged. She’d first learned of it
when she was in Peru. Cocaine is derived from it,
through an involved chemical process. The Andes
Indians chew the dried leaves and it acts as a stimulant.
They are able to get by on very little food and can carry
tremendous loads for long distances when under the
influence of it. Naturally, it’s harmful, as is any system
of trying to get something for nothing, but that wasn’t
the point.
The point was that this was one of a series of
deadfalls he should have planted in his mind now, and
Nothing in Her Way — 127
if he followed the trail she had left he should stumble
into every one of them. I was interested in the effect of
coca, which was a stimulant; I had been a veterinarian
at a South American race track and had become
interested in something else that wasn’t part of my job
—the saliva tests they give the winners of races to
check for illegal drugs or stimulants, and which are a
chemist’s job; Benavides had stupidly kept saying
something about “long” races while I was trying to shut
him up; and last but not least, I had brushed him off
and denied very coldly that there could be anything
crooked about racing the only time he had mentioned
it. All that, plus the fact I apparently had a mysterious
source of income I never talked about, was a very neat
package.
It should be obvious to anyone who thought about it
that if illegal drugs introduced into a race horse would
show up in a chemical analysis of his saliva or urine,
the same drug would always show up no matter in what
form it was used. But with all the overwhelming weight
of evidence pointing in the other direction, he could
close his eyes to that and come to the only natural
conclusion—the one he wanted: that I had worked out a
method of getting some form of coca into a horse and
giving him enough edge to win a long race at, say, a
mile and a quarter or above, without its being
detectable in the tests. That was it—that and the fact
that he had got all this information out of her instead of
from me, had got it because she was a frivolous
chatterbox who didn’t have sense enough to keep her
mouth shut. He understood Spanish, and he had a way
with the ladies. He had put one over on us.
We stayed away from him that night, and we both
remained in the apartment until noon the next day.
Then I went out alone, picked up the Examiner, and
wandered into the bar. It was practically deserted
except for the single barman on duty in the afternoon. I
sat down in a booth, ordered Scotch and water, and
spread the paper open at the sports section. I killed two
hours there and then went on back to the apartment
without ever seeing him. When I came in she said he
had called, wanting us to go out with him and Bobbie
Nothing in Her Way — 128
Everett again. She had begged off, saying she didn’t
feel up to it.
“I think it’s you he’s after,” I said.
“No,” she said. “Wait. Give him time.”
The next afternoon I did the same thing, sitting in the
bar with a drink and the morning paper open, reading
the racing news from Santa Anita and the Florida
tracks. Just before I was ready to take down my props
and go home, he came in.
“Oh, hello, Rogers,” he said, with just a shade too
much heartiness. “Mind if I sit down?”
I grunted an invitation of sorts and folded up the
paper, giving him just a brief glance at what I was
reading. “How’s Mrs. Rogers? Hope she’s not feeling
bad.”
“No,” I said. “Just a cold.”
His drink came. “Well, here’s to crime,” he said.
Maybe that’s the latest thing, I thought. He set his
glass down suddenly, as if he had just remembered
something. “Damnit,” he said, “I’ve been meaning to
tell you something. Thought of it the other day. I
remembered you were a fly fisherman, and a friend of
mine that’s here in town now has a big ranch up on the
Rogue River. He’s always after me to come up when the
steelhead are running, but I don’t care anything about
that piddling kind of fishing. Thought you might like to
meet him, though. I’ll bring him around and introduce
him. He’ll fix you up with some fishing, come summer.”
“Oh, thanks,” I said. “Thanks a lot. I’ve heard a lot
about the Rogue, but I never had a chance to fish it.”
“Well, that’s what friends are for, the way I see it.”
“That’s right,” I said, without much enthusiasm.
He was silent for a few minutes, apparently thinking
about something.
“Say, Rogers...” I looked up.
“Yes?”
“We hit it off pretty well. And we’ve both been
around. I’d like to have a little talk with you. The
barman can’t hear us over here.”
Nothing in Her Way — 129
I tried to keep my face blank and lit a cigarette to
cover up my nervousness. “Talk about what?” I asked.
He leaned forward a little and lowered his voice. “As I
said, we’re not kids, so you can cut out the innocent
talk with me. I know who you are.”
The butterflies were swarming in my stomach, and it
was all I could do to stare back at him without any
expression at all. If he had our number, what was he
going to do? Call the cops? Was it too late now to run?
“Would you mind explaining what you’re talking
about?” I asked, as coldly as I could.
“Cut it out,” he said. Then he winked. “There’s just
the two of us here, so you can let your hair down. I’ve
known all along you were cleaning up some way, but it
took me a while to figure it out. How about letting me
in on something good?”
I could feel the sigh of relief coming all the way up
from the bottom of my lungs and choked it down before
it got away from me. It had been a bad moment.
“Look, Lachlan,” I said irritably, now that I had hold
of myself again, “what the devil are you talking about,
anyway?”
“So you’re going to play it that way?”
“Play what?”
“That hard-to-get stuff. Good God, man, all I want is
just a tip now and then. That’s not much to ask, is it?”
“Maybe I’m a little dense today,” I said wearily. “Or I
never did learn the English language too well. Would
you mind drawing me a picture?”
He leaned back in the seat and watched me for a
moment, and then the nasty smile began to spread
across his face. He was getting ready to let me know he
had me.
“Yeah. If you insist, I’ll draw you a picture, Rogers.
You’re a pretty slick customer, but there are others
around. I’ll tell you something you didn’t know. I
happen to speak Spanish as well as you do. And I heard
your little argument with your friend the other night.
You remember, the one who used to work for your
father?” He chuckled.
Nothing in Her Way — 130
I let it hit me in the face, just a glancing blow he
would be able to see for an instant; then I went blank
again. “All right,” I said, “so you’re a linguist. I still
don’t see what you’re driving at.”
He leaned on the table again. “The hell you don’t.
That boy was yelling something about ‘long races.’ I
couldn’t figure it out at the time, but I’ve got it now. We
both know what you’re doing, so why not cut it out and
be a good guy and let me in? I know how to keep my
mouth shut, if that’s worrying you, and I won’t bet
heavy enough to tip anything.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Let me get this straight.
You’re suggesting I’m mixed up in horse racing? Is that
it? That I’m getting information of some kind?”
He grinned again. “Now you’re talking sense. Except
that I’m not suggesting anything—I know. And I don’t
mean ‘information.’ I mean fixed races.”
I stared at him. “Don’t be a fool. There’s no such
thing as a fixed race.”
He shook his head. “Boy, you’re a hard nut to crack.
Look, Rogers, I not only know you’ve got a way to
gimmick a race now and then; I even know the kind you
gimmick and the way you do it without getting caught.
Now, will you come off it?”
I sighed and put down my glass. “Are you really
serious about this, Lachlan, or is it a gag of some kind?”
“Of course I’m serious.”
“Well, look. I’ll tell you a few things. I used to work
around race tracks as a veterinarian, so maybe I know
at least as much about racing as you do. And one of the
things I do know is that there is absolutely no such
thing as a fixed race. Did you ever stop to figure out
how many different and unpredictable factors there are
to contend with in just one race? In an average field of
eight horses, say? There are eight jockeys, eight horses,
eight pole positions, good racing luck, bad racing luck,
jams on the turns, injuries and a thousand other things.
And if you were fool enough to try bribing riders, there
never have been and never will be eight crooked
jockeys in one race. The odds against it are
astronomical. There might be one you could buy, or
Nothing in Her Way — 131
even a slim chance of two, but not eight. At least six,
and probably all eight, would report you to the
stewards, or at least laugh in your face. They make a
living riding horses, and if they got caught in something
like that they’d be out on their tails in ten minutes.”
“Cut it out,” he interrupted. “I’m not talking about
crooked jockeys. Don’t be so pigheaded. I know you
hype ‘em. Or your men at the track do.”
“Doping, you mean?” I snorted. “Didn’t you ever hear
of the saliva test?”
“Sure.” He had that wise grin on his face again. He
looked at me and said slowly, “Sure. I’ve heard of it.
And I happen to know you’ve got a way to beat it.”
I got up. “Well, there’s no use arguing with you. I can
see that. Think anything you want, but”—I stopped and
stared coldly down at him—“don’t bother me with it any
more. I don’t go for it.”
I went off and left him sitting there. As I was going up
in the elevator it suddenly struck me, that thing she
had said a long time ago in Reno. She’d said he would
come to me, demanding to be let in on a fixed race, and
that the way to convince him there really was such a
thing was to deny it could even exist.
* * *
The next move was up to him, and he did exactly what
she had said he would. The next morning the telephone
rang and she answered it.
“Oh, how are you?” she asked, a little breathlessly.
“Why, no, he isn’t in. He went downtown this morning.”
She looked across at me and winked, with the deadpan
innocence of a child. There was silence for a moment
while she listened. “Well, I—I really shouldn’t… Oh,
yes, it would be perfectly all right, of course… Well, all
right. I’ll meet you there in the bar. But only this once.
I’ll leave a note saying I’ve gone to the movies.”
She hung up and looked over at me and grinned. “El
Prado, for lunch.”
She was gone until nearly three, and when she came
in she didn’t say anything for a moment. I could see she
Nothing in Her Way — 132
was bursting with something, though, and after she
came over and kissed me and rumpled my hair she
opened her purse without a word and dropped a sheaf
of bills on the sofa. I looked at them. They were century
notes, and they came to a thousand dollars.
“All right,” I said, waiting.
“It was just as if I had written the part for him and
he’d spent all night memorizing his lines.” She sat
down and lit a cigarette. “Mike, it was so easy it wasn’t
even any fun. He said he knew what you were doing,
and there was no use my trying to cover up any more.
Oh, he was quite brutal about it. He had me, you see. I
was slipping out and meeting him. I tell you, sweet, that
conceit of his is something that has never been
approached. It’s awe-inspiring. So I broke down and
told him everything. Then he turned on the Lachlan
charm, which seems to consist largely of breathing on
you and bugling and trampling the shrubbery, and said
everything was going to work out fine. We’re going to
double-cross you, you see.
“I went on to explain that it wasn’t quite as easy as
that. A lot of times I never did know myself when you
had a deal coming up or what horse it was. You see,
you’re very hard and mean, and you never tell anybody
anything. I told him you actually shot at a man once, for
talking too much. He should find that easy to believe,
after the way you brushed him off yesterday. Oh, I gave
him a good story about all the double-frammis times
frammis-squared elements that went into it—how you
never knew for sure until just a few hours before
racetime that it was a deal because they had to wait to
get a line on the probable odds, since they never dealt
in short-priced horses, and because they didn’t want
too much money bet too soon, for some silly reason you
had tried to explain to me but which I could never
understand. I’m the bird-brain type, you see. Anyway,
you usually get the telephone call from the track just in
time for you to get your money bet, and most of the
time I don’t know anything about it until it’s all over.
“I told him I’d do what I could, and that if I could
possibly find out when one was coming off and what the
name of the horse was I’d try to get in touch with him
Nothing in Her Way — 133
without letting you know. All very uncertain and iffy,
you understand. Naturally, that wouldn’t do at all, so
then he came up with the perfect solution.” She
stopped and looked at me with her eyes brimming with
laughter. She nodded toward the money. “I’m to get it
bet, if I can.”
“O.K.,” I said. “We’ve got him. But there’s one thing.
You let him give you too much money.”
“Why?”
“Well, he has to win this one, of course, for the comeon.
And to make it look good we’ve got to set up a
specific race—a long race, naturally, something a mile
and a furlong or over—so you can show him what he
won it on. Suppose a real long shot comes in? You may
have to fork over fifteen or twenty thousand dollars.
That’s pretty big bait.”
She shook her head, gesturing with the cigarette.
“Naturally, I’m not going to bet all of it. I just couldn’t
get it placed, because there wasn’t enough time. That’s
part of the tease, you see. So when I do figure out a
way to get past you and make a really good bet for the
Happy Conspirator, he’ll unload like a dropped piggie
bank.”
“That’s better,” I said.
“But wait,” she went on. “That’s not all. We’re going
to carry your idea of a specific race one step further.
I’m going to give him the word that I’ve got part of his
money bet and tell him the horse, before the results
come in over the radio.”
“How?” I asked. “The only way you can do that is to
call some bookie for the results. They usually have
them a few minutes to a quarter hour before the radio
station gets around to them, but it’d be fairly obvious.
He’d see through that.”
“Not if I’d been sitting in the bar with him for the
past hour or two and he knew I hadn’t called anybody.”
“Fine,” I said. “But if you’d been sitting there with
him for that long, why hadn’t you told him the name of
the horse before?”
Nothing in Her Way — 134
“Because,” she said, grinning, “you were there too.
And of course I couldn’t say anything in front of you.
The minute you leave, I tell him. And then in maybe ten
minutes the results come in over the radio in the bar,
and sure enough, the horse has won.”
“It sounds wonderful,” I said. “But how?”
“I’m working on it. The first thing we need is a
telegram. You go downtown in the morning and send
me one.”
We worked out the details. It was a beautiful piece of
skullduggery, but it was going to take very precise
timing to make it work. I went down the next morning
and sent the telegram, and when it came we steamed it
open so the envelope could be resealed, and saved it.
To make the whole setup look good we had to make
him wait, and the longer he waited, the better it would
be. The tension started to build up again as I got to
thinking of Bolton and the police, and I was growing
jumpy and irritable. He called her twice, wanting to
know what was happening, and she stalled him. I kept
watching the papers for a spot that looked good, and on
the fourth night, when the morning papers hit the
street, I found one. The eighth race on the next day’s
card at Hialeah was at a mile and a quarter, a claiming
affair for cheap horses. I bought a Racing Form and
went back to the apartment to check on it.
It looked fine. The horses were a sorry lot,
nonwinners since the first of the year, and there was
nothing that stood out. The public selectors didn’t
agree on anything, and unless the Miami papers all
happened to hit on the same horse, there wouldn’t be
any outstanding favorite. This was fine, because if there
was a standout at a short price and he accidentally
stumbled home in front it wouldn’t look too good. We
were supposed to be dealing in long shots. It looked as
if Country Mile, Sweet Bobo, and Dinny’s Queen would
get most of the play, but in a field like that anything
could win.
“This is the one,” I said. “Let’s go.”
“How many entries?” she asked.
Nothing in Her Way — 135
“Nine. We won’t get the scratches until too late, but
we can handle nine all right.”
We wrote them all down, with a code word consisting
of a masculine name opposite each horse, and spent an
hour memorizing them. There couldn’t be any slip, for if
she got the wrong horse the whole thing would blow
up. Around ten she called Lachlan, but he wasn’t in.
She tried again at midnight and got him. “Hello,” she
said very quietly. “No. He’s in the bath. I just now got a
chance to call. There may be something coming up
tomorrow about—you know. He just got a phone call
from Miami. No, I didn’t hear much of it, but there
won’t be anything certain until morning, anyway…Yes,
I’ll try.” Then she added hurriedly, “I’ve got to hang up
now. I’ll call you.”
In the morning we went downtown together around
eleven o’clock. She was supposed to hurry back alone
just before one, call him from the apartment, and tell
him excitedly that she had wonderful news and to meet
her downstairs at the bar. Posttime for the eighth at
Hialeah would be between two-thirty and two-forty
p.m., Pacific time, and this would put her in the bar
with him about an hour and a half before the race was
even run. And she was going to tell him the name of the
horse she had bet his money on. The gimmick was that
I had to walk into the bar right behind her, before she
could say a word to him.
When we got downtown we checked to be sure he
wasn’t following us, and then went up to the Starlite
Roof of the Sir Francis Drake for a drink and on over to
a place on Geary for lunch. It was twelve-thirty when
we came out of the restaurant. We parted and she
walked on down toward Powell to get a cab in front of
the St. Francis. I went the other way, intending to pick
up a scratch sheet and see how many horses were out
of the race.
It was just luck that I noticed him. He went by
without looking at me at all, going in the opposite
direction, the way she was headed. I froze up, not
moving, waiting to be sure. Maybe he hadn’t seen her.
The hell he hadn’t. He was following her. I turned and
Nothing in Her Way — 136
took after the two of them and when I caught up with
him he was about thirty feet behind her. She never did
look back. I grabbed his arm and wheeled him around.
“Looking for somebody, Donnelly?” I asked.
There was no expression on his face. “Well,” he said.
“It’s Strong Boy. And still grabbing at people.”
She had flagged a cab and was climbing in. I took a
deep breath of relief, and then it cut off suddenly as a
big hand, descended on my shoulder from behind.
“You ought to grab somebody your own size, pal,” a
voice said in my ear, and I turned, realizing too late
that Donnelly’d had a convoy. The big slab of a face on
a level with mine was tough and the eyes were full of a
sour humor.
“Old friend of yours, Monk?” he asked Donnelly.
“I was following the broad and he loused it up.”
“Well, maybe he knows where she lives.”
“Yeah,” Donnelly said. “Yeah. Maybe he does.”
“I tell you how we could find out,” the humorist said.
“We could ask him. Maybe he talks.”
“Yes,” I said. “I know where the broad lives. She lives
with me.”
“Well, that’s nice. And where do you live? With her, I
suppose.”
“That’s right.”
“You walk behind him, Monk, and I’ll walk on his
right. Come along, pal.”
It was in the sunlight of high noon on Geary Street
with a thousand people going by. They couldn’t do it.
“You couldn’t shoot here in the street,” I said.
“I’ll tell you how you can find out.”
I went.
Nothing in Her Way — 137
Fifteen
It was only about two blocks away, a small hotel with a
potted palm in the lobby. We went up to their room.
Donnelly took the gun out of the holster under his left
arm and clicked the safety off. He sat down on the bed
and lit a cigarette, tipping his head to one side to let
the smoke curl up.
The big man rocked on his feet and slammed me in
the stomach. I fell back against the wall with my left
arm across the rickety dresser. I got up, feeling sick,
and lost my head. I started for him.
Donnelly motioned with the gun. “Uh-uh.” It was like
something out of a gangster movie.
He hit me again and I slid down the wall to the floor,
trying to get my breath.
“Ask him where the babe lives,” Donnelly said.
“Where does the babe live?”
I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t even breathe.
“Where’s the babe live?”
I shook my head and he hauled me to my feet and hit
me again. He must have been a pro at one time,
because he didn’t break his hands up hitting me in the
face. He hit me in the belly.
“Where’s the babe?”
Nothing in Her Way — 138
It was the lunch, and the water I’d drunk. I was in
agony. He hit me again.
“He ain’t going to talk,” Donnelly said. “If we beat
him up enough to make him sing he’ll be too big a mess
to get out of here without the cops on us.”
“He’ll talk, all right. I been saving that one.”
“He’d just pass out. Leave him go.”
“The hell.”
“Leave him go.”
“How about one for the road?”
“What did I say?” Donnelly asked.
“All right.”
They waved me out the door. I could still stand up,
and I made it. It didn’t add up, but I was too sick to
think about it. Then I was in the street and breathing
again and I knew how crazy it was. He wanted to know
where Cathy was and he wouldn’t give up that easily. I
walked to the corner before I arrived at the obvious
answer. They were going to follow me. I looked back,
but I didn’t see them. I turned a corner, walked another
block, and turned again, watching the people behind
me for a repeater. By the time I got down to Market I
had him spotted. It wasn’t Donnelly or the big man, but
someone I hadn’t seen before, a middleweight in a tan
topcoat and high-crowned snap-brim hat. He was
following me, all right, and I couldn’t go back to the
apartment unless I could shake him.
Then suddenly I remembered, and I felt cold all over.
I looked at my watch. It was five minutes of one. Cathy
would be coming down to the bar to meet Lachlan and
tell him the news she didn’t have yet, depending on me
to be there to queer it until we got the results of the
race. If I didn’t show up, the whole campaign was
wrecked. What could she tell him? That she had bet his
money, but she didn’t know the name of the horse? I
started to run, looking for a telephone booth, frantic
with fear that I was already too late.
There was a drugstore on the corner and I hurtled in,
sidestepping customers and plowing my way to the
booth at the rear. There was a woman in it, and a man
Nothing in Her Way — 139
waiting. I started to turn and run back to the street to
look for another one when I saw the woman hang up
and reach for the door.
I beat the man to it. “Pardon me. Emergency. Wife.
Ambulance.”
He took one look at my face and stepped back.
“Sure,” he said.
I dropped a coin in and dialed. The line was busy. I
dug out the coin and popped it back into the slot. I got
another busy signal. God, did they have only one trunk
out of that board? Was everybody in the building calling
out at once? I dialed again.
“Good afternoon, Montlake Apartments.”
“Dr. Rogers,” I said. “Nine-A.”
It was too late. She was certain to have started by
this time. I could hear the telephone ringing. It rang
again. And again. We were sunk.
Then it clicked, and I could feel the breath ooze out of
me.
“Cathy?”
“Mike! I was just going out the door.”
“Don’t,” I said frantically. “Hang on until you see me
getting out of a cab in front. I can’t explain now. But
hold everything.”
“All right. But hurry.”
I went back out front. He was standing by a
newspaper rack, reading the headlines and watching
the door. I started down Market, walking slowly. When
I saw a cab coming with no others behind it I waited
until it was almost abreast and then leaped to the curb,
waving my arm. He stopped and I climbed in. I could
see my man standing by the curb, listening.
“Palace Hotel,” I said.
“Right, Chief.”
When we reached the next corner I leaned forward in
the seat. “Never mind the Palace. Make it the
Montlake.” My stomach felt as if I’d been stepped on by
an elephant.
Nothing in Her Way — 140
I looked at my watch again as I hurried into the
lobby. It was nine minutes past one. Lachlan would
already be in the bar. Everything now depended on my
finding the right bellboy. He was a smart kid named
Barney, with an alert eye for the easy dollar. I spotted
him over near the desk and caught his attention.
I got him off to one side, reaching in my pocket at the
same time. “You’ve got to do me a favor, Barney. I’ve
got a big bet on a horse in the eighth race at Hialeah,” I
said, almost whispering, and looking around the lobby
like a criminal. “My wife’d raise hell if she knew it. So I
want you to call the bookie for me and find out who
won. Can you do that?”
“Sure, Doctor,” he said, eyeing the ten spot in my
hand. “Where’ll you be?”
“In the bar. Or the apartment. Try the bar first. She’ll
be with me, so write it on something and say it’s a
phone call. No. Wait,” I said, hauling out the telegram.
“I’ve got a better idea. Write it on this. On the front
side of the wire. And then seal it up again. Say it’s a
telegram that just came for me. You got that?”
“Sure.”
“You know the phone numbers of any bookies?”
He shook his head. “I used to know plenty. They’re
hard to find now, though.”
“Well, here.” I handed him the slip of paper with the
telephone number of the horse parlor I’d located.
I could see her stepping out of the elevator now. It
was timed beautifully. She came toward us.
“Oh, there you are, dear. You’re late. I want a drink
before lunch.”
“I’ll be right with you.”
She looked at us a little suspiciously. “What are you
doing?”
“Just telling Barney I was expecting an answer to a
wire, and where he could find me. You run along. I’ll be
right with you.”
She started into the bar. Barney and I grinned at
each other. “Remember, the race’ll be off around two-
Nothing in Her Way — 141
thirty-five. Call that bookie right away, and keep calling
until you get it. And bring it right in. I’ve got too much
on this one.” I handed him the ten.
“I know how you feel,” he said.
She had gone through the door now. I gave her a few
more seconds, walking very slowly. When I came she
had just sat down at the booth with Lachlan and was
talking eagerly, her face alight with excitement. She
looked up and saw me and her eyes went blank as she
cut it off.
I walked up. “I thought I saw you coming in here
when I got out of the cab. What are we drinking?”
Lachlan and I nodded. Cathy recovered and began
chattering about something to cover the awkward
pause. I sat down in a chair at the end of the table and
ordered Scotch.
It should have been amusing, sitting there knowing
Lachlan was raging to find out what Cathy had to tell
him and knowing there wasn’t anything he could do
about it. It wasn’t, however, for I wasn’t even thinking
about it. Not any more. I was thinking about the fact
that Donnelly was in San Francisco looking for her, and
knew she was here, and that he had help now. Our time
was running out so fast you could see it go.
San Francisco’s not New York, and looking for
somebody who’s transient and who would be living the
way she would is easy. You just cruise around Powell
Street and Union Square and Nob Hill, and it’s only a
question of time.
I tried to shake it off and get back to the matter at
hand. We had to keep Lachlan here because the thing
would be pointless unless she was with him every
minute so he’d know she hadn’t had a chance to get the
results of the race. There wasn’t much chance he would
leave, but I held the bait out where he could see it.
“Have to get back downtown in a little while,” I said
to Cathy, pretending to be unaware of the tension
around the table. “Just time for a drink or two. Unless
you want to have lunch?”
Nothing in Her Way — 142
She glanced at Lachlan. “No, dear. I don’t think so.
Why don’t you get something downtown?”
I knew she was wondering what held me up and why
I’d sounded so strange over the telephone, but there
was no way I could tell her. Time dragged. I ordered
another round of drinks. Lachlan stalled as long as he
could, hoping I would leave, but finally gave in and
ordered.
“What time is your appointment, dear?” Cathy asked,
making a good act of being impatient and trying not to
show it.
I shrugged. “Any time after two-thirty.”
The conversation would flare up for a few minutes,
then die out until somebody prodded it again. Twothirty
came, and then two-forty-five. The strain was
getting me now. What was keeping Barney? All the
horse parlors should have it by this time. We had to
have it before the radio station put it on the air.
I was just starting to sweat in earnest when I saw him
hurrying in from the lobby entrance. Paying no
attention, I picked up my glass and started to take a
drink.
“Dr. Rogers. Oh, Dr. Rogers.”
I turned. “Yes?”
“Telegram,” he said. “It just came, and I thought you
were here in the bar.”
“Thanks,” I said. I handed him a dollar.
They were both watching me. I was at the end of the
table, and of course they couldn’t see anything but the
back of the telegram. I tore the envelope open and
pretended to read. Barney had written it in pencil down
in one corner. “Devil’s Toupee,” it said. I was conscious
of thinking it was an awful name for a horse and it was
no wonder he was running in two-thousand-dollar
claimers. There was no payoff price, so Barney must
have got it right off the griddle, before they posted it. I
hoped it was official.
I stood up. They looked at me inquiringly. “It’s from
Carl,” I said to Cathy. “I’d better call him. I’ll see you
later.”
Nothing in Her Way — 143
I folded the wire, stuck it in my pocket, and went out.
“Carl” was the code name for Devil’s Toupee, and now
she could tell him the name of the horse she’d bet his
money on. They’d get the bartender to turn on the radio
to the station that broadcast the race results between
recordings.
It was a smooth trick. Of course, a sharper would
probably see through that telegram stunt and would
know I had told her some way, but the thing that
Lachlan would never get past was the fact that she had
started to tell him almost two hours ago, when I came
in and she had to shut up. That was the snapper, and it
was a good one.
I hurried across the lobby and went up to the
apartment. Switching on the radio, I tuned in the
station. There was music at first and then, after a
commercial, the announcer came on with the results of
the third at Santa Anita. Then there was another
recording. I began to worry. Suppose it had already
been broadcast? The whole thing would be like a joke
without a punch line. I was curious about the price, too,
because that was important. Devil’s Toupee should
have been a long shot.
There was another long-winded commercial. Then it
came. It was Devil’s Toupee, Country Mile, and
Ladyboots. Devil’s Toupee paid $26.80, $14.60, and
$9.00. I whistled, and did a quick calculation. She was
going to tell—or had already told—Lachlan she had
managed to get $400 of his money bet, so she’d have to
pay off $5,360. That was a lot of bait. But it was going
to be irresistible—better than twelve to one on a sure
thing.
It was. She came in full of excitement about twenty
minutes later and told me how it had gone.
“He’s got it,” she said, perching on the arm of my
chair. “That easy-money fever. You could see that look
in his eyes, and his hands were trembling after the
announcer gave the payoffs. It’s not the money, Mike.
It’s a disease. He’s helpless now, like a baby. I mean,
the whole thing went off so perfectly. He’d fight you
now if you even tried to tell him it was a gag.
Nothing in Her Way — 144
“Just as I knew he would, as soon as I told him the
name of the horse, he made the bartender turn on the
radio so we could wait for the results. Then he dug up a
newspaper that was around the bar and looked up the
public selectors’ picks.
There are three of them, you know, and each one had
three horses in that race, and not one of them even
mentioned Devil’s Toupee. I just smiled at that, of
course. Then when the results came in—that’s all,
brother. He’s a sitting duck.”
She stopped to light a cigarette, and laughed at me
through the smoke. “Then, of course, he started to cry
because he didn’t have more money on it. I told him it
was just impossible; I didn’t have enough time and
bookies were too scarce now. And that I was taking a
long chance, crossing you that way, even getting four
hundred down. I said he had no idea what you were like
when it came to letting out information—that you
wouldn’t let your own mother in on it, and so on. I said
you were dangerous in a rage and I was afraid of what
would happen if you found out. He climbed down then
and became very apologetic. I’m too good a thing to
alienate, you see, and he has to keep me buttered up.
Of course it wasn’t my fault. I’d done beautifully. The
only thing was, he just had to figure out some way to
get a real bet made the next time.”
“O.K.,” I said. “The thing to do is let him stew in his
own juice for a while. He’ll be desperate to get that bet
down by the time you have a way figured out for him to
do it.” I stopped and looked at her. “There’s just one
catch. We haven’t got much time.”
She stared at me. “Why? We’ve got all the time there
is.”
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