first hill, that Dusty met Tug Trowbridge.
He parked his coupe behind the gangster's big black Cadillac. Tug beamed and extended a bottle of beer as Dusty slid into the seat next to him.
"Ain't this a scorcher, kid? Here, get a load of this inside of you and you'll feel better"
Dusty jerked his head nervously. "I don't drink, thanks. W-what did you-"
"Not even beer? Well" – Tug elevated the bottle and swallowed, gurglingly-"you could do a lot worse, kid. A guy's got to let off a little steam some way, and beer's about the safest thing I know of."
He belched, and tossed the bottle through the window. Reaching over the seat, he reached another bottle from a pail of ice. He pulled the cap with his teeth, took a long, thoughtful drink. He stared through the windshield absently, belching again.
"Yes, sir," he said. "A man can do a lot worse than drink beer."
"About last night," said Dusty. "Was that what-"
"Yeah," Tug said. "Last night, now there's an example. You stick to beer after this, fellow, and leave the babes alone. It'll save you a lot of trouble. Save everyone a lot of trouble."
Dusty's face flushed. "But it wasn't like that! It was like I told you! She called for some stationery, and then when I went in she-"
"So who cares," Tug shrugged, indifferently, "but that wasn't her story. And, kid, she seemed plenty legit to me. She talked it and she had the stuff to back it up. Newspaper clippings and letters and so on. It looked like she was just what she claimed to be – a high-class nightclub dancer. Came to town early figuring she might pick up an engagement during the races."
"But that doesn't mean-"
"Sure, I know. Maybe she'd just started on the make. Or maybe she just used the legit as a cover-up for the other. Maybe. But that little maybe could cause a hell of a lot of trouble. You put that maybe in there, and it's an entirely different deal from the one I figured on. Give some shakedown baby the heave-ho, dial's nothing. She can't squawk or if she does squawk it don't do her no good. But a woman like this one – someone who can prove she's legitimate, or maybe make it impossible for you to prove that she ain't – well…"
He raised the bottle to his lips. Covertly, out of the corners of his shrewd animal's eyes, he studied Dusty's pale face. He grinned to himself, forcing his features into a thoughtful scowl.
"Not nice, huh, kid? I saw we'd caught a hot one right away, but of course it was too late to let go then. We had to go ahead, me and three of my boys, and I'm telling you, they don't like it much either. They got their necks stuck out to here – they have and you have and I have. And that little lady says just a few words, and all five are going to pop."
"P-pop?"
"Pop," Tug nodded solemnly. "Attempted rape. Kidnaping. They ain't the same thing as running through a traffic signal, kid, or spitting on the sidewalk. They particularly ain't the same thing down here in the south."
"But it's just her word-"
"Huh-uh. Not that her word wouldn't be plenty against us, a bellboy and, three heavies, but there's a lot more than that. Think it over, Dusty. Probably a dozen people saw that little frammis this morning. It didn't mean anything to them at the time, but they saw it. And they'll talk just as soon as she does."
Thinly it over? Dusty's eyes were glazing. God, he didn't need to think it over. "Isn't mere some way t-to to -?"
"Yes," said Tug, slowly. "There's a way. I'd sure hate to do it, and the boys don't like it either, but…"
His voice trailed off into silence. Dusty stared at him, not immediately understanding, and then his face went a shade paler.
"No!" he gasped. "No!' You can't do that!"
"We-el" – Tug gave him another covert glance. "Like I say, I'd sure hate to. With some babes it would almost be a pleasure, but a dame like her – real class and all kinds of looks and a shape that's out of this world, why..'."
"You w-won't do it, will you? Promise you won't!"
"We-el… You
He parked his coupe behind the gangster's big black Cadillac. Tug beamed and extended a bottle of beer as Dusty slid into the seat next to him.
"Ain't this a scorcher, kid? Here, get a load of this inside of you and you'll feel better"
Dusty jerked his head nervously. "I don't drink, thanks. W-what did you-"
"Not even beer? Well" – Tug elevated the bottle and swallowed, gurglingly-"you could do a lot worse, kid. A guy's got to let off a little steam some way, and beer's about the safest thing I know of."
He belched, and tossed the bottle through the window. Reaching over the seat, he reached another bottle from a pail of ice. He pulled the cap with his teeth, took a long, thoughtful drink. He stared through the windshield absently, belching again.
"Yes, sir," he said. "A man can do a lot worse than drink beer."
"About last night," said Dusty. "Was that what-"
"Yeah," Tug said. "Last night, now there's an example. You stick to beer after this, fellow, and leave the babes alone. It'll save you a lot of trouble. Save everyone a lot of trouble."
Dusty's face flushed. "But it wasn't like that! It was like I told you! She called for some stationery, and then when I went in she-"
"So who cares," Tug shrugged, indifferently, "but that wasn't her story. And, kid, she seemed plenty legit to me. She talked it and she had the stuff to back it up. Newspaper clippings and letters and so on. It looked like she was just what she claimed to be – a high-class nightclub dancer. Came to town early figuring she might pick up an engagement during the races."
"But that doesn't mean-"
"Sure, I know. Maybe she'd just started on the make. Or maybe she just used the legit as a cover-up for the other. Maybe. But that little maybe could cause a hell of a lot of trouble. You put that maybe in there, and it's an entirely different deal from the one I figured on. Give some shakedown baby the heave-ho, dial's nothing. She can't squawk or if she does squawk it don't do her no good. But a woman like this one – someone who can prove she's legitimate, or maybe make it impossible for you to prove that she ain't – well…"
He raised the bottle to his lips. Covertly, out of the corners of his shrewd animal's eyes, he studied Dusty's pale face. He grinned to himself, forcing his features into a thoughtful scowl.
"Not nice, huh, kid? I saw we'd caught a hot one right away, but of course it was too late to let go then. We had to go ahead, me and three of my boys, and I'm telling you, they don't like it much either. They got their necks stuck out to here – they have and you have and I have. And that little lady says just a few words, and all five are going to pop."
"P-pop?"
"Pop," Tug nodded solemnly. "Attempted rape. Kidnaping. They ain't the same thing as running through a traffic signal, kid, or spitting on the sidewalk. They particularly ain't the same thing down here in the south."
"But it's just her word-"
"Huh-uh. Not that her word wouldn't be plenty against us, a bellboy and, three heavies, but there's a lot more than that. Think it over, Dusty. Probably a dozen people saw that little frammis this morning. It didn't mean anything to them at the time, but they saw it. And they'll talk just as soon as she does."
Thinly it over? Dusty's eyes were glazing. God, he didn't need to think it over. "Isn't mere some way t-to to -?"
"Yes," said Tug, slowly. "There's a way. I'd sure hate to do it, and the boys don't like it either, but…"
His voice trailed off into silence. Dusty stared at him, not immediately understanding, and then his face went a shade paler.
"No!" he gasped. "No!' You can't do that!"
"We-el" – Tug gave him another covert glance. "Like I say, I'd sure hate to. With some babes it would almost be a pleasure, but a dame like her – real class and all kinds of looks and a shape that's out of this world, why..'."
"You w-won't do it, will you? Promise you won't!"
"We-el… You
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