Five Points by J. R. Roberts Page A

“Let’s go.”
    â€œNot the detective,” Red said. “Just you.”
    â€œSee?” Delvecchio said. “I told you. Not friends.”
    â€œI’ll see you later,” Clint said to the private detective.
    â€œI’ll come by your hotel.”
    â€œLead on, little man,” Clint said.
    â€œHey, my name’s Red.”
    â€œOkay, Red,” Clint said. “No offense meant.”
    The Metropole was indeed a classy place. Clint had been there once, years before, but it hadn’t changed. He bet it still served the best steak in town.
    â€œCome on,” Red said. “George is inside already, at his table.”
    As they entered, they were stopped by a man in a tuxedo, but Red said, “Outta the way, we’re here to see George.”
    â€œOh, no,” the man said, looking at Red, “it’s you.” He wrinkled his nose, as if he smelled something bad—and maybe he did.
    â€œYeah, I’m back.” Red turned to Clint. “George is this way.”
    As he followed Red across the restaurant, Clint asked, “What’s with you and the guy in the suit?”
    â€œHe don’t think I’m clean enough to come to a joint like this,” Red said. “But if George says it’s okay, it’s okay.”
    â€œGeorge is a big man in this city, huh?”
    â€œGeorge is the biggest pickpocket in town,” Red said, “the king.”
    Well, why not? Hadn’t he already met the Queen of Fences?
    Why not the King of Pickpockets?

THIRTY-ONE
    As Clint and Red approached the table, a man stood up and extended his hand. His eyes were just slightly Asian, his hands slender, with tapered fingers. A pick-pocket’s perfect hands, Clint assumed. The man himself was not very tall, was slender and probably not yet thirty. He was dressed extremely well.
    â€œMr. Adams? I’m George Appo.”
    â€œMr. Appo, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
    â€œHave a seat,” Appo said. “Have you had lunch?”
    â€œActually, no,” Clint said. “I’ve been drinking bad coffee for the past few hours.”
    â€œWell, we can fix that.”
    The two men sat down, and Appo waved a waiter over.
    â€œA pot of coffee, Lee,” Appo told the waiter. “Mind if I order for both of us?”
    Clint said, “Be my guest.”
    â€œSteaks, Lee,” Appo said. “With everything.”
    Lee, the young waiter, looked at Red and asked, “Three?”
    â€œTwo,” Appo said. “Red, you better go.”
    â€œAw, George . . .”
    â€œGo ahead,” Appo said. “Mr. Adams and I have to talk.”
    â€œGrown-up talk,” Red said, nodding.
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œAw, gee . . .” Red said, but he turned and left with a desultory slouch to his shoulders.
    â€œRed likes you, Mr. Adams,” Appo said. “He doesn’t usually take to strangers that quickly.”
    â€œI’m flattered.”
    â€œMy point is, I wouldn’t have agreed to see you unless Red vouched for you. Also, he said it had something to do with Bethany.”
    â€œIt does. Have you seen her lately?”
    â€œBy lately you mean—”
    â€œToday?”
    â€œNo. The last time I saw her was day before yesterday. It was right here, as a matter of fact. Has she gotten into trouble since then?”
    â€œNo,” Clint said. “I think she got into trouble way before that—but let’s not go that far back. Let’s just go to Denver.”
    â€œShe and Ben just got back from Denver.”
    â€œWhere Ma sent them, right?”
    â€œYou’d have to ask Bethany.”
    â€œLook—” Clint said, stopping short when the waiter brought the coffeepot and two cups. He poured them full and then left.
    â€œTaste it,” Appo said.
    Clint did.
    â€œGood?”
    â€œVery good,” Clint said, “and miles better than what I’ve been