"Sure I know you."

I let them out and went back and stretched out on the couch. Velda made me some coffee and had one with me. I drank mine staring at the ceiling while I tried to visualize the picture from front to back. It was all there except the face. Blackie Conley's face. I knew I was going to see it soon. It was a feeling I had.

"Mike . . . where are we going?"

"You're thinking ahead of me, kiddo."

"Sometimes I have to."

"You're not going anyway."

"Don't cut me out, Mike." Her hand touched the side of my jaw, then traced a tingling line down my chin.

"Okay, doll."

"Want to tell me what you have in your mind?"

"A thought. The only thing that's wrong with the picture."

"Oh? What?"

"Why Blackie Conley would want to kill Sim."

"Mike . . ." She was looking past me, deep in thought. "Since it was Torrence who engineered that robbery and not Conley as you first thought, perhaps Conley suspected what was going to come off. Supposing he outguessed Torrence. In that case, he would have had the whole bundle to himself. He would have made his own getaway plans and broken out at the right time. Don't forget, Conley was older than Sonny and he was no patsy. There was no love between the pair either. In fact, Conley might even have guessed who the brain was behind the whole thing and had reasons for revenge."

"You might have something there, kitten."

"The first try was for Sue," she went on. "That really was an indirect blow at Sim. The next try was for them both."

"There's a possible flaw in your picture too, but I can supply an answer."

She waited. I said, "It's hard to picture a guy in his eighties going up that trellis. He'd have to hire it done . . . but that's why the hoods are in town."

"I don't know, Mike. Remember Bernarr Macfadden making his first parachute jump into the river when he was about the same age?"

"Uh-huh. It could be done."

"Then the answer is still to find Blackie Conley."

"That's right."

"How?"

"If we can restore another old man's memory we might get the answer."

"Sonny Motley?"

"Yup."

"Tonight? "

"Right now, sugar."

CHAPTER 10.

Finding Sonny Motley's apartment wasn't easy. n.o.body in the gin mills knew where he lived; the cop on the beat around his store knew him but not his address. I checked the few newsstands that were open and they gave me a negative. It was at the last one that a hackie standing by heard me mention the name and said, "You mean that old con?"

"Yeah, the one who has the shoe shop."

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing. We need some information about a missing person and he might be able to help us."

"Ha, I'd like to see those old cons talk. They won't give n.o.body the right time."

"You know where he lives?"

"Sure. Took him home plenty of times. Hop in."

We climbed in the cab, went angling up to a shoddy section that bordered on the edge of Harlem, and the cabbie pointed out the place. "He's downstairs there on this side. Probably in bed by now."

"I'll get him up." I gave him a buck tip for his trouble and led the way down the sandstone steps to the iron gate at the bottom. I pushed the bell four or five times before a light came on inside.

A voice said, "Yeah, whatta ya want?"

"Sonny?"

"Who're you?"

"Mike Hammer."

"Oh, fer . . ." He came to the door, opened it, and reached for the grilled gate that held us out. He had a faded old robe wrapped around his body and a scowl on his face as black as night. Then he saw Velda and the sky lightened. "Hey . . . how about that."

"This is Velda, my secretary. Sonny Motley."

"h.e.l.lo, Sonny."

"Well, don't just stand there. Come on in. Hot d.a.m.n, I ain't had a broad in my joint since before I went to stir. Hot d.a.m.n, this is great!" He slammed the gate, locked the door, and led the way down the hall. He pushed his door open and said, "Don't mind the place, huh? So it's a crummy place and who comes here? I'm a crummy old man anyway. Sure feels good to have a broad in the joint. Want a drink?"

"I'll pa.s.s," I said.

"Not me." He grinned. "A s.e.xy broad comes in like her and I'm gonna have me a drink."

"I thought you were all over the s.e.x angle, Sonny."

"Maybe inside I am, but my eyes don't know it. No, sir. You sit down and let me get dressed. Be right back."

Sit down? We had a choice of box seats. Egg boxes or apple boxes. There was one old sofa that didn't look safe and a chair to match that had no cushion in it. The best bet was the arms of the chair so Velda took one side and I took the other.

A choice between living here or a nice comfortable prison would be easy to make. But like the man said, at least he was free. Sonny was back in a minute, hitching suspenders over bony shoulders, a bottle of cheap booze in his hand.

"You sure you don't want nothing?"

"No, thanks."

"No need to break out gla.s.ses then." He took a long pull from the bottle, ambled over to the couch, and sat down facing us. "Hot d.a.m.n," he said, "those are the prettiest legs I ever saw."

Velda shifted uncomfortably, but I said, "That's what I keep telling her."

"You keep telling her, boy. They love to hear that kind of talk. Right, lady?"

She laughed at the impish look on his face. "I guess we can stand it."

"d.a.m.n right you can. Used to be a real killer with the ladies myself. All gone now though." He pulled at the bottle again. "'Cept for looking. Guess a man never tires of looking." He set the bottle down on the floor between his feet and leaned back, his eyes glowing. "Now, what can I do for you?"

"I'm still asking questions, Sonny."

He waved his hands expansively. "Go ahead. If I can answer 'em it's all free."

"I can't get rid of the idea your old partner's still alive."

His shoulders jerked with a silent laugh. "Can't, eh? Well, you better, because that no-good is gone. Dead. I don't know where or how, but he's dead."

"Let's make like he isn't."

"I got lots of time."

"And I got news for you."

"How's that?"

"Sim Torrence is dead."

Briefly, his eyes widened. "True?"

"True."

Then he started to cackle again. "Good. Had it coming, the b.u.g.g.e.r. He put the screws on enough guys. I hope it wasn't easy."

"He was shot."

"Good. Bring the guy in and I'll fix his shoes free every time. I mean that. Free shine too."

"I thought you didn't care anymore."

"h.e.l.l, I said I didn't hate him, not that I didn't care. So he's dead. I'm glad. Tomorrow I'll forget he was even alive. So what else is new?"

"Sim Torrence was the big brain who engineered your last job."

He was reaching for the bottle and stopped bent over. He looked up, not believing me. "Who says?"

"You'll read about it in the papers."

He straightened, the bottle entirely forgotten. "You mean . . ."

"Not only that, he engineered it right into a deliberate frame-up. That case made him the D.A. After that coup he was a landslide candidate."

"This is square, what you're telling me?"

"On the level, Sonny."

"The dirty son of a b.i.t.c.h. Sorry, lady."

"Here's an added note I want you to think about. If Blackie Conley got wise in time he could have worked the double cross to his own advantage, taking the loot and dumping you guys."

Sonny sounded almost out of breath. "I'll be d.a.m.ned," he said. Some of the old fire was in his voice. "A real switcheroo. How do you like that? Sure, now I get what the score is. Blackie laid out the getaway route. h.e.l.l, he never followed through with the plan. He had something else schemed up and got away." Abruptly he dropped his head and laughed at the floor. "Boy, he was smarter than I figured. How do you like that?" he repeated.

"Sonny . . ."

He looked up, a silly grin on his face. Egg. He couldn't get over it. I said, "Blackie rented the property you were supposed to hole up in from Howie Green."

"That's right."

"He must have bought another place at the same time for his own purpose using another name."

"Just like that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Green to fall in with him. He'd do anything for a buck. I'm glad Blackie knocked him off!"

"He did?"

"Sure he did. Before the heist. You think we wanted somebody knowing where we was headed?"

I looked at him, puzzled.

He caught the look and said, "Yeah, I know. There ain't no statute of limitations on murder. So they could still take me for being in it. h.e.l.l, you think I really care? Look around here. What do I have? Nothing. That's what. I already served life. What could they do that's worse? Maybe at the best I can live ten years, but what can I do with ten years? Live in a crummy rat hole? Beat on shoes all day? No friends? Man, it was better doin' time. You just don't know."

I waved him down. "Look, I don't care about Green. He asked for it, so he got it. I want Blackie Conley."

"How you gonna find him?"

"Did you know Green?"

"You kiddin'? Him and me grew up together on the same block. I took more raps for that punk when I was a kid . . . aw, forget it."