The Cats Pajamas

Chapter 18

Jeff stood in front of Manchester's desk, behind which the man himself sat. Actually, Jeff slouched in front of the desk. A cigarette dangled from his mouth, and his perpetual smile was gone, replaced by a look of grim 'I don't give a damn' attitude. Manchester was the first to speak. "So, Mr. Francini, Danny Hathaway says you need a job."

"I don't need a job. I want a job. Heard you might be in the market for a new enforcer. I did the job in Miami for Burt Collier; he seemed satisfied with my work."

"How do you know Hathaway?"

Jeff smiled smugly. "Let's just say I got him out of a few jams he was in. We lost touch when I was kicked off the force . . . Danny stayed here and I went to Miami. Just got back into town a couple days ago."

"Why Miami?" Manchester asked.

Once more, that little smug smile from Jeff. "Why not Miami?"

"And how long did you work for Collier?"

"From a week after I got there until the day the Feds picked him up."

"Why didn't the Feds get you too?"

Jeff was hoping this question and answer game didn't go on too long. "Because Collier sent me to Tampa the day before. Trouble with the racetrack up there."

"You have a gun?"

"What kind of a question is that?"

Manchester had to smile at that one himself. "Smallwood get the number off it?" The cretin at the door downstairs had examined his gun thoroughly, then gotten the registration number from it. Just one more thing that would identify him as Joey Francini, ex-cop, when it was checked.

"Yeah, sure."

"Sit down, Francini." Jeff sat, pulled out a book of matches, and lit the cigarette. "Let's see the matches." Spencer handed them over. They were from Frankie's in Miami, a gift from Hathaway before Jeff left his office earlier.

The P.I. snorted. "Wanna see the label in my shorts?" he asked disdainfully.

"No, I've seen enough . . . for now. How soon can you do me . . . a favor?"

"Nothin' wrong with now, is there?"

"Go over to Johnnie's Bar on sixth street and collect yesterday's receipts. Tell him you've replaced Smallwood. Then head to This Must Be the Place on fifteenth and do the same. When you're done, come back here. I'll have something else for you to do."

"Sure."

When Jeff went out the front door, Smallwood came upstairs. "Follow him," Manchester directed.

XXXXXXXX

Stu went to the payphone at the motel right around five o'clock. He dialed a different number and heard a lovely French voice say, "Bailey and Spencer, may I help you?"

"Hello, Suzanne."

"Hello, yourself." Jeff had warned everyone not to use Stuart's name if he called.

"Heard anything from our boy?"

"Not today. How are you? Are you alright?"

Stu chuckled. He wasn't the one she should worry about. "I'm fine. I'm about to change motels. Did he tell you where I was?"

"No, just a general area. Are you doing alright with money?"

"Did he leave you in charge of the purse strings before he left?"

Suzanne had to laugh. "He did. Do you need anything?"

"No, I just want to know how he is. If you talk to him, see if you can find out how I can contact him, would you?"

"Of course. Please stay safe." That was Suzanne, always worrying about the two of them.

"I'll do my best. Keep the home fires burning."

"I will. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Suzanne."

Stuart loaded the car, then checked out of the motel. He drove around Fort Bragg and headed north along the coast, until he found a little town called Rockport with a brand new motor lodge. They had a room with an ocean view and he checked in there. He'd have to find a new place to eat and drink; he'd told Betty he was going back to work and they'd said goodbye the night before.

There was no sense in denying it . . . he was worried about Jeff. With his sunny personality and always-ready smile, he'd be hard-pressed to play the type of criminal that Manchester would hire. Still, if anybody could get away with it, his partner could. That, of course, meant more waiting and wondering for Stu.

He didn't intend to get involved with another woman. He went into Rockport and was fortunate to find both a decent looking diner and a used bookstore. He bought three paperbacks, mindless entertainment, and headed for the diner. It was clean and it was cheap and he asked the waitress if there was any place close by where a man could get a drink. She told him there was a bar on Second Street and he headed there.

This bar was large enough to have a name. 'Wet Your Whistle' it was called, and he left the paperbacks in the car and went inside. A little more upscale, especially for a small-town bar, and a little bigger menu, including some food that sounded edible, Stu found himself a table in the back and sat down. This place had a waitress that was somewhat older, the kind that didn't look like she was in the mood to find a man. He ordered a bourbon old-fashioned and sat back to wait. His mind was never far from his partner and the trouble Jeff could find himself in if he wasn't careful.

To Be Continued