Janis put on his coat and hat and went to the door. “You had a break,” he said — “don’t press it.” He went out.
Kells telephoned Fenner. There had been several steers on Rose — all of them bad. Sheedy hadn’t been located. The Mexican who had been with Rose was probably Abalos, from Frisco. He lived at a small hotel on Main street which was being watched. Reilly was being tailed.
Beery came up about eight. “Everything’s lovely,” he said. “All the evening papers carried the Guardian stuff — I’m the fair-haired boy at the Chronicle.” He put down his glass. “You want me to keep the Chronicle job too, don’t you?”
Kells said: “Sure.”
Beery stooped over the low table and mixed himself a drink. “I’m going to the fights. Swell card.”
“So am I.”
Beery squinted over his shoulder. “You’d better stay in the hay,” he said.
Kells swung up, sat on the edge of the bed. “Got your ducats?”
“Yeah. I was going to take the wife.”
“Sure — we’ll take her. Call up and see if you can get three ether, close.” Kells limped into the bathroom, turned on shower.