Kells drank, laughed, “four bottles — four days... Four’s my lucky number...” He squinted at Borg. “Once I bet four yards on a four-to-one shot in the fourth race on the Fourth of July...” He handed the glass to Beery, sank back on the pillow. “Horse ran fourth.”
Borg snorted, turned and went into the bathroom. Kells looked around the room again. “Nice joint,” he said. “How much am I paying for it?”
“I don’t know.” Beery lighted a cigarette. “Fenner has some kind of lien or mortgage or something on the building — he said he’d take care of the details.”
“It was his suggestion — bringing me here?”
Beery nodded.
“Where is he?”
“Long gone. When you told him Crotti had his confession he scrammed. I got him on the phone just before he checked out of the Knickerbocker and he said he’d call over here and fix it for the apartment — said he’d get in touch with you later.”
Kells smiled. “All the big boys... It’s simply a process of elimination. Fenner and Rose gone — Bellmann dead. Now if we can only angle Crotti into committing suicide...” He paused, glanced at Borg coming back from the bath. “Did Fat, here, tell you all about the island sequence?”
Borg said: “Sure I told him — all I knew.”
“Crotti propositioned me to come in with him on a big play to organize the whole coast,” Kells went on. “Will you please tell me why these bastards keep dealing me in, and then figure that if I’m not for ’em I’m against ’em? First Rose — but that was an out-and-out frame; then Fenner thought he and I’d make a great team. Now, Crotti — and the funny part of that one is I think he was on the level about it.”