Solly said: “I was just reading about it in the paper, but it didn’t say nothing about Mister Costain.”
“They hadn’t identified him when they snapped that Extra out.”
Green reached past Solly and clicked down the taxi-meter flag. “Let’s take a ride,” he suggested — “only let’s take it inside, where it’s warm and where we can get a drink.”
Solly tumbled out of the cab and they crossed the slippery sidewalk and went into the Rialto Bar. They both ordered rye. Green studied Solly’s reflection in the big mirror behind the bar.
“How long have you been working for Lew?” he began. Solly hesitated and Green went on swiftly: “Listen. I knew him pretty well, liked him. I intend to find who rubbed him out and you can help me, if you will...”
Solly gulped his drink. “Sure,” he blurted — “I wanta help.” He glanced at his empty glass and Green nodded to the bartender to fill it up.
“I never really worked for him,” Solly went on. “He was scared of cars — scared to drive his own car in town. He got the batty idea two, three years ago I was a swell, careful driver, so he’s been riding in my cab most of the time since. Whenever he’d light anywhere for awhile or go home an’ go to bed or anything like that, he’d tell me an’ I’d pick up what I could on the side. He paid me a flat rate of a saw-buck a day no matter what the meter read an’ some days he wouldn’t use me at all, so it worked out swell.”
“Did you take him anywhere tonight?”
“Uh-huh.” Solly drank, nodded. “I picked him up at his apartment a little after midnight an’ took him to the corner of Bleecker an’ Thompson Street. He said he wouldn’t need me any more tonight.” Green tasted his rye, made a face and put a twenty-dollar bill on the bar.
Solly said, “Don’t you like it, Mister Green?”