‘Suppose you tel me,’ Olin said. ‘Had any visitors within the past half-hour?’
Rico poured himself another drink while his mind worked swiftly. Had there been a patrolman watching the club? He didn’t want to admit Verne Baird had just left, but if the club was being watched, and Baird had been seen leaving, it would be awkward to be caught in a lie. But as lying came more naturally to him than telling the truth, he decided to lie.
‘I haven’t had anyone in here,’ he said careful y. ‘The club doesn’t open until eight.’ He glanced at the desk clock. The time was twenty minutes past seven. ‘I’ve been working. Of course, anyone could have come into the restaurant without me knowing: like you did.’
Olin grinned sourly. He knew all about Rico. He knew he was itching to move out of small-time into big-time. He had been watching Rico for months now, waiting for a false move.
‘Still playing it close to your chest, Rico? One of these days you’re going to lie yourself into the gas chamber. I hope I’m there to spit in your eye before they close the door.’
Rico continued to smile, but his eyes shifted uneasily. Even when spoken about in jest, death had a horror for him.
‘What’s biting you, Lieutenant? You sound a little sour tonight. Have a drink?’
Olin shifted his squat figure to make himself more comfortable.
‘I don’t drink on duty,’ he said, rubbing his fleshy jaw. ‘Who hit you — Baird?’
Rico was expecting something like that, but although he was prepared he couldn’t conceal a little start that told Olin all he wanted to know.