‘Can’t give you her address. It’s against the rules.’
I nursed the can of beer and stared past him at the photograph of Jack Dempsey.
‘It’s my bet Jeff Barratt brought in that rod.’
He was drinking from his can, and the beer went down the wrong way. I had to get up and thump him on the back or he would have choked. I thumped him a little harder than necessary. I thought I might as well get something for my money.
‘Barratt?’ he wheezed when he could speak. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Barratt hates Perelli’s guts. The guy who planted the rod hates Perelli’s guts. Barratt lives opposite Perelli. Barratt’s a first-prize rat. Not evidence in court, but evidence to me.’
He chewed this over and finally nodded his head.
‘Could be.’
I drank some more beer.
‘Don’t waste your time on Gracie if you expect her to squeal on Barratt,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘She’s very, very strong for him.’