‘I’m not too sold on the idea of forcing a guy to talk,’ I said driving towards the water-front. ‘It might work with Betillo but not with Barratt. He’s too important. He could give us the works, then swear we forced him to confess under torture when he got in the box. That kind of evidence doesn’t stand up.’
‘If you don’t save Nick, I’m going to get Barratt,’ she said in a hard, tight voice. ‘That’s something I’ve promised myself.’
I parked the car in the shadows, a few yards from Delmonico’s Bar.
‘Let’s concentrate on saving Nick,’ I said. ‘There’ll be plenty of time to take care of Barratt if we can’t do it the legal way. Have you ever been in this joint?’
‘Of course I have. Nick used to come here practically every night.’
‘I want to look at the room in which Nick and Betillo played cards. Can you swing that?’
‘I can if no one’s using it’
‘Let’s go in and find out.’
We walked up the five wooden steps that led into the bar. Inside was brightly lit and full of people. A juke-box was churning out the Ha rry Lime Theme. Bi g, tough-looking men propped up the bar. At the tables scattered around the room girls in halters and shorts were trying to convince their male companions that there was more fun upstairs than sitting in smoke-laden room, drinking rot-gut whisky. They didn’t seem to be getting anywhere.
It was the kind of scene you can see in any Warner Bros movie. All you needed was a tracking shot up to Humphrey Bogart and you’d feel at home.