Ackie nodded. “Yeah,” he said, “that was the angle.”
“Who was she, Mo?”
Ackie frowned. “She was a French moll,” he said slowly. “They kept her covered up at the trial. Andree somethin’ or other… they call her Blondie on her beat.”
I scratched my head. “She a professional dame?” I asked, surprised.
“Vessi liked them to keep themselves, you know.”
“I guess I want to meet this dame,’ I said, I might get an angle….”
“I don’t know where she hangs out, but she goes into the Hotcha Bar most nights.”
I patted him on the back. “Here, Bud, take the rye, I said, turning back to the table. “I guess you’ve earned it.”
Ackie sneered. “Come to, bum,” he said, “I got that already. An’ say, who’s the guy that’s putting up ten grand for this story to be blown up?”
I pushed him to the door. “It’s my big Aunty Belle,” I said, shoving him into the dark corridor.