“I don’t know. The Kid won’t talk. He had a shiner, if that means anything. One of the taxi-drivers on the pier said he swam ashore.”
“If he was thrown off the Dream Ship, that’s quite a swim,” Olaf said, and grinned.
“You two guys talk to yourselves,” I said, lighting a cigarette. “Don’t mind me.”
Hughson hooked nicotine-stained fingers into my breast pocket.
“The Dixie Kid went out to the Dream Ship last night and got into an argument with Sherrill. Four bouncers are supposed to have tossed him overboard, but not before he’s supposed to have socked Sherrill. There’s a rumour Sherrill’s going to bring an assault charge. If he does, the Kid’s washed up. He’s over his ears in debt now.”
“It’s my guess Sherrill will bring a suit,” Olaf said, shaking his bald head. “He has a mean reputation for that kind of thing.”
“He won’t,” Hughson said. “He can’t afford the publicity. I told the Kid he was safe enough, but even at that, the little rat won’t talk.”
“Who’s Sherrill, anyway?” I asked as calmly as I could, and crooked a finger at Finnegan to refill the glasses.
“You’re not the only one who’s asking that,” Hughson told me. “No one knows. He’s a mystery man. Came to Orchid City about a couple of years ago. He took a job selling real estate on commission for Selby & Lowenstein’s. I believe he made a little money; not much, but enough to buy himself a small house on Rossmore Avenue. Then, somehow or other, he got himself engaged to Janet Crosby, the millionairess, but that didn’t last long. He dropped out of sight for about six months, and then suddenly reappeared as owner of the Dream Ship: a three-hundred ton schooner he’s converted into a gambling-den which he keeps anchored just outside the three-mile limit. He has a fleet of water taxis going to and fro, and the members of the club are as exclusive as an investiture at Buckingham Palace.”
“And gambling’s not the only vice that goes on in that ship.” Olaf said, and winked. “He’s got half a dozen hand-picked girls on board. It’s a sweet racket. Being three miles outside the city’s limit, he can thumb his nose at Brandon. I bet he makes a pile of jack.”