“I don’t know. He must have been drunk. He kept on yelling about his sister. I mean to say, that sort of thing isn’t done at the 22nd. No, I had to get rid of him.”
Jay grinned. “Sure,” he said.
“Ah, here’s the address.”
Jay wrote it down, thanked Fisher, and hung up. He thought maybe he was going on a fool’s errand, but it was worth trying, anyhow.
The taxi drew up outside a large tenement house. The driver said apologetically, “This is it, boss.”
Jay got out and paid him off. He walked up the steps and rang on the bell. The place was dirty and horribly sordid. He felt people watching him behind ragged curtains all down the street.
An old woman, very dirty, with a sack for an apron, opened the door and looked at him suspiciously.
Jay raised his hat. “Mr. Fletcher in?” he asked.
“He’s on the top floor. You can go up.” She stood aside to let him in. “You tell that guy to pay his rent. I’m gettin’ sick of askin’ him myself.”
Jay ignored her and went up the stairs. A big negro lounged against the wall on the first landing and looked at him insolently. As Jay passed he spat on the floor.