"One evening, maybe six months ago, he must of made up his mind suddenly to make a bet. He used my phone to call some bookie to phone in the bet. Twenty bucks to win—I don't remember the horse or the track. He started out by saying 'This is Ray'; no last name but the bookie must have known him from that."
"Doll, we're getting somewhere. Think hard. Did he call the bookie by any name?"
"I think he did, but—Yeah, I remember. He said 'This is Ray, Joe,' and then went on and gave the bet."
Mack said, "I know two bookies named Joe. It couldn't be Joe Renfeld; he takes only cash bets, no phone business. Runs a cigar store and books on the side. So it's Joe Amico. I'll know in a minute."
He crossed to the telephone table, looked up a number and dialed it. When a voice answered he said, "This is Bill? Mack Irby. Is Joe there? Can I talk to him."
Bill said sure and a minute later Joe's voice said, "Hi, Mack. What can I do you?"
"Joe, you got a customer named Ray. He's a liquor salesman. Can you give me the rest of his name?"
"What do you want with him, Mack? Listen, he owes me dough and if you're going to get him in trouble I'll never collect."
"It's the other way around," Mack said. "He's in trouble all right, but he'll be in worse trouble if I don't find him right away, tonight. He stole some jewelry from a client of mine. If I can get to him before he sells it, there'll be no beef; my client'll settle for getting the stuff back. If he fences it before I get to him, it'll be too late for that, see? I can find him tomorrow easy enough—how many liquor salesmen are there in town named Ray? But that might be too late to keep him out of jail."
Joe Amico grunted. "Guess you got a point. And I guess I pushed him too hard. All right, his last name's Fleck. F-l-e-c-k. I don't remember his address offhand, but it's in the phone book."