The red kimono fell almost completely away as he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.
9:59 P.M.
Ray Fleck reached the edge of downtown afoot. He had walked in from Dolly's, not to save the price of a taxi—what would one lousy buck have mattered out of the thirteen that was all the cash he had left?—but simply because he hadn't seen a cruising cab. And by the time he reached the first place from which he could have phoned for one he was so near town that he knew he'd get there sooner if he kept on walking than if he phoned and waited for a cab.
He was still a bit scared at what he had done, but he was also excited. He didn't know what he had, and it might be anything. Maybe a thousand dollars' worth of stuff, for all he knew. At least a couple of hundred dollars' worth, he thought; the diamond ring alone, from the quick glimpse he got of it, ought to be worth at least that much, even at a fence's price. And he felt certain that it, at least, was genuine; people just don't put glass or a rhinestone into that kind of mounting, like an engagement ring. Or if they do, they use a chunk of glass or a rhinestone that's bigger and flashier, one that looks like a three-carat diamond instead of a one-carat one. But the other stuff could be anything. Oh, probably some of it was costume jewelry, but if even a few pieces were real, he'd settle happily. And if the green stones in those earrings were emeralds they'd be worth at least twice what the diamond was worth. Maybe more. Each of the two stones was at least twice the size of the diamond, and he thought he remembered having heard that good emeralds cost just about as much per carat as diamonds.
Several times he'd been tempted, after he was out of the immediate neighborhood of the scene of his crime and over the worst of his initial panic, to stop under a street light and take a look at what he had, but he resisted the impulse. He didn't know a thing about jewelry and not even a close examination under a bright light would really tell him anything. If some of the pieces were marked 14K and others gold filled it would give him a clue but it would tell him nothing about the stones and the stones were what counted.
He might as well hunt Fats Davis right away and let Fats make the appraisal. He'd thought of Fats even before he'd lifted Dolly's jewelry, while he was still making up his mind whether to or not.
He was reasonably sure Fats was a fence. Several people had told him so and he had no reason not to believe them. He didn't know Fats very well but he thought Fats knew him well enough to trust him and do business with him if he did buy and sell hot ice. At any rate, Fats would be able to make an appraisal for him; Fats, whatever his business was now, had been a jeweler once. Everybody knew that much about him.
He might have trouble finding Fats because he didn't know his right first name. He wouldn't be listed in the phone book under Davis, Fats, and there'd probably be a hundred or more Davises in the book, too many to try phoning down the line.
But Fats hung out around the downtown joints and there was an even chance he'd run into him if he made the rounds. And if he didn't find Fats he'd be sure sooner or later to run into someone who knew him well enough to tell him how to make contact, or who at least would know Fats's first name.
Jick Walters' place would be the best bet; he'd run into Fats oftener there than in any other tavern. And Jick at least knew Fats, although Ray didn't know how well.