“Monk Thurman,” he said musingly. “What did I tell that guy last night? I can’t seem to remember much what I was saying. I told him about this place. I remember that.”
As a matter of fact, Joe le Blanc had given Monk Thurman a great deal of information. Encouraged by a few drinks, he had done his best to impress the New York mobster with his importance.
Joe le Blanc was not an important figure in gangdom; in fact, his influence was almost nil. But the new road house in which he was now seated carried a real attraction to those who wanted a meeting place outside the city limits.
In fact, Joe le Blanc had been assured that his place would be a rendezvous for certain mobsters, and he was expecting to hold his first party that night.
“Must have told Monk Thurman more than just that,” said Le Blanc meditatively. “Guess I told him about some of the boys I knew. What they do, and how they do it. Well, I know a lot. I hope Monk was listening to everything I said.”
There was a knock at the door. Le Blanc opened the portal.
“Everything is in, Mr. le Blanc,” said a sour-looking, middle-aged man.
“Good work, Harper. Have you made all the arrangements for tonight?”
“Everything is ready, sir.”
“All right. Wake me up when the gang comes.”