Shayne ignored the warning. “And you’re still looking the other way when you figure it’s worth while.”
“To hell with that stuff, Shayne,” Denton growled.
Shayne said, “All right. To hell with it. I want a line on the boys who deal the junk off the elbow here in the Quarter.”
Denton scowled and asked, “Working?”
“Sort of.”
“What’s your angle?”
“Put it this way,” said Shayne. “If a stranger was looking for dope in the Quarter, where would he go?”
“That’s a hell of a question—”
“To ask you?” Shayne interrupted with a grin. “Who should know more about it than the precinct captain?”
“You won’t get very far pulling one of your fast ones here, Shayne.” Denton’s black eyes were angry and his black mustache wriggled as he worked the cigar to the other corner of his mouth.