“Sure?”
Davis nodded. “It’s the only joint of its kind in town. He must have plenty of protection to keep it open, and he makes a good thing out of it.”
“Huh-uh,” I said, giving myself another drink. I passed the bottle to Davis. “And Flaggerty? Anything on him?”
“He’s Killeano’s stooge. He puts up a front, of course, but Killeano pulls the strings; he jumps. There’s nothing to him. He’s just another crooked cop.”
“He helped in Herrick’s killing.”
Davis paused in pouring his drink. “The hell he did?”
“Yeah,” I said. “About Herrick. Was he married?”
“No. He lived in an apartment with a guy called Giles who looked after him. Give you the address if you want it.”
“Where?”
“Macklin Avenue. It lies off Bradshaw Avenue. But you won’t get anything out of Giles I talked to him. He doesn’t know anything.