“Last night,” I said, “the new Chief of Police knocked off a boat belonging to Juan Gomez. Maybe you read about it in the Morni ng Start"
An alert, suspicious expression jumped into her eyes.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“Never mind who I am,” I said. “I’m tipping you off. That makes me your pal. How do you like me as a pal?” She continued to stare at me. “Keep talking,” she said.
“You look smart,” I said, flicking ash on the worn carpet. “I don’t have to draw you a map. Gomez is mad because Killeano knocked off his boat. He’s on his way out here to start trouble.”
She stiffened. “How do you know?”
“I got a fleet of midgets who keep me informed about such things,” I said.
“I think I’ll get someone to talk to you,” she said, a snap in her voice. She turned to the door.
I reached out, grabbed her wrist, jerked her round. Her flesh felt soft, puffy. I didn’t fancy touching her.
“No, you won’t,” I said. “I’m dealing with you. If you can’t take a friendly tip, then the hell with it. You haven’t much time. Gomez will be here any moment now. You’d better get rid of your clients and the girls. He’s bringing his mob.”