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His arrest history went back to when he was a child and if he was alive today he’d be eighty-two years old. There were a lot older people still around and some of them right up there with the best. Age doesn’t hit everybody the same way.

Pat had included some notes for me suggesting I go into a transcript of the trial if I wanted more information on Conley since it was the last that he was ever mentioned. He was tied in with the gang and his history brought out, but since the trial was a prolonged affair it would take a lot of reading to pick out the pieces.

I looked up at Velda and she stuck her tongue out at me. “I know, you want me to do it.”

“You mind?”

“No, but what am I looking for?”

“Background on Conley.”

“Why don’t you ask Sonny Motley?”

“I intend to, kitten. We have to hit it from all sides.”

I filled in the picture for her, watching her face put it together like I did. She nodded finally and said, “You could have it, Mike. It . . . seems right.”

“But not quite?”

She ran the tip of her tongue between her teeth. “I just have a feeling.”

“I know. Missing pieces. Suppose you meet Annette Lee and see if you can get any more out of her. It won’t come easy, but try. She might give you someplace to start with Conley too.”

“Okay, lover.”

“And be careful, honey. That nut Kania is still loose. So is Arnold Goodwin. Those guys could be keys to this thing.”

“Pat said he’d call you if anything came in on them.”

“Good.”

“And he said to tell you Charlie Force is protesting your association with the agency you work for.”

“He knows what he can do.”

“That Inspector Grebb is trouble. He’s covering you like a blanket. Do you know you have a tail waiting downstairs?”

“I expected it. I know a way out too.”

“You’re asking for it, wise guy. I just don’t want to see you get killed, that’s all. I want to kill you myself. It’ll take days and days.”

“Knock it off.” I swung off my chair and stood up. She grinned, kissed me lightly, and picked up her handbag.

“I arranged for an apartment for you. It’s furnished and the key’s in the desk. It’s got a big double bed.”

“It’s polite to wait till you’re asked.”

Velda cocked her head and smiled. “There’s a couch in the living room if you still want to be the gentleman.”

“Can’t you wait until we get married?”

“No.” She pulled on her raincoat and belted it. “If I don’t push you you’ll never come.”

“I suppose you have a key.”

“Naturally.”

“Change the damn lock.”

She made a face and walked to the door. “So I’ll do like you and shoot it off. Adios, doll.”

Sonny Motley had closed his shop an hour ago, but the newsboy was still in his kiosk and told me the old guy had a beer or so every night in a joint two blocks down.

It was a sleazy little bar that had sort of just withered within the neighborhood, making enough to keep going, but nothing more. A half-dozen tables lined one wall and the air smelled of beer and greasy hamburgers. Two old broads were yakking it up at the bar, a couple of kids were at the other end watching the fights on TV while they pulled at their drinks, and Sonny Motley sat alone at the last table with a beer in front of him and a late-edition tabloid open in front of him. Beside his feet was a lunchbox and change of a dollar on the table.

I sat down opposite him and said, “Hello, Sonny.”

He looked up, closed the paper, and gave me a half-toothless smile. “By damn, didn’t expect you. Good you should come. I don’t see many people socially.”

“This isn’t exactly social.”

“ ’Course not. When does a private cop and a con get social? But for me any talk is social. Sometimes I wish I didn’t finish my time. At least then I’d get to see a parole officer for a chat once in a while. But who the hell has time for an old guy like me?”

“Ever see any of your old mob, Sonny?”

“Come on . . . what’s your name? Hammer . . .” He ticked off his fingers, “Gleason, Tippy Wells, Harry the Fox, Guido Sunchi . . . all dead. Vinny Pauncho is in the nuthouse up by Beacon and that crazy Willie