Treading as softly as he could, and keeping his eyes on the door, Gunny backed away. He kept his eyes on the door just in case the intruder stepped out.
He ran his hand along the wall so that he’d know when he’d arrived at the laundry room. He needed a weapon, and the closest he’d find to one would be in here.
The steamy air was filled with the scent of bleach and crisp smell of linen in the presses. He moved quickly—he didn’t want the intruder to slip away before he could discover who was there, and why.
His eyes landed on the long dowels used to open the windows to allow steam to escape. At the basement level the windows were small and hard to reach; they could only be opened from the very top. He grabbed a dowel and tiptoed quickly back to his apartment. The door was still ajar.
Holding the dowel in front of him as if it were a javelin, he charged his apartment. The door flew open and slammed hard against the wall. There was a high-pitched, terrified shriek and then a crash. A chair toppled over as a small figure ducked under the table.
Gunny quickly switched his grip so he could swing the pole at the intruder’s head. His heart thudded as adrenaline pumped through him.
“It’s me! Don’t hurt me!”
Gunny blinked. Still gripping the dowel, he bent down and peered under the table.
Two huge brown eyes in a round, dark face peered back.
“Delia, what are you doing here?” Gunny demanded. He couldn’t believe he’d been frightened by an eleven-year-old girl. He crossed to the window and balanced the dowel in the corner. “Does your mother know where you are?” he asked.
Delia looked away, which answered Gunny’s question.
“Delia,” Gunny said with a scolding tone. Before he could say anything further, the phone jangled. He picked it up. “Yes?”
“Gunny!”
Mrs. Wright’s distraught voice came though loud and clear over the phone.
“Don’t worry, Martha,” Gunny said, knowing exactly why she sounded so upset. “Delia is here with me.”
“I was so worried,” Mrs. Wright said. “She simply disappeared. With Junior I wouldn’t have been so surprised, but Delia has never given me any cause for worry.”
Gunny kept his eye on the girl. She was walking around his room, gazing at the picture on his wall.
“Well, with all that’s been happening,” Gunny said softly, not wanting Delia to overhear them discussing her, “the girl probably just needed to get away for a bit.”
“I suppose. She’s going to get quite the talking-to though. Going all the way to your place on her own. And scaring me half to death.”
Delia had also scared Gunny half to death, but he wasn’t going to admit that!
“I’ll bring her home myself,” Gunny promised Mrs. Wright, then hung up.
Delia was studying him, an impatient look on her face.
“Something bothering you, little missy?” Gunny asked.
“I’m here because I think I know where Marvin Halliday might be,” she said. “Don’t you need him as a witness—to help Jumpin’ Jed?”
Gunny gaped at Delia. This little girl could accomplish what the police and the adults in her neighborhood couldn’t? Discover the whereabouts of the prime witness?
“You’re going to catch flies with your mouth hanging open like that,” Delia snapped. “Don’t act so surprised. I know things.”
“I guess you do at that,” Gunny said. “Why do you think you can help us find Mr. Halliday?”
Delia shrugged. “Everyone thinks I’m just a little kid. And a Goody Two-shoes. They hardly notice me. So they talk in front of me. Daddy often took me with him to the club or on errands when Mama was working. I heard things.”
Now Gunny was curious. What did the child think she knew? “Go on. Where do you think Marvin Halliday is?”
Delia smiled. She obviously enjoyed having someone take her seriously.
“Daddy and Mr. Halliday both liked the ponies,” Delia said. “I thought if Mr. Halliday was upset about his club being ruined, maybe he’d go to where the ponies are. I went to the stables near Central Park, but no one I asked knew him. I thought maybe you would know some other place where you can be with ponies.”
Interesting. Ambrose talked about having a “sure thing” coming in, and now it seemed that both Marvin and Jeffrey “liked the ponies.” This was adding up to a shared taste for gambling. And if both Marvin and Jeffrey owed money because of gambling—quite possibly to Ambrose—that could explain the motive right there. Ambrose was very quick to point the finger at Chubby.
“You are an enterprising young lady,” Gunny said.
Delia’s face lit up at the compliment.
“Let me ask you something,” Gunny continued, amazed that he was using an eleven-year-old girl as a sounding board. “The police believe Jed might be guilty because your father was quitting the band. What do you think?”
“Daddy wasn’t going to do that,” Delia said firmly. “I asked him and he said he liked it over at Chubby Malloy’s. I guess he didn’t get a chance to tell Mama—” Her voice broke off and Gunny was afraid she might cry. “So I told her. And Junior. Now even Junior knows it wasn’t Jed or Chubby.”
“Junior believed you?” Gunny asked.
Delia shrugged. “Junior is still real mad. He just doesn’t know who to be mad at. So I think that makes him even madder.”
She gazed down at the floor. She swallowed hard and then her eyes widened. “Do you think Mr. Halliday was so mad about Daddy staying with Jed at Chubby’s that he killed Daddy?”
Smart kid, Gunny thought. She’s found an angle that hadn’t occurred to any of us. “I don’t think so. That wouldn’t explain why Mr. Halliday’s club got all smashed up.”
Delia looked relieved. “That’s good. Daddy liked Mr. Halliday. It would be terrible if his friend was the one who shot him.”
“What about Ambrose Jackson?” Gunny asked. “Were he and your father friends?”
Delia pursed her lips in thought. She shook her head. “They acted like it, but I could tell Daddy really didn’t like Mr. Jackson. He was nervous around him.” She scowled. “I don’t like him either. He talks sweet, but it’s all fake.”
“Thank you, Delia. You have been very helpful.” Kids see things adults don’t, Gunny realized. Most of the neighborhood seemed to consider Ambrose a great guy. The more he thought about it, the more he believed Ambrose was the guilty party.
Now he just had to prove it.
“Running all over town when I should be trying to raise money for Jed,” Gunny muttered. “Or finding evidence to nail Ambrose.” He pulled the collar of his coat higher. The rain was not improving his mood.
He had just come back from seeing Jed in jail. Both agreed that the police wouldn’t simply accept Delia’s information—that her father had no intention of leaving Jed’s band—to clear Jed, even though it proved he had no motive. So Gunny was even more determined to find the proof linking Ambrose to the murder. He had a feeling the link would involve gambling.
What surprised Gunny was that Jed still seemed more concerned about Gunny watching over Junior than he was in his own case. So here he was, keeping tabs on the boy.
The soaking rain didn’t wash away the broken bottles or garbage littering the uneven streets. No wonder Jeffrey and Junior argued—if Gunny were Junior’s father, he wouldn’t want Junior spending his time down here either.
Odd. In the dark neighborhood two windows glowed just below ground level. Faint sounds of shouting and laughter emanated from them. Something was going on in that warehouse basement.
Gunny carefully made his way down the slick metal steps and peered in the grimy windows. “My, my, my,” he breathed.
He wasn’t sure what he had expected to see, but it wasn’t a boxing ring and a professional-looking match under way!
He snapped his fingers. Boxing. Junior wanted to learn to be a boxer and his father objected.
“Might as well dry off,” Gunny told himself.
The smell of sweat, blood, and cigar smoke assaulted Gunny as soon as he opened the door. He shook the rain off as he stepped inside.
“Don’t let the weather in!” a gruff man in shirtsleeves and a colorful vest snarled.
Gunny pulled the door shut behind him and turned to face the ring. Shouts and catcalls bounced off the low ceilings, and the room was dark. All the lights seemed to be aimed at the ring.
He paid his admission and moved away from the door. A fight was already in progress. A small wiry fighter, his dark skin coated with sweat, was ducking and swaying. A thicker, more powerful man was jabbing. The smaller man dodged and feinted.
“Look at that speed,” the man in the vest said with admiration. “He’s like a ballet dancer.”
Gunny nodded. The smaller fighter had a lithe, catlike way of moving that made the bigger man look stodgy.
“But does he have power?” Gunny asked. “Heart?”
The man in the vest nodded. “This is his third fight tonight. I’m betting he’ll win this one too.”
“He’s doesn’t even look tired!” Gunny said, amazed.
The man in the vest shoved a fat, stinky cigar into his mouth. “He’s young.”
Gunny’s eyes adjusted to the low light, and he recognized a few faces. Interesting. Both Chubby Malloy and Ambrose Jackson were focused intently on the ring.
The fighters were circling now, and Gunny’s mouth dropped open. The smaller fighter was Junior!
Now he could make out what the crowd down near the ring was shouting: “Kid Wright! Kid Wright!”
If Junior has a nickname, he must come here a lot, Gunny realized. No one seemed to be rooting for the bigger guy. Junior was a definite favorite.
Gunny’s eyes went back to the ring. No wonder, he thought. The kid was good! In a flurry of moves, an uppercut, a twist, and a body blow, the larger fighter was suddenly down on the mat. A roar went up, the referee made the count, the bell rang and Junior had won again.
“Kid Wright doesn’t seem able to lose,” the man in the vest said, smiling. “The payouts are smaller because he’s such a sure thing. It’s nice to know there are things in life a man can count on.”
Three men helped drag the loser out of the ring, while Junior beamed and waved his gloved hands. Then he ducked under the ropes and out of the ring. He stood nearby, gulping down water.
“Up next!” an announcer declared, “Kid Wright and Action Anderson.”
Gunny sensed an immediate change in the crowd. He could feel the tension rise and there were whispers all around. Gunny wondered who this Action Anderson was.
A hulking giant lumbered into the ring. On the other side of the ropes, Junior suddenly went back to looking like a boy again. A small one.
“That guy will kill Junior!” Gunny exclaimed.
He pushed his way down to the ring. This is crazy, he thought. Why would anyone want such a mismatched competition?
Someone who wanted Junior to lose. If Junior is the favorite, and someone bets on his opponent, the payout would be huge if Junior loses.
“Junior!” Gunny clamped a hand on Junior’s shoulder.
“What are you doing here?” Junior asked. He shrugged off Gunny’s hand. “You’re going to try to stop me, aren’t you.” He glared at Gunny. “Just like my dad.”
“You bet I am,” Gunny said. “You can’t go into the ring with that gorilla.”
“You don’t think I’m any good.”
“That’s just it—you are good. You could probably be great, but you have to live long enough to train,” Gunny said. “That guy will do you major damage—maybe permanently.”
Suddenly Chubby Malloy appeared on Junior’s other side. “Listen to him, Kid. Don’t go out losing, go out victorious!”
Gunny tensed. The last time Chubby and Junior met, Junior spit in the large man’s face. Yet Chubby stood here giving Junior good advice. Clearly, Chubby had forgotten about that incident. Junior was another story. According to Delia, Junior now agreed that neither Jed nor Chubby killed his father. But that was according to an eleven-year-old girl….
Junior’s jaw clenched. Was he still blaming Chubby? Gunny wondered. Would he do something foolish—and potentially dangerous?
“Chubby’s right,” Gunny advised. “He doesn’t want you hurt. And you will be if you go into that ring.”
Junior looked at Chubby, who nodded. Junior’s shoulders slumped.
“But everyone will think I’m chicken!” Junior protested.
“No, they’ll think you’re smart.”
“But Ambrose says—”
“Forget about Ambrose!” Gunny snapped. “That man is only trouble. He doesn’t have your best interests in mind. Believe me.”
Junior stared at Gunny. Gunny hadn’t meant to speak quite so forcefully.
Junior’s eyes widened and his brow furrowed. “Do you think that Ambrose had something to do with my father—”
Before Junior could finish the sentence, a towering man in a cheap, shiny suit stepped up to them. “In the ring,” a man ordered Junior. “Now.”
“Who are you?” Gunny asked.
“I’m the owner,” the man replied. “And Junior here was paid for four bouts. Unless, of course, he got knocked out. And clearly, Kid Wright is still standing.”
“This is a ridiculous pairing,” Chubby told the owner. “And everyone here knows it.” He faced Junior. “I want you to stay in one piece, Kid. I’d like you to be a local contender at my club. I’m putting in regular bouts.”
Junior’s eyes widened in amazement. “Really?”
“But if you get your brains rattled or your eyes popped out in a fight with that giant over there,” Gunny said, “you’re not ever going to get that shot.”
“The man speaks true,” Chubby said.
Junior looked from Gunny to Chubby. “I guess you’re right,” he said finally.
“Good!” Chubby grinned. “Let’s go outside to talk. It’s too hard to hear in here.” Chubby led Junior toward the door.
What a turn of events, Gunny thought as he followed them. He and Chubby working together to help Junior! And Junior was actually letting them! He finally had some good news to report to Jed.
A huge paw landed on Gunny’s shoulder. The owner.
Do they grow them extrabig for this club? Gunny wondered. Gunny was a big man himself, but the owner towered over him.
“A fight is starting in thirty seconds,” the owner said.
“Sorry, can’t stay.” Gunny squirmed to get out of the man’s grip. It didn’t work.
“If Junior isn’t back in the ring, someone had better take his place.”
“Fine by me,” Gunny said. “Now I really do need to catch up with my—”
“These people paid money to see four fights,” the owner said, his eyes narrowing. “Since you’re the one who talked Junior out of fighting, I guess you’re the one who has to tell them there won’t be a fight. And you can refund all that money.”
The crowd was growing impatient. Boos and catcalls and angry shouts filled the air.
Gunny took in a deep breath and let it out again in a long, slow exhale. “I guess Action Anderson will be facing Gunny Van Dyke tonight,” Gunny said grimly.