The harsh jangle of the telephone startled Lockington. Moose Katzenbach said, “Hey, Lacey, that Club Howdy ain’t no roach ranch! It’s a swanky-tonk!”
Lockington said, “The last time I saw it, it looked like the south end of a northbound gut wagon.”
“Not now! Paneling, chrome, red leather, white tile floors, clean as a pin—strictly top drawer!”
“You get hold of the Pickens woman?”
“Yeah, but I had to wait to do it. This one sleeps late!”
“Sorry, I should have thought of that. She stays up half the night—the place is open till three in the morning. What’d she have to say?”
“About what?”
“About Devereaux.”
“Nothing.”
“You didn’t ask her?”
“Sure, I asked her, but she never heard of Devereaux.”
“The hell she didn’t.”
“Seemed level—she just gave me one of them long, blank stares. There’s a fine-looking woman, Lacey—tough, but she got class.”
“Don’t get class confused with poise. She’s in show business—she gotta have poise. Same thing goes for Siamese cats.”
“Okay, so it’s poise—ain’t no way I’d kick her outta bed!”
Lockington yawned. “Well, what the hell, it was worth a shot.”
“We talked for maybe an hour. Like you said, she probably owns the place. She bought me a couple drinks, and when she raised a finger, that bartender jumped about forty feet!”
“Didn’t she want to know who you were?”
“Yeah, and I showed her my old police badge—told her that I was a cop, checking Devereaux’s background. I said that we’d heard that he’d been a regular at the Club Howdy.”
“Did it fly?”
“I think so. She told me that she’d had a phone call from the police—a Sergeant Delvano in the superintendent’s office. I never knew no Sergeant Delvano, did you?”
“No. What’d Delvano want?”
“She didn’t say.”
“Okay, Moose, thanks. Call it a day—no reason to come back here—the fucking Martians already got Hector Godwin.”
Lockington dropped the phone into its cradle. So much for his missing link. He’d leave it in the water. An open link could double as a hook.