Night Squad by David Goodis Read Free Book Online Page A

best.”

          Corey leaned further back in the chair. He thought, well, that's nice to hear. But I can't put it on a plate and eat it. And then he saw Grogan reaching into a pocket and taking out a wallet.

          “Here,” Grogan said, and handed him some ones and fives and tens. It amounted to seventy dollars.

          Corey said, “Thanks.”

          “Thanks nothing. You're gonna work for that. That's your first week's salary.”

          “Doing what?”

          “Investigation,” Grogan said. “I want to know who hired them.”

          Corey looked down at the money in his hand. He murmured, “Well, it's bread and I damn sure need it. Except—”

          “Except what? What bothers you?”

          “Well, it ain't like steady employment. I come up with the answer; I'll be out of a job.”

          “You come up with the answer, you won't need the job.”

          Corey's eyes widened slightly.

          Grogan said, “It's like this—the seventy is just a drawing account. If you score, you're in for velvet. You get fifteen thousand dollars.”

    “Fifteen what?”

          “Thousand.”

          Corey sat motionless. Fifteen thousand dollars, he thought. The man said fifteen thousand. Should we tell him to say it again, just to make sure we heard him right? No, we heard him right. He said fifteen thousand dollars.

          “Well?” Grogan murmured. And then, a trifle louder, “Well?”

          “It's velvet, all right.” Corey gazed past Walter Grogan. “I'm wondering why it's worth that much to you.”

          The silver-haired man slowly lifted himself from the ebony armchair. Annoyance came into his eyes. “I don't like it when they start getting cagey.”

          “It ain't that,” Corey said. “I just want a little briefing here.”

          “That's out,” Grogan said. “Ain't nothing I can tell you.”

          “How come?”

          “I just can't.”

          Corey smiled dimly. “You can't or you won't?”

          Grogan gave him a look. Just a look. The look said, you want this job or don't you?

          The dim smile faded. Corey shrugged and said, “After all, I'm not a cat. I can't operate in the dark.”

          It was quiet for some moments. Grogan moved slowly toward the other side of the parlor, stood facing the massive bronze Buddha. Then he moved closer to it as though he was consulting the Buddha. Finally he turned and looked at Corey; his eyes slits like the eyes of the Buddha.

          “Well now, you got me thinking. Just standing here wondering how much I should tell you. If I tell you too much, you'll know too much.”

          Corey decided not to comment.

          “On the other hand,” Grogan went on, “you can't go to work if I don't give you nothing to work with.”

          Then it was quiet again. Corey sat and waited.

          Walter Grogan came across the room and stood beside the ebony armchair. He ran his hand along the glistening black wood. And then, his voice low, the words coming slowly, “Whoever hired them hoods, it was someone playing for high stakes. Someone who knows—” and he stopped.

          Corey said, “Knows what?”

          Grogan took a deep breath, let it out. “Some lettuce. I got some lettuce put away.”

          “In a vault?” Corey asked. “Safe deposit?”

          “Safer than that.”

          “Stashed?”

          Grogan nodded. He kept rubbing his hand along the back of the ebony armchair. He said, “It's what they call unlisted assets. Or let's call it unreported income. From certain deals I've been in on. All paid off in cash.”

          “It's warm money?”

          “It's very warm,” Grogan said. “Piled up over a period of years. If the government ever gets wise, I'd pull ten to twenty or maybe even twenty to