The Last Private Eye by John Birkett Read Free Book Online Page B

who won the race easily, going away.
    Rhineheart threw away his ticket and walked over to the clubhouse parking lot. He wheeled the Maverick out of the lot and drove it around to the backside entrance on Longfield Avenue. He parked on the street and walked through the gate. He showed Kate Sullivan’s pass to the gate guard, who barely glanced at it, and made his way over to Barn 24.
    A young black kid with a bushy Afro and a T-shirt that read CRESTHILL FARMS was mucking out one of the empty stalls.
    Rhineheart asked the kid if John Hughes was around.
    â€œAin’t nobody around,” the kid said. “Just me. And I ain’t nobody much.”
    â€œI know that feeling,” Rhineheart told him.
    â€œYou look in the clubhouse bar?” the kid said. “Hughes be anyplace, he be in the clubhouse bar.”
    Rhineheart offered the kid a cigarette.
    â€œNo thanks.”
    â€œYou work for Cresthill long?” Rhineheart asked.
    â€œCouple of years too long” was the reply.
    â€œYou know Carl Walsh?”
    â€œSure, I know Carl.” The kid frowned at Rhineheart. “Why? I mean, who’s asking?”
    Rhineheart showed him the license.
    â€œRhineheart, huh? You a private eye, huh?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œLike Magnum, huh?”
    â€œNot quite.”
    â€œGet all the broads, drive around in them fast wheels, dress sharp.”
    â€œI got a ’76 Maverick,” Rhineheart said. “With a bad rear end. And my wardrobe’s not that great either. This is my best suit.”
    â€œMagnum ask people questions, he gives them cash money.”
    Rhineheart took out a twenty.
    â€œShit, yeah,” the kid said, “I know Carl. Carl is my old buddy. What you want to know about Carl, Magnum?”
    â€œWhen was the last time you saw him?”
    â€œTuesday morning. Over by the track kitchen. He was talking to old whatshisface, the guy who owns River City Stud.”
    â€œHoward Taggert?”
    â€œThat’s it.”
    â€œYou didn’t happen to overhear what they were talking about, did you?”
    The kid shook his head.
    â€œYou ever met Walsh’s wife?”
    â€œNaw. I met a couple of his girl friends, but I never met his old lady.”
    â€œTell me about his girl friends.”
    â€œWhat’s to tell, man. Waitress-type broads.”
    â€œYou know any of them?”
    â€œThat twenty you holdin’ keeps looking smaller and smaller.”
    â€œI got a twin to go with it if you keep on talking and tell me what I want to hear.”
    â€œTammy somethin’. Irish last name. The Hideaway Bar and Grill. Over on Seventh Street Road. Little bitty broad. Too young for me.”
    â€œCarl likes the young ones, huh?”
    â€œShit, Carl likes ’em young and old and in between. And every other fucking way, too. Carl is a wild dude, man.”
    â€œCarl gamble?”
    The kid cracked up. “Does a bear shit in the woods?”
    â€œWho’s he gamble with?”
    â€œAnybody that’ll take his money. Mostly with a dude named Marvin.”
    â€œI know Marvin,” Rhineheart said.
    â€œ Everybody knows Marvin.”
    â€œYou got any idea where Carl might be?”
    â€œBe?” The kid looked puzzled. “Is he gone somewhere?”
    â€œHe hasn’t been to work since Thursday, has he?”
    â€œI don’t know. I don’t keep track of the dude’s hours, man. Now that you mention it, I guess he ain’t been around in a couple of days.”
    â€œYou know any reason why he’d blow his job and disappear?”
    â€œMaybe he just went out and got drunk and is sleeping it off somewhere.”
    â€œThree days is a pretty long sleeping it off.”
    The kid shrugged. “Carl a pretty wild dude, man. He be capable of a whole lot of shit.”
    â€œWhat about around here? Anything happen to him that might make him want to leave?”
    â€œJohn Hughes jumped all over his