Top of the Heap by Erle Stanley Gardner Read Free Book Online Page B

economizing. I decided in the future to play things my way. A cop who is willing to take anything on the side is apt to regard ten dollars the same way a bellboy looks at a tencent tip.
    My man was back, however, in about ten minutes with the information I wanted.
    “Two cases are the only ones you could be interested in, buddy. A man was hit at Post and Polk by a car driven by a young fellow who was probably drunk. A jane was sitting next to the driver, and, according to spectators, had amalgamated herself pretty thoroughly with him. She was crawling all over him. He was driving pretty fast. He hit this pedestrian, broke a hip, an ankle, and a shoulder, knocked the guy over to the curb, slowed for a stop, then evidently remembered how many drinks he’d had and went away from there fast. He got a break. No one seems to have taken his license number. It happened pretty fast, you know. A car behind him, halfway down the block, saw the whole thing and took after the hit-and-run. He hadgood ideas but his execution wasn’t so hot.
    “Another car was just pulling out from the curb. They tangled. There was a smashing of fenders and cracking of glass. The road was blocked, no other cars could get through.”
    “Any physical clues?” I asked.
    “I told you the guy was lucky. The second accident took place right close to where the pedestrian had been hit. We’ve got quite a few assorted pieces of glass and some bits from a broken grill. So far, the assorted junk all came from one or the other of the cars that were in the collision. The car that hit the pedestrian doesn’t seem to have shed anything. If it did, it was mixed up with other stuff.”
    I nodded. “What was the other case?”
    “The other case I don’t think you’re going to be interested in. A man was driving a car and was pretty drunk. He’s out on bail.”
    I got up and said, “Well, I guess that does it.”
    He grinned at me and said, “The hell it does.”
    “What do you mean by that?”
    “You’ve got a date with the man who’s working on the case.”
    “When?”
    “Now.”
    I said, “I don’t know a thing. I’m here to get information. I—”
    He said, “You tell it to the lieutenant.”
    “And furthermore,” I went on, “if I had any information I wouldn’t give it to the lieutenant or anybody else. I’m protecting a client.”
    “That’s what you think.”
    I said, “When I protect a client I go all the way.”
    “You’ve gone all the way now, buddy. You’ve gone from Los Angeles to San Francisco. Try and protect a Los Angeles client up here and see where it gets you.”
    I said, “Try and beat information out of me and see where it gets you. ”
    “We won’t beat it out of you,” he said, grinning. “We just shake it out of you.”
    He put a hand on my shoulder, a hand that was big as a ham, with strong fingers that slid down my arm until they took a grip on my elbow. “Right this way,” he said.

Chapter Seven
    Lieutenant Sheldon was a tall, slender individual who didn’t look like a cop at all. He was wearing plain clothes and he sat behind a desk, assuming the attitude of a fatherconfessor. He stood up, shook hands, and said, “I’m very glad to meet you, Donald. Anything we can do for you up here we’ll be only too glad to do.”
    “Thanks.”
    “We like to help the visiting firemen in every way we can.”
    “I’m sure I appreciate it.”
    “In return we expect a reasonable amount of co-operation.”
    “Sure.”
    “You’re interested in hit-and-run cases on Tuesday night?”
    “Not exclusively. I was interested in the whole crime blotter, but I was giving special attention to hit-and-run.”
    “I know, I know,” he said. “You wanted the whole thing. I’ve had it all typed out for you, Lam. Here it is.”
    He handed me a three-page list of crimes that included one case of molestation, three stickups, five burglaries, three driving while intoxicated. The list went on with solicitation, prostitution,