Free The Judgment by William J. Coughlin

a profound effect.”
    “Why?”
    “The Mouse will see that you know where he is. Other people, too, maybe? That might just stop his mouth.”
    “I’ll drop by, but I don’t deal in terror.”
    “Look, Sloan, I know you don’t believe me, but I am telling the truth. If that money’s gone, the one who would have stolen it is the Mouse. He’s got to be getting nervous, no matter what. He’s got a million parked away somewhereand someone might just stumble on it.”
    “I’ll try to see him, maybe put it to him just like that.”
    “Let me know, one way or the other.”
    As soon as I hung up, the phone rang again.
    “Mr. Charles Sloan,” a brisk young woman asked, her tone pleasant but not familiar.
    “This is Charley Sloan,” I said.
    “Just a moment for John Rivers.”
    I waited. Rivers was about my age and a senior partner in one of the big Detroit firms. We had tried some cases against each other when we were younger. I hadn’t seen him for years.
    “Charley, how are you?” he said, his voice as oily as a snake.
    “I’m fine, Jack. And yourself?”
    “Just fine, Charley. Couldn’t be better if I tried. I’ve been reading about you. You’ve become famous.”
    “Working at it. What can I do for you, Jack?”
    “How about lunch tomorrow, Charley? I think I have a proposition that might interest you. I can drive out there, if you like.”
    “I plan to be in the city tomorrow anyway,” I said, and I did. I planned on dropping in on the Mouse. “Name the time and the place.”
    “How about the Rattlesnake Club. One o’clock?”
    “Suits me.”
    “Good. I really look forward to seeing you.”
    I hung up. I wondered what he wanted. His firm was a law factory and highly political. Maybe he was going to offer me a job, or was looking for one. Whatever it was would have to wait until tomorrow.
    Sue spent the night at my place. Our lovemaking had become less frantic, more comfortable, like an old married couple who understood the needs and desires of the other.
    In the morning, she went home to change, and I fixed myself some toast and coffee.
    I read the newspaper and took my time. I wasn’t enthusiastic about seeing the Mouse, and doubted if I could get to him. Still, he was the key witness in the Conroy case and I had to make the attempt at least.
    The morning was cold and brisk, with clouds driven by a fresh wind scudding across the sky. Thanksgiving was just around the corner. Sue wanted me to go with her to her parents’ for dinner that day. I had gone along last year. They were nice enough, but they made a point of bringing up marriage with every other sentence. I remember being uneasy, so this time I begged off.
    I drove into Detroit just after the rush hour, so the traffic was no problem.
    The Whitehall had been a posh residential apartment house, then a hotel, and had flourished during the Twenties and Thirties in Detroit. Built on the Detroit River, just across from Belle Isle, the city’s island park, it had been a fashionable place, with a huge, tiled indoor pool.
    Like the rest of the city, the Whitehall had slipped slowly economically and would have closed, if it hadn’t been rescued by thé religious group that established it as their retirement facility. It offered private apartments where meals would be provided if needed, and other levels of care right down to a skilled nursing staff.
    When you checked into the Whitehall, you knew it was for the last time.
    Except if you were Det. Sgt. Ralph Smerka, alias the Mouse. And, given the circumstances, that thought might have crossed the Mouse’s mind as he entered the Whitehall for the first time.
    I found a parking space near the entrance and walked through the doors into the lobby. The lobby had been maintained with much of the splendor as when the place had enjoyed better days. The furniture looked a bit worn and old people, very old people, were sprinkled around the place. Some reading, some playing cards, and some justwandering