Free SSC (1950) Six Deadly Dames by Frederick Nebel Page B

rickey.
    Skinny came in with Libbey's Bacardi cocktail.
    Gus stopped at Donahue's table. “She did. Oke.”
    Donahue nodded.
    At that auspicious moment the drunken Libbey again yelled across: “I say, brother Donahue, do you know class when you see it?”
    Donahue dropped his eyes to the table, broke a breadstick.
    The woman had started, was looking at him. Donahue kept his head down, frowning sourly.
    The woman smiled, said, “Hello, Mr. Donahue.”
    Donahue looked up. “Speak to me?”
    She rose, moved her long legs slowly on the way over, sat down at his table and took one of his cigarettes.
    “Got a light?”
    “You see the matches, don't you?”
    She chuckled. “Just a strong, silent man, eh?”
    “I'm not in the habit of having stray broads sit at my table. Give your legs a walk, sister.”
    “Is that a way to treat a lady?”
    His nostrils twitched. “I know how to treat a lady.”
    She blew smoke in his face, showed even white teeth in a droll smile. “I'll bet you bite when you're really mad.”
    Donahue folded arms on the table, settled head between broad shoulders, bored the woman with unfriendly eyes.
    “Get it off your chest and then take the air,” he clipped in a low, incisive voice.
    “Why rush things, big boy?”
    In the same incisive voice, “Do your song and dance or I'll call the boss in and tell him to throw you out. This speak is no port of call for your kind.”
    “So you think I'm that kind?”
    “I'll take the benefit of the doubt.” Looking at her, he suddenly became aware of the fact that her eyes were green.
    She said, offhand, “Oh, I want that diamond, Donahue. That's all..”
    “You also have a sense of humor,” he said; laughed shortly and took his arms off the table as Gus swooped down with steaming dishes. Gus drew the cork on the bottle of ink, flicked the woman with a sidelong glance, sighed, and shuffled off.
    She said, “You switched stones, Donahue. You showed a fake to the police commissioner. Nobody switched stones but you.”
    “And you want it, eh?”
    “I want it.”
    “Well, I haven't got it. And if I did have it-”
    He chuckled and began eating. “On your way, girl scout.”
    Her green eyes narrowed. “Okey, wisenheimer. This means you're on the spot.”
    “Okey,” Donahue said cheerfully.
    She leaned back, still eying him shrewdly. “A split would be all right by me.”
    Donahue laid down his knife and fork. “I told you to take the air! By God, if you don't, I'll have you kicked out!”
    She stood up, her nostrils quivering. Her green eyes blazed. She went out swiftly, her high heels rapping on the floor.
    When Donahue came out of the speak into Tenth Street, his eyes swept up and down. He started off, turned into West Fourth Street and headed for Sheridan Square. He walked a bit gingerly, his dark eyes alert, darting from sidewalk to sidewalk and frequently back over his shoulder. He kept close to the shadows of the houses.
    At Sheridan Square he entered the uptown subway kiosk, caught a local and changed to an express at the next station. He watched the people who entered behind him.
    Harlem at night was no beauty spot. Donahue was a lean man striding purposefully through the seedier part of the Black Belt. Only this night's grim mission prevented him from having played along with the strange woman.
    There was the familiar pool parlor, half a block ahead, on the other side of the street. The click of balls could be heard, and a man's harsh laughter. A few lighted windows straggled above the poolroom to the roof. A couple of Negro sheiks sauntered past swinging sticks, and whistling. Donahue crossed the street and was about to enter the hall-door when he heard heavy footsteps above. He stepped aside, walked rapidly away and melted into the recess between two dark-faced store windows. He saw Tubba Klem come out of the doorway and walk south. A minute later Donahue followed.
    Tubba Klem turned three corners and then went down a dark street. Half way