you please. He’s been living here for two weeks. If he keeps blasting away on that damn saxophone, he won’t be living here much longer, I can tell you that.”
“Oh, is it a saxophone?”
“Or a trumpet, or a trombone, or some damn thing,” she said. “Is he in trouble with the police?”
“No, not really. Do you have any idea where he went when he left this morning?”
“No. He didn’t say. I just happened to see him go, that’s all. But he usually hangs out in a bar on the Avenue.”
“What avenue is that, Mrs. Murdoch?”
“Dover Plains Avenue. Everybody knows the Avenue. Don’t you know the Avenue?”
“No, we’re not too familiar—”
“Two blocks down and under the elevated structure. Dover Plains Avenue. Everybody knows the Avenue. He hangs out in a bar there. It’s called the Easy Dragon, that’s some name for a bar, isn’t it? It sounds more like a Chinese restaurant.” Mrs. Murdoch grinned with death’s head simplicity.
“You’re sure he hangs out there?”
“Sure, I’m sure.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Put it this way,” Mrs. Murdoch said. “I’m not above taking a little nip every now and then myself.”
“I see.”
“Which don’t make me a drunkard.”
“I know.”
“All right. You finished?”
“I guess so. We may be back.”
“What for?”
“You’re so pleasant to talk to,” Meyer said, and Mrs. Murdoch slammed the door.
“Well!” O’Brien said.
“Luckily, she didn’t start shooting,” Meyer said. “With you along, I always expect bullets.”
“Maybe she’ll shoot when we come back. If we come back.”
“Maybe so. Keep your fingers crossed.”
“Where to now?”
“The Easy Dragon,” Meyer said. “Where else?”
The Easy Dragon was named the Easy Dragon for no apparent reason. The decor was not Chinese. There was not a Chinese in sight anywhere. The Easy Dragon looked like any tavern in any suburban neighborhood, peopled with the usual sprinkling of Sunday afternoon drinkers. Meyer and O’Brien entered the place, adjusted their vision to the dimness after the brilliant sunshine outside, and walked to the bar.
Meyer flashed the tin instantly. The bartender studied his shield with great dispassion.
“So?” he said.
“We’re looking for a guy named Marty Sokolin. Know him?”
“So?”
“Yes or no?”
“Yes. So?”
“Is he here now?”
“Don’t you know what he looks like?”
“No. Is he here?”
“No. What’d he do?”
“Nothing. Are you expecting him today?”
“Who knows? He’s in and out. He’s only been living in the neighborhood a short time. What’d he do?”
“I told you. Nothing.”
“Is he a little crazy?”
“How do you mean?”
“You know. A little crazy.” The bartender circled his temple with an extended forefinger. “Cuckoo.”
“What makes you think he’s crazy?”
“He’s got a fanatical gleam in his eyes. Especially when he’s drinking. Also, he’s a big bastard. I wouldn’t want to ever tangle with him. This guy chews railroad spikes and spits out carpet tacks.” He paused. “Pardon the cliché,” he said. He pronounced it “cleesh.”
“You’re pardoned. Do you happen to know where he might be right now?”
“You tried his house?”
“Yes.”
“He ain’t there, huh?”
“No.”
“What’d he do?”
“Nothing. Would you mind, if you know, telling us where he might be?”
“Well, I’m not sure I know. You tried his girl’s pad?”
“No. Who’s she?”
“A dame named Oona. Oona I don’t know what. How’s that for a fancy name? You should see her. She’s like a regular bombshell. Perfect for a nut like Sokolin.”
“Oona, huh? And you don’t know her last name.”
“That’s right. Just Oona. You won’t miss her if you see her. She’s a blonde with bazooms like pineapples.” He paused. “Pardon the cliché,” he said.
“You’re pardoned. Any idea where she lives?”
“Sure.”
“Where?”
“Up the street. There’s a rooming house on the corner. She’s new around here, too. The only reason I know where she lives is she mentioned she was at a place served meals. And the place on the corner is the only place serves meals. I mean, of the rooming houses.”
“I see,” Meyer said. “Can you describe her a little more fully?”
“Well, like I said, she’s got these enormous pineapples. And she’s got a mouth like a trap, and a pretty nose, and eyes like blue ice and blonde hair like a field of wheat.” He paused, retracing the path of his similes to see if he’d been guilty of another “cleesh.” Apparently satisfied of his innocence, he nodded and said, “If you find her, you can’t miss her.”
“That’s reassuring,” Meyer said. “Has she been in today?”
“No.”
“Did Sokolin ever play a horn in here?”
“A what?”
“A horn.”
“No. He plays a horn, does he? Boy, miracles will never cease.”
“What’s the name of this rooming house? Where they serve meals?”
“The Green Corner.” He shrugged. “The house is green, and it’s on the corner.