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Episode 5
I stepped out, shaking the dust of the Brazeltons' Broad Street mansion from my wingtips. Before I headed uptown to visit Mr. B's bluestocking heiress, I'd need to go downtown. Wrinkled, spotted and disheveled would not do. I hoofed it down Broad, sneered at the City Hall as I passed, and into South Street, which had everything I needed. First order of business, visit the hock shop.
Silverman's did a pretty fair business. The plate glass windows let the evening sun flood the dingy shop a bloody red. I hoped that wasn't an omen.
"You in funds, today, Slade?" the little dark man asked.
I waved a banknote at him for answer, along with my claim check.
"Always the big talker, Mr. Slade is. Well, well." He reached under the counter, came up with a tangle of harness leather, and tossed it to me.
I unrolled the rig, and slung it around my shoulders. The big army forty-five automatic nestled right where it belonged. I pulled and found the mag still in place, and a round in the pipe. "You never unloaded it?"
"I had a feeling you'd be needing it."
"Thanks... I think." I passed him an extra buck. Seemed like the thing to do.
Around the corner, the haberdasher was just closing, but a sight of my expense money convinced them to stay a few minutes more. They happened to have a rack suit that'd fit me fine, even over the rod. I told 'em to hem the pants, and sew a suede liner in one pocket.
"When you get 'em done, send it across the street, I've got to clean up."
"We don't usually deliver, Mr…"
"Slade. Matt Slade. I'll make it worth your while." I grinned, offering a few more of Mr. B's greenbacks. Life's easier when you've got money to throw at it. Throwing money at life made a sure way to end up with no money, Esmeralda'd always told me. I'd learned how right she was over the last few months, but now it was my turn to be right for a while.
"Yes, Mr. Slade. I'll see to it."
Across the street to a bath house where I got steamed, trimmed and shaved in record time, and dressed in my new duds. It was a well heeled Slade that stepped into the evening air, and headed back up Broad to the university district.
I caught a bus going my way. Just what the detective ordered. I sat down and pulled out a rope of Navy tobacco. I cut a few slices with my jacknife and broke them up, rolling between my hands, then packed my old briar pipe. I don't know that the smoke helped anything but my nerves, but the fiddling gave my hands something to do, but left the old bean free to think.
It didn't help much. Everybody pointing a finger at somebody else. I had to find a thread and tug. Maybe if I found the right one, the whole thing would unravel.
Ding! My stop. I stepped off next to the grassy quadrangle, and realized that I'd left out one thing from all my thinking. The offices that might tell me where to find this bluestocking heiress of mine were all closed at this hour.
As I looked around for a likely door to start knocking on, a pack of boys in letter sweaters decided they'd have some fun. "Hey, watch it, old man!" the first said, shouldering through me like on a gridiron. Old? The mook. The .32 was in my hand, but a warning voice said a bull calf like this, oversized and underaged, wasn't worth a Manila necktie. I wasn't much older than they were, but I'd seen some wear and tear.
"Yeah, don't just stand there," the next said, shoving me back into the first.
"Out of the road, pop," the third chortled, as I staggered into the gutter.
I started to wade back in, roll of nickels in my fist, ready give a few lumps in return, when a sharp feminine voice split the air.
"What do you boys think you're doing? Leave that poor man alone. Don't you have an exam to study for, Rudy? I think your advisor would be very disapp—"
"Don't worry, Miss Brazelton, that's where we were headed! The library… this is my study group, right lads?"
Miss Brazelton? My lucky day. I could almost forgive the giant babes. I didn't think they were off to study anything but the bottoms of beer steins, and possibly some other bottoms if they were able, but the answer seemed to mollify Miss B. She came over to help me back onto the sidewalk, while the boys skulked off. Possibly even in the direction of the library.
"I'm so sorry for that. Sometimes young men are thoughtless, especially the football cleat crowd."
"They seemed to listen to you, Miss Brazelton, was it?"
"Claire Brazelton, yes. I'm Professor Talbot's teaching and research assistant. I happen to know that Rudolph Everett III is on very shaky ground, academically."
"Won't you let me buy you a drink, in thanks? You probably just saved us all some bruises."
"I don't drink, Mr…"
"Slade. Matt Slade."
"I don't drink, Mr. Slade, but there's a tea shop right around the corner. That's where I was headed, but you may certainly buy."
To be continued…
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