Snowball in Hell

«Unhooked him and threw him back,» Matt said. He eyed her curiously. «What did you want me to do with him?»
«Artie Cohen said he saw you haul him off in a police car.»
«We didn't haul him anywhere,» Matt retorted. «We invited him to accompany us to Bob Arlen's since he knows the family. I thought he might be useful to have along.»
«Was he?»
«Yep.»
«Nice break for Nathan.»
Matt stopped and subjected Tara to a narrow-eyed inspection. «Okay, what's on your mind, Miss Renee?»
«Miss Renee? You're so formal!» She dimpled at him, but Matt knew her too well to be swayed. «Nothing's on my mind. I'm glad Nathan's getting a few breaks. He deserves them. What'd you think of him?»
«What am I supposed to think of him?» Matt shrugged. «How well do you know him?»
«Are you jealous?»
He sighed.
Tara made a face. «Alright, already! Not a lot. I didn't know Nathan before the war. One thing I do know. He writes beee-ooouti-fully. I keep telling him he should write a novel. The kind of thing that gets slapped between embossed leather
and sent to the Saturday Evening Review boys to chew over. He's too good for this racket.»
Matt shook his head and rapped on the doors. «You seem very interested in Nathan Doyle.»
«I am interested. He's an interesting fellow, unlike the louts I usually meet in my trade.» She batted her eyelashes at Matt. «Don't worry, Lieutenant, you'll always come first with me.»
«That's what worries me,» Matt said, and she laughed. He liked her laugh. That was when she reminded him most of Rachel.
«Jonesy still loves me,» she said, with a backwards glance for Jonesy.
«You remind me of my granddaughter,» Jonsey said. «She needs a good spanking too.»
Tara raised her eyebrows.
Matt said, «Anyway, what the hell was he doing with the Eighth Army for how many years?»
She shrugged. «I don't know. He doesn't talk much. He did say he was in Greece in '41.» She gave Matt a funny grin. «He said he always wanted to see the birthplace of democracy.»
«Greece, huh?» He turned as the mahogany doors were unlocked and dragged open. A bald-headed man with a mouthful of gold teeth glowered at him, and Matt showed his badge. The glower didn't go away, but the man stepped back, and Matt and Jonesy stepped inside. A beefy arm barred Tara's passage.
«I'm with them,» she protested.
The door man said, «Pull the other one, sister. You're no cop. Your legs aren't bad enough.»
«Nice try, Torchy Blane,» Matt said. The heavy doors closed on Tara's protests.
The bruiser led them through a lounge which opened onto an inside garden with a small waterfall, and then through to another larger lounge with a stage where a platinum-haired girl was running through some swing-versions of Christmas standards while a man at the piano tinkled along.
A man and woman sat amidst the sea of empty tables. They had the easy rapport of an old married couple, but in fact Sid Szabo and Nora Noonan were longtime business partners. The rumor was that they were lovers as well, but observing them together, Matt wasn't sure.
Nora Noonan was not beautiful, but she had a self-contained, intelligent face-like one of those portraits of the Madonna. Her hair was reddish blonde. She wore a well-cut tweed suit. Sid Szabo was one of the most handsomest men Matt had ever seen-like a Sunday matinee idol. Dark hair and eyes so blue you could tell it from across the room. He was watching the girl on the stage, but Matt knew he hadn't missed their entrance.
Nora Noonan was smiling her slight, enigmatic smile as Matt and Jonesy approached the table. «Well, Detectives, we heard the news on the radio. I had a feeling you'd be showing up.»
«Lieutenant Spain,» Matt said, and flashed the tin.
Nora Noonan raised her eyebrows, pretending to be impressed. «May I offer you a drink, Lieutenant Spain?»
«No thanks. What can you tell me about the Arlen kid?»
«Do sit down!» She smiled at Jonesy. «Sergeant? You look like a drinking man.»
Jonesy made some uncomfortable assurances to the contrary, and she smiled that smile again. Szabo watched them, unspeaking, his eyes not missing a move-and yet his attention remaining with the girl now warbling «I'll Be Home for Christmas.»
After they were seated, Nora said, «The truth? I wouldn't shed any tears over Phil Arlen-except for the fact that he owed me forty grand.»
Matt whistled. «Is that right? Forty-thousand dollars in gambling debts?»
«Gambling is illegal in this state, Lieutenant,» Nora said mildly. «This was a personal loan.»
«For?»
Nora smiled. «I didn't like to ask. After all, Arlen was a good customer-and he came from a good family. I felt sure he'd make good on his debt.»
«He was a weasel,» Szabo said.
Nora looked exasperated. «Sid-«
«He was a weasel,» Sid repeated. «Why pretend anything else?» His stone-cold eyes studied Matt boldly. «You talk to the wife? She was here Friday night threatening to kill him.»
«Sid!» Nora sounded truly put out now.
Szabo turned his profile and stared at the stage and the singer. «Talk to the wife,» he said.
«Cherchez la femme,» Nora remarked. «Maybe.» She shrugged her tweed-clad shoulders. «I guess it makes as much sense as anything these days.»
«The fact is, we're investigating Arlen's death as a kidnapping gone wrong,» Matt said-and now he had the attention of both.
«A … kidnapping? The radio didn't mention that,» Nora said carefully. Sid said nothing.
«That's right. Arlen didn't come home Saturday night. His family received a ransom demand on Sunday. The money was delivered, but Arlen was bumped off anyway.»
«My goodness,» Nora said faintly. «They paid the ransom?»
«Right.»
Nora looked at Sid. Sid looked at Nora.
Nora said finally, «That doesn't make much sense. Killing the victim, I mean, if the ransom was paid on time. Not a sound business practice.»
«That's what I say,» Matt said. «Anyway, the last time anyone saw the Arlen kid was here on Saturday night.»
«I wouldn't know,» Nora said. «I wasn't here. I had one of my sick headaches.»
She looked at Sid, who said flatly, «He was here. He was always here. We should have charged him rent.»
Nora made one of those pained faces-the Madonna putting up with a lousy suggestion from Joseph-and said, «Philip was somewhat enamored of Pearl.» She nodded to the girl on the stage. «Pearl Jarvis. She sings here Tuesdays through Thursdays.»
On Mondays the club was closed, and on weekends the big names appeared. The Las Palmas Club attracted a lot of big names: Tommy Dorsey, Bing Crosby, Glenn Miller, Benny Goodman. It was one of the city's hot spots, though Matt would have to take the word of others for that; he was not much for nightclubs.
It was Szabo's turn to look irritated. «Pearl put up with the puppy, that's all. She was just being nice to a customer. They're all good girls here.»
«Sure,» Matt said. «Convent-reared, every one of them. So Philip hung around Pearl, and Philip's wife was jealous?»
Nora laughed a cool little laugh, «Well, I expect she wasn't pleased about it, but I don't think Claire Arlen is the type to go around murdering husbands.»
«You might be surprised what wives will do,» Matt said, holding her gaze.
Nora's dark gaze sharpened. She looked down at her drink. «True,» she murmured.
Matt said to Sid, «Do you remember what time Arlen left here on Saturday?»
«I wasn't keeping track of him. He was pretty drunk, that much I do remember.»
«When was the last time you remember seeing him?»
«Sometime after midnight.»
«Who was he with? Pearl?» Matt glanced at the canary. She looked like a million other girls to him: nice figure, nice face– nice voice too-but clothes too tight, hair too blonde, and skin too painted.