this was the warehouse Whisper had occupied.
By the time we got back to the room that held the liquor my left arm was strong enough to lift a bottle. I put it in my pocket and gave the old man some advice:
“Better clear out. You were hired to take the place of some of the men Pete the Finn turned into special coppers. But Pete’s dead now and his racket has gone blooey.”
When I climbed out the window the old man was standing in front of the cases, looking at them with greedy eyes while he counted on his fingers.
“Well?” Mickey asked when I returned to him and his coupé.
I took out the bottle of anything but Canadian Club, pulled the cork, passed it to him, and then put a shot into my own system.
He asked, “Well?” again.
I said: “Let’s try to find the old Redman warehouse.”
He said: “You’re going to ruin yourself some time telling people too much,” and started the car moving.
Three blocks farther up the street we saw a faded sign, “Redman & Company.” The building under the sign was long, low, and narrow, with corrugated iron roof and few windows.
“We’ll leave the boat around the corner,” I said. “And you’ll go with me this time. I didn’t have a whole lot of fun by myself last trip.”
When we climbed out of the coupé, an alley ahead promised a path to the warehouse’s rear. We took it.