Smart Moves by Stuart M. Kaminsky

…”
    “Captain Midnight?” I asked.
    “Captain Midnight’s on the radio,” Shelly said in exasperation. “Who the hell knows if he wears a scarf?”
    “He’s a pilot. Pilots like to have a scarf billowing out when they ride in an open-cockpit plane,” I said. “What are you doing here, Shell?”
    “Water,” he gasped. “I need water.”
    I got him a glass of water, which he took and greedily gulped down.
    “More,” he said.
    I got him another glass.
    “More,” he said again.
    “No more, Shell. What are you doing here?”
    “I was taking a nap, an innocent nap. I just flew in. I’m tired. I came to see a friend, take a nap and what does he do? He assaults me. Isadora Duncan, she was the one with a scarf. It got tangled up in something.”
    “How did you get in my room? And how did you know I was at this hotel, in New York?”
    He reached into his pocket for an answer and came up with one of his cigars and a wooden match instead. He coughed a few times, lit it, and belched out a plume of grey smoke. It made him feel much better. “I called when I got to the airport,” he explained. “Asked what room you were in. When I got here, I went to the desk, said I was you, told the guy the room number and said I lost the key. He gave me a spare. I tried to call you first but you weren’t here.”
    He sucked at the cigar, an overgrown baby with a brown pacifier. The room was beginning to smell like his office.
    “What are you doing here? I keep asking the same question in something like English and I get …”
    “Meeting,” he said. “Well, sort of a convention of dentists. New techniques in dental treatment. Over at the Savoy-Plaza on Fifth Avenue.”
    I kicked off my shoes and climbed on the bed. Shelly smoked and watched and I asked a reasonable question. “And Mildred didn’t mind? Just said, ‘Sheldon, take two or three hundred bucks, get on a plane, go to New York and have a good time’?”
    “It was Mildred’s idea,” Shelly said pointing his cigar at me. I responded by getting my .38 down and pointing it at him. “That’s not funny, Toby.”
    My detective experience told me that if Mildred Minck was not only letting her husband go to New York alone, but giving him money for the trip, her motive was not one of good will. I considered that Mildred might be having an affair with the plumber or milkman, but I knew Mildred too well to imagine her approaching or being approached by any man I had ever seen. It would bear further thought, but first I had to deal with my chubby and unwelcome guest.
    “The war,” Shelly said, “is great, marvelous.”
    “We’re all enjoying it,” I said, sitting on the bed and checking the pistol.
    “I don’t mean that. I don’t mean that,” he said. “The war is terrible, terrible, but war dentists are bringing back new experience, new gadgets are being invented that we can use on the home front.”
    “War dentists?” I said, putting down my weapon and removing my jacket to strap on my shoulder holster.
    “You know, Toby, you know. Damn, my neck still hurts. You should be more careful,” he said, searching his pink neck for sore spots.
    “Well, Shell,” I said, adjusting my holster and inserting my pistol, “it’s been great talking to you. Have a nice time at the dental disaster meeting and I’ll see you back in L.A.”
    “What? What?” Shelly got himself out of the chair after three times. “I’ve got some time. I can help with whatever you’re working on. I’ve helped before, remember?”
    I took the dentist’s arm and guided him toward the door. “Remember our agreement,” I reminded him. “I don’t pull teeth and you don’t shoot people.”
    “You’re going to shoot somebody?” he asked around the cigar he had stuck back in his mouth. “I knew it. The holster, the gun. You’ve got a case here.”
    “No, I’m on vacation.” I shoved him to the door and got it open.
    “Not for one minute do I think you’re on vacation