The Devil You Know by P.N. Elrod

if you know to ask for it.”
    “Where’s the new joint?”
    “Do I look like a telephone operator? There’s a precinct house up the street; ask the desk sergeant. The police usually know where to find someone like Brogan; it’s putting and keeping a collar on him that’s the hard part.”
    During this exchange, Izzy futzed with the typewriter, dropping a cover over it and straightening papers. I threw a glance her way, but she just shook her head again.
    “Leave me out of it,” she said. “You don’t work here; I do, and I like it.” She jammed a hat on her head, pulled on a coat, got a purse and gloves from a desk drawer, and marched out. “Get some sleep, Clappie. I’ll see you Wednesday. Bye, Fleming.”
    “Don’t we owe her a meal?” asked Barrett.
    “That would be the lady’s choice,” I said. “She’s not interested.”
    “Then perhaps I can make this fellow a bit more cooperative.”
    He wanted to hypnotize Clapsaddle, who was still squiffy as hell from his weekend party. I didn’t care to stand around and watch that. “Forget it. Let’s find that precinct house. See you around, Clapsaddle.”
    “If the gods decree such a calamity, then somehow I must endure.” He eased back on the couch with a groan and put one arm over his eyes.
    I led the way out. Barrett hesitated, but caught up with me in the hall.
    “This is not good,” I said.
    “In what way?”
    “Say we find Brogan, and say he’s behind the body you found. Someone like Fleish Brogan is no small fish. He is a big bad shark surrounded by other sharks. We can probably get past that and isolate him, but then what? What do you do with him?”
    “It does bear consideration,” he admitted.
    “Which you haven’t done.”
    “I never thought we’d come this far.”
    “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
    “Really, Fleming, all you have is a name on a trucking firm and the say-so of a drunkard that there is a connection between that name and a missing lawyer. There’s no proof that the body I found was Endicott’s. It could be some other man.”
    “Then we should stop now and go back to your house.”
    “We cannot. Whoever shot us might discover that it didn’t work. They could return later to make a better job of it, and that puts members of my household in danger. I won’t have that.”
    “Then you want to carry this through?”
    “Yes.”
    “How far?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You mentioned retribution. I know how messy that can get. Make too much of a mess and you lose that quiet life on your estate. You’d have to pull up, leave, and not come back. If the cops don’t come looking for you, the bad guys will.”
    He looked annoyed. “My choices are not at all appealing. I can drop matters now and hope to not be bothered again.”
    “Hope, yeah. Hope is such a wonderful thing.”
    “Or track down the guilty party and see to it he leaves me alone.”
    “Evil-eye whammy, yeah, good stuff. Not permanent, but good.”
      “Or . . .what?”
    “Make a mess, but make sure you’re not blamed for it.”
    “How does one do that?”
    “Guys like Brogan always have enemies. Sometimes you don’t have to look very far to find them. Let’s track him down, size up his situation, and take it from there. This could run for a few nights, though.”
    He shrugged. “This city has many fine hotels. I can telephone a neighbor to look after my horses, and I’ve a bag of my earth in the car. What about you?”
    “It’s in my money belt.”
    “Interesting. I should obtain one of those.”
      “Great, fine, and we have to lose our names.”
    “Sensible.”
    “And I’m in charge. That means you don’t try to help unless I ask for it. That bit you threw in about The Times took Clapsaddle off the rails.”
    “On the contrary, I distracted him from becoming too curious about you.”
    “Which I could have handled. You want this resolved, then I have to run the show. If horses come into it, then you’re in charge, but