“Frustrating, isn’t it?” I said, smiling.
“Then I get orders to contact you at that motel and arrange a quiet meeting. So—who the hell are you?”
“Just a guy named Milo March. Tell me something now. When you pulled that little business on Alameda Street, were you working on such matters as business machines and medical drugs, or were you working on something else and stumbled into that?”
“Machines and drugs,” he said reluctantly.
“Then what were you doing Mickey Mousing around with booze?”
“I thought it might lead to something else—which it did. What were you doing fooling around with liquor?”
“The same thing. And it led to the same place. You haven’t had much luck yet with the machines and drugs, have you?”
“We did arrest a few people the other day, if you remember.”
“Pretty much s
