by Henry, Kane,
I pulled out and rested on my right elbow and draped the blanket over my left shoulder.
“So that’s it. Blair Curtis was right.”
“Who?”
“Blair Curtis.”
“What the hell is blaircurtis?”
“Not what. Who.”
“Well who?”
“A guy with a theory about why he likes private detectives because there are leaks in official circles.”
“The hell with that,” Matty said emphatically.
“You’re all wet,” I said.
“You hope. So start making with the fancy words, and make good.”
“I did put some slugs into that cab, but I didn’t hit anybody. There were three of them. Joe and another guy and the cabbie. This other guy took care of both of them — Joie and the driver.”
Matty watched my face. “How do you know? Once upon a time, when we talked, you didn’t know nothing.”
“In my business, I’m not supposed to know anything, and I wouldn’t know anything right now, except that you gave me expense money, pal, so I warble a little for you. Just a little. But what I’ve mentioned is official. Now, do you like me all over again?”
“You leveling?”
“Hope to die.”
“Who’s this other guy in the cab?”
“The police have no idea.”
“I’m not asking the police. I’m asking Petie with the brains.”
“Go on home now, will you? I’m sleepy.”
“Who’s the other guy?”
I pushed my hand out and grabbed a corner of his jacket and pulled him over. “I’m not sure yet, but I’ve got a pretty good idea. I’m taking care of this and I’ll catch up with that guy, but good. I’ve got personal reasons. And I’ll let you know when I do. Maybe it’ll take a day, maybe months, but I don’t want you bothering me. Now kindly get the hell out of here.”
Matty patted the hand that clutched the jacket and the hand loosened and went back under the cover.
“Don’t get sore, Petie. You know I like to kid. Forget it.”
He stood up and put the Luger on my flattened trousers and walked to the door and switched off the lights and bawled, “Let’s go, monkeys,” and there was a scraping of chairs and a slamming of the refrigerator door and low conversation and footsteps and the banging of the outer door. There was the rasp of a key as Matty considerately locked me in again in my own apartment.
I had Sunday breakfast at three in the afternoon, and I called Blamey.
“How goes it, honey?”
“Thanks for inquiring, Peter Rabbit, but I saw you at the bar last night and you sure look mean when you concentrate on drinking.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning don’t you love me any more? You were there for a couple of hours.”
“Just hanging around, and I looked mean because I was thinking mean, if you know what I mean. And I saw you too, baby, and you were certainly having yourself a time with a party at a table.”
“Expectantly awaiting Isaac with a message that my father wanted to see me.”
“Is that so, my butterfly? Just because you were getting tight with a bunch of collar-ad college boys, doesn’t give you the office for calling me papa. Not yet.”
Sweetly she inquired, “No, papa?”
“I’ll get my cane and totter over and demonstrate, if you insist.”
“Oh, do, daddy. By all means.”
“I can’t,” I explained sadly. “I’ve got business. How goes it with brother Grant?”
“All quiet.”
“When did you see him last?”
The bell rang. I said, “Just a minute,” and I went to the door.
It was Edith, with a small canvas bag.
“Welcome,” I said. “Take your things off and make yourself at home. Be with you in two shakes.” I went back to the phone. “Hello.”
“Your business arrive?”
“Uh huh.”
“Want me to hang up, father?”
“Not yet. I asked about your boy friend.”
“I saw him last on Friday night. I don’t think he showed up last night. Leastwise, I didn’t see him. He’ll be around haunting tonight, I’m sure.”
“Me too. So long.”
I was hanging up when the telephone piped clear and brisk: “Good-by, daddy dear.”
I smiled at Edith, shyly.
“Are you a parent?” she snapped.
“Business,” I said.
I put my arms around her and held her while she squirmed and then she kissed me on the nose.
She went to the canvas bag and produced six napkin-wrapped objects. “Fingerprints,” she proclaimed, “are harder getting than I thought,” and she went to the bathroom and came back with a round red bottle marked HAIR TONIC and a towel and she wiped the bottle vigorously and firmly imprinted five fingertips on it and set it down on the desk with the other objects.
“Although you’ll now get bald,” she announced, “your fingerprint project will be complete.”
I took the napkins off carefully and there were three drinking glasses and a crystal inkwell and a smooth cigarette case and a tall highball glass, and inside each object was a small square of white paper on which a name was inscribed in a bold slanted backhand and beneath each name she had added a wisecrack, like, “Alfred, frozen puss,” or “Tamara, blank,” or “Dorothy, plain bastard,” or “Brewster, overripe for testosterone,” or “Gorin, nincompoop.” Beneath the name of Paula Gorin there was nothing.
“Not funny,” I said, “but thanks. You’ve done me a service. I hope the prints come through clear.”
“I hope so. I took enough trouble with them.”
I put the stuff back carefully in the napkins and I took them to the bedroom. I came back and I asked, “How about some of the finest sidecars ever concocted?”
“If you let me watch.”
“Why not?”
She trailed behind me. I turned and pushed her against the wall of the kitchen and kissed her hard.
“That for inspiration?” she gasped.
“That’s for nothing,” I said.
I went to work with lemons and Cointreau and cognac.
We brought the mixer into the living room and in no time at all, fleece gathered.
“How’s about,” I asked, “a walk, a sumptuous dinner and a movie? Or — do you have any suggestions?”
“Regretfully declined, and no suggestions. I’m working on a little design at home that just must be finished today. I’ll take the walk. I’m sure we could do with a walk, but, meanwhile, would you like to kiss me?”
Later, we went to Central Park and looked at wavering animals. Then we got out of the park and found a tiny, amberlit, overdressed, cushiony spot entitled BAR AND GRILL which was like calling Buckingham Palace a shack in the woods and we sank into soft red and ivory overstuffed armchairs. Sidecars, the flickering menu recited, were a dollar and sixty-five cents per. I pursed my lips. I said, “Two sidecars.”
We sipped and looked at each other and set them down.
“Let’s pay and leave,” Edith said. “Mine stinks. And you look like yours does too. Sacrilege. I’m going home. Got work.”
I put her into a taxi.
“Bye, Red. Be seeing you.”
I walked home and went straight to the kitchen and fused lemon and Cointreau and cognac and in the living room I lapsed into beautiful beatitude.
I called Blamey. No answer.
I went to the bedroom and took out the .38 wrapped in the towel and I shuffled through the items Edith had brought and I put them on the bed and went to work with dusting powder and magnifying glass and found exactly what I expected and I put everything back in the dresser drawer and dressed and went out and slammed the door.
I had cocktails and a slow dinner at Del Pezzo. I went to a movie called Trans-Lux, which sounds like soap, and I watched newsreels over and over. At twelve o’clock, I went to the Nevada.
I saw Gra
nt at a table with another man and I joined them. Grant’s friend had a fat face and a bulbous nose and a bald head. Grant was almost pleasant.
“My friend, Cherry Nose Smith. Cherry Nose, Mr. Chambers. Cherry Nose is a client.”
“Howdy,” said Cherry Nose.
“Howdy,” I said.
“What do you drink?” I asked affably, and looked at the waiter who stood over us.
“Boib’n.”
“Give him a boib’n. You, Grant?”
“Usual. Scotch on ice.”
“Scotch on ice. Give me boib’n too. I’m paying this round.” I handed up a bill.
I stayed a while and drank bourbon. Cherry Nose was good company. We traded stories. Grant was quiet. He paid close attention when Blamey sang and danced.
“Some tomata,” Cherry Nose said.
“Yeah,” I said. “What do you think of when you say tomato, Cherry Nose?”
“Goils.”
“How about you, Grant?”
“Juice.”
“Very good,” I applauded. “It’s a game psychologists play.”
“Some fun,” Cherry Nose said.
“Black,” I said.
“White,” said Cherry Nose.
“Pants,” I said.
“Vest,” said Cherry Nose.
“Legs.”
“Skoit.”
“Chicken.”
“Lay.”
“Cops.”
“Crap.”
“Very good,” I said. I turned to Grant. “How’d he do?”
“Why don’t you run along, Chambers?”
“Don’t you like games?”
He didn’t answer.
“Murderer,” I said.
“Bulls,” said Cherry Nose, happily.
“Nuts,” said Grant.
“Murderer,” I said. “Rochelle, Pineapple, Feisal, Maine. Good, huh? I bet you didn’t expect all of that. Maybe some of it, not all of it.” I stood up. “Bye, now. I’m going to see a girl about a dog. A dirty dog.”
“Oh, boy, he’s good and drunk,” said Cherry Nose.
I went back to see Blamey. Mrs. Thornton told me she was out, had a date between shows with one of those college boys.
I took a cab to Matty’s. I got a girl and a bottle of bourbon.
I came home and stood in the window and watched dawn over Central Park and it was gray and heavy and murky and oppressive. I set the alarm and went to bed.
“Hell,” I said. “No sleep again. Boib’n.”
22
AT SIX O’CLOCK, A.M., I called Archie Alexander.
“ ‘Lo,” Archie said.
“Did I interrupt anything?”
“You bachelors,” Archie said. “You interrupt a good night’s sleep.”
“Interrupted and finished. At eight o’clock you are parked in your car outside One hundred fifty-three East Sixty-seventh Street. You pick up a little guy and you bring him here.”
“What little guy?”
“The name is Wesley Gorin, a little guy that kicks up his knees when he walks like he’s being goosed. You won’t miss him. He’ll be looking for you. He lives there.”
“Right.”
“Take him wrong way down a couple of one-way streets. If he’s got a tail, you lose it.”
“Right.”
“You sure I didn’t interrupt anything?”
“Sure,” Archie said, “but of course, it’s an idea.”
My mouth ached. My throat ached. I mumbled, “Damn cigarettes.” I washed my teeth and gargled. I lit a cigarette. I called Wesley Gorin.
“Hello?” the butler said.
“Mr. Gorin.”
“Who is calling?”
“Personal.”
“He’s asleep, sir.”
“Well, wake him up, sir.”
“Yes, sir.”
I waited.
Gorin inquired: “Yes?”
“It’s Chambers. I’ve been working on your matter. You’re in a spot, pal.”
“What?” He was either very sleepy or very apprehensive. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you’re on a spot and I’m trying to help, like you asked me. Now listen. Get dressed and tell the folks you’re going out of town for a couple of days on business or whatever you like. The police didn’t prohibit that, did they?”
“No. They were very nice about everything.”
“At eight o’clock, you leave the house. There’ll be a car waiting outside. Get into it.”
“But Mr. Chambers — ”
“Will you do as I say?”
“Yes.”
“So long.”
At eight fifteen, Archie delivered him.
“No tail,” Archie said. “I’ll be seein’ you.”
“Where are you going now?”
“Home, of course,” Archie said, and went away.
Gorin was a worn dissident figure in a love seat with his topcoat on and his hat in his lap. Bags under his eyes were black as carbon paper and as smudgy.
“Buck up,” I said, cheerfully as I could.
“What is wrong — ?”
“Plenty wrong, and I’m doing my best. And tell me now, once and for all, are you going to let me in on what’s playing?”
He got smaller in the love seat. “There’s nothing I can tell you that you don’t already know.”
“You’re one cockeyed liar, pal, but I’m not going to press you.”
He put his hands down to the seat of his chair and helped himself half get up.
“Sit, brother Gorin. There’s stuff that you can tell me that can probably help. But you don’t think so or you’d give it to me, you’re that scared. So, all right. I’ve probably got most of it figured anyway; all I need is a little corroboration and maybe a few additional details. But you think that what you’re holding back has nothing to do with the predicament you’re in. That’s your funeral. Maybe you’re right. I wouldn’t know.”
He twisted his hat in his hands. He said nothing.
“Do you at least realize that your brother was killed because he was mistaken for you?”
The hat stopped. The folds in his face were stiff. “I think …” He hesitated. “Perhaps …”
He was hooked.
I took his hat and coat and hung them in a closet. I squeezed oranges and fried bacon and poached eggs and made coffee. I wolfed breakfast. Gorin picked. I put a light to his cigar. I lit a cigarette.
“Is there any reason?” I asked.
“No.”
“Can’t you think why? Somebody did slug you, and they had a reason. Have you worked on it? Try.”
“I have tried. Believe me. You’ve twisted my mind into thinking along those channels. There’s nothing. There is no reason. I have no enemy.”
“You’re wrong, brother. I’m working on it and it’s almost finished. When I tell you, you’ll be surprised.”
That sounded as idiotic as it should have sounded; I was out of words. I didn’t know what I was talking about, but I had a theory, a very good theory, and I wanted Wesley Gorin available, when and if necessary. I wanted him stacked away; filed for future reference, but handy. I didn’t want him skipping the beat at the wrong moment. I wanted to be sure he was there when I reached in and plucked, and that was going to be real soon.
Someone fingered the bell and I was glad to get up and go to the door. It was Higgins and Alice Hilliad. I sat them in the living room and went back to the kitchen.
“You’re to be my guest,” I said politely. “Just for a few days.”
“But …!”
“I tell you I’ve got this thing shaped up. For heaven’s sake, for your own benefit, can’t you co-operate?”
“But …!”
“Did you tell your wife you’d be out of town for a few days, as I suggested?”
“I followed your instructions. I didn’t understand and I didn’t want to spoil anything. I said I might be away. But …!”
“Good. You’ll stick around the apartment. Y
ou won’t write anyone and you won’t call. Mr. Higgins and Miss Hilliad will be with you. Sort of vacation party. You won’t have one damn thing to worry you.”
He puffed on his cigar, puffed rapidly. He got up and went into the living room and I went with him and he nodded at Frank and Alice and he stood at a window and looked at Central Park through slits in the Venetian blind.
He turned. “I’ll be safe here?”
“Positively. You’ve been checked and double checked. No one knows you’re here. Mr. Alexander, who picked you up, knows his business. If there was a tail on you, he lost him. That right, Frank?”
“He lost us,” Higgins said. “That is, we lost him. We saw Archie pick him up, and when he started swinging wrong way on one-way streets, we kind of caught on. I didn’t want Archie getting heated up about a car in his rearview hightailing after him wrong way on the one-ways, so we lay behind and did double duty for Archie. No tail. Then we reported here.”
I looked at Gorin. “See what I mean?”
He sat on the sofa and he smiled glum and small. “Frankly,” he said, “it’s a relief. You have me believing something, and I don’t know what that is. I am utterly confused. I just don’t understand any of this. There is absolutely nothing that I can tell you that would be of any help. Yes, there are certain matters, complicated matters, in my life that I wouldn’t dare discuss with anyone, but I assure you that they have no bearing — they cannot have any bearing — upon these attacks, which, you have convinced me, are directed against me in a campaign, seemingly, of murderous intent. Mr. Chambers, if you can break this thing and get to the bottom of it, I insist that you consider me a client and bill me.”
“Then why did you sick Holly on to me?”
“Because I was afraid that you would bring to light certain phases of my life that would best remain obscure. I was frightened badly. I acted on impulse.”
“I don’t believe you, Gorin. You’re a good boy now because you’re scared and you think you can use me to protect your skin. All right, we’ll all play dumb.”
I explained the setup to Frank and Alice.
“And please,” I said to Gorin. “You’re not my client and there is no fee.”
I stalked through the outer office of Scoffol and Chambers at nine o’clock that Monday morning and I pretended not to hear the loudly whispered wisecracks.
