Nero Wolfe 16 - Even in the Best Families

by Rex Stout

  “Am I to proceed? Get Saul and Orrie and Fred? Tail Rackham?”

  Wolfe looked at his wrist. His charade was certainly teaching him new tricks. In all my years with him he had never sported a watch, and here he was glancing at his wrist as if born to it. The way that wrist had been, normal, it would have required a custom-made strap.

  “I told that man an hour or more,” he said, “but we shouldn’t be that long. A minimum of cause for suspicion and I’m through. Nothing is too fantastic for them; they could even learn if we’ve been using the phone. Confound it, I must have hours with you.”

  “Ditch him and we’ll meet somewhere.”

  “Impossible. No place would be safe—except one. There is only one circumstance under which any man is granted the right to an extended period of undisturbed privacy, either by deliberation or on impulse. We need a woman. You know all kinds.”

  “Not all kinds,” I objected. “I do draw the line. What kind do we need?”

  “Fairly young, attractive, a little wanton in appearance, utterly devoted to you and utterly trustworthy, and not a fool.”

  “My God, if I knew where to find one like that I’d have been married long ago. Also I would be bragging—”

  “Archie,” he snapped. “If after all your promiscuous philandering you can’t produce a woman to those specifications, I’ve misjudged you. It’s risky to trust anyone at all, but any other way would be still riskier.”

  I had my lips puckered. “Ruth Brady?”

  “No. She’s an operative, and known. Out of the question.”

  “There’s one who might take this as a substitute for a trip to Norway, which is now out. I could ask her.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “You know. Lily Rowan.”

  He made a face. “She is rich, intemperate, and notorious.”

  “Nuts. She is well-heeled and playful. You remember the time she helped out with an upstate murderer. I have no further suggestions. Do I phone her?”

  “Yes.”

  “And tell her what?”

  He explained in some detail. When he had answered my three or four questions, and filed my objection by asking if I had something better to offer, I pulled the phone to me and dialed a number. No answer. I tried the Troubadour Room of the Churchill; she wasn’t there. Next in order of priority was the Flamingo Club. That found her. Asked my name, I said to tell her it was Escamillo, though she hadn’t called me that for quite a while.

  After a wait her voice came. “Archie? Really?”

  “I prefer Escamillo,” I said firmly. “It’s a question of security. How high are you?”

  “Come and find out. I’m tired of the people I’m with anyhow. Listen, I’ll wander out and meet you in front and we’ll go—”

  “We will not. I’m working, and I’m on a spot, and I need help. You’re just the type for it, and I pay a dollar an hour if you give satisfaction. I’m offering you a brand new thrill. You have never earned a nickel in your life, and here’s your chance. What mood are you in?”

  “I’m bored as the devil, but all I need is six dances with you and—”

  “Not tonight, my colleen donn. Damn it, I’m working. Will you help?”

  “When?”

  “Now.”

  “Is it any fun?”

  “So-so. Nothing to brag of.”

  “Are you coming here for me?”

  “No. I’m going—you must get this straight. Now listen.”

  “That’s exactly what I had in mind. I was just telling myself, Lily, my precious, if he starts talking you must listen, because he is very shy and sensitive and therefore—did you say something?”

  “I said shut up. I’m at my office. A man is here with me. We’ll leave as soon as I hang up. I’ll go alone to your place and wait for you outside your door. The man—”

  “You won’t have to wait. I can make it—”

  “Shut up, please. Your first hour has started, so this is on my time. The man with me has a car with a driver parked down in front. He will be driven to the Flamingo Club and stop at the curb, and you will be waiting there in front, and when he opens the door you will climb in, not waiting for him to get out like a gentleman, because he won’t. You will not speak to the driver, who, when you’re inside, will proceed to your address, where you and the man will find me waiting at your door.”

  “Unless I get in the wrong car, and—”

  “I’m telling you. It’s a dark gray forty-eight Chevy two-door sedan, New York license OA six, seven, one, one, three. Got that?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll make it a dollar ten an hour. The man will call you Lily, and you will call him Pete. Joining him in the car and riding up to your place, you need not go to extremes, but it is important for the driver to get the idea that you are mighty glad to see Pete and that you are looking forward with pleasure to the next several hours with him. But—”

  “Is it a reunion after a long absence?”

  “I’ll make it a dollar twenty an hour. I was about to say, you can leave it vague whether you last saw Pete a week ago or two months ago. You’re just glad to be with him because you’re so fond of him, but don’t get thinking you’re Paulette Goddard and ham it. Do it right. Pretend it’s me. Which brings me to the crux. It’s going to be an ordeal for you. Wait till you see Pete.”

  “What’s the matter with him?”

  “Everything. He’s old enough to be your father and then some. He has whiskers, turning gray. His face is pleated. You will have to fight down the feeling that you’re having a nightmare, and—”

  “Archie! It’s Nero Wolfe!”

  Goddam a woman anyhow. There was absolutely no sense or reason for it. My brain buzzed.

  “Sure,” I said admiringly. “You do it with mirrors. If it was him, the way I feel about him, the first thing I would do would be to get him a date with you, huh? Okay, then don’t call him Pete, call him Nero.”

  “Then who is it?”

  “It’s a man named Pete Roeder, and I’ve got to have a long talk with him that won’t get in the papers.”

  “We could take him to Norway.”

  “Maybe. We have to discuss Norway. Give me a ring later in the week and tell me how you feel about this proposition.”

  “I’ll be out on the sidewalk in ten minutes, less than that, waiting for my Pete.”

  “No public announcement.”

  “Certainly not.”

  “I’m very pleased with your work so far. We’ll have to get you a social security number. I’ll be waiting anxiously at your door.”

  I hung up and told Wolfe, “All set.”

  Out of his chair, he grunted. “You overdid it a little, perhaps? Nightmare, for instance?”

  “Yes, sir,” I agreed. “I get too enthusiastic.”

  I glared at him, and he glared back.

  Chapter 14

  Since I do not intend to use up paper reporting the five-hour conference I had with Wolfe that night in Lily Rowan’s living room, I could just as well go on to Wednesday morning, except for one thing. I have got to tell about their arrival at the door of Lily’s penthouse apartment on East Sixty-third Street. Wolfe didn’t speak and wouldn’t look at me. Lily shook hands with me, a form of greeting we hadn’t used for I don’t know how long, then unlocked the door, and we entered. When her wrap and Wolfe’s hat had been disposed of and we passed to the living room, she tossed her firecracker.

  “Archie,” she said, “I knew darned well that something would happen someday to make up for all the time I’ve wasted on you. I just felt it would.”

  I nodded. “Certainly. You’ll show a profit on the night even if you feed us sandwiches, especially since Pete is a light eater. He’s on a diet.”

  “Oh,” she said, “I didn’t mean money, and you can go the limit on sandwiches. I meant the distinction you’ve brought me. I’m the only woman in America who has necked with Nero Wolfe. Nightmare, my eye. He has a flair.”

  Wolf
e, who had seated himself, cocked his head to frown at her—a first-rate performance.

  I smiled at her. “I told Pete what you said on the phone, and he was flattered. Okay, woman of distinction.”

  She shook her head. “Turn loose, my brave fellow. I’ve got hold of it.” She moved to Wolfe, looking down at him. “Don’t be upset, Pete. I wouldn’t have known you from Adam, no one would; that wasn’t it. It’s my hero here. Archie’s an awful prude. He has been up against some tough ones, lots of them, and not once has he ever called on me to help. Never! A proud prude. Suddenly he calls me away from revelry—I might have been reveling for all he knew—to get into a car and be intimate with a stranger. There’s only one person on earth he would do that for: you. So if I was pretty ardent in the car, I knew what I was doing. And don’t worry about me—whatever you’re up to, my lips are sealed. Anyway, to me you will always be Pete. The only woman in America who has necked with Nero Wolfe—my God, I’ll treasure it forever. Now I’ll go make some sandwiches. What kind of a diet are you on?”

  Wolfe said through his teeth, “I care for nothing.”

  “That can’t be. A peach? Grapes? A leaf of lettuce?”

  “No!”

  “A glass of water?”

  “Yes!”

  She left the room, leering at me as she went by. In a moment the sound of her movements in the kitchen came faintly.

  I told Wolfe offensively, “It was you who said we needed a woman.”

  “It was you who selected her.”

  “You okayed her.”

  “It’s done,” he said bitterly. “So are we. She’ll blab, of course.”

  “There’s one hope,” I suggested. “Marry her. She wouldn’t betray her own husband. And apparently in that one short ride uptown with her—”

  I stopped abruptly. The face as a whole was no longer his, but the eyes alone were enough to tell me when I had gone far enough.

  “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” I offered. “I know her quite well. Two things that could conceivably happen: first, you might go to Zeck tomorrow and tell him who you are, and second, Lily might spill it either thoughtfully or thoughtlessly. I’ll bet you ten bucks the first happens as soon as the second.”

  He growled. “She’s a woman.”

  “All right, bet me.”

  The bet didn’t get made. Not that Wolfe came to my point of view about Lily Rowan, but what could the poor son of a gun do? He couldn’t even take to the bushes again and start all over. From that point on, though, up to the end, the strain was ten times worse for him than for me. It cramped his style some all that night, after Lily had gone off to bed and we talked in the living room until long after dawn. At six o’clock he went. Probably it would then have been safe for me to go too, since if they were enough interested in him to have posted a sentry outside the building he would almost certainly leave when Roeder did, but probabilities weren’t good enough now, not after the picture Wolfe had given me and the program he had drawn up, so I took a good two-hour nap before leaving for Thirty-fifth Street and a bath and breakfast.

  At ten o’clock I was at 1019, starting at the phone to get hold of Saul and Orrie and Fred.

  I did not like it at all. The way Wolfe was getting set to play it, it looked to me as if we had one chance in a thousand, and while that may be good enough to go ahead on when what you’re after is to nail a guy on a charge, and if you muff it the worst you get is a new start under a handicap, it’s a little different when a muff means curtains. I had of course told Wolfe all I knew, including Inspector Cramer’s visit and advice, but that only made him stubborner. With Zeck on Rackham’s tail, through me, it seemed likely that the murderer of Mrs. Rackham might get his proper voltage with Zeck’s blessing, and since that was all that Wolfe was committed to, why not settle for it? For now anyway, and then take a good breath. As for commitments, I had one of my own. I had promised myself to see Norway before I died.

  So I didn’t like it, and I either had to lump it or bow out. I tossed a coin: heads I stick, tails I quit. It landed tails, but I had to veto it because I had already talked to Orrie Cather and he was coming at noon, and I had left messages for Fred Durkin and Saul Panzer. I tossed again, tails again. I tossed once more and it was heads, which settled it. I had to stick.

  The tailing of Barry Rackham was a classic, especially after the first week. It was a shame to waste the talents of Saul Panzer on what was actually a burlesque, but it was good to have him around anyhow. I briefed them all together at 1019, Wednesday evening, with Saul perched on a corner of the desk because there were only three chairs. Saul was undersized, inconspicuous all but his nose, and the best all-round man alive. Fred Durkin was big and clumsy, with a big red face, with no Doberman pinscher in him but plenty of bulldog. Orrie Cather was slender and muscular and handsome, just the man to mingle with the guests at a swell dinner party when circumstances called for it. After I had explained the job, with details as required, I supplied a little background.

  “As far as you know,” I told them, “I’m only doing this for practice. Your only contact is me. There is no client.”

  “Jesus,” Fred remarked, “a hundred bucks a day and more with expenses? I guess you ought to pay in advance.”

  “Take it up with the NLRB,” I said stiffly. “As an employer, I do not invite familiarities from the help.”

  “Of course,” Orrie stated with an understanding smile, “it’s just a coincidence that this Rackham was with you once at the scene of a murder. When you got tossed in the coop.”

  “That’s irrelevant. Let us stick to the point, gentlemen. I want to make it clear that I do not actually care a damn where Rackham goes or what he does or who he sees. You are to hang on and report in full, since that’s the proper way to handle a dry run, but I don’t want anyone to get hurt. If he turns on you and starts throwing rocks, dodge and run. If you lose him, as of course you will, don’t bark your shins trying to hurdle.”

  “You ought to have workmen’s compensation insurance,” Fred advised. “Then we could be serious about it.”

  “Do you mean,” Saul Panzer asked, “that the purpose is to get on his nerves?”

  “No. Play it straight. I only mean it’s not life and death—until further notice.” I pushed my chair back and got up. “And now I wish to prove that being an employer hasn’t changed me any. You may continue to call me Archie. You may come with me to Thirty-fifth Street, where we will find a poker deck, and Fritz will make five, and when we have finished I’ll lend you carfare home.”

  For the record, I lost twelve dollars. Saul was the big winner. One hand, I had three nines and—but I’d better get on.

  Rackham was living at the Churchill, in an air-conditioned suite in the tower. During the first week we compiled quite a biography of him. He never stuck his nose outside before one o’clock, and once not until four. His ports of call included two banks, a law office, nine bars, two clubs, a barber shop, seven other shops and stores, three restaurants, three theaters, two night spots, and miscellaneous. He usually ate lunch with a man or men, and dinner with a woman. Not the same woman; three different ones during the week. As described by my operatives, they were a credit to their sex, to the American way of life, and to the International Ladies’ Garment Workers’ Union.

  I took on a little of it myself, but mostly I left it to the help. Not that I loafed. There were quite a few hours with Lily Rowan, off and on, both as a substitute for the trip to Norway, indefinitely postponed, and as a check on the soundness of the estimate of her I had given Wolfe. She caused me no qualms. Once when we were dancing she sighed for Pete, and once at her apartment she said she would love to help some more with my work, but when I tactfully made it plain that the detective business was not on our agenda she took it nicely and let it lay.

  There were other things, including the reports on Rackham to be typed. Late every afternoon Max Christy called at my office to get the report of the day before, and he would sit and read it and
ask questions. When he got critical, I would explain patiently that I couldn’t very well post a man at the door of Rackham’s suite to take pictures of all the comers and goers, and that we were scoring better than eighty per cent on all his hours outside, which was exceptional for New York tailing.

  I had the advantage, of course, of having had the situation described to me by their Pete Roeder. They were worried a little about Westchester, but more about the city. Shortly after he had become a millionaire by way of a steak knife, whoever had used it, Rackham had got word to Zeck that he was no longer available for contacts. Brownie Costigan had got to Rackham, thinking to put the bee on him, and had been tossed out on his ear. The stink being raised in Washington on gambling and rackets, and the resulting enthusiasm in the office of the New York County District Attorney, had started an epidemic of jitters, and it was quite possible that if one of my typed reports had told of a visit by Rackham to the DA’s office, or of one by an assistant DA to Rackham’s suite, Rackham would have had a bad accident, like getting run over or falling into the river with lead in him. That was why Wolfe had given me careful and explicit instructions about what I should report and what I shouldn’t.