I had a headache and a hangover and I snapped back: “You should tell me my business.”
He grinned and said: “Okey, Shean,” and I apologized for the temper and left.
Amos Mard was a young fellow, barely thirty. Or so I thought. We talked for a bit, with me being careful not to say anything that might carry to the enemy camp, until finally he said:
“You know, Mr. Connell, this is a bit unusual. Your coming to me like this. Frankly, there’s something wrong with the case, though I don’t know what it is. I sense that. If it wasn’t that I have personal reasons, I’d turn it down.”
“Does that mean you don’t like Crandall?”
He shrugged and didn’t answer but he’d said plenty. Unless Crandall threw things his way, Crandall would naturally be tough competition and a bad enemy for a young lawyer starting a practice. And Crandall didn’t look to be the type to throw anything anybody’s way unless there was more thrown back to him.
I said: “Okey, Mard, I guess I can let down my hair. Suppose we get down to cases. You’ll be bucking Crandall and Gino Rucci and Christ knows who else. There’s something screwy about the thing; there has been, right from the first.”
“Why do you think Rucci is interested?”
“He’s either a good enough friend of Crandall’s to take up the hatchet for him, or he’s getting a cut. I’d say the last; money’s a better reason for him being in this than anything else. The case is built on money, as I see it.”
“Why?”
He was doing the lawyer trick; sitting back and letting me do the talking. He was a shrewd-looking young buck, though, and I thought he’d be a good man to have on our side. I said:
“The woman’s going to sue for a settlement and plenty of alimony. Naturally Crandall will get a big fee or a cut on the settlement some way. He isn’t working for nothing. That’s undoubtedly why they wouldn’t let her husband talk to her; they were afraid they’d get the thing straightened out and the divorce idea would be dropped. No divorce; no fee. No fee; no percentage for Crandall. They’ve probably got that poor gal’s head so filled with ideas about her old man that it’s spinning.”
He said thoughtfully: “You’d think she’d know him well enough not to believe lies about him. That is, if they’re lies. Maybe she really has grounds for action.”
I said: “Now look! You may know the law but you don’t know a hell of a lot about women. They’d rather believe the worst about a man than the best. That’s always good. That’s true with all of them. They never forget a thing he’s ever done, if it’s something he shouldn’t have done. Their memory isn’t so good the other way; they can forget the nice things he’s done plenty easy.”
He grinned and said: “Hah! A philosopher.”
I grinned back and said: “Hell no. A guy with experience, God help me.”
I told him what had happened, right from the start, and when I got to the place where I’d met the Chief and about the warning the Chief had given me he sat up straight in his chair. He said:
“Lord, man, d’ya realize what this means?”
“Sure,” I said. “It means you’ve got a chief here that knows what it’s all about. That’s all. Every town is the same. He’s playing practical politics, which is something that takes a sense of humor and a strong stomach. He’s right; this is a tight little town and he runs it right. A chump in that seat would have this place a mad house in twenty-four hours. Can’t you see that?”
“But it means he’s working with Crandall.”
“It means he’s steering a middle course; trying to satisfy Crandall and the other wolves, and trying to do a job for the town at the same time. A bloody reformer in there would raise hell. I tell you; I’ve seen the same set-up before.”
He said he didn’t agree and I went on with the yarn. When I came to the place where the man had taken the two pot shots at me he sat up again. He said:
“There’s a point right there, Connell. Why would you lose your job right at that time? Why would Crandall try and force the Chief to run you out of town? Why would this attempt be made on your life?”
I laughed and said I guessed somebody didn’t like me and didn’t want me around.
He said: “It’s the time element, man. I’m no detective, but that means something.”
“I’m a detective,” I said. “And I think you’re right. It means something. But I’ll be a dirty name if I know what.”
I told him what I’d done the night before and about the brawl at the road-house. And about Rucci calling and having me put on the spot. I finished with: “That’s how I know Rucci is mixed in the deal some way. That proves it.”
“It seems funny to me, Connell, that he’d hire you like that and then fire you. It doesn’t seem a reasonable thing to do.”
I said: “Well, you’ve got the picture, now. Suppose you make a date with Crandall and you and I talk with him. As Wendel’s lawyer, you’re entitled to try and arrange some sort of amicable settlement, at least. Crandall can’t refuse that. Maybe we can find out something we can use.”
He looked discouraged. “Crandall’s too cagy to give out anything he doesn’t want us to know, Connell. You might as well know, the man’s got one of the finest legal brains I’ve ever known.”
“He’s stuck you, hunh?”
He said honestly: “I’ve never beaten him once. I’ve tried in seven cases.”
“Maybe this will be the time.”
“Maybe,” he said, and didn’t sound hopeful.
He called Crandall’s office then and we got an appointment in the next hour. Mard looked a little startled at this action; he acted as though God had condescended to reach down and pat him on the shoulder.
I wasn’t startled one bit. I told Mard:
“Hell, guy, I told you there was dough in this case. That fat wolf will talk about dough any hour of the day or night. This kind of dough, anyway.”
Mard said he thought I might be right.
Crandall had a honey of an office. Just the best. A dignified young kid bowed at us when we went in, offered to take our hats, and said:
“Mr. Crandall is expecting you gentlemen. I will tell him you’re here.”
Mard said: “Thank you!”
I said: “And tell the son-of-a-bitch to take that knife out from behind his back. We know him.”
The kid looked shocked and left. He came back and led us into a room that matched the reception room for class. Heavy rugs. Big chairs and an Oriental looking affair that was supposed to be a couch. Both the chairs and the couch were decorated with some wild looking covering. Bookcases were recessed into the walls, around three sides, and the fourth looked out on the street. The desk that Crandall sat behind was at least ten feet long and five wide and the top of it looked a foot thick. It was absolutely bare.
The place didn’t look like an office, in spite of the bookcases and desk, and it took me a minute to understand why it didn’t. It was simple. Instead of law books, with their uniform size and binding, the bookcase section held regular books instead of legal stuff. Crandall saw me eyeing this and grinned at me and said: “That’s right, Connell! It’s a fake office; just for atmosphere. But I’ve got a law library as well; Amos here, can tell you that.”
I said: “It’s swell atmosphere,” taking the cue from him. The minute I’d gotten over my mad the night before, I’d been sorry I’d picked him in the Three C Club. Of course he’d made the — trouble for me and knew I knew it, but things like that do no good and sometimes harm. They give bystanders the wrong impression.
Amos Mard said: “I’m representing Wendel, Crandall.”
Crandall raised his eyebrows and looked as though he was enjoying himself. He repeated: “Wendel?” as though it was a question he was asking.