“It’s an amazing thing,” he said, placidly counting, “but most everybody’s worth more than they realize.”
“Fascinating,” I said, and pushed across the pyramid of loose bills. “Here’s another twenty-one eighty-five.”
The waiter, returning, placed my drink where my money had been and said, “How does a person get to be your friend?”
I picked up the drink. “Put this on his bill,” I said.
“I should think so,” the waiter said, and left.
I sipped and Edgarson counted. Then I sipped some more and Edgarson counted some more. Then I sipped some more and Edgarson said, “I make that six thousand four hundred and forty-eight dollars so far.” The bills, upon being counted, had disappeared into his clothing, and now he shoved my eighty cents back across the table to me, saying, “We don’t want to mess with change. But we would like to see some more greenbacks.”
“Out of my green sack,” I said, delving down inside my shirt and bringing out the swag. Propping the sack like a dildo in my lap, I loosened the drawstrings and started pulling out more cash.
This time I also did some counting, since I hadn’t had a chance yet to find out how much I’d made from my first excursion into major crime. Sorry, second excursion; I was forgetting Laura. “Two hundred,” I said, and flipped a stack of twenties across the table. “One eighty,” and a stack of tens. And so on and so on and so on.
And yet the bottom of the sack was reached too soon. I’d needed thirty-six hundred dollars, but my total profit from the bank job was only two thousand, seven hundred eighty.
Edgarson noticed it, too. “Nine thousand, two hundred and twenty-eight dollars,” he said at last. “I make you seven hundred and seventy-two dollars short.”
“I can’t rob another bank,” I said. “You’re just going to have to bend your principles in this case, or by God I’ll kill us both.” I clutched at the toy gun beneath my coat, letting Edgarson see as much of it as the bank teller had seen. “I’ve gone through enough today. I can’t go through any more.” My voice was rising, and it was by no means entirely fake.
Edgarson made calming patting motions in the air. “Take it easy,” he told me. “Take it easy, Mr. Thorpe, there’s no reason to get upset. Why, if I can’t make allowances here and there, what sort of fella would I be?”
I could tell him what sort of fella he was, but I didn’t. I merely sat there and glared at him and clutched the inscribed handle of my pistol.
“Now,” he said, and it seemed to me that through his professional calm I detected just the slightest hint of uneasiness. “Now, I think you’re being honest with me,” he said, “and you really can’t raise any more money than this, and I think it just wouldn’t be fair of me not to accept this nine thousand dollars and call it square.”
I relaxed somewhat, but my hand remained on my gun. “All right,” I said.
He took out that envelope again and extended it to me. “Here you are, my friend.”
I finally released the gun, and used that hand to take the envelope. Having peered at the negative and seen vaguely that it was the right one, I said, “And this is the only copy, right? I shudder to think what would happen if you suddenly came back with another one.”
“Mr. Thorpe,” he said, “you wrong me. There aren’t any more negatives, and there aren’t any more prints. And once I put in a false report, I couldn’t very well go back and call myself a liar, now, could I?”
That made sense. “All right,” I said.
“Speaking of which,” he said, withdrawing two larger envelopes from an inner pocket, “here’s the report I won’t be turning in. You might want to keep it yourself. This other one’s the report I will turn in, if you’d like to take a look at it.”
I would, but I glanced through the truthful one first. “Agitated manner... hurrying in a guilty fashion... seeming nervous and upset...” This Edgarson wasn’t a subtle writer, but he got his message across.
The false report made for pleasanter reading. Making sure which was which, I gave him back the false one and put the truthful copy in one of my moneyless pockets.
Edgarson signalled for the check, then said to me, “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”
My hand strayed toward my pistol. “What was that?”
He did his air-patting gesture again. “Nothing to get upset about,” he assured me. “You just happened to mention you were in some sort of marital difficulty with your wife, so I’d like to suggest you have a talk with one of the staff people at my agency. It’s surprising sometimes just how—”
“What?” I couldn’t believe it. “You’re sitting there and hawking your goddam detective agency at me?”
Very earnestly he said, “You can’t do better than Tobin-Global, Mr. Thorpe. Seventy-four years of reli—”
“Stop talking,” I told him. “Do us both a favor, Edgarson, and stop talking.”
The waiter provided a welcome interruption by showing up with the check. While Edgarson gathered pieces of my money with which to pay it, the waiter gave me a look and said, “I get off at three.”
“Tell him,” I said.
Edgarson paid, and the waiter went away, and I said, “I want to come along with you when you turn in the report.”
He frowned. “That might not be wise, having the two of us seen together.”
“I’ll wait outside. But I want to know for sure you’ve gone straight to your agency and turned in that report.”
Shrugging, he said, “If it will ease your mind, Mr. Thorpe, come right ahead.”
Tobin-Global Investigations was in the Graybar Building, back of Grand Central. I rode up in the elevator with Edgarson and paced the corridor while he went inside. He was gone about three minutes, and then he came back, smiling, flashing his jacket pocket where the envelope no longer protruded, saying, “All done, Mr. Thorpe. It’s turned in and your worries are over.”
“I have to be sure,” I said. “I want to be able to sleep nights.”
“Mr. Thorpe,” he said, “I’m not any kind of trouble for you at all. Now, a man in my job has to turn in his reports, and I just turned in mine, and I wouldn’t dare tell a different story later. Not where there’s a murder mixed in.
“So I’m safe from you.”
“Absolutely.”
“Good,” I said. “Now I wonder if I could ask you a favor.”
He seemed doubtful. “Yes, sir?”
“Sooner or later the police will come ask me about last night, and I’d like to try on you what I plan to tell them and see what you think of it. From a professional point of view, I mean.”
Relieved, expansive, he said, “Well, I’d be happy to, Mr. Thorpe. That’s a very good idea.”
So, standing there in the corridor with him, I told him the story: “I took Laura to a press preview late yesterday afternoon, and then to dinner, and then home. At dinner, she told me she was worried because she believed her husband had hired somebody to murder her.”
He frowned at that. “Oh, now, Mr. Thorpe,” he said, “I don’t think you ought to start making things up, you’ll just create suspicion. It’s better to tell a simple straightforward story.”
“Well, wait a minute,” I said. “Listen to the way this one works out, and see what you think.”
Shrugging, he said, “If you insist, Mr. Thorpe, I’ll listen.”
“Fine. Anyway, at dinner Laura told me there’d been somebody hanging around and she was afraid it was the hired killer. Well, of course I didn’t believe her, I told her she was imagining things. Then, when I took her home, she pointed out a man loitering on the other side of the street and said that was the one she’d meant.” I gave Edgarson a long slow look up and down. “I think I could give a pretty clear description of that man,” I said.