Could you recognize any of them?
Of course not
Randall know all this?
Of course. Do we have to talk about it any more? It bores me. She gave me the lovely smile.
Did he make any comment?
She yawned. Probably. I forget.
I sat with my empty glass in my hand and thought. She took it away from me and started to fill it again.
I took the refilled glass out of her hand and transferred it to my left and took hold of her left hand with my right. It felt smooth and soft and warm and comforting. It squeezed mine. The muscles in it were strong. She was a well built woman, and no paper flower.
I think he had an idea, she said. But he didnt say what it was.
Anybody would have an idea out of all that, I said.
She turned her head slowly and looked at me. Then she nodded. You cant miss it, can you?
How long have you known him?
Oh, years. He used to be an announcer at the station my husband owned. KFDK. Thats where I met him. Thats where I met my husband too.
I knew that. But Marriott lived as if he had money. Not riches, but comfortable money.
He came into some and quit radio business.
Do you know for a fact he came into money or was that just something he said?
She shrugged. She squeezed my hand.
Or it may not have been very much money and he may have gone through it pretty fast. I squeezed her hand back. Did he borrow from you?
Youre a little old-fashioned, arent you? She looked down at the hand I was holding.
Im still working. And your Scotch is so good it keeps me half-sober. Not that Id have to be drunk
Yes. She drew her hand out of mine and rubbed it. You must have quite a clutch in your spare time. Lin Marriott was a high-class blackmailer, of course. Thats obvious. He lived on women.
He had something on you?
Should I tell you?
It probably wouldnt be wise.
She laughed. I will, anyhow. I got a little tight at his house once and passed out. I seldom do. He took some photos of me with my clothes up to my neck.
The dirty dog, I said. Have you got any of them handy?
She slapped my wrist. She said softly:
Whats your name?
Phil. Whats yours?
Helen. Kiss me.
She fell softly across my lap and I bent down over her face and began to browse on it. She worked her eyelashes and made butterfly kisses on my cheeks. When I got to her mouth it was half open and burning and her tongue was a darting snake between her teeth.
The door opened and Mr. Grayle stepped quietly into the room. I was holding her and didnt have a chance to let go. I lifted my face and looked at him. I felt as cold as Finnegans feet, the day they buried him.
The blonde in my arms didnt move, didnt even close her lips. She had a half-dreamy, half-sarcastic expression on her face.
Mr. Grayle cleared his throat slightly and said: I beg your pardon, Im sure, and went quietly out of the room. There was an infinite sadness in his eyes.
I pushed her away and stood up and got my handkerchief out and mopped my face.
She lay as I had left her, half sideways along the davenport, the skin showing in a generous sweep above one stocking.
Who was that? she asked thickly.
Mr. Grayle.
Forget him.
I went away from her and sat down in the chair I had sat in when I first came into the room.
After a moment she straightened herself out and sat up and looked at me steadily.
Its all right. He understands. What the hell can he expect?
I guess he knows.
Well, I tell you its all right. Isnt that enough? Hes a sick man. What the hell
Dont go shrill on me. I dont like shrill women.
She opened a bag lying beside her and took out a small handkerchief and wiped her lips, then looked at her face in a mirror. I guess youre right, she said. Just too much Scotch. Tonight at the Belvedere Club. Ten oclock. She wasnt looking at me. Her breath was fast.
Is that a good place?
Laird Brunette owns it I know him pretty well.
Right, I said. I was still cold. I felt nasty, as if I had picked a poor mans pocket.
She got a lipstick out and touched her lips very lightly and then looked at me along her eyes. She tossed the mirror. I caught it and looked at my face. I worked at it with my handkerchief and stood up to give her back the mirror.
She was leaning back, showing all her throat, looking at me lazily down her eyes.
Whats the matter?
Nothing. Ten oclock at the Belvedere Club. Dont be too magnificent. All I have is a dinner suit. In the bar?
She nodded, her eyes still lazy.
I went across the room and out, without looking back. The footman met me in the hall and gave me my hat, looking like the Great Stone Face.
19
I walked down the curving driveway and lost myself in the shadow of the tall trimmed hedges and came to the gates. Another man was holding the fort now, a husky in plainclothes, an obvious bodyguard. He let me out with a nod.
A horn tooted. Miss Riordans coupe was drawn up behind my car. I went over there and looked in at her. She looked cool and sarcastic.
She sat there with her hands on the wheel, gloved and slim. She smiled.
I waited. I suppose it was none of my business. What did you think of her?
I bet she snaps a mean garter.
Do you always have to say things like that? She flushed bitterly. Sometimes I hate men. Old men, young men, football players, opera tenors, smart millionaires, beautiful men who are gigolos and almost-heels who are private detectives.
I grinned at her sadly. I know I talk too smart. Its in the air nowadays. Who told you he was a gigolo?
Who?
Dont be obtuse. Marriott.
Oh, it was a cinch guess. Im sorry. I dont mean to be nasty. I guess you can snap her garter any time you want to, without much of a struggle. But theres one thing you can be sure of youre a late comer to the show.
The wide curving street dozed peacefully in the sun. A beautifully painted panel truck slid noiselessly to a stop before a house across the street, then backed a little and went up the driveway to a side entrance. On the side of the panel truck was painted the legend. Bay City Infant Service.
Anne Riordan leaned towards me, her gray-blue eyes hurt and clouded. Her slightly too long upper lip pouted and then pressed back against her teeth. She made a sharp little sound with her breath.
Probably youd like me to mind my own business, is that it? And not have ideas you dont have first. I thought I was helping a little.
I dont need any help. The police dont want any from me. Theres nothing I can do for Mrs. Grayle. She has a yarn about a beer parlor where a car started from and followed them, but what does that amount to? It was a crummy dive on Santa Monica. This was a high-class mob. There was somebody in it that could even tell Fei Tsui jade when he saw it.
If he wasnt tipped off.
Theres that too, I said, and fumbled a cigarette out of a package. Either way theres nothing for me in it.
Not even about psychics?
I stared rather blankly. Psychics?
My God, she said softly. And I thought you were a detective.
Theres a hush on part of this, I said. Ive got to watch my step. This Grayle packs a lot of dough in his pants. And law is where you buy it in this town. Look at the funny way the cops are acting. No build-up, no newspaper handout, no chance for the innocent stranger to step in with the trifling clue that turns out to be all important. Nothing but silence and warnings to me to lay off. I dont like it at all.
You got most of the lipstick off, Anne Riordan said. I mentioned psychics. Well, good-by. It was nice to know you in a way.