“Now what the hell does that mean, lover?”
“Means,” I said, “that if he was a set-up for V. Frayne, he was just as much a set-up for S. Sierra. Both of you knew he was Phelps — he talked out of turn one night while both of you were present. Nobody else around here knew he was Phelps — unless either of you talked.”
“We didn’t.”
“So he was a set-up for either one of you. Logical?”
“No. Because there are people who are capable of blackmail, and there are people who are not.”
“You’re not?” I suggested.
“Damn right I’m not. Oh, I’m no angel, don’t think I’m trying to give you that idea. But there are people and people, and people are... how do you say it?... complex, crazy, mixed-up. There are people who can kill, but love their mothers and their children. There are people who can steal, but cannot kill. There are—”
“Okay,” I said. “There are people and people. What kind of people are you?”
“I’m a people that thinks that blackmail is dirty, filthy, rotten. I couldn’t do blackmail if my life depended on it.”
“Could Vivian Frayne?”
“Sure-pop. Vivian was different. But she was people too. She thought blackmail was smart, worked it pretty good in her lifetime. On the other hand, there was another side to Vivian Frayne. She could be good, kind, sweet — she was like a mother to most of the kids working in this joint. Now Vivian—”
“You didn’t particularly like her, did you?”
“That G. Phillips briefed you pretty good, didn’t he?”
“Pretty good,” I said.
“I hated the son of a bitch,” she said.
“Enough to kill her?”
“I’ve got a temper.”
“Temper enough to kill?”
“Only when it’s at tip-top point. But I cool off after awhile.”
“Did you cool off toward Vivian?” I said. “After she took a sucker away from you right under your nose?”
She stood up. Her dark eyes peered down at me, filmed with fear, or hatred. “I cooled off,” she said. “You’re a nosey son of a bitch, aren’t you?”
“I’m paid for being nosey.”
“Like how much?” she said.
“Like five thousand dollars,” I said.
Her posture eased. She smiled. “At least it’s a respectable buck,” she said. “For being nosey.”
“Who’s Steve Pedi?” I said. I stood up beside her.
“He owns the joint.”
“I’d like to go talk to him.”
“You’re liable to get bounced on your ear, lover, by an ape named Amos Knafke. Guardian of the portals.”
“I’ll take my chances with Knafke.”
“I’d like to watch, hero.”
“Be my guest,” I said. “In fact, be my guide.”
She led me to the carpeted stairway. I followed her up it and along a carpeted hallway to a door at the end, in front of which stood a massive man like a languorous behemoth. Knafke, no other.
“Steve Pedi,” I said.
“So who wants to see Mr. Pedi,” he said in a voice that sounded like gravel being sifted in a deep drum.
“Peter Chambers.”
“Who’s Peter Chambers?”
“Me.”
“Who’re you?”
“A guy who wants to see Mr. Pedi.”
Eyes drowned in the fat of a face veered toward Sophia. “Who’s the wise guy, Miss Sierra?” he rasped.
“He would like to see Mr. Pedi,” she said.
The eyes came back to me. “If it’s a complaint, buster, we got a complaint department. Mr. Pedi don’t like—”
I did not have to do it.
I did it to impress Sophia Sierra.
He got two quick fists to the belly and they went in up to the elbow. I was ashamed as I stepped over him. Of course I did not hate him.
I opened the door to Pedi’s office. “After you,” I said.
Her eyes were wild. “Wow, you’re crazy, you’re a crazy man.”
I had impressed Sophia Sierra.
She went through the open door and I went after her and closed the door behind me. A handsome, white-faced man stood up behind a desk. A very elegant man.
“Yes?” he said. “What is it? Hello, Sophia.”
“Hello,” she said and fell into a soft chair as though she were exhausted.
It was a large room, its walls cluttered with autographed photographs of celebrities. The furniture was good, big, expensive and comfortable.
“Yes? What is it, please?” he said.
“He wants to talk to you,” Sophia said. “He’s Peter Chambers. Mr. Chambers — Mr. Steve Pedi.”
“How do you do?” I said.
“What happened to Knafke?” he said to Sophia.
“I laid him out,” I said.
Pedi’s thin lips tightened. He threw a glance at Sophia, another at me, came out from behind the desk, went to the door, opened it, cast a glance beyond, and closed the door.
He came to me. He extended his hand and I took it. He had a lot of strength in his hand for a slender man. “I’m glad to know you,” he said. “You wouldn’t want Knafke’s job, maybe? Because if you would, you’re hired. Right now.”
“I’m not available,” I said.
“Too bad,” he said. “All right, what is it, please, Mr. Chambers?”
The door opened.
Knafke lumbered in.
“Where is he?” Knafke said. “Where is that mother-loving son of a bitch.”
“I’m here,” I said, softly.
“Get out of here,” Pedi said. “Out.” And as Knafke stood indecisively, Pedi repeated. “Out, out. Go watch the door.”
Knafke murmured, as he left, quietly closing the door behind him.
“What’s the pitch?” Pedi said.
“It’s personal, I think,” I said.
“Personal, like what?” he said.
“Personal like about Vivian Frayne,” I said.
“Out,” he said to Sophia. “Wait for your boy friend downstairs.”
She stood up, smiled at him, smiled at me, said, “See you,” and moved to the door and out it.
“All right,” Pedi said. “Let’s have it. What’s it all about?”
“Vivian Frayne,” I said.
“You a cop?”
“No.”
“What do you want, Mac?”
“I want to know if you threatened Vivian Frayne.”
He thought that over. “Mac,” he said seriously, “I got a few more around here like Amos. If I want, I could have you chopped up and thrown out to the cats in the alley.”
“Why should you want?”
“Because you’re poking around. I don’t like pokers. Who told you I threatened Vivian? You want to talk about that?”
“Sure,” I said.
“You a peeper?” he said.
“That’s right.”
“Figures,” he said. “All right, who said I threatened Vivian?”
“George Phillips.”
“That old son of a bitch, huh? He’s a liar.”
I told him what Phillips had told me.
“He’s a liar,” he said when I was finished.
“Okay,” I said. “Just checking.” I went for the door.
“Just a minute,” he said.
“Yes, Stevie?” I said.
“The cops didn’t mention none of this to me. They playing it cool?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“They pick up Phillips yet?”
“I don’t know.”
“If they did, he must have spilled this crap to them too. What do you think?”
“If they did, he did, that’s what I think.”
He regarded me for a long moment. He went to the desk, pulled open a drawer, brought out three new crisp one hundred dollar bills. “How you fixed for ethics?” he said. “Did the cops pick up Phillips yet?”
I took his three hundred dollars.
“No,” I said.
“Thanks,” he said. “Look, will you kind of keep me informed on how the thing goes? I ain’t mixed in this, but—”