‘You’re making things rather difficult,’ Cunweather said.
Bertha Cool sighed. ‘We’re doing a hell of a lot of talking without getting any place.’
Cunweather said soothingly, ‘Look here, Mrs. Cool, I’m interested in your proposition, but I have to know a little more before I fix my price. I can’t go blind.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘I want to know that you can really put your finger on Morgan’s sweetie. I want to know that you really served Morgan Birks, and weren’t being victimized by a clever hoax.’
‘Who do you mean by that?’
‘Sandra Birks wanted a divorce. She had to serve papers on Morgan. She couldn’t find Morgan, so she thought it might be’ clever to plant someone as Morgan Birks. You think Morgan Birks came to the Perkins Hotel today. We feel positive he didn’t.’
Mrs. Cool opened her purse, took out a cigarette, put it between her lips, groped around for matches, lit the cigarette, and, said, ‘Tell him, Donald.’
‘What?’ I asked.
‘All about serving Morgan Birks. Keep talking until I tell you to stop.’
I said, ‘Sandra Birks hired us. I went up to her apartment and got pictures of Morgan Birks. They were good snapshots. I checked up on them to make certain she hadn’t planted some phonies in the album.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Cunweather said. ‘You’re right on that. Those snapshots were in your pocket together with the original summons.’
I said, ‘Sandra’s brother, B. L. Thorns, whom she calls Bleatie, came out from Kansas City to—’
‘From where?’ Mrs. Cunweather interrupted.
‘From Kansas City.’
The chief glanced sharply at his wife. ‘Go on, Lam,’ he said.
‘Bleatie came out to help Sandra. He knows Morgan Birks very well. I gather he’s more friendly with Morgan than he is with his own sister. He said he’d give us a lead that would let its put the finger on Morgan Birks any time he was satisfied Sandra wasn’t trying to double-cross Morgan. He didn’t seem to have a particularly high opinion of his sister’s morals or integrity.’
I could see gleaming interest in the eyes of the fat man. Mrs. Cool said casually, ‘That’s far enough, Donald. If we go on from there, it costs money.’
‘What do you mean money?’ the fat man asked.
‘Something,’ she said, ‘to pay for getting up at this hour of the morning. I’m running a detective agency. I have rent to pay, salaries to pay, a tax on my payroll, a federal income tax, an occupation tax to the city, and a state income tax on the money that’s left after the federal people get done with my income. Then I have to pay a sales tax on all the clothes I buy and—’
‘Yes, yes,’ he interrupted, smiling and bobbing his head with mechanical regularity, but keeping his turquoise green eyes fastened on Mrs. Cool. ‘I understand. I have problems of my own, Mrs. Cool.’
‘Well, I’m in the business of getting information and capitalizing on it,’ she said. ‘I have something you want. You tried to beat it out of my operative. I don’t like that.’
‘We were a little abrupt, for a fact,’ the chief conceded.
‘It costs me money to get my information. I don’t pass it out for charity.’
‘I’m very much interested in that Perkins Hotel situation,’ the chief said. He said to his wife, ‘Do you suppose, m’love, that we could have had the double-cross?’
‘Something screwy somewhere,’ she said.
‘Should we say a hundred dollars to Mrs. Cool?’
The little woman nodded.
‘One hundred dollars,’ the chief said.
‘Make it two hundred,’ Bertha Cool said.
‘A hundred and fifty,’ Mrs. Cunweather said to her husband, ‘and if she doesn’t want that, give her nothing.’
‘All right,’ Bertha Cool said, ‘a hundred and fifty.’
The fat man turned to his wife. ‘Do you happen to have a hundred and fifty, m’love?’
‘No.’
‘My wallet is upstairs. Would you mind running up and getting it?’
‘Take it out of your belt,’ she said.
He moistened his lips again, and said, ‘I’ll tell you, Mrs. Cool, you go ahead and tell us, and I’ll guarantee that you’ll have the hundred and fifty. I’ll promise it.’
‘You get the hundred and fifty,’ she said.
He sighed with resignation, got to his feet, and opened the top part of his pajamas. His belly was huge, white, and flabby. A chamois-skin money belt circled his middle. It had been soaked and discolored with perspiration. He opened one of the pockets and took out two hundred-dollar bills.
‘That’s the smallest you have?’ Bertha Cool asked.
‘That’s the smallest.’
‘It’s going to take nearly all of my small change.’
‘I’m sorry. That’s absolutely the smallest.’
Bertha Cool fished around in her purse, then looked hopefully at me. ‘Got any money, Donald?’ she asked.
‘Not a nickel,’ I said.
She counted out her money and said, ‘I have to save five dollars for the taxi bill. I’ve got forty dollars in change. I’ll give you thirty-five. Call it square for that or you can go upstairs and get your wallet.’
‘We’ll call it square for that,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t walk upstairs to save fifteen dollars.’
‘Bring over the two hundred, Donald,’ she said.
The fat man extended the money to me. I carried it over to Mrs. Cool. She gave me the change in one-dollar, five-dollar, and ten-dollar bills. I took them over to Cunweather. He passed them over to his wife.
‘Put that somewhere,’ he said. ‘I don’t want that chicken-feed in my money belt.’
He closed the flap of his money belt, buttoned up his pajamas, tucked the coat down in the pants, looked across at me, and said, ‘Does Lam do the talking?’
‘Lam does the talking,’ Mrs. Cool said.
I said, ‘Sandra gave Morgan Birks a—’
‘Never mind that, Donald,’ she said. ‘That’s betraying the interest of a client. Just tell him what happened about Morgan, how we found him, and how we served him. But don’t tell him the name or address of Morgan’s sweetie.’
‘Bleatie,’ I said, ‘gave me the name of Morgan’s girl friend. I went to her and put on an act that we were going to drag her into the divorce action, and then shadowed the place. She led me to the Perkins Hotel. She registered as Mrs. B. F. Morgan and got room 618. I bribed the bell captain to find out about what rooms were in the vicinity. He—’
‘Yes, yes,’ Cunweather interrupted. ‘We know all about that, Donald. We know everything you did from the time you got to the Perkins Hotel.’
‘Then you know about serving Morgan Birks?’ I asked.
‘You didn’t serve Morgan Birks — you served somebody else.’
‘The hell he did!’ Bertha Cool interrupted. ‘He served Morgan Birks.’
‘Where?’
‘In the girl’s room — in 618.’
Cunweather and his wife exchanged glances. ‘There’s some mistake,’ Cunweather said.
‘No, there isn’t.’
‘Morgan Birks didn’t go into room 618. We’re absolutely positive of that.’
‘Don’t worry. He was in there all right,’ Bertha Cool said. ‘I saw him myself.’
‘How about it, m’love,’ Cunweather said, turning to his wife, ‘shall we―’
‘Let Donald finish his story,’ she said.
Cunweather looked back at me. ‘Go on with your story, Donald.’
I said, ‘I got a room. Several people were with me. Sandra and Bleatie came in. Alma Hunter was there. I left them, and went out to a masquerade costume place, and got a bellboy’s uniform that would fit me. I had a telegram addressed to Mrs. B. F. Morgan, care of Western Union. I waited around until the telegram came in, signed for it, and wrote in lead pencil on the envelope, beside the address, “Try Perkins Hotel.” Then I got a notebook, forged a few signatures in it, went up to the hotel, and found the party in a hell of a stew because Morgan Birks had come in shortly after I’d left. I changed to the bellboy’s uniform, went out and knocked on the door of 618. When they wanted to know what it was, I said it was a telegram. They told me to shove it under the door. I shoved it far enough under the door so they could see the address, and that it was a telegram, but it was in the notebook, and the notebook was too big to go all the way under the door. I told them they had to sign a receipt. They fell for it and opened the door. I walked in, and Morgan Birks was lying on the bed. I served the papers on him. While I was doing that, Sandra got excited and came in. There was conversation back and forth. There was no question but what it was Morgan Birks.’