Mason said, “You’re fortunate. If I can manipulate you into a position of proximity, your olfactory nerves will acclaim me a prophet.”
Palermo ceased laughing instantly, his bushy eyebrows pulled down in a scowl over his glittering little eyes as they switched back and forth from Mason to Della Street. “Whatsa that you say?” he asked.
“My secretary was reminding me,” Mason said, “that I have an appointment late this afternoon, and I’ll have to be getting back to my office.”
“Jiz’ you work Sundays?”
“Sometimes.”
Palermo’s eyes shifted to the car. “You make lotsa money. Why you work on Sundays?”
“I make so much money,” Mason explained gravely, “that I have to work Sundays to pay my income tax.”
“By Gar! You make so much money — you not make enough for tax! By Gar, that’s tough. Iss plenty tough! I Look, I got the idea, we make lots the money. I want to see you, by Gar, and now you come see me.”
“You wanted to see me about the land?”
“Sure about the land. What you think? You get your people file a lawsuit against me, huh? Then we all get rich.”
“How?” Mason asked.
“You prove I no got title to land, huh?”
“You haven’t any title, Palermo.”
“No, no! I mean you do it the way I tell you. We fix it up. I help prove I no got the title.”
“You mean you’ll deliberately lose the lawsuit?”
Palermo’s head nodded vigorously, his eyes were sharp and glittering. “That’s right.”
“Why?” Mason asked.
Palermo unconsciously reached out for Mason’s arm once more, trying to draw him away from the automobile.
“Just how?” Mason asked.
“We make money outa sheep — outa fur sheep for ladies’ coats,” Palermo said, and then again roared with laughter, giving Mason a quick dig in the ribs. “You betcha we make money outa da fur sheep.”
Mason waited.
Palermo lowered his voice to little more than a garlic-coated whisper, leaned close to Mason, “You know something? I give Milfield contract to buy my property for — well, for plenty money.”
“But you don’t have the title to that eighty-acre tract.”
“Poof! I get title all right. Don’t you worry none about me. Frank Palermo, he smart man. You a lawyer, but I know law pretty good myself too, maybe — huh? Five years I stay on that property and I pay taxes. After that can’t do nothing, no. I see that in court once. My brother, he do the same thing. I come here, I decide I’m going to be smart like my brother.”
“This time,” Mason said, “you were too smart.”
For a moment there was antagonism in the little deep set eyes, then Palermo was once more vociferously friendly. “Look, Mist’ Mason, you know what happen? Day before yesterday a man comes to my place — he’s got big car like yours. He says, ‘Palermo, how much money Mr. Milfield he going to give you for property?’ ”
“I say, ‘Why you want to know?’ He say, ‘Because may be I give you more.’ ”
“ ‘All right,’ I tell him. I say, ‘I make a contract — one price in the contract. But Milfield, he gives me money for cash. I put in my pocket. That money, nothing said about in the contract.’ ”
“Did you tell him how much that money was?” Mason asked.
“Sure I tell him. He’s one thousand dollars — one thousand dollars for cash. But the contract, he don’t say nothing about the one thousand dollars in cash. Then Milfield shows that contract to other men got the property around here and makes look all right, see?”
Mason nodded.
“All right, this man he says, ‘Look, maybe I can get you five thousand dollars for your property.’ — You get that? Five thousand dollars! Jiz’ whata break! Already I’ve signed my name on contract. But I don’t think contract he’s good.”
“Why not?” Mason asked.
“Is no witness.”
“But you signed your name?”
“Sure I sign my name — what the hell, why not sign my name? I get one thousand dollars cash money when I sign my name — why not?”
“Then as I get it,” Mason said, “you want me to file suit against you so it will be determined that you have no title?”
The little, eyes sparkled with appreciation. “That’s right.”
“And have you put off the property?”
The head nodded vigorously.
“And then,” Mason asked, “what do we do?”
“Jiz’! what do we do? Then I can’t sell to Milfield because I got no title, see? He don’t get back no one thousand dollars because no witness. I say by Gar, he never pay no thousand dollars. Only price he to pay is on contract and no witness. All right. You get property. I not got the property. Then I can’t, sell. Then contract he’s no good because I got no property. You got the property. You sell this man for five thousand dollars. You take one half for you, one-half for me. We all make money, No?”
Palermo was peering anxiously at Mason, trying to see how the lawyer would react to his proposition.
Mason said, “I don’t think my client would be interested. What was the name of this man who was out here?”
“By Gar, he don’t want tell me any name. He says his name come later. But I’m smart. When he’s not look, I write down license of his automobile — big automobile like yours. Fine car. I get license number. What the hell you care what man tells you about his name when you got license number, huh?”
“This was Friday?” Mason asked.
“Friday, yes.”
“What time?”
“In afternoon.”
“What time in the afternoon?”
“I don’t know. I don’t carry no watch. Just a little in afternoon. You see that tree? The shadow that tree when this man comes, is right here.”
Palermo walked rapidly over to a point some forty feet south of the trunk of a live oak tree. He dug with his heel into the ground, leaving a little furrow of turned up soil. “Right here,” he said. “The shadow is right here.”
Mason noticed the tree and the angle of the sun and nodded. “And you have the license number of his car?”
“Sure I get his number. I get pencil and write down number of automobile. I’m smart man myself. You smart lawyer. I am smart sheep man. You get that property. You sell it quick for five thousand dollars. We split fifty-fifty.”
“And,” Mason asked, flashing a quick glance at Della Street, “do we also split the thousand dollars you got in cash from Milfield?”
Palermo drew back. “Say! What the hell you talk about? I never got it. Is no witness.”
Mason laughed.
Palermo pushed stubby fingers down into his watch pocket, pulled out a folded bit of paper. On it had been scrawled the rambling figures so characteristic of the writing of a man who is all but illiterate. He read out the license number, 8P3035.
Mason smiled, shook his head. “I’m not here to talk about your property claim, Palermo. I want you to see a lawyer about that. I came to ask you about what happened Saturday morning.”
The little suspicious eyes narrowed. “Saturday morning. Is nothing. I go aboard yacht to see Milfield. Is dead. That’s all.”
“How did you know that Milfield was to be aboard that yacht?”
“Because I know he’s there.”
“How did you know he’s there?”
“Because he tell me is going to be there.”
“You telephoned Milfield!”
“That’s right.”
“Did you tell him about this other man having been to see you?”
“Sure I tell him.”
“And what did Milfield say?”
“Milfield he say to come see him tomorrow on yacht. Is all excited quick.”
“Look here,” Mason said. “If you were to meet Milfield Saturday morning on that yacht, you must have had some sort of a deal fixed up.”