I went behind my desk and waited.
"How much you make in a month, Marlowe?"
I let it ride, and lit my pipe.
"Seven-fifty would be-tops," he said.
I dropped a burnt match into a tray and puffed tobacco smoke.
"You're a piker, Marlowe. You're a peanut grifter. You're so little it takes a magnifying glass to see you."
I didn't say anything at all.
"You got cheap emotions. You're cheap all over. You pal around with a guy, eat a few drinks, talk a few gags, slip him a little dough when he's strapped, and you're sold out to him. Just like some school kid that read Frank Merriwell. You got no guts, no brains, noconnections, no savvy, so you throw out a phony attitude and expect people to cry over you. Tarzan on a big red scooter." He smiled a small weary smile. "In my book you're' a nickel's worth of nothing."
He leaned across the desk and flicked me across the face back-handed, casually and contemptuously, not meaning to hurt me, and the small smile stayed on his face. Then when I didn't even move for that he sat down slowly and leaned an elbow on the desk and cupped his brown chin in his brown hand. The bird-bright eyes stared at me without anything in them but brightness.
"Know who I am, cheapie?"
"Your name's Menendez. The boys call you Mendy. You operate on the Strip."
"Yeah? How did I get so big?"
"I wouldn't know. You probably started out as a pimp in a Mexican whorehouse."
He took a gold cigarette case out of his pocket and lit a brown cigarette with a gold lighter. He blew acrid smoke and nodded. He put the gold cigarette case on the desk and caressed it with his fingertips.
"I'm a big bad man, Marlowe. I make lots of dough. I got to make lots of dough to juice the guys I got to juice in order to make lots of dough to juice the guys I got to juice. I got a place in Bel-Air that cost ninety grand and I already. spent more than that to fix it up. I got a lovely platinum-blond wife and two kids in private schools back east. My wife's got a hundred and fifty grand in rocks and another seventy-five in furs and dothes. I got a butler, two maids, a cook, a chauffeur, not counting the monkey that walks behind me. Everywhere I go I'm a darling. The best of everything, the best food, the -best drinks, the best hotel suites. I got a place in Florida and a seagoing yacht with a crew of five men. I got a Bentley, two Cadillacs, a Chrysler station wagon, and an MG for my boy. Couple of years my girl gets one too. What you got?"
"Not much," I said. "This year I have a house to live in-all to myself."
"No woman?"
"Just me. In addition to that I have what you see here and twelve hundred dollars in the bank and a few thousand in bonds. That answer your question?"
"What's the most you ever made on a single job?"
"Eight-fifty."
"Jesus, how cheap can a guy get?"
"Stop hamming and tell me what you want."
He killed his cigarette half smoked and immediately lit another. He leaned back in his chair. His lip curled at me.
"We were three guys in a foxhole eating," he said. "It was cold as hell, snow all around. We eat out of cans. Cold food. A little shelling, more mortar fire. We are blue with the cold, and I mean blue, Randy Starr and me and this Terry Lennox. A mortar shell plops right in the middle of us and for some reason it don't go off. Those jerries have a lot of tricks. They got a twisted sense of humor. Sometimes you think it's a dud and three seconds later it ain't a dud. Terry grabs it and he's out of the foxhole before Randy and me can even start to get unstuck. But I mean quick, brother. Like a good ball handler. He throws himself face down and throws the thing away from him and it goes off in the air. Most of it goes over his head but a hunk gets the side of his face. Right then the-krauts mount an attack and the next thing we know we ain't there any more."
Menendez stopped talking and gave me the bright steady glare of his dark eyes.
"Thanks for telling me," I said.
"You take a good ribbing, Marlowe. You're okay. Randy and me talked things over and we decided that what happened to Terry Lennox was enough to screw up any guy's brains. For a long, time we figured he was dead but he wasn't. The krauts got him. They worked him over for about a year and a half. They did a goad job but they hurt him too much. It cost us money to find out, and it cost us money to find- him. But we made plenty in the black market after the war. We could afford it. All Terry gets out of saving our lives is half of a new face, white hair, and a bad case of nerves. Back east he hits the bottle, gets picked up here and there, kind of goes to pieces. There's something on his mind but we never know what. The next thing we know he's married to this rich dame and riding high. He unmarries her, hits bottom again, marries her again, and she gets dead. Randy and me can't do a thing for him. He won't let us except for that short job in Vegas. And when he gets in a real jam he don't come to us, he goes to a cheapie like you, a guy that cops can push around. So then he gets dead, and without telling us goodbye, and without giving us a chance to pay off. I could have got him out of the country- faster than a card sharp can stack a deck. But he goes crying to you. It makes me sore. A cheapie, a guy cops can push around."
"The cops can push anybody around. What do you want me to do about it?"
"Just lay off," Menendez said tightly.
"Lay off what?"
"Trying to make yourself dough or publicity out of the Lennox case. It's finished, wrapped up. Terry's dead and we don't want him bothered any more. The guy suffered too much."
"A hoodlum with sentiment," I said. "That slays me."
"Watch your lip, cheapie. Watch your lip. Mendy Menendez don't argue with guys. He tells them. Find yourself another way to grab a buck. Get me?"
He stood up. The interview was finished. He picked up his gloves. They were snow-white pigskin., They didn't look as 'if he ever had them on. A dressy type, Mr. Menendez. But very tough behind it all.
"I'm not looking for publicity," I said. "And nobody's offered me any dough. Why would they and for what?"
"Don't kid me, Marlowe. You didn't spend three days in the freezer just because you're a sweetheart. You got paid off. I ain't saying who by but I got a notion. And the party I'm thinking about has plenty more of the stuff. The Lennox case is dosed and it stays closed even if-" He stopped dead and flipped his gloves at the desk edge.
"Even if Terry didn't kill her," I said.
His surprise was as thin as the gold on a weekend wedding ring. "I'd like to go along with you on that, cheapie. But it don't make any sense. But if it did make sense-and Terry wanted it the way it is-then that's how it Stays."
I didn't say anything. After a moment he grinned slowly. "Tarzan on a big red scooter," he drawled. "A tough guy. Lets me come in here and walk all over him, A guy that gets hired for nickels and dimes and gets pushed around by anybody. No dough, no family, no prospects, no nothing. See you around, cheapie."
I sat still with my jaws damped, staring at the glitter of his gold cigarette case on the desk corner. I felt old and tired. I got up slowly and reached for the case.
"You forgot this," I said, going around the desk.
"I got half a dozen of them," he sneered.
When I was near enough to him I held it out. His hand reached for it casually. "How about half a dozen of these?" I asked him and hit him as hard as I could in the middle of his belly.
He doubled up mewling. The cigarette case fell to the floor. He backed against the wall and his hands jerked back and forth convulsively. His breath fought to get into his lungs. He was sweating. Very slowly and with an intense effort he straightened up and we were eye to eye again. I reached out and ran a finger along the bone of his jaw. He held still for it. Finally he worked a smile onto his brown face.
"I didn't think you had it in you," he said.
"Next time bring a gun-or don't call me cheapie."
"I got a guy to carry the gun."
"Bring him with you. You'll need him."