"I didn't ask were you, I asked did he think you were."
"Same answer."
"Okay, try this. What did the Mex have on him?"
"Nothing that I know of."
"The Mex has too much money. Over fifteen hundred in the bank, all kinds of dothes, a brand new Chevvy."
"Maybe he peddles dope," I said.
Ohls pushed himself up out of the chair and scowled down at me.
"You're an awful lucky boy, Marlowe. Twice you've slid out from under a heavy one. You could get overconfident. You were pretty helpful to those people and you didn't make a dime. You were pretty helpful to a guy named Lennox too, the way I hear it. And you didn't make a dime out of that one either. What do you do for eating money, pal? You gut a lot saved so you don't have to work anymore?"
I stood up and walked around the desk and faced him. a romantic, Bernie. I hear voices crying in the night and I go see what's the matter. You don't make a dime that way. You got sense, you shut your windows and turn up more sound on the TV set. Or you shove down on the gas and get far away from there. Stay out of other people's troubles. All it can get you is the smear. The last time I saw Terry Lennox we had a cup of coffee together that I made myself in my house, and we smoked a cigarette. So when I heard be was dead I went out to the kitchen and made some coffee and poured a cup for him and lit a cigarette for him and when the coffee was cold and the cigarette was burned down I said goodnight to him. You don't make a dime that way. You wouldn't do it. That's why you're a good cop and I'm private eye. Eileen Wade is worried about her husband, so I go out and find him and bring him home. Another time he's in trouble and calls me up and I go out and carry him in off the lawn and put him to bed and I don't make a dime out of it. No percentage at all. No nothing, except sometimes I get my face pushed in or get tossed in the can or get threa-tened by some fast money boy like Mendy Menendez. But no money, not a dime. I've got a five-thousand-dollar bill in my safe but I'll never spend a nickel of it. Because there was something wrong with the way I got it. I played with it a little at first and I still get it out once in a while and look at it. But that's all-not a dime of spending money."
"Must be a phony," Ohls said dryly, "except they don't make them that big. So what's your point with all this yap?"
"No point. I told you I was a romantic."
"I heard you. And you don't make a dime at it. I heard that too."
"But I can always tell a cop to go to hell. Go to hell, Bernie."
"You wouldn't tell me to go to hell if I had you in the back room under the light, chum."
"Maybe we'll find out about that some day."
He walked to the door and yanked it open. "You know something, kid? You think you're cute but you're just stupid. You're a shadow on the wall. I've got twenty years on the cops without a mark against me. I know when I'm being kidded and I know when a guy is holding out on me. The wise guy never fools anybody but himself. Take it from me, chum. I know."
He pulled his head back out of the doorway and let the door close. His heels hammered down the corridor. I could still hear them when the phone on my desk started to sound. The voice said in that dear professional tone:
"New York is calling Mr. Philip Marlowe."
"I'm Philip Marlowe."
"Thank you. One moment, please, Mr. Marlowe. Here is your party."
The next voice I knew. "Howard Spencer, Mr. Marlowe. We've heard about Roger Wade. It was a pretty hard blow. We haven't the full details, but your name seems to be involved."
"I was there when it happened. He just got drunk and shot himself. Mrs. Wade came home a little later. The servants were away-Thursday's the day off."
"You were alone with him?"
"I wasn't with him. I was outside the house, just hanging around waiting for his wife to come home."
"I see. Well, I suppose there will be an inquest."
"It's all over, Mr. Spencer. Suicide. And remarkably little publicity."
"Really? That's curious." He didn't exactly sound disappointed-more like puzzled and surprised. "He was so well known. I should have thought-well, never mind what I thought. I guess I'd better fly out there, but I can't make it before the end of next week. I'll send a wire to Mrs. Wade. There may be something I could do for her-and also about the book. I mean there may be enough of it so that we could get someone to finish it. I assume you did take the job after all."
"No. Although he asked me to himself. I told him right out I- couldn't stop him from drinking."
"Apparently you didn't even try."
"Look, Mr. Spencer, you don't know the first damn thing about this situation. Why not wait until you do before jumping to conclusions? Not that I don't blame myself a little. I guess that's inevitable when something like this happens, and you're the guy on the spot."
"Of course," he said. "I'm sorry I made that remark. Most uncalled for. Will Eileen Wade be at her home now-or wouldn't you know?"
"I wouldn't know, Mr. Spencer. Why don't you just call her up?"
"I hardly think she would want to speak to anyone yet," he said slowly.
"Why not? She talked to the Coroner and never batted an eye."
He deared his throat. "You don't sound exactly sympathetic."
"Roger Wade is dead, Spencer. He was a bit of a bastard and maybe a bit of a genius too. That's over my head. He was an egotistical drunk and he hated his own guts. He made me a lot of trouble and in the end a lot of grief. Why the- hell should I be sympathetic?"
"I was talking about Mrs. Wade," he said shortly.
"So was I."
"I'll call you when I get in," he said abruptly. "Goodbye."
He hung up. I hung up. I stared at the telephone for a couple-of minutes without moving. Then I got the phone book up on the desk and looked for a number.
40
I called SEWELL ENmcorr's office. Somebody said he was in court and would not be available until late in the afternoon. Would I care to leave my name? No.
I dialed the number of Mendy Menendez's joint on the Strip. It was called El Tapado this year, not a bad name either. In American Spanish that means buried treasure among other things. It had been called other names in the past, quite a few other names. One year it was just a blue neon number on a blank high wall facing south on the Strip, with its back against the hill and a driveway curving around one side Out of sight of the street. Very exclusive. Nobody knew much about it except vice cops and mobstem and people who could afford thirty bucks for a good dinner and any amount up to fifty grand in the big quiet room upstairs. I got a woman who didn't know from nothing. Then I got a captain with a Mex accent.
"You wish to speak with Mr. Menendez? Who is calling?"
"No names, amigo. Private matter."
"Un momCnto, por favor."
There was a longish wait. I got a hard boy this time. He sounded as if he was talking through the slit in an armored car. It was probably just the slit in his face.
"Talk it up. Who wants him?"
"The name's Marlowe."
"Who's Marlowe?"
"This Chick Agostino?"
"No, this ain't Chick. Come on, let's have the password."
"Go fry your face."
There was a chuckle. "Hold the line."
Finally another voice said: "Hello, cheapie. What's the time by you?"
"You alone?"
"You can talk, cheapie. I been looking over some acts for the floor show."
"You could cut your throat for one."
"What would I do for an encore?"
I laughed. He laughed. "Been keeping your nose dean?" he asked.
"Haven't you heard? I got to be friends with another guy who suidded. They're going to call me the 'Kiss-of-Death Kid' from now on."
"That's funny, huh?"
"No, it isn't funny. Also the other afternoon I had tea with Harlan Potter."
"Nice going. I never drink the stuff myself."
"He said for you to be nice to me."
"I never met the guy and I don't figure to."
"He casts a long shadow. All I want is a little information, Mendy. Like about Paul Marston."