«Get us a drink, honeybunch,» the big man said. «Yes, I certainly did sell this Waldo person shorter than a bargaincounter shirt.»
The brunette unwound her legs and made two drinks with soda and ice. She took herself another gill without trimmings, wound herself back on the davenport. Her big glittering black eyes watched me solemnly.
«Well, here’s how,» the big man said, lifting his glass in salute. «I haven’t murdered anybody, but I’ve got a divorce suit on my hands from now on. You haven’t murdered anybody, the way you tell it, but you laid an egg down at police Headquarters. What the hell! Life’s a lot of trouble, anyway you look at it. I’ve still got honeybunch here. She’s a white Russian I met in Shanghai. She’s safe as a vault and she looks as if she could cut your throat for a nickel. That’s what I like about her. You get the glamor without the risk.»
«You talk damn foolish,» the girl spat him.
«You look O.K. to me,» the big man went on ignoring her. «That is, for a keyhole peeper. Is there an out?»
«Yeah. But it will cost a little money.»
«I expected that. How much?»
«Say another five hundred.»
«Goddam, thees hot wind make me dry like the ashes of love,» the Russian girl said bitterly.
«Five hundred might do,» the blond man said. «What do I get for it?»
«If I swing it — you get left out of the story. If I don’t — you don’t pay.»
He thought it over. His face looked lined and tired now. The small beads of sweat twinkled in his short blond hair.
«This murder will make you talk,» he grumbled. «The second one, I mean. And I don’t have what I was going to buy. And if it’s a hush, I’d rather buy it direct.»
«Who was the little brown man?» I asked.
«Name’s Leon Valesanos, a Uruguayan. Another of my importations. I’m in a business that takes me a lot of places. He was working in the Spezzia Club in Chiseltown — you know, the strip of Sunset next to Beverly Hills. Working on roulette, I think. I gave him the five hundred to go down to this — this Waldo — and buy back some bills for stuff Miss Kolchenko had charged to my account and delivered here. That wasn’t bright, was it? I had them in my briefcase and this Waldo got a chance to steal them. What’s your hunch about what happened?»
I sipped my drink and looked at him down my nose. «Your Uruguayan pal probably talked curt and Waldo didn’t listen good. Then the little guy thought maybe that Mauser might help his argument — and Waldo was too quick for him. I wouldn’t say Waldo was a killer — not by intention. A blackmailer seldom is. Maybe he lost his temper and maybe he just held on to the little guy’s neck too long. Then he had to take it on the lam. But he had another date, with more money coming up. And he worked the neighborhood looking for the party. And accidentally he ran into a pal who was hostile enough and drunk enough to blow him down.»
«There’s a hell of a lot of coincidence in all this business,» the big man said.
«It’s the hot wind,» I grinned. «Everybody’s screwy tonight.»
«For the five hundred you guarantee nothing? If I don’t get my cover-up, you don’t get your dough. Is that it?»
«That’s it,» I said, smiling at him.
«Screwy is right,» he said, and drained his highball. «I’m taking you up on it.»
«There are just two things,» I said softly, leaning forward in my chair. «Waldo had a getaway car parked outside the cocktail bar where he was killed, unlocked with the motor running. The killer took it. There’s always the chance of a kickback from that direction. You see, all Waldo’s stuff must have been in that car.»
«Including my bills, and your letters.»
«Yeah. But the police are reasonable about things like that — unless you’re good for a lot of publicity. If you’re not, I think I can eat some stale dog downtown and get by. If you are — that’s the second thing. What did you say your name was?»
The answer was a long time coming. When it came I didn’t get as much kick out of it as I thought I would. All at once it was too logical.
«Frank C. Barsaly,» he said.
After a while the Russian girl called me a taxi. When I left, the party across the street was doing all that a party could do. I noticed the walls of the house were still standing. That seemed a pity.
SIX
When I unlocked the glass entrance door of the Berglund I smelled policeman. I looked at my wrist watch. It was nearly 3 AM. In the dark corner of the lobby a man dozed in a chair with a newspaper over his face. Large feet stretched out before him. A corner of the paper lifted an inch, dropped again. The man made no other movement.
I went on along the hall to the elevator and rode up to my floor. I soft-footed along the hallway, unlocked my door, pushed it wide and reached in for the light switch.
A chain switch tinkled and light glared from a standing lamp by the easy chair, beyond the card table on which my chessmen were still scattered.
Copernik sat there with a stiff unpleasant grin on his face. The short dark man, Ybarra, sat across the room from him, on my left, silent, half smiling as usual.
Copernik showed more of his big yellow horse teeth and said: «Hi. Long time no see. Been out with the girls?»
I shut the door and took my hat off and wiped the back of my neck slowly, over and over again. Copernik went on grinning. Ybarra looked at nothing with his soft dark eyes.
«Take a seat, pal,» Copernik drawled. «Make yourself to home. We got pow-wow to make. Boy, do I hate this night sleuthing. Did you know you were low on hooch?»
«I could have guessed it,» I said. I leaned against the wall.
Copernik kept on grinning. «I always did hate private dicks,» he said, «but I never had a chance to twist one like I got tonight.»
He reached down lazily beside his chair and picked up a printed bolero jacket, tossed it on the card table. He reached down again and put a wide-brimmed hat beside it.
«I bet you look cuter than all hell with these on,» he said.
I took hold of a straight chair, twisted it around and straddled it, leaned my folded arms on the chair and looked at Copernik.
He got up very slowly — with an elaborate slowness, walked across the room and stood in front of me smoothing his coat down. Then he lifted his open right hand and hit me across the face with it — hard. It stung but I didn’t move.
Ybarra looked at the wall, looked at the floor, looked at nothing.
«Shame on you, pal,» Copernik said lazily. «The way you was taking care of this nice exclusive merchandise. Wadded down behind your old shirts. You punk peepers always did make me sick.»
He stood there over me for a moment. I didn’t move or speak. I looked into his glazed drinker’s eyes. He doubled a fist at his side, then shrugged and turned and went back to the chair.
«O.K.,» he said. «The rest will keep. Where did you get these things?»
«They belong to a lady.»
«Do tell. They belong to a lady. Ain’t you the lighthearted bastard! I’ll tell you what lady they belong to. They belong to the lady a guy named Waldo asked about in a bar across the street — about two minutes before he got shot kind of dead. Or would that have slipped your mind?»
I didn’t say anything.
«You was curious about her yourself,» Copernik sneered on. «But you were smart, pal. You fooled me.»
«That wouldn’t make me smart,» I said.
His face twisted suddenly and he started to get up. Ybarra laughed, suddenly and softly, almost under his breath. Copernik’s eyes swung on him, hung there. Then he faced me again, bland-eyed.
«The guinea likes you,» he said. «He thinks you’re good.»
The smile left Ybarra’s face, but no expression took its place. No expression at all.