“You’re both wrong, John,” I said patiently. “This was just a little mistake. Tell you what I’ll do though. I’ll see that you get a raise of fifteen bucks a month starting next month. That ought to make it right.”
“No, sir. All I want is a check dated last month made out to me for twelve bucks. Over on the corner it’s got to say for overtime. That’s all I want.”
I looked down at him. He made me angry. It was such a small problem, and still he wouldn’t let me solve it. I walked away from him, which was a mistake, and phoned Tanner from Florence’s office. I caught Sam at the brewery I sketched in the details, telling why Mike didn’t want to risk making out a new check. Then I waited for instructions.
He sighed heavily and said, “What’s wrong with you, Walker? Is this little guy scaring you? Go see him where he lives tonight. See him and this wife of his and go up to a thousand to buy them off. If that won’t work, scare ’em off. Impress ’em with what might happen, and then we can forget the whole thing. They got no proof.”
I found the Santosa apartment on the second floor of a brown frame two-family house on lower Stanley Street. It was six o’clock, and kids were playing all over the street. The hall door was open, so I went on up and knocked.
Santosa opened the door. He had changed to a soft yellow sport shirt and gray slacks. He recognized me and said, “You got my check?”
I said that I hadn’t it on me and tried to walk in. He tried to shut the door in my face. I banged my shoulder into it enough to open it up and drive him back.
“I’m going to call a cop,” he said, his dark eyes hot.
“Go ahead. Call all the cops. Call the chief. Tell them that you want them to come and throw Sam Tanner’s man out of your house. Then stand back from the phone and give them room to laugh. I just want to talk to you and your wife.”
He stepped back, and I walked on in. The apartment was dark and airless. I sat on the couch in the front room, and his wife came in from the back of the house. They sat on chairs opposite me. Bobby Santosa was a medium-sized gal with soft brown hair and not a trace of make-up. She had that wonderful pink and white complexion the English seem to specialize in. The lines of her jaw, brows, cheekbones, were prominent — almost too firm. Her wide, steady, gray eyes were her best point. Never let a person with eyes like that catch you dealing from the bottom of the deck.
There was no introduction. So I said, “Now look, you two. You’re heading into trouble. You happened to find out something that doesn’t concern you. You can’t parlay that into a fortune, or even a headline. If you want to keep this apartment and your job, just take this twelve bucks and give me a receipt. That’s all.”
John looked at her. She looked at me. Without taking her eyes off me, she said, “Johnny, go out to the kitchen like a dear.” He looked surprised, but he got up and walked out. She stared at me silently. It made me oddly uncomfortable.
When she spoke, her accent was a peculiar mixture of clipped British and Stanley Street American. “I’m delighted that you’ve come to see us. It shows that you and your chums are worried. And well you should be. In London I worked for a solicitor. When Johnny told me about the check he didn’t get, I went to the Towner National Bank where the city funds are kept. There’s a very sweet and important young man there. I won’t tell you his name. Over coffee I had a long talk with him. He agreed to take a chance. He let me have the overtime check with the forged endorsement long enough to have photostats made. I rented a safe-deposit box and put the photostats in there. You don’t know what name the box is under. You don’t know where the key is. Jolly interesting, isn’t it?”
I took my time answering her. She sat across from me, unsmiling, her wide gray eyes gentle but determined. It didn’t take much imagination to figure out what would happen if the state comptroller’s office got hold of those photostats.
The move was obvious. I said, “Five hundred bucks will buy you some pretty new clothes.”
She shrugged delicately. “Quite. I really enjoy spending money. But don’t you find that selling your self-respect is a bit difficult? I’d much rather see how one of your taxpayer’s suits against local government works, you know. Educational.”
“How about a thousand?”
She smiled a little. “If I wished to sell, you’d have been told the price. Just tell your people that we can’t be purchased.”
“A couple of idealists, hey?”
“If you want to call it that.” She stood up — my signal to leave.
I used my last weapon at the door. I said, “It might not be healthy, you know.” The door closed quietly and firmly. The Tanner machine in Harthaven was endangered by an odd girl with gray eyes — and a brain behind those eyes. I had to find Tanner quickly.
He was at Watson’s club. The steward showed me into the waiting room, a dim place with leather chairs, potted plants and recent magazines.
Tanner looked surprised when he walked in. “What’s wrong now, Walker? What a hell of a day!”
I gave him the whole thing, word for word, without advice or interpretations. He paced back and forth in front of me, his big white hands locked behind him. He stopped in front of me and leveled a finger. “Okay. Forget it. Skip it. I’ll see that it’s handled. Go and catch up on the other stuff I gave you.” He walked out, and I left.
Rumors get around. When I hit the office the next morning, Bess came over and draped herself on the corner of my desk, her eyes round and inquisitive. “Come on, Towney,” she begged, “let Bess in on the dirt. What went wrong yesterday — beside Farrell getting it?”
I didn’t tell her a thing, but she kept trying until Tanner came in. He looked older, and there seemed to be new lines on his face. He called me into his office and shut the door.
“Walker, last night I made a mistake, and I’m frightened. I gave a job to the wrong man, to an excitable man. I should have given it to you.”
“What happened?”
“John Santosa is in the hospital, and that wife of his is going to be tough to deal with. Go see her. Here. Take this, envelope. It’s got fifteen thousand in cash in it. Go see her and see what you can do.” Bess glanced up at me as I walked through the outer office. She wore a smirk. Bobby Santosa wasn’t home. I went to the hospital. I checked in the office and found that Santosa was in Ward E. His wife wasn’t up there. A cute little black-haired nurse bustled over to me.
I pointed to the curtains around Santosa’s bed and said, “How is he?”
She shook her head. “Not so good. Concussion with possible fracture. Eight teeth missing. Sight of one eye damaged. Broken ribs. Possible internal injuries. Somebody nearly clubbed him to death.”
I turned and walked blindly out of the hospital. I felt sick. There was an acid taste in the back of my throat. The money felt bulky in my inside jacket pocket.
I didn’t find Mrs. Santosa until the middle of the afternoon. I hadn’t felt like having lunch. A car stopped in front of their apartment. She got out with two men and went into the apartment. I waited for a few minutes and then crossed the street and went up the stairs. When she came to the door, I took her wrist and gently drew her out into the hall. Then I closed the door behind her.
Her eyes were puffy from weeping. She stared at me coldy. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Mrs. Santosa,” I said. “I didn’t have anything to do with this. We know how you feel. I’ve got fifteen thousand dollars here for you if you call off whatever you plan to do.”