Farewell, My Lovely

She leaned forward and cupped her chin in her hand. She looked serious without looking silly-serious.

“We went to a party in Brentwood Heights. Then Lin suggested we run over to the Troc for a few drinks and a few dances. So we did. They were doing some work on Sunset and it was very dusty. So coming back Lin dropped down to Santa Monica. That took us past a shabby looking hotel called the Hotel Indio, which I happened to notice for some silly meaningless reason. Across the street from it was a beer joint and a car was parked in front of that.”

“Only one car — in front of a beer joint?”

“Yes. Only one. It was a very dingy place. Well, this car started up and followed us and of course I thought nothing of that either. There was no reason to. Then before we got to where Santa Monica turns into Arguello Boulevard, Lin said, ‘Let’s go over the other road’ and turned up some curving residential street. Then all of a sudden a car rushed by us and grazed the fender and then pulled over to stop. A man in an overcoat and scarf and hat low on his face came back to apologize. It was a white scarf bunched out and it drew my eyes. It was about all I really saw of him except that he was tall and thin. As soon as he got close — and I remembered afterwards that he didn’t walk in our headlights at all — “

“That’s natural. Nobody likes to look into headlights. Have a drink. My treat this time.”

She was leaning forward, her fine eyebrows — not daubs of paint — drawn together in a frown of thought. I made two drinks. She went on:

“As soon as he got close to the side where Lin was sitting he jerked the scarf up over his nose and a gun was shining at us. ‘Stick-up,’ he said. ‘Be very quiet and everything will be jake.’ Then another man came over on the other side.”

“In Beverly Hills,” I said, “the best policed four square miles in California.”

She shrugged. “It happened just the same. They asked for my jewelry and bag. The man with the scarf did. The one on my side never spoke at all. I passed the things across Lin and the man gave me back my bag and one ring. He said to hold off calling the police and insurance people for a while. They would make us a nice smooth easy deal. He said they found it easier to work on a straight percentage. He seemed to have all the time in the world. He said they could work through the insurance people, if they had to, but that meant cutting in a shyster, and they preferred not to. He sounded like a man with some education.”

“It might have been Dressed-Up Eddie,” I said. “Only he got bumped off in Chicago.”

She shrugged. We had a drink. She went on.

“Then they left and we went home and I told Lin to keep quiet about it. The next day I got a call. We have two phones, one with extensions and one in my bedroom with no extensions. The call was on this. It’s not listed, of course.”

I nodded. “They can buy the number for a few dollars. It’s done all the time. Some movie people have to change their numbers every month.”

We had a drink.

“I told the man calling to take it up with Lin and he would represent me and if they were not too unreasonable, we might deal. He said okey, and from then on I guess they just stalled long enough to watch us a little. Finally, as you know, we agreed on eight thousand dollars and so forth.”

“Could you recognize any of them?”

“Of course not”

“Randall know all this?”

“Of course. Do we have to talk about it any more? It bores me.” She gave me the lovely smile.

“Did he make any comment?”

She yawned. “Probably. I forget.”

I sat with my empty glass in my hand and thought. She took it away from me and started to fill it again.

I took the refilled glass out of her hand and transferred it to my left and took hold of her left hand with my right. It felt smooth and soft and warm and comforting. It squeezed mine. The muscles in it were strong. She was a well built woman, and no paper flower.

“I think he had an idea, she said. “But he didn’t say what it was.”

“Anybody would have an idea out of all that,” I said.

She turned her head slowly and looked at me. Then she nodded. “You can’t miss it, can you?”

“How long have you known him?”

“Oh, years. He used to be an a

“I knew that. But Marriott lived as if he had money. Not riches, but comfortable money.”

“He came into some and quit radio business.”

“Do you know for a fact he came into money — or was that just something he said?”

She shrugged. She squeezed my hand.

“Or it may not have been very much money and he may have gone through it pretty fast.” I squeezed her hand back. “Did he borrow from you?”

“You’re a little old-fashioned, aren’t you?” She looked down at the hand I was holding.

“I’m still working. And your Scotch is so good it keeps me half-sober. Not that I’d have to be drunk — “

“Yes.” She drew her hand out of mine and rubbed it. “You must have quite a clutch — in your spare time. Lin Marriott was a high-class blackmailer, of course. That’s obvious. He lived on women.”

“He had something on you?”

“Should I tell you?”

“It probably wouldn’t be wise.”

She laughed. “I will, anyhow. I got a little tight at his house once and passed out. I seldom do. He took some photos of me — with my clothes up to my neck.”

“The dirty dog,” I said. “Have you got any of them handy?”

She slapped my wrist. She said softly:

“What’s your name?”

“Phil. What’s yours?”

“Helen. Kiss me.”

She fell softly across my lap and I bent down over her face and began to browse on it. She worked her eyelashes and made butterfly kisses on my cheeks. When I got to her mouth it was half open and burning and her tongue was a darting snake between her teeth.

The door opened and Mr. Grayle stepped quietly into the room. I was holding her and didn’t have a chance to let go. I lifted my face and looked at him. I felt as cold as Fi

The blonde in my arms didn’t move, didn’t even close her lips. She had a half-dreamy, half-sarcastic expression on her face.

Mr. Grayle cleared his throat slightly and said: “I beg your pardon, I’m sure,” and went quietly out of the room. There was an infinite sadness in his eyes.

I pushed her away and stood up and got my handkerchief out and mopped my face.

She lay as I had left her, half sideways along the davenport, the skin showing in a generous sweep above one stocking.

“Who was that?” she asked thickly.

“Mr. Grayle.”

“Forget him.”

I went away from her and sat down in the chair I had sat in when I first came into the room.

After a moment she straightened herself out and sat up and looked at me steadily.

“It’s all right. He understands. What the hell can he expect?”

“I guess he knows.”

“Well, I tell you it’s all right. Isn’t that enough? He’s a sick man. What the hell — “

“Don’t go shrill on me. I don’t like shrill women.”

She opened a bag lying beside her and took out a small handkerchief and wiped her lips, then looked at her face in a mirror. “I guess you’re right,” she said. “Just too much Scotch. Tonight at the Belvedere Club. Ten o’clock.” She wasn’t looking at me. Her breath was fast.

“Is that a good place?”

“Laird Brunette owns it I know him pretty well.”

“Right,” I said. I was still cold. I felt nasty, as if I had picked a poor man’s pocket.

She got a lipstick out and touched her lips very lightly and then looked at me along her eyes. She tossed the mirror. I caught it and looked at my face. I worked at it with my handkerchief and stood up to give her back the mirror.

She was leaning back, showing all her throat, looking at me lazily down her eyes.

“What’s the matter?”