Strip for Murder by Richard S. Prather Page B

got up and walked to the door. He opened it and said, “Get out, Foster.” He looked at me. I turned Foster around, gave him a shove, and let go of him. He staggered toward the door, but whirled before reaching it and started to move back toward me.
    â€œOut,” Norman said.
    Foster hesitated, glaring at me, then spun around and stalked from the room. Norman shut the door, then went back behind his desk. He pointed to a chair and I sat down in it. His phone rang.
    He picked it up, grunted, and listened, keeping his gaze on me. Then he hung up and sat quietly, staring at me, a big silent hunk of cold-rolled steel bars and springs, with eyes like the eyes of a dead fish. Except for those eyes, he wasn't bad-looking. The scars just made him look more like a guy who might wrestle with the devil. And maybe win.
    He blinked, as if he'd been miles away, and suddenly produced a big smile. “Well, Scott. What was it you wanted to see me about?”
    Norman was being charming, mine host, but he was not an actor. That smile had all the warmth and friendliness of Nome, Alaska.
    I smiled back and side-stepped his question a little. “I didn't realize you were the guy I saw at Mrs. Redstone's last night. With Andon Poupelle and Garlic, I mean.”
    He frowned slightly, but kept that skull grin in place. “Yeah, I saw you there. But I wasn't with Andon or—what was that other name?”
    â€œGarlic.”
    â€œSaid hello to Andon, but I was with some other people. Friends of mine. You working, Scott?”
    â€œUh-huh. You never heard of Garlic, I take it.”
    â€œNope. Who you working for?”
    â€œClient. Odd you never heard of Garlic. He was going to bash my head in last night, or maybe shoot me. I thought maybe you'd sent him at me. Didn't know you were Ed Norman last night.”
    He chuckled through clenched teeth. “You know now.”
    â€œSure. Speaking of Poupelle, didn't he slip you a stiff a while back? For fifty Gs or so?”
    â€œWell, now. How'd you find out about that, Scott?”
    â€œGot it off the wire somewhere around town. It's the McCoy, huh?”
    â€œThat's all settled now.”
    â€œHe paid off?”
    â€œIt's all settled.”
    I grinned. “That figures. I see Poupelle's still playing little games next door. Must mean he paid up, right?”
    â€œScott,” Norman said, unsmiling now, “you better dig a finger or two in your ears and get all the weeds out of them. Now you tell me something. You didn't come out here just to ask me about Poupelle, did you?”
    I didn't know what the hell to tell him was my reason for coming here. I'd expected somebody else, not the guy from last night's party, not someone apparently chummy with Poupelle. And I had the uncomfortable feeling that, despite my asking most of the questions, I'd told Norman more than he'd told me.
    But I had to give him something fast, so I said, “No, I've been trying to run down this Garlic creep. He had at me with a forty-five canister, besides which he exhaled at me. So naturally I'd like to chat with him.”
    â€œWhat made you think I could help you?”
    â€œI heard he'd been here a time or two. For a little crap-shooting.”
    â€œI told you I never heard of the man.”
    â€œTrue. I didn't know that until I came here, Norman.”
    â€œNow you know. So I guess we've got nothing more to talk about.”
    â€œRight.” I stood up.
    Norman said, “Hope you won't take this wrong, Scott, but I'd rather you didn't come out to the castle any more. Matter of fact, I'll have to insist that you don't.” He gave me that skull grin again.
    He went on to say something else but I wasn't paying attention to his words. There was an upholstered chair in the far corner of the room, beyond Norman's desk. It seemed like an odd place for a chair to be. I looked at its base. The office floor was covered with a beige carpet, and under the chair, but