night, poker pan?”
“Sure. I was right here. Agnes was with me. Okey, Agnes?”
“I’m beginning to feel sorry for you again,” I said.
His eyes flicked wide and his mouth hung loose, the cigarette balanced on his lower lip.
“You think you’re smart and you’re so goddamned dumb,” I told him. “Even if you don’t dance off up in Quentin, you have such a bleak long lonely time ahead of you.”
His cigarette jerked and dropped ash on his vest.
“Thinking about how smart you are,” I said.
“Take the air,” he growled suddenly. “Dust. I got enough chinning with you. Beat it.”
“Okey.” I stood up and went over to the tall oak desk and took his two guns out of my pockets, laid them side by side on the blotter so that the barrels were exactly parallel. I reached my hat off the floor beside the davenport and started for the door.
Brody yelped: “Hey!”
I turned and waited. His cigarette was jiggling like a doll on a coiled spring. “Everything’s smooth, ain’t it?” he asked.
“Why, sure. This is a free country. You don’t have to stay out of jail, if you don’t want to. That is, if you’re a citizen. Are you a citizen?”
He just stared at me, jiggling the cigarette. The blonde Agnes turned her head slowly and stared at me along the same level. Their glances contained almost the exact same blend of foxiness, doubt and frustrated anger. Agnes reached her silvery nails up abruptly and yanked a hair out of her head and broke it between her fingers, with a bitter jerk.
Brody said tightly: “You’re not going to any cops, brother. Not if it’s the Sternwoods you’re working for. I’ve got too much stuff on that family. You got your pictures and you got your hush. Go and peddle your papers.”
“Make your mind up,” I said. “You told me to dust, I was on my way out, you hollered at me and I stopped, and now I’m on my way out again. Is that what you want?”
“You ain’t got anything on me,” Brody said.
“Just a couple of murders. Small change in your circle.”
He didn’t jump more than an inch, but it looked like a foot. The white cornea showed all around the tobacco-colored iris of his eyes. The brown skin of his face took on a greenish tinge in the lamplight.
Blonde Agnes let out a low animal wail and buried her head in a cushion on the end of the davenport. I stood there and admired the long line of her thighs.
Brody moistened his lips slowly and said: “Sit down, pal. Maybe I have a little more for you. What’s that crack about two murders mean?”
I leaned against the door. “Where were you last night about seven-thirty, Joe?”
His mouth drooped sulkily and he stared down at the floor. “I was watching a guy, a guy who had a nice racket I figured he needed a partner in. Geiger. I was watching him now and then to see had he any tough connections. I figure he has friends or he don’t work the racket as open as he does. But they don’t go to his house. Only dames.”
“You didn’t watch hard enough,” I said. “Go on.”
“I’m there last night on the street below Geiger’s house. It’s raining hard and I’m buttoned up in my coupe and I don’t see anything. There’s a car in front of Geiger’s and another car a little way up the hill. That’s why I stay down below. There’s a big Buick parked down where I am and after a while I go over and take a gander into it. It’s registered to Vivian Regan. Nothing happens, so I scram. That’s all.” He waved his cigarette. His eyes crawled up and down my face.
“Could be,” I said. “Know where that Buick is now?”
“Why would I?”
“In the Sheriff’s garage. It was lifted out of twelve feet of water off Lido fish pier this a.m. There was a dead man in it. He had been sapped and the car pointed out the pier and the hand throttle pulled down.”
Brody was breathing hard. One of his feet tapped restlessly. “Jesus, guy, you can’t pin that one on me,” he said thickly.
“Why not?
“Sure. I was right here. Agnes was with me. Okey, Agnes?”
“I’m beginning to feel sorry for you again,” I said.
His eyes flicked wide and his mouth hung loose, the cigarette balanced on his lower lip.
“You think you’re smart and you’re so goddamned dumb,” I told him. “Even if you don’t dance off up in Quentin, you have such a bleak long lonely time ahead of you.”
His cigarette jerked and dropped ash on his vest.
“Thinking about how smart you are,” I said.
“Take the air,” he growled suddenly. “Dust. I got enough chinning with you. Beat it.”
“Okey.” I stood up and went over to the tall oak desk and took his two guns out of my pockets, laid them side by side on the blotter so that the barrels were exactly parallel. I reached my hat off the floor beside the davenport and started for the door.
Brody yelped: “Hey!”
I turned and waited. His cigarette was jiggling like a doll on a coiled spring. “Everything’s smooth, ain’t it?” he asked.
“Why, sure. This is a free country. You don’t have to stay out of jail, if you don’t want to. That is, if you’re a citizen. Are you a citizen?”
He just stared at me, jiggling the cigarette. The blonde Agnes turned her head slowly and stared at me along the same level. Their glances contained almost the exact same blend of foxiness, doubt and frustrated anger. Agnes reached her silvery nails up abruptly and yanked a hair out of her head and broke it between her fingers, with a bitter jerk.
Brody said tightly: “You’re not going to any cops, brother. Not if it’s the Sternwoods you’re working for. I’ve got too much stuff on that family. You got your pictures and you got your hush. Go and peddle your papers.”
“Make your mind up,” I said. “You told me to dust, I was on my way out, you hollered at me and I stopped, and now I’m on my way out again. Is that what you want?”
“You ain’t got anything on me,” Brody said.
“Just a couple of murders. Small change in your circle.”
He didn’t jump more than an inch, but it looked like a foot. The white cornea showed all around the tobacco-colored iris of his eyes. The brown skin of his face took on a greenish tinge in the lamplight.
Blonde Agnes let out a low animal wail and buried her head in a cushion on the end of the davenport. I stood there and admired the long line of her thighs.
Brody moistened his lips slowly and said: “Sit down, pal. Maybe I have a little more for you. What’s that crack about two murders mean?”
I leaned against the door. “Where were you last night about seven-thirty, Joe?”
His mouth drooped sulkily and he stared down at the floor. “I was watching a guy, a guy who had a nice racket I figured he needed a partner in. Geiger. I was watching him now and then to see had he any tough connections. I figure he has friends or he don’t work the racket as open as he does. But they don’t go to his house. Only dames.”
“You didn’t watch hard enough,” I said. “Go on.”
“I’m there last night on the street below Geiger’s house. It’s raining hard and I’m buttoned up in my coupe and I don’t see anything. There’s a car in front of Geiger’s and another car a little way up the hill. That’s why I stay down below. There’s a big Buick parked down where I am and after a while I go over and take a gander into it. It’s registered to Vivian Regan. Nothing happens, so I scram. That’s all.” He waved his cigarette. His eyes crawled up and down my face.
“Could be,” I said. “Know where that Buick is now?”
“Why would I?”
“In the Sheriff’s garage. It was lifted out of twelve feet of water off Lido fish pier this a.m. There was a dead man in it. He had been sapped and the car pointed out the pier and the hand throttle pulled down.”
Brody was breathing hard. One of his feet tapped restlessly. “Jesus, guy, you can’t pin that one on me,” he said thickly.
“Why not?
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