untouched. That was certain. For the first time in his life he felt helpless. Not afraid—because he couldn’t find anything to be afraid of.
Meta started asking him questions. To keep him from asking himself questions probably. Was it exciting being a detective? Had he ever been shot at? Did he like New York? He found answers of a sort, gave them to her, all the while thinking, what the hell is this about? When are they going to give me the business? When and how and why?
A tug grunted by, pushing a couple of barges loaded with freight cars. Over Brooklyn a searchlight stabbed with its finger at a cloud, found what it was looking for and went out. Red stood up. He was tired of answering questions. He was tired of asking himself questions. What was going to happen would happen and that was that. When you came right down to it, it didn’t matter much. It really didn’t matter at all. Even if he was a worthy citizen full of good deeds and honors, it wouldn’t matter.
Seven
Lloyd Eels was a tall man who hadn’t come off the assembly line. Somebody had found some spare parts lying around and had put them together carelessly, not bothering to get the bolts tight so that they seemed almost ready to come apart. He had black, sad eyes and a black mustache like an untrimmed hedge. No amount of combing would help his shock of hair. Red ordinarily didn’t like attorneys. The ones he had known were either pompous and crooked or ratty and crooked. But he liked Eels.
The man was a bachelor and lived on Central Park South in an old apartment building that didn’t belong among the newer and bigger structures. There was no doorman. Red punched the bell, announced himself and heard the click in the street door lock. Across the hall from the superintendent’s apartment was a small, automatic elevator that took him up to the fourth floor. They were remodeling one of the apartments on the floor and the hall was a mess of ladders, rolls of paper and buckets.
Eels opened the door for him and led him into the living room that opened on a balcony. Eels, by the looks of things, had plenty of money. He also had a decided yen for Meta Carson, who was sitting on the balcony with a Martini in her hand. Red wondered if he ever did anything about the yen. If so he was due for a surprise one of these days when he found out the lady had peculiar connections.
At first Eels was quiet, almost rude. Apparently he figured Red was doing a bit of trespassing. But when he was told that Red came from California, that he was a distant relative of Meta’s who didn’t plan to stick around, Eels warmed up.
‘I couldn’t let Red leave town without meeting you.’ Meta’s voice dripped sweetness. ‘Lloyd’s my favorite boss,’ she added, batting her eyes at Red. Eels almost purred.
‘Meta seems to spend all her time thinking about you,’ Red said.’I’m beginning to understand her deep interest.’
Eels moved closer to Meta and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. ’You picked the wrong time to come to New York, Mr. Bailey. But at that, most any time is the wrong one. I never can understand why Californians come east.’
‘Then you know California?’
‘Very well. Particularly San Francisco.’ He smiled at Red. ‘There’s a little restaurant on Pine Street I like tremendously.’ ‘Pierre’s?’
‘That’s it.’
‘I live in Bridgeport, near Reno,’ Red said pointedly. ’Ever been to Reno?’
Meta shot a warning glance across at him.
‘Once. It impressed me as tawdry. Cheap.’
‘Wonderful country around it though,’ Red evaded Meta’s glance. ‘Some fine ranches. A friend of mine has a beautiful place. Fellow named Parker.’
Eels’ glance had only polite interest in it. Meta’s voice didn’t. ’He isn’t interested in your friends, Red.’
‘If he knew Parker, he’d be interested in him,’ Red insisted. ‘Quite a guy, Parker.’
Meta drained her glass and stood up. ‘Red has people to see. We must be
Meta started asking him questions. To keep him from asking himself questions probably. Was it exciting being a detective? Had he ever been shot at? Did he like New York? He found answers of a sort, gave them to her, all the while thinking, what the hell is this about? When are they going to give me the business? When and how and why?
A tug grunted by, pushing a couple of barges loaded with freight cars. Over Brooklyn a searchlight stabbed with its finger at a cloud, found what it was looking for and went out. Red stood up. He was tired of answering questions. He was tired of asking himself questions. What was going to happen would happen and that was that. When you came right down to it, it didn’t matter much. It really didn’t matter at all. Even if he was a worthy citizen full of good deeds and honors, it wouldn’t matter.
Seven
Lloyd Eels was a tall man who hadn’t come off the assembly line. Somebody had found some spare parts lying around and had put them together carelessly, not bothering to get the bolts tight so that they seemed almost ready to come apart. He had black, sad eyes and a black mustache like an untrimmed hedge. No amount of combing would help his shock of hair. Red ordinarily didn’t like attorneys. The ones he had known were either pompous and crooked or ratty and crooked. But he liked Eels.
The man was a bachelor and lived on Central Park South in an old apartment building that didn’t belong among the newer and bigger structures. There was no doorman. Red punched the bell, announced himself and heard the click in the street door lock. Across the hall from the superintendent’s apartment was a small, automatic elevator that took him up to the fourth floor. They were remodeling one of the apartments on the floor and the hall was a mess of ladders, rolls of paper and buckets.
Eels opened the door for him and led him into the living room that opened on a balcony. Eels, by the looks of things, had plenty of money. He also had a decided yen for Meta Carson, who was sitting on the balcony with a Martini in her hand. Red wondered if he ever did anything about the yen. If so he was due for a surprise one of these days when he found out the lady had peculiar connections.
At first Eels was quiet, almost rude. Apparently he figured Red was doing a bit of trespassing. But when he was told that Red came from California, that he was a distant relative of Meta’s who didn’t plan to stick around, Eels warmed up.
‘I couldn’t let Red leave town without meeting you.’ Meta’s voice dripped sweetness. ‘Lloyd’s my favorite boss,’ she added, batting her eyes at Red. Eels almost purred.
‘Meta seems to spend all her time thinking about you,’ Red said.’I’m beginning to understand her deep interest.’
Eels moved closer to Meta and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. ’You picked the wrong time to come to New York, Mr. Bailey. But at that, most any time is the wrong one. I never can understand why Californians come east.’
‘Then you know California?’
‘Very well. Particularly San Francisco.’ He smiled at Red. ‘There’s a little restaurant on Pine Street I like tremendously.’ ‘Pierre’s?’
‘That’s it.’
‘I live in Bridgeport, near Reno,’ Red said pointedly. ’Ever been to Reno?’
Meta shot a warning glance across at him.
‘Once. It impressed me as tawdry. Cheap.’
‘Wonderful country around it though,’ Red evaded Meta’s glance. ‘Some fine ranches. A friend of mine has a beautiful place. Fellow named Parker.’
Eels’ glance had only polite interest in it. Meta’s voice didn’t. ’He isn’t interested in your friends, Red.’
‘If he knew Parker, he’d be interested in him,’ Red insisted. ‘Quite a guy, Parker.’
Meta drained her glass and stood up. ‘Red has people to see. We must be
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