alone. Left alone to reclaim my car and drive back to the hotel.
By the time I got there my glow had faded. I bought a pint at the drugstore and took it up to my room; not in any hopes that it would restore the glow, but merely to keep me company.
I needed company right now, needed it badly, because I’d goofed.
Sitting there on the bed, I opened the bottle and took a drink on that. Then I reviewed my record so far.
Goofed with Trent this afternoon. Goofed with Polly Foster tonight. Two foul-ups in one day. Quite a record for a novice. I hadn’t learned one solitary new fact. All I’d succeeded in doing was to make enemies out of the best possible leads in the case. Maybe Miss Foster had something there: I was just a one-eyed bastard who didn’t know his way around.
I took another drink. Might as well get blind. In the kingdom of the blind, the one-eyed man is king...
How long had I been sitting here? An hour, two hours? It didn’t matter. The bottle was half empty and I was more than half full. Might as well kill it. Everything else was dead. Dead as Dick Ryan. Dead as the case.
Tomorrow morning I’d have to call Bannock and tell him the deal was off. No soap. No soap to wash out the mouth that wouldn’t talk. No soap, no leads, no clues, no case—and no eleven grand for me, either.
Pity. It was all a pity. I could cry over it. Cry with one eye. But that’s the way it was. No sense in trying to fool Bannock. I’d goofed, and I didn’t have any idea what else to do.
If I saw Joe Dean or Estrellita Juarez or Abe Kolmar, I’d wind up with a blank again. Nobody was talking. The reefer angle had them all scared. So they laid off.
Or was it something else?
I sat up.
Laid off.
Had they got what I’d been getting? Had somebody gone to them directly and told them to lay off?
I’d forgotten about my phone call, the visitor to my apartment.
Sure, I could tell Bannock I was through with the case. But who’d tell the other?
I stared at the phone, sweating, wondering whether or not it would start to ring, if I’d pick it up and hear that flat voice once again.
Then I grunted, remembering that I wasn’t home any more. I was in the hotel, I was safe. He didn’t know, couldn’t call.
That called for more than a grunt. It called for a grin. In fact, it called for another drink.
I was just reaching for the bottle again when the phone rang.
No drink now. No grin. I was sweating again, and my hand wavered as it went to the phone.
But I picked it up because I had to pick it up, said “Hello” because I had to say “Hello,” and listened because I had to listen.
“I changed my mind. You can have that autograph.”
“Miss Foster!”
“Polly, to you. I came home and had a couple drinks here all by my lonesome. Now I’m Polly.” Her voice was slurred, low. “Been thinking about you, you know that? Want to ’pologize again.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“Want to. In person. ’Bout that autograph—how’s for you coming out and picking it up?”
“Well—”
She laughed. “I know. Old one-track mind. Wants his information. All right. Told you I been thinking, didn’t I? Thinking, drinking. Lonesome. Come on out.”
“You say you’re alone?”
“Just little old me. Don’t be scared. Won’t bite you. Not hard, anyway.” She laughed again. “You’re too smart. You guessed, didn’t you? When you said maybe I went back. Well, you’re right. I did go back. Saw somebody, too. You come out, maybe I’ll tell you all about it. If you’re nice.”
“I’ll come out,” I said. “Leaving this minute.”
“Good. Hurry up. I’ll be waiting.”
I went out.
She hadn’t lied. She’d autographed the menu. And she was waiting, waiting for me with her lips kissing the signature. From the way she sat there with her head resting on the table, you’d think Polly Foster had hung up the receiver and passed right out. There was only one little detail which made me think
By the time I got there my glow had faded. I bought a pint at the drugstore and took it up to my room; not in any hopes that it would restore the glow, but merely to keep me company.
I needed company right now, needed it badly, because I’d goofed.
Sitting there on the bed, I opened the bottle and took a drink on that. Then I reviewed my record so far.
Goofed with Trent this afternoon. Goofed with Polly Foster tonight. Two foul-ups in one day. Quite a record for a novice. I hadn’t learned one solitary new fact. All I’d succeeded in doing was to make enemies out of the best possible leads in the case. Maybe Miss Foster had something there: I was just a one-eyed bastard who didn’t know his way around.
I took another drink. Might as well get blind. In the kingdom of the blind, the one-eyed man is king...
How long had I been sitting here? An hour, two hours? It didn’t matter. The bottle was half empty and I was more than half full. Might as well kill it. Everything else was dead. Dead as Dick Ryan. Dead as the case.
Tomorrow morning I’d have to call Bannock and tell him the deal was off. No soap. No soap to wash out the mouth that wouldn’t talk. No soap, no leads, no clues, no case—and no eleven grand for me, either.
Pity. It was all a pity. I could cry over it. Cry with one eye. But that’s the way it was. No sense in trying to fool Bannock. I’d goofed, and I didn’t have any idea what else to do.
If I saw Joe Dean or Estrellita Juarez or Abe Kolmar, I’d wind up with a blank again. Nobody was talking. The reefer angle had them all scared. So they laid off.
Or was it something else?
I sat up.
Laid off.
Had they got what I’d been getting? Had somebody gone to them directly and told them to lay off?
I’d forgotten about my phone call, the visitor to my apartment.
Sure, I could tell Bannock I was through with the case. But who’d tell the other?
I stared at the phone, sweating, wondering whether or not it would start to ring, if I’d pick it up and hear that flat voice once again.
Then I grunted, remembering that I wasn’t home any more. I was in the hotel, I was safe. He didn’t know, couldn’t call.
That called for more than a grunt. It called for a grin. In fact, it called for another drink.
I was just reaching for the bottle again when the phone rang.
No drink now. No grin. I was sweating again, and my hand wavered as it went to the phone.
But I picked it up because I had to pick it up, said “Hello” because I had to say “Hello,” and listened because I had to listen.
“I changed my mind. You can have that autograph.”
“Miss Foster!”
“Polly, to you. I came home and had a couple drinks here all by my lonesome. Now I’m Polly.” Her voice was slurred, low. “Been thinking about you, you know that? Want to ’pologize again.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“Want to. In person. ’Bout that autograph—how’s for you coming out and picking it up?”
“Well—”
She laughed. “I know. Old one-track mind. Wants his information. All right. Told you I been thinking, didn’t I? Thinking, drinking. Lonesome. Come on out.”
“You say you’re alone?”
“Just little old me. Don’t be scared. Won’t bite you. Not hard, anyway.” She laughed again. “You’re too smart. You guessed, didn’t you? When you said maybe I went back. Well, you’re right. I did go back. Saw somebody, too. You come out, maybe I’ll tell you all about it. If you’re nice.”
“I’ll come out,” I said. “Leaving this minute.”
“Good. Hurry up. I’ll be waiting.”
I went out.
She hadn’t lied. She’d autographed the menu. And she was waiting, waiting for me with her lips kissing the signature. From the way she sat there with her head resting on the table, you’d think Polly Foster had hung up the receiver and passed right out. There was only one little detail which made me think
Similar Books
