raymondchandler.thehighwindow-第15节

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　 I　said；　〃That's　my　story。〃
　 〃But　you　don't　have　to　get　stuck　with　it；〃　Breeze　said　calmly。　〃You　can　always　give　us　a　better　one。〃
　 〃It's　good　enough；〃　I　said。　〃I　mean　it's　good　enough　in　the　sense　that　it's　bad　enough　to　be　true。〃
　 He　nodded　his　big　slow　head。
　 〃What's　your　idea　of　all　this？〃　he　asked。
　 〃Have　you　investigated　Phillips'　office　address？〃
　 He　shook　his　head；　no。
　 〃My　idea　is　you　will　find　out　he　was　hired　because　he　was　simple。　He　was　hired　to　take　this　apartment　here　under　a　wrong　name；　and　to　do　something　that　turned　out　to　be　not　what　he　liked。　He　was　scared。　He　wanted　a　friend；　he　wanted　help。　The　fact　that　he　picked　me　after　so　long　a　time　and　such　little　knowledge　of　me　showed　he　didn't　know　many　people　in　the　detective　business。〃
　 Breeze　got　his　handkerchief　out　and　mopped　his　head　and　face　again。　〃But　it　don't　begin　to　show　why　he　had　to　follow　you　around　like　a　lost　pup　instead　of　walking　right　up　to　your　office　door　and　in。〃
　 〃No；〃　I　said；　〃it　doesn't。〃
　 〃Can　you　explain　that？〃
　 〃No。　Not　really。〃
　 〃Well；　how　would　you　try　to　explain　it？〃
　 〃I've　already　explained　it　in　the　only　way　I　know　how。　He　was　undecided　whether　to　speak　to　me　or　not。　He　was　waiting　for　something　to　decide　him。　I　decided　by　speaking　to　him。〃
　 Breeze　said：　〃That　is　a　very　simple　explanation。　It　is　so　simple　it　stinks。〃
　 〃You　may　be　right；〃　I　said。
　 〃And　as　the　result　of　this　little　hotel　lobby　conversation　this　guy；　a　total　stranger　to　you；　asks　you　to　his　apartment　and　hands　you　his　key。　Because　he　wants　to　talk　to　you。〃
　 I　said；　〃Yes。〃
　 〃Why　couldn't　he　talk　to　you　then？〃
　 〃I　had　an　appointment；〃　I　said。
　 〃Business？〃
　 I　nodded。
　 〃I　see。　What　you　working　on？〃
　 I　shook　my　head　and　didn't　answer。
　 〃This　is　murder；〃　Breeze　said。　〃You're　going　to　have　to　tell　me。〃
　 I　shook　my　head　again。　He　flushed　a　little。
　 〃Look；〃　he　said　tightly；　〃you　got　to。〃
　 〃I'm　sorry；　Breeze；〃　I　said。　〃But　so　far　as　things　have　gone；　I'm　not　convinced　of　that。〃
　 〃Of　course　you　know　I　can　throw　you　in　the　can　as　a　material　witness；〃　he　said　casually。
　 〃On　what　grounds？〃
　 〃On　the　grounds　that　you　are　the　one　who　found　the　body；　that　you　gave　a　false　name　to　the　manager　here；　and　that　you　don't　give　a　satisfactory　acccount　of　your　relations　with　the　dead　guy。〃
　 I　said：　〃Are　you　going　to　do　it？〃
　 He　smiled　bleakly。　〃You　got　a　lawyer？〃
　 〃I　know　several　lawyers。　I　don't　have　a　lawyer　on　a　retainer　basis。〃
　 〃How　many　of　the　missioners　do　you　know　personally？〃
　 〃None。　That　is；　I've　spoken　to　three　of　them；　but　they　might　not　remember　me。〃
　 〃But　you　have　good　contacts；　in　the　mayor's　office　and　so　on？〃
　 〃Tell　me　about　them；〃　I　said。　〃I'd　like　to　know。〃
　 〃Look；　buddy；〃　he　said　earnestly；　〃you　must　got　some　friends　somewhere。　Surely。〃
　 〃I've　got　a　good　friend　in　the　Sheriff's　office；　but　I'd　rather　leave　him　out　of　it。〃
　 He　lifted　his　eyebrows。　〃Why？　Maybe　you're　going　to　need　friends。　A　good　word　from　a　cop　we　know　to　be　right　might　go　a　long　way。〃
　 〃He's　just　a　personal　friend；〃　I　said。　〃I　don't　ride　around　on　his　back。　If　I　get　in　trouble；　it　won't　do　him　any　good。〃
　 〃How　about　the　homicide　bureau？〃
　 〃There's　Randall；〃　I　said。　〃If　he's　still　working　out　of　Central　Homicide。　I　had　a　little　time　with　him　on　a　case　once。　But　he　doesn't　like　me　too　well。〃
　 Breeze　sighed　and　moved　his　feet　on　the　floor；　rustling　the　newspapers　he　had　pushed　down　out　of　the　chair。
　 〃Is　all　this　on　the　levelor　are　you　just　being　smart？　I　mean　about　all　the　important　guys　you　don't　know？〃
　 〃It's　on　the　level；〃　I　said。　〃But　the　way　I　am　using　it　is　smart。〃
　 〃It　ain't　smart　to　say　so　right　out。〃
　 〃I　think　it　is。〃
　 He　put　a　big　freckled　hand　over　the　whole　lower　part　of　his　face　and　squeezed。　When　he　took　the　hand　away　there　were　round　red　marks　on　his　cheeks　from　the　pressure　of　thumb　and　fingers。　I　watched　the　marks　fade。
　 〃Why　don't　you　go　on　home　and　let　a　man　work？〃　he　asked　crossly。
　 I　got　up　and　nodded　and　went　towards　the　door。　Breeze　said　to　my　back：　〃Gimme　your　home　address。〃
　 I　gave　it　to　him。　He　wrote　it　down。　〃So　long；〃　he　said　drearily：　〃Don't　leave　town。　We'll　want　a　statementmaybe　tonight。〃
　 I　went　out。　There　were　two　uniformed　cops　outside　on　the　landing。　The　door　across　the　way　was　open　and　a　fingerprint　man　was　still　working　inside。　Downstairs　I　met　two　more　cops　in　the　hallway；　one　at　each　end　of　it。　I　didn't　see　the　carroty　manager。　I　went　out　the　front　door。　There　was　an　ambulance　pulling　away　from　the　curb。　A　knot　of　people　hung　around　on　both　sides　of　the　street；　not　as　many　as　would　accumulate　in　some　neighborhoods。
　 I　pushed　along　the　sidewalk。　A　man　grabbed　me　by　the　arm　and　said：　〃What's　the　damage；　Jack？〃
　 I　shook　his　arm　off　without　speaking　or　looking　at　his　face　and　went　on　down　the　street　to　where　my　car　was。
　
　
　12
　
　 It　was　a　quarter　to　seven　when　I　let　myself　into　the　office　and　clicked　the　light　on　and　picked　a　piece　of　paper　off　the　floor。　It　was　a　notice　from　the　Green　Feather　Messenger　Service　saying　that　a　package　was　held　awaiting　my　call　and　would　be　delivered　upon　request　at　any　hour　of　the　day　or　night。　I　put　it　on　the　desk；　peeled　my　coat　off　and　opened　the　windows。　I　got　a　half　bottle　of　Old　Taylor　out　of　the　deep　drawer　of　the　desk　and　drank　a　short　drink；　rolling　it　around　on　my　tongue。　Then　I　sat　there　holding　the　neck　of　the　cool　bottle　and　wondering　how　it　would　feel　to　be　a　homicide　dick　and　find　bodies　lying　around　and　not　mind　at　all；　not　have　to　sneak　out　wiping　doorknobs；　not　have　to　ponder　how　much　I　could　tell　without　hurting　a　client　and　how　little　I　could　tell　without　too　badly　hurting　myself。　I　decided　I　wouldn't　like　it。
　 I　pulled　the　phone　over　and　looked　at　the　number　on　the　slip　and　called　it。　They　said　my　package　could　be　sent　right　over。　I　said　I　would　wait　for　it。
　 It　was　getting　dark　outside　now。　The　rushing　sound　of　the　traffic　had　died　a　little　and　the　air　from　the　open　window；　not　yet　cool　from　the　night；　had　that　tired　end…of…the…day　smell　of　dust；　automobile　exhaust；　sunlight　rising　from　hot　walls　and　sidewalks；　the　remote　smell　of　food　in　a　thousand　restaurants；　and　perhaps；　drifting　down　from　the　residential　hills　above　Hollywoodif　you　had　a　nose　like　a　hunting　doga　touch　of　that　peculiar　tomcat　smell　that　eucalyptus　trees　give　off　in　warm　weather。
　 I　sat　there　smoking。　Ten　minutes　later　the　door　was　knocked　on　and　I　opened　it　to　a　boy　in　a　uniform　cap　who　took　my　signature　and　gave　me　a　small　square　package；　not　more　than　two　and　a　half　inches　wide；　if　that。　I　gave　the　boy　a　dime　and　listened　to　him　whistling　his　way　back　to　the　elevators。
　 The　label　had　my　name　and　address　printed　on　it　in　ink；　in　a　quite　fair　imitation　of　typed　letters；　larger　and　thinner　than　pica。　I　cut　the　string　that　tied　the　label　to　the　box　and　unwound　the　thin　brown　paper。　Inside　was　a　thin　cheap　cardboard　box　pasted　over　with　brown　paper　and　stamped　Made　in　Japan　with　a　rubber　stamp。　It　would　be　the　kind　of　box　you　would　get　in　a　Jap　store　to　hold　some　small　carved　animal　or　a　small　piece　of　jade。　The　lid　fitted　down　all　the　way　and　tightly。　I　pulled　it　off　and　saw　tissue　paper　and　cotton　wool。
　 Separating　these　I　was　looking　at　a　gold　coin　about　the　size　of　a　half　dollar；　bright　and　shining　as　if　it　had　just　e　from　the　mint。
　 The　side　facing　me　showed　a　spread　eagle　with　a　shield　for　a　breast　and　the　initials　E。B。　punched　into　the　left　wing。　Around　these　was　a　circle　of　beading；　between　the　beading　and　the　smooth　unmilled　edge　of　the　coin；　the　legend　E　PLURIBUS　UNUM。　At　the　bottom　was　the　date　1787。
　 I　turned　the　coin　over　on　my　palm。　It　was　heavy　and　cold　and　my　palm　felt　moist　under　it。　The　other　side　showed　a　sun　rising　or　setting　behind　a　sharp　peak　of　mountain；　then　a　double　circle　of　what　looked　like　oak　leaves；　then　more　Latin；　NOVA　EBOBACA　COLUMBIA　EXCELSIOR。　At　the　bottom　of　this　side；　in　smaller　capitals；　the　name　BRASHER。
　 I　was　looking　at　the　Brasher　Doubloon。
　 There　was　nothing　else　in　the　box　or　in　the　paper；　nothing　on　the　paper。　The　handwritten　printing　meant　nothing　to　me。　I　didn't　know　anybody　who　used　it。
　 I　filled　an　empty　tobacco　pouch　half　full；　wrapped　the　coin　up　in　tissue　paper；　snapped　a　rubber　band　around　it　and　tucked　it　into　the　tobacco　in　the　pouch　and　put　more　in　on　top。　I　closed　the　zipper　and　put　the　pouch　in　my　pocket。　I　locked　the　paper　and　string　and　box　and　label　up　in　a　filing　cabinet；　sat　down　again　and　dialed　Elisha　Morningstar's　number　on　the　phone。　The　bell　rang　eight　times　at　the　other　end　of　the　line。　It　was　not　answered。　I　hardly　expected　that。　I　hung　up　again；　looked　Elisha　Morningstar　up　in　the　book　and　saw　that　he　had　no　listing　for　a　residence　phone　in　Los　Angeles　or　the　outlying　towns　that　were　in　the　phone　book。
　 I　got　a　shoulder　holster　out　of　the　desk　and　strapped　it　on　and　slipped　a　Colt　。38　automatic　into　it；　put　on　hat　and　coat；　shut　the　windows　again；　put　the　whiskey　away；　clicked　the　lights　off　and　had　the　office　door　unlatched　when　the　phone　rang。
　 The　ringing　bell　had　a　sinister　sound；　for　no　reason　of　itself；　but　because　of　the　ears　to　which　it　rang。　I　stood　there　braced　and　tense；