raymondchandler.thehighwindow-第21节

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　 〃All　right；〃　I　said。　〃Talk　it　up　whoever　you　are。　Whose　pocket　have　I　got　my　hand　in　now？〃
　 〃Maybe　you're　a　smart　guy；〃　the　harsh　whisper　said。　〃Maybe　you　would　like　to　do　yourself　some　good。〃
　 〃How　much　good？〃
　 〃Say　about　five　C's　worth　of　good。〃
　 〃That's　grand；〃　I　said。　〃Doing　what？〃
　 〃Keeping　your　nose　clean；〃　the　voice　said。　〃Want　to　talk　about　it？〃
　 〃Where；　when；　and　who　to？〃
　 〃Idle　Valley　Club。　Morny。　Any　time　you　get　here。〃
　 〃Who　are　you？〃
　 A　dim　chuckle　came　over　the　wire。　〃Just　ask　at　the　gate　for　Eddie　Prue。〃
　 The　phone　clicked　dead。　I　hung　it　up。
　 It　was　near　eleven…thirty　when　I　backed　my　car　out　of　the　garage　and　drove　towards　Cahuenga　Pass。
　
　
　17
　
　 About　twenty　miles　north　of　the　pass　a　wide　boulevard　with　flowering　moss　in　the　parkways　turned　towards　the　foothills。　It　ran　for　five　blocks　and　diedwithout　a　house　in　its　entire　length。　From　its　end　a　curving　asphalt　road　dove　into　the　hills。　This　was　Idle　Valley。
　 Around　the　shoulder　of　the　first　hill　there　was　a　low　white　building　with　a　tiled　roof　beside　the　road。　It　had　a　roofed　porch　and　a　floodlighted　sign　on　it　read：　Idle　Valley　Patrol。　Open　gates　were　folded　back　on　the　shoulders　of　the　road；　in　the　middle　of　which　a　square　white　sign　standing　on　its　point　said　STOP　in　letters　sprinkled　with　reflector　buttons。　Another　floodlight　blistered　the　space　of　road　in　front　of　the　sign。
　 I　stopped。　A　uniformed　man　with　a　star　and　a　strapped…on　gun　in　a　woven　leather　holster　looked　at　my　car；　then　at　a　board　on　a　post。
　 He　came　over　to　the　car。　〃Good　evening。　I　don't　have　your　car。　This　is　a　private　road。　Visiting？〃
　 〃Going　to　the　club。〃
　 〃Which　one？〃
　 〃Idle　Valley　Club。〃
　 〃Eighty…seven　Seventy…seven。　That's　what　we　call　it　here。　You　mean　Mr。　Morny's　place？〃
　 〃Right。〃
　 〃You're　not　a　member；　I　guess。〃
　 〃No。〃
　 〃I　have　to　check　you　in。　To　somebody　who　is　a　member　or　to　somebody　who　lives　in　the　valley。　All　private　property　here；　you　know。〃
　 〃No　gate　crashers；　huh？〃
　 He　smiled。　〃No　gate　crashers。〃
　 〃The　name　is　Philip　Marlowe；〃　I　said。　〃Calling　on　Eddie　Prue。〃
　 〃Prue？〃
　 〃He's　Mr。　Morny's　secretary。　Or　something。〃
　 〃Just　a　minute；　please。〃
　 He　went　to　the　door　of　the　building；　and　spoke。　Another　uniformed　man　inside；　plugged　in　on　a　PBX。　A　car　came　up　behind　me　and　honked。　The　clack　of　a　typewriter　came　from　the　open　door　of　the　patrol　office。　The　man　who　had　spoken　to　me　looked　at　the　honking　car　and　waved　it　in。　It　slid　around　me　and　scooted　off　into　the　dark；　a　green　long　open　convertible　sedan　with　three　dizzy…looking　dames　in　the　front　seat；　all　cigarettes　and　arched　eyebrows　and　go…to…hell　expressions。　The　car　flashed　around　a　curve　and　was　gone。
　 The　uniformed　man　came　back　to　me　and　put　a　hand　on　the　car　door。　〃Okay；　Mr。　Marlowe。　Check　with　the　officer　at　the　club；　please。　A　mile　ahead　on　your　right。　There's　a　lighted　parking　lot　and　the　number　on　the　wall。　Just　the　number。　Eighty…seven　Seventy…seven。　Check　with　the　officer　there；　please。〃
　 I　said：　〃Why　would　I　do　that？〃
　 He　was　very　calm；　very　polite；　and　very　firm。　〃We　have　to　know　exactly　where　you　go。　There's　a　great　deal　to　protect　in　Idle　Valley。〃
　 〃Suppose　I　don't　check　with　him？〃
　 〃You　kidding　me？〃　His　voice　hardened。
　 〃No。　I　just　wanted　to　know。〃
　 〃A　couple　of　cruisers　would　start　looking　for　you。〃
　 〃How　many　are　you　in　the　patrol？〃
　 〃Sorry；〃　he　said。　〃About　a　mile　ahead　on　the　right；　Mr。　Marlowe。〃
　 I　looked　at　the　gun　strapped　to　his　hip；　the　special　badge　pinned　to　his　shirt。　〃And　they　call　this　a　democracy；〃　I　said。
　 He　looked　behind　him　and　then　spat　on　the　ground　and　put　a　hand　on　the　sill　of　the　car　door。　〃Maybe　you　got　pany；〃　he　said。　〃I　knew　a　fellow　belonged　to　the　John　Reed　Club。　Over　in　Boyle　Heights；　it　was。〃
　 〃Tovarich；〃　I　said。
　 〃The　trouble　with　revolutions；〃　he　said；　〃is　that　they　get　in　the　hands　of　the　wrong　people。〃
　 〃Check；〃　I　said。
　 〃On　the　other　hand；〃　he　said；　〃could　they　be　any　wronger　than　the　bunch　of　rich　phonies　that　live　around　here？〃
　 〃Maybe　you'll　be　living　in　here　yourself　someday；〃　I　said。　He　spat　again。　〃I　wouldn't　live　in　here　if　they　paid　me　fifty　thousand　a　year　and　let　me　sleep　in　chiffon　pajamas　with　a　string　of　matched　pink　pearls　around　my　neck。〃
　 〃I'd　hate　to　make　you　the　offer；〃　I　said。
　 〃You　make　me　the　offer　any　time；〃　he　said。　〃Day　or　night。　Just　make　me　the　offer　and　see　what　it　gets　you。〃
　 〃Well；　I'll　run　along　now　and　check　with　the　officer　of　the　club；〃　I　said。
　 〃Tell　him　to　go　spit　up　his　left　pants　leg；〃　he　said。　〃Tell　him　I　said　so。〃
　 〃I'll　do　that；〃　I　said。
　 A　car　came　up　behind　and　honked。　I　drove　on。　Half　a　block　of　dark　limousine　blew　me　off　the　road　with　its　horn　and　went　past　me　making　a　noise　like　dead　leaves　falling。
　 The　wind　was　quiet　out　here　and　the　valley　moonlight　was　so　sharp　that　the　black　shadows　looked　as　if　they　had　been　cut　with　an　engraving　tool。
　 Around　the　curve　the　whole　valley　spread　out　before　me。　A　thousand　white　houses　built　up　and　down　the　hills；　ten　thousand　lighted　windows　and　the　stars　hanging　down　over　them　politely；　not　getting　too　close；　on　account　of　the　patrol。
　 The　wall　of　the　club　building　that　faced　the　road　was　white　and　blank；　with　no　entrance　door；　no　windows　on　the　lower　floor。　The　number　was　small　but　bright　in　violet…colored　neon。　8777。　Nothing　else。　To　the　side；　under　rows　of　hooded；　downward…shining　lights；　were　even　rows　of　cars　set　out　in　the　white　lined　slots　on　the　smooth　black　asphzalt。　Attendants　in　crisp　clean　uniforms　moved　in　the　lights。
　 The　road　went　around　to　the　back。　A　deep　concrete　porch　there；　with　an　overhanging　canopy　of　glass　and　chromium；　but　very　dim　lights。　I　got　out　of　the　car　and　received　a　check　with　the　license　number　on　it；　carried　it　over　to　a　small　desk　where　a　uniformed　man　sat　and　dumped　it　in　front　of　him。
　 〃Philip　Marlowe；〃　I　said。　〃Visitor。〃
　 〃Thank　you；　Mr。　Marlowe。〃　He　wrote　the　name　and　number　down；　handed　me　back　my　check　and　picked　up　a　telephone。
　 A　Negro　in　a　white　linen　doublebreasted　guards　uniform；　gold　epaulettes；　a　cap　with　a　broad　gold　band；　opened　the　door　for　me。
　 The　lobby　looked　like　a　high…budget　musical。　A　lot　of　light　and　glitter；　a　lot　of　scenery；　a　lot　of　clothes；　a　lot　of　sound；　an　all…star　cast；　and　a　plot　with　all　the　originality　and　drive　of　a　split　fingernail。　Under　the　beautiful　soft　indirect　lighting　the　walls　seemed　to　go　up　forever　and　to　be　lost　in　soft　lascivious　stars　that　really　twinkled。　You　could　just　manage　to　walk　on　the　carpet　without　waders。　At　the　back　was　a　free…arched　stairway　with　a　chromium　and　white　enamel　gangway　going　up　in　wide　shallow　carpeted　steps。　At　the　entrance　to　the　dining　room　a　chubby　captain　of　waiters　stood　negligently　with　a　two…inch　satin　stripe　on　his　pants　and　a　bunch　of　gold…plated　menus　under　his　arm。　He　had　the　sort　of　face　that　can　turn　from　a　polite　simper　to　coldblooded　fury　almost　without　moving　a　muscle。
　 The　bar　entrance　was　to　the　left。　It　was　dusky　and　quiet　and　a　bartender　moved　mothlike　against　the　faint　glitter　of　piled　glassware。　A　tall　handsome　blond　in　a　dress　that　looked　like　seawater　sifted　over　with　gold　dust　came　out　of　the　Ladies'　Room　touching　up　her　lips　and　turned　toward　the　arch；　humming。
　 The　sound　of　rhumba　music　came　through　the　archway　and　she　nodded　her　gold　head　in　time　to　it；　smiling。　A　short　fat　man　with　a　red　face　and　glittering　eyes　waited　for　her　with　a　white　wrap　over　his　arm。　He　dug　his　thick　fingers　into　her　bare　arm　and　leered　up　at　her。
　 A　check　girl　in　peach…bloom　Chinese　pajamas　came　over　to　take　my　hat　and　disapprove　of　my　clothes。　She　had　eyes　like　strange　sins。
　 A　cigarette　girl　came　down　the　gangway。　She　wore　an　egret　plume　in　her　hair；　enough　clothes　to　hide　behind　a　toothpick；　one　of　her　long　beautiful　naked　legs　was　silver；　and　one　was　gold。　She　had　the　utterly　disdainful　expression　of　a　dame　who　makes　her　dates　by　long　distance。
　 I　went　into　the　bar　and　sank　into　a　leather　bar　seat　packed　with　down。　Glasses　tinkled　gently；　lights　glowed　softly；　there　were　quiet　voices　whispering　of　love；　or　ten　per　cent；　or　whatever　they　whisper　about　in　a　place　like　that。
　 A　tall　fine…looking　man　in　a　gray　suit　cut　by　an　angel　suddenly　stood　up　from　a　small　table　by　the　wall　and　walked　over　to　the　bar　and　started　to　curse　one　of　the　barmen。　He　cursed　him　in　a　loud　clear　voice　for　a　long　minute；　calling　him　about　nine　names　that　are　not　usually　mentioned　by　tall　fine…looking　men　in　well　cut　gray　suits。　Everybody　stopped　talking　and　looked　at　him　quietly。　His　voice　cut　through　the　muted　rhumba　music　like　a　shovel　through　snow。
　 The　barman　stood　perfectly　still；　looking　at　the　man。　The　barman　had　curly　hair　and　a　clear　warm　skin　and　wide…set　careful　eyes。　He　didn't　move　or　speak。　The　tall　man　stopped　talking　and　stalked　out　of　the　bar。　Everybody　watched　him　out　except　the　barman。
　 The　barman　moved　slowly　along　the　bar　to　the　end　where　I　sat　and　stood　looking　away　from　me；　with　nothing　in　his　face　but　pallor。　Then　he　turned　to　me　and　said：
　 〃Yes；　sir？〃
　 〃I　want　to　talk　to　a　fellow　named　Eddie　Prue。〃
　 〃So？〃
　 〃He　works　here；〃　I　said。
　 〃Works　here　doing　what？〃　His