Chapter 26: Poisoned Deal
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I walked around him carefully, and pressed a button on the terminal that stood dead-centre on the desk. The screen lit up dimly, glowing green that made the pallor of Harry Jones's skin more ghastly yet. I called Information. A machine voice answered. "Can you give the number of Apartment 301, 28 Court Street?" "One moment please." The droning voice came to me borne on the smell of bitter almonds. "The number is 27-918-555-4308. It is listed under Glendower Apartments." I thanked the voice. The terminal had grabbed the number as it was spoken and I pressed the button to make the call. It rang three times, then it was answered. Recorded music blared along the circuit and was muted. A burly male voice said: "Hello." "Is Agnes there?" "No Agnes here, buddy. What number you want?" I reeled off the number of the screen at him. "Right number, wrong gal. Ain't that a shame?" The voice cackled. I hung up and went back to Information and got the number for the Glendower Apartments. I called the manager's number. I had a blurred vision of Mr Canino driving fast through the rain to another appointment with death. "Glendower Apartments, Barry Schiff speaking." "This is Guy Wallis, Police Identification Bureau. Is there a girl named Agnes Lozelle registered in your place?" "Who did you say you were?" I told him again. "If you give me your number, I'll -" "Cut the comedy," I said sharply, "I'm in a hurry. Is there or isn't there?" "No. There isn't." The voice was as stiff as a breadstick. "Is there a tall blonde with green eyes registered in the flop?" "Say, this isn't any flop -" "Oh, can it, can it!" I rapped at him in a police voice. "You want me to send the vice squad over there and shake the joint down? I know all about Bunker Hill apartment houses, mister." "Hey, take it easy, officer. I'll co-operate. There's a couple of blondes here, sure. Where isn't there. I hadn't noticed their eyes much. Would yours be alone?" "Alone with a little chap about one-sixty, fifty kilos, sharp black eyes, wears double-breasted dark grey suit and tweed overcoat. My information is Apartment 301, but all I get there is the big razzoo." "Oh, she ain't there. There's a couple of robot salesmen living in three-o-one." "Thanks. I'll drop around." "Make it quiet, won't you? Come to my place direct?" "Much obliged, Mr Schiff." I hung up. I wiped sweat off my face. I walked to the far corner of the office and stood with my face to the wall, patted it with a hand. I turned around slowly and looked across at little Harry Jones grimacing in his chair. "Well, you fooled him, Harry," I said out loud, in a voice that sounded maniacal to me. "You lied to him and you drank your cyanide, like a little gentleman. You died like a poisoned rat, Harry, but you're no rat to me." I had to search him. It was a nasty job. His pockets yielded nothing about Agnes, nothing that I wanted at all. I didn't think they would, but I had to be sure. Mr Canino might be back. Mr Canino would be the kind of self-confident gentleman who would not mind returning to the scene of his crime. I put the light out and started to open the door. The terminal beeped jarringly on the desk. I listened to it, my jaw muscles drawn into a knot, aching. Then I shut the door and put the light on again and went across to it. "Yeah?" A woman's voice. Her voice. "Is Harry around?" "Not for a minute, Agnes." She waited a while on that. Then she said slowly: "Who's talking?" "Marlowe, the guy who's trouble to you." "Where is he?" she said sharply. "I came over to give him two hundred grand in return for certain information. The offer holds. I have the money. Where are you?" "Didn't he tell you?" "No." "Perhaps you'd better ask him. Where is he?" I can't ask him. Do you know a man named Canino?" Her gasp came as clearly as though she had been beside me. "Do you want the two C's or not?" I asked. "I want them pretty bad, mister." "All right then. Tell me where to bring it." "I…" Her voice trailed off and came back with a panic rush. "Where's Harry." "Got scared and blew. Meet me somewhere - anywhere at all - I have the money." "I don't believe you - about Harry. It's a trap." "Oh, stuff. I could have had Harry hauled in long ago. There isn't anything to make a trap for. Canino got a line of Harry somehow and he blew. I want quiet, you want quiet, Harry wants quiet." Harry already had it. Nobody could take it away from him. "You don't think I'd stooge for Eddie Mars, do you angel?" "No-o, I guess not. Not that. I'll meet you in half an hour. On Calypso Boulevard, beside the spinwards entrance to the parking lot." "Right," I said. I pressed the button to cut off the connection. The wave of almond odour flooded me again, and the sour smell of vomit. The little dead man sat silent in his chair, beyond fear, beyond change. I left the office. Nothing moved in the dingy corridor. No pebbled glass door had light behind it. I went down the fire stairs to the second floor and from there looked down on the lighted roof of the elevator. I pressed the call button. Slowly the car lurched into motion. I ran down the stairs again. The elevator was above me when I walked out of the building. It was raining hard again. I walked into it with the heavy drops slapping my face. When one of them touched my tongue I knew that my mouth was open and the ache at the side of my jaws told me it was open wide and strained back, mimicking the rictus of death carved upon the face of Harry Jones.
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Part 2