“Things slow?”
“Not slow. Just dull. Lotta personal injury shit.”
“You got some men on tap to put on this?”
“No problem.”
Tracy returned from the outer office and handed a typewritten list to Mark Taylor and the bills to Steve Winslow.
“Thanks,” Taylor said. He glanced at the list, folded it, and stuck it in his jacket pocket. “I’ll get right on this. Anything else?”
“Yeah. When you find my client, put a tail on him. Don’t let him out of your sight, but don’t let him know he’s being tailed.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“Why’s that?”
“Sounds expensive.”
“I’m sure it is. Just don’t pad your bill too much, ’cause I may have to eat it.”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that particularly offensive remark. But for the sake of future argument, let’s pin down exactly what you want.”
“I want you to find my client. I want you to tail him. I don’t want him to know he’s being tailed.”
“And you want to pay a buck ninety-five.”
“Exactly.”
Taylor nodded. “That gives me a pretty good idea. And how extensive do you want the surveillance?”
“Total. I want to know where he goes and who he sees.”
“That’s a problem.”
“Why?”
Taylor shrugged. “Well, this may surprise you, but there’s a lot of people still don’t walk around with name tags on their chests. Which means I gotta tail the people he talks to in order to find out who
“Of course.”
“And I presume these people can’t know they’re being tailed.”
“Naturally.”
“I don’t want to ruin your day, but if this guy has an active social life, this just could run more than a buck ninety-five.”
“Just remember it’s coming out of my own pocket.”
“Well, it’s a pretty deep pocket. I see a ten thousand dollar retainer in it.”
“Yeah, well I can’t keep it till I know whose it is. I can’t even put it in the bank.”
“You’re kidding.”
Steve shook his head. “Depositing it in my account might be considered tantamount to accepting employment.”
“So what you gonna do with it?”
Steve jerked his thumb. In the corner was an old office safe he had inherited from the previous tenant. “Tracy, we got the combination to the safe somewhere?”
“I don’t know,” Tracy said. “If you did, it was before I started work.”
“Yeah,” Steve said. “The guy gave it to me, and I’m not sure what I did with it.”
“Probably locked it in the safe,” Taylor said.
“Yeah, right. Well, if I can find it, I’ll put the money in there. Otherwise, I’ll have to rent a safe deposit box. But the one thing I’m
“No problem,” Taylor said, getting up. “I’ll get right on it.”
“How soon you think you’ll have it for me?”
Taylor shrugged. “I should have it before lunch.”
Tracy had been standing there, hanging on every word. She was obviously very excited, and was making a great effort not to show it. But this was too much. In spite of herself, she blurted, “You’re kidding.”
Mark Taylor looked at her and smiled. “No, I’ll have it. It’s just routine.”
Mark Taylor meant his remark to be friendly and reassuring. And perhaps to impress this attractive young woman with his efficiency.
But the effect he achieved couldn’t have been worse. Tracy looked as if he’d just told her there was no Santa Claus.
4
It wasn’t quite that easy. Actually, it was closer to two-thirty when Mark Taylor finally got back with the information.
In the meantime, Tracy had been giving her best impression of someone who was not excited out of her mind. It was easy at first because she was occupied-the combination to the safe had to be found. An exhaustive search of the office had finally located it where Steve had shoved it, among the papers in one of his desk drawers. And it had been interesting to watch Steve try the numbers on the antique safe and see if the combination actually worked. But after it had, and the ten thousand dollars had been safely locked inside, Tracy had come full face up against her original problem-there was nothing to do. It had been boring before. In light of the anonymous letter, it was excruciating.
Steve was keyed up too, but on a different scale. Tracy was like a kid with a new toy. She accepted the letter as a matter of course. She was young enough and romantic enough and so conditioned by a steady diet of detective novels, that she
Which didn’t stop from making them interesting as hell.
When the intercom buzzed at two-thirty, Steve Winslow picked up the phone and Tracy Garvin in the outer office said, “Mark Taylor on 2.”
“Thanks,” Steve said. “Stay on the line and take notes.” He pressed the blinking button. “Yes, Mark.”
“Got him, Steve.”
“Great. Who is he?”
“His name is David C. Bradshaw. He’s around forty-five, short, wiry, dark hair. He lives in an apartment on East 3rd Street.”
“Good work. How’d you find him?”
“Just routine. I covered the banks. The withdrawal was unusual enough that the teller took down the serial numbers. Fortunately, it was a bank I’d done a few favors for in the past, so they were most cooperative. Naturally they wouldn’t tell me anything about the account, other than when it had been opened, which was about a month ago. But they did confirm the withdrawal and gave me a pretty good description to go on.”
“Where is he now?”
“Apparently he’s home.”
“How do you know?”
“As soon as I got the address I sewed up the apartment building. Five minutes after my man got on the job, a young woman showed up, pressed the button for 2A, and was buzzed upstairs.”
“Got a description of the girl?”
“I’ll say. My man says she’s a baby-faced blonde of about twenty-five with a hell of a nice ass.”
“Miss Garvin is taking notes on the line, Mark. Let’s not bog her down with too many details.”
“Right.”
“Where’s the girl now?”
“Still up there.”
