Unknown Man #89

PEREZ:… that the theft was reported. Naturally I told the hotel management.

“That’s Perez,” Dick Speed said. “The other one’s Olsen, questioning him. You’ll hear me a few times.”

OLSEN: The management. Who’d you tell, exactly?

PEREZ: I don’t know, some assistant. Young fella with slick hair and pointed shoulders in his coat.

OLSEN: Pointed shoulders. You asked him to report the robbery to the police?

PEREZ: I assumed he would, something’s stolen from a room. Wouldn’t you?

SPEED: Did you know Mr. Gidre was carrying a gun?

PEREZ: I told him, I said, “Raymond, I’d just like you to talk to them.” I don’t mind telling you I was afraid to, not knowing anything about them, who they were. I said just talk to them nice, see if we can come to some kind of agreement.

SPEED: You didn’t answer my question. Did you know Mr. Gidre was carrying a gun?

PEREZ: No, I didn’t.

SPEED: Did you know he owned a gun?

PEREZ: I believe he might’ve told me that, yes. But I didn’t know he was carrying it with him today. See, I spoke to him about it last night.

OLSEN: You said you spoke to one of them on the phone. Do you know which one?

PEREZ: I don’t know. They all sound alike to me.

OLSEN: Did he ask you for money?

PEREZ: He said he wanted to meet with me and have a talk. I suppose feel me out, see how much he could get.

OLSEN: Were you willing to pay him?

PEREZ: Within reason.

OLSEN: If it was just to talk, why do you suppose they had the suitcase with them?

PEREZ: That’s what concerns me right now, if it is my suitcase and if my documents and papers are in it. See, I don’t know if they might’ve been trying to pull something.

SPEED: Mr. Gidre apparently took the suitcase from them. He’d know, wouldn’t he, if he was taking the right one?

PEREZ: Well, it was a Samsonite, black. Fairly good size. That the one you have?

OLSEN: Were your initials on it?

PEREZ: No, I don’t believe on that one.

OLSEN: Can you describe the contents?

PEREZ: Well, as I said, there were letters, legal documents, pretty much all of a business nature.

OLSEN: Uh, did any of the letters, or any of the papers, have your name on them?

PEREZ: Of course they did. My name, my business stationery. There might’ve been some hotel stationery in there, too. The Pontchartrain.

Dick Speed looked at Ryan. Ryan kept staring at the tape recorder.

OLSEN: What does your business letterhead say?

PEREZ: What does it say? It says my name, “F.X. Perez and Associates. Investment Consultants.”

OLSEN: You’re sure you had letterhead stationery in the suitcase.

PEREZ: I didn’t keep it in the suitcase, they put it in. If my letters and stationery aren’t in there, then the niggers took ’em out or lost ’em, I don’t know. All I do know is they cleaned out every piece of paper I had in the hotel room.

OLSEN: That seems unusual, doesn’t it? Taking only papers. Was anything of value taken?

Dick Speed looked at Ryan, grinning, anticipating Mr. Perez’s answer.

PEREZ: Of value? Like a wristwatch or something? Christ Almighty, they took my business!

As Olsen began to speak, Dick Speed said, “More of the same.” He punched the rewind button and the tapes raced in reverse. “We asked him to describe his business. He told us. We asked if he had ever contacted a Mrs. Robert Leary. He said yes. Had he ever met Robert Leary? No. Or Virgil Royal? He said he’d never heard of Virgil Royal. Then what did he think happened at Watts Club Mozambique this shitty afternoon at ten after two? He said, ‘It sounds to me like a misunderstanding.’ Do you like that? A misunderstanding.”

“If they both had guns,” Ryan said, “I can see it. They shoot people.”

“All three had guns. None of them registered.”

“So what did you do with him? Perez.”

“Took his statement and let him go.”

Ryan asked the question. “With his suitcase, uh?”

And waited while Dick Speed watched the takeup reel spin with the tape on it and pressed the off button.

“We gave him every opportunity to identify it as his property, but he couldn’t. At least, not to our satisfaction.”

“You mean you didn’t give it to him?”

“We told him if he’d reported it stolen and given us a description…” Dick Speed paused, taking the reel off the recorder and slipping it into a box. Ryan watched him.

Answer the fucking question.

“… but to just walk in and claim something, that put a different light on it. He got irritable and important then and said he demanded we hand over his property. I told him we’d be happy to, if we had it, if and when he identified it properly.”

“What’d he say then?”

“He said if we didn’t hand it over, he’d get us served with an injunction and take us to court.”

“He probably will, too. He knows what he’s doing.”

“Well, we know what he’s been doing. I reminded him his friend or employee killed two people during an attempted robbery. Robbery! He started to go into it being his property and all that again. And I said, ‘You already served time for accessory to murder, didn’t you? In the state of Louisiana?’ I can thank you for having that one.”

“Did it stop him?”

“Well, for the time being. But since he wasn’t at the scene with Gidre, and if there’s no way to prove he actually hired or induced Gidre to kill them, I don’t see how we’d be able to pin an accessory on him.” Dick Speed turned from the desk and started out of the office. “Come on. I’ll tell you something, though. I can read that asshole and I don’t care for him. And if I can’t nail him, then at least I can let the air out of his tires, if you follow me. Slow him up.”

Going into Dick Speed’s office, Ryan saw the manila envelope on the near side of the desk, where he’d dropped it. He reached over and picked it up as he sat down.

Dick Speed was swiveling around in his chair. He said, “What’s that?” Then seemed to realize what it was and shook his head. “Never mind, don’t tell me. What’s in the suitcase is what we found in it. I don’t want to have to explain anything else or have to arrest anybody for petty theft and have to appear at Frank Murphy on my day off and hang around Common Pleas all morning.”

“I appreciate it,” Ryan said.

“I hope to Christ so,” Dick Speed said, “you dumb shit. I hope you know where your ass’d be if I wasn’t sitting here.”

“I know,” Ryan said, nodding. “I appreciate it, I really do.” He took a cigarette out and lit it. Sitting back then, he blew the smoke out slowly.

Dick Speed was watching him. “But what?”

“Nothing,” Ryan said. “I was just wondering if the suitcase was still around.”

“Why?”

“Well, if it is-is it?”

“Go on.”

“If it is, you think it would hurt anything if I looked through it? You can watch me if you want. I mean, I’m not going to take anything, I just want to look up something.”

“That’s all?”