“It might be a protection,” he said, “for you. Not for me.”
“Come on in then.” I stood to one side and he came in with an exhausted lunge and fell into a chair.
The living room was still dark, because of the heavy growth of shrubbery the owner had allowed to mask the windows. I put a lamp on and mooched a cigarette. I lit it. I stared down at him. I rumpled my hair which was already rumpled. I put the old tired grin on my face.
“What the hell’s the matter with me sleeping such a lovely morning away? Ten-fifteen, huh? Well, there’s plenty of time. Let’s go out to the kitchen and I’ll brew some coffee.”
“I’m in a great deal of trouble, shamus.” Shamus, it was the first time he had called me that. But it kind of went with his style of entry, the way he was dressed, the gun and all.
“It’s going to be a peach of a day. Light breeze. You can hear those tough old eucalyptus trees across the street whispering to each other. Talking about old times in Australia when the wallabies hopped about underneath the branches and the koala bears rode piggyback on each other. Yes, I got the general idea you were in some trouble. Let’s talk about it after I’ve had a couple of cups of coffee. I’m always a little lightheaded when I first wake up. Let us confer with Mr. Huggins and Mr. Young.”
“Look, Marlowe, this is not the time—”
“Fear nothing, old boy. Mr. Huggins and Mr. Young are two of the best. They make Huggins-Young coffee. It’s their life work, their pride and joy. One of these days I’m going to see that they get the recognition they deserve. So far all they’re making is money. You couldn’t expect that to satisfy them.”
I left him with that bright chatter and went out to the kitchen at the back. I turned the hot water on and got the coffee maker down off the shelf. I wet the rod and measured the stuff into the top and by that time the water was steaming. I filled the lower half of the dingus and set it on the flame. I set the upper part on top and gave it a twist so it would bind.
By that time he had come in after me. He leaned in the doorway a moment and then edged across to the breakfast nook and slid into the seat. He was still shaking. I got a bottle of Old Grand-Dad off the shelf and poured him a shot in a big glass. I knew he would need a big glass. Even with that he had to use both hands to get it to his mouth. He swallowed, put the glass down with a thud, and hit the back of the seat with a jar.
“Almost passed out,” he muttered. “Seems like I’ve been up for a week; Didn’t sleep at all last night.”
The coffee maker was almost ready to bubble. I turned the flame low and watched the water rise. It hung a little at the bottom of the glass tube. I turned the flame up just enough to get it over the hump and then turned it low again quickly. I stirred the coffee and covered it. I set my timer for three minutes. Very methodical guy, Marlowe. Nothing must interfere with his coffee technique. Not even a gun in the hand of a desperate character.
I poured him another slug. “Just sit there,” I said. “Don’t say a word. Just sit.”
He handled the second slug with one hand. I did a fast wash-up in the bathroom and the bell of the timer went just as I got back. I cut the flame and set the coffee maker on a straw mat on the table. Why did I go into such detail? Because the charged atmosphere made every little thing stand out as a performance, a movement distinct and vastly important. It was one of those hypersensitive moments when all your automatic movements, however long established, however habitual, become separate acts of will. You are like a man learning to walk after polio. You take nothing for granted, absolutely nothing at all.
The coffee was all down and the air rushed in with its usual fuss and the coffee bubbled and then became quiet. I removed the top of the maker and set it on the drain board in the socket of the cover.
I poured two cups and added a slug to his. “Black for you, Terry.” I added two lumps of sugar and some cream to mine. I was coming out of it by now. I wasn’t conscious of how I opened the Frig and got the cream carton.
I sat down across from him. He hadn’t moved. He was propped in the corner of the nook, rigid. Then without warning his head came down on the table and he was sobbing.
He didn’t pay any attention when I reached across and dug the gun out of his pocket. It was a Mauser 7.65, a beauty. I sniffed it. I sprang the magazine loose. It was full. Nothing in the breach.
He lifted his head and saw the coffee and drank some slowly, not looking at me. “I didn’t shoot anybody,” he said.
“Well—not recently anyhow. And the gun would have had to be cleaned. I hardly think you shot anybody with this.”
“I’ll tell you about it,” he said.
“Wait just a minute.” I drank my coffee as quickly as the heat would let me. I refilled my cup. “It’s like this,” I said. “Be very careful what you tell me. If you really want me to ride you down to Tijuana, there are two things I must not be told. One—are you listening?”
He nodded very slightly. He was looking blank-eyed at the wall over my head. The scars were very livid this morning. His skin was almost dead white but the scars seemed to shine out of it just the same.
“One,” I repeated slowly, “if you have committed a crime or anything the law calls a crime—a serious crime, I mean—I can’t be told about it. Two, if you have essential knowledge that such a crime has been committed, I can’t be told about that either. Not if you want me to drive you to Tijuana. That clear?”
He looked me in the eye. His eyes focused, but they were lifeless. He had the coffee inside him. He had no color, but he was steady. I poured him some more and loaded it the same way.
“I told you I was in a jam,” he said.
“I heard you. I don’t want to know what kind of jam. I have a living to earn, a license to protect.”
“I could hold the gun on you,” he said.
I grinned and pushed the gun across the table. He looked down at it but didn’t touch it.
“Not to Tijuana you couldn’t hold it on me, Terry. Not across the border, not up the steps into a plane. I’m a man who occasionally has business with guns. We’ll forget about the gun. I’d look great telling the cops I was so scared I just had to do what you told me to. Supposing, of course, which I don’t know, that there was anything to tell the cops.”
