'What are the boys doing — digging a grave?'
'They had to go somewhere.'
'You mean they left you here alone?'
Her head turned slowly again. She smiled. 'You don't look dangerous.'
'I thought they were keeping you a prisoner.'
It didn't seem to startle her. It even slightly amused her. 'What made you think that?'
'I know who you are.'
Her very blue eyes flashed so sharply that I could almost see the sweep of their glance, like the sweep of a sword. Her mouth tightened. But her voice didn't change.
'Then I'm afraid you're in a bad spot. And I hate killing.'
'And you Eddie Mars' wife? Shame on you.'
She didn't like that. She glared at me. I grinned. 'Unless you can unlock these bracelets, which I'd advise you not to do, you might spare me a little of that drink you're neglecting.'
She brought the glass over. Bubbles rose in it like false hopes. She bent over me. Her breath was as delicate as the eyes of a fawn. I gulped from the glass. She took it away from my mouth and watched some of the liquid run down my neck.
She bent over me again. Blood began to move around in me, like a prospective tenant looking over a house.
'Your face looks like a collision mat,' she said.
'Make the most of it. It won't last long even this good.'
She swung her head sharply and listened. For an instant her face was pale. The sounds were only the rain drifting against the walls. She went back across the room and stood with her side to me, bent forward a little, looking down at the floor.
'Why did you come here and stick your neck out?' she asked quietly. 'Eddie wasn't doing you any harm. You know perfectly well that if I hadn't hid out here, the police would have been certain Eddie murdered Rusty Regan.'
'He did,' I said.
She didn't move, didn't change position an inch. Her breath made a harsh quick sound. I looked around the room. Two doors, both in the same wall, one half open. A carpet of red and tan squares, blue curtains at the windows, a wallpaper with bright green pine trees on it. The furniture looked as if it had come from one of those places that advertise on bus benches. Gay, but full of resistance.
She said softly: 'Eddie didn't do anything to him. I haven't seen Rusty in months. Eddie's not that sort of man.'
'You left his bed and board. You were living alone. People at the place where you lived identified Regan's photo.'
'That's a lie,' she said coldly.
I tried to remember whether Captain Gregory had said that or not. My head was too fuzzy. I couldn't be sure.
'And it's none of your business,' she added.
'The whole thing is my business. I'm hired to find out.'
'Eddie's not that sort of man.'
'Oh, you like racketeers.'
'As long as people will gamble there will be places for them to gamble.'
'That's just protective thinking. Once outside the law you're all the way outside. You think he's just a gambler. I think he's a pornographer, a blackmailer, a hot car broker, a killer by remote control, and a suborner of crooked cops. He's whatever looks good to him, whatever has the cabbage pinned to it. Don't try to sell me on any high-souled racketeers. They don't come in that pattern.'
'He's not a killer.' Her nostrils flared.
'Not personally. He has Canino. Canino killed a man tonight, a harmless little guy who was trying to help somebody out. I almost saw him killed.'
She laughed wearily.
'All right,' I growled. 'Don't believe it. If Eddie is such a nice guy, I'd like to get to talk to him without Canino around. You know what Canino will do — beat my teeth out and then kick me in the stomach for mumbling.'
She put her head back and stood there thoughtful and withdrawn, thinking something out.
'I thought platinum hair was out of style,' I bored on, just to keep sound alive in the room, just to keep from listening.
'It's a wig, silly. While mine grows out.' She reached up and yanked it off. Her own hair was clipped short all over, like a boy's. She put the wig back on.
'Who did that to you?'
She looked surprised. 'I had it done. Why?'
'Yes. Why?'
'Why, to show Eddie I was willing to do what he wanted me to do — hide out. That he didn't need to have me guarded. I wouldn't let him down. I love him.'
'Good grief,' I groaned. 'And you have me right here in the room with you.'
She turned a hand over and stared at it. Then abruptly she walked out of the room. She came back with a kitchen knife. She bent and sawed at my rope.
'Canino has the key to the handcuffs,' she breathed. 'I can't do anything about those.'
She stepped back, breathing rapidly. She had cut the rope at every knot.
'You're a kick,' she said. 'Kidding with every breath — the spot you're in.'
'I thought Eddie wasn't a killer.'
She turned away quickly and went back to her chair by the lamp and sat down and put her face in her hands. I swung my feet to the floor and stood up. I tottered around, stifflegged. The nerve on the left side of my face was jumping in all its branches. I took a step. I could still walk. I could run, if I had to.
'I guess you mean me to go,' I said.
She nodded without lifting her head.
'You'd better go with me — if you want to keep on living.'
'Don't waste time. He'll be back any minute.'
'Light a cigarette for me.'
I stood beside her, touching her knees. She came to her feet with a sudden lurch. Our eyes were only inches apart.
'Hello, Silver-Wig,' I said softly.
She stepped back, around the chair, and swept a package of cigarettes up off the table. She jabbed one loose and pushed it roughly into my mouth. Her hand was shaking. She snapped a small green leather lighter and held it to the cigarette. I drew in the smoke, staring into her lake-blue eyes. While she was still close to me I said:
'A little bird named Harry Jones led me to you. A little bird that used to hop in and out of cocktail bars picking up horse bets for crumbs. Picking up information too. This little bird picked up an idea about Canino. One way and another he and his friends found out where you were. He came to me to sell the information because he knew — how he knew is a long story — that I was working for General Sternwood. I got his information, but Canino got the little bird. He's a dead little bird now, with his feathers ruffled and his neck limp and a pearl of blood on his beak. Canino killed him. But Eddie Mars wouldn't do that, would he, Silver-Wig? He never killed anybody. He just hires it done.'
'Get out,' she said harshly. 'Get out of here quick.'
Her hand clutched in midair on the green lighter. The fingers strained. The knuckles were as white as snow.
'But Canino doesn't know I know that,' I said. 'About the little bird. All he knows is I'm nosing around.'
Then she laughed. It was almost a racking laugh. It shook her as the wind shakes a tree. I thought there
