A red-throated hummingbird went into a scarlet bush beside the door, shook the long tubular blooms around a little, and zoomed off so fast he simply disappeared in the air.
The door opened, the Filipino poked my card at me. I didn’t take it.
“What you want?”
It was a tight crackling voice, like someone tiptoeing across a lot of eggshells.
“Want to see Mrs. Morny.”
“She not at home.”
“Didn’t you know that when I gave you the card?”
He opened his fingers and let the card flutter to the ground. He grinned, showing me a lot of cut-rate dental work.
“I know when she tell me.”
He shut the door in my face, not gently.
I picked the card up and walked along the side of the house to where the chauffeur was squirting water on the Cadillac sedan and rubbing the dirt off with a big sponge. He had red rimmed eyes and a bang of corn-colored hair. A cigarette hung exhausted at the corner of his lower lip.
He gave me the quick side glance of a man who is minding his own business with difficulty. I said:
“Where’s the boss?”
The cigarette jiggled in his mouth. The water went on swishing gently on the paint.
“Ask at the house, Jack.”
“I done asked. They done shut the door in mah face.”
“You’re breaking my heart, Jack.”
“How about Mrs. Morny?”
“Same answer, Jack. I just work here. Selling something?” I held my card so that he could read it. It was a business card this time. He put the sponge down on the running board, and the hose on the cement. He stepped around the water to wipe his hands on a towel that hung at the side of the garage doors. He fished a match out of his pants, struck it and tilted his head back to light the dead butt that was stuck in his face.
His foxy little eyes flicked around this way and that and he moved behind the car, with a jerk of the head. I went over near him.
“How’s the little old expense account?” he asked in a small careful voice.
“Fat with inactivity.”
“For five I could start thinking.”
“I wouldn’t want to make it that tough for you.”
“For ten I could sing like four canaries and a steel guitar.”
“I don’t like these plushy orchestrations,” I said.
He cocked his head sideways. “Talk English, Jack.”
“I don’t want you to lose your job, son. All I want to know is whether Mrs. Morny is home. Does that rate more than a buck?”
“Don’t worry about my job, Jack. I’m solid.”
“With Morny—or somebody else?”
“You want that for the same buck?”
“Two bucks.”
He eyed me over. “You ain’t working for him, are you?”
“Sure.”
“You’re a liar.”
“Sure.”
“Gimme the two bucks,” he snapped.
I gave him two dollars.
“She’s in the backyard with a friend,” he said. “A nice friend. You got a friend that don’t work and a husband that works, you’re all set, see?” He leered.
“You’ll be all set in an irrigation ditch one of these days.”
“Not me, Jack. I’m wise. I know how to play ‘em. I monkeyed around these kind of people all my life.”
He rubbed the two dollar bills between his palms, blew on them, folded them longways and wideways and tucked them in the watch pocket of his breeches.
“That was just the soup,” he said. “Now for five more—”
A rather large blond cocker spaniel tore around the Cadillac, skidded a little on the wet concrete, took off neatly, hit me in the stomach and thighs with all four paws, licked my face, dropped to the ground, ran around my
