“Hench make the confess, huh?” He smiled, a sudden brilliant smile.
“Only Hench didn’t do the killing,” I said.
“No?”
“No.”
“That’sa interesting. Go on, Meester Marlowe.”
“The confession is a lot of baloney. You got him to make it for some reason of your own.”
He stood up and went to the door and called out: “Tony.” He sat down again. A short tough-looking wop came into the room, looked at me and sat down against the wall in a straight chair.
“Tony, thees man a Meester Marlowe. Look, take the card.” Tony came to get the card and sat down with it. “You look at thees man very good, Tony. Not forget him, huh?”
Tony said: “Leave it to me, Mr. Palermo.”
Palermo said: “Was a friend to you, huh? A good friend, huh?”
“Yes.”
“That’sa bad. Yeah. That’sa bad. I tell you something. A man’s friend is a man’s friend. So I tell you. But you don’ tell anybody else. Not the damn coppers, huh?”
“No.”
“That’sa promise, Meester Marlowe. That’sa something not to forget. You not forget?”
“I won’t forget.”
“Tony, he not forget you. Get the idea?”
“I gave you my word. What you tell me is between us here.”
“That’sa fine. Okay. I come of large family. Many sisters and brothers. One brother very bad. Almost so bad as Tony.”
Tony grinned.
“Okay, thees brother live very quiet. Across the street. Gotta move. Okay, the coppers fill the joint up. Not so good. Ask too many questions. Not good for business, not good for thees bad brother. You get the idea?”
“Yes,” I said. “I get the idea.”
“Okay, thees Hench no good, but poor guy, drunk, no job. Pay no rent, but I got lotsa money. So I say, ‘Look, Hench, you make the confess. You sick man. Two three weeks sick. You go into court. I have a lawyer for you. You say to hell with the confess. I was drunk. The damn coppers are stuck. The judge he turn you loose and you come back to me and I take care of you. Okay?’ So Hench say okay, make the confess. That’sa all.”
I said: “And after two or three weeks the bad brother is a long way from here and the trail is cold and the cops will likely just write the Phillips killing off as unsolved. Is that it?”
“Si.” He smiled again. A brilliant warm smile, like the kiss of death.
“That takes care of Hench, Mr. Palermo,” I said. “But it doesn’t help me much about my friend.”
He shook his head and looked at his watch again. I stood up. Tony stood up. He wasn’t going to do anything, but it’s better to be standing up. You move faster.
“The trouble with you birds,” I said, “is you make mystery of nothing. You have to give the password before you bite a piece of bread. If I went down to headquarters and told the boys everything you have told me, they would laugh in my face. And I would be laughing with them.”
“Tony don’t laugh much,” Palermo said.
“The earth is full of people who don’t laugh much, Mr. Palermo,” I said. “You ought to know. You put a lot of them where they are.”
“Is my business,” he said, shrugging enormously.
“I’ll keep my promise,” I said. “But in case you should get to doubting that, don’t try to make any business for yourself out of me. Because in my part of town I’m a pretty good man and if the business got made out of Tony instead, it would be strictly on the house. No profit.”
Palermo laughed. “That’sa good,” he said. “Tony. One funeral—on the house. Okay.”
He stood up and held his hand out, a fine strong warm hand.
25
In the lobby of the Belfont Building, in the single elevator that had light in it, on the piece of folded burlap, the same watery-eyed relic sat motionless, giving his imitation of the forgotten man. I got in with him and said: “Six.”
The elevator lurched into motion and pounded its way upstairs. It stopped at six, I got out, and the old man leaned out of the car to spit and said in a dull voice:
“What’s cookin’?”
I turned around all in one piece, like a dummy on a revolving platform. I stared at him.
He said: “You got a gray suit on today.”
“So I have,” I said. “Yes.”
