“So you had a tire iron,” the sergeant said coldly. “So why?”
“Let’s say I just had a hunch someone was waiting for me here.”
“Let’s try it that you didn’t have a hunch, that you already knew. And knew a lot more.”
“Let’s try it that you don’t call me a liar until you know what you’re talking about. And let’s try it that you don’t get so goddamn tough just because you have three stripes. And let’s try something more. This guy may be a hood, but he still has two broken wrists, and you know what that means, Sergeant? He’ll never be able to handle a gun again.”
“So we book you for mayhem.”
“If you say so, Sergeant.”
Then the ambulance came. They carried Goble out first and then the intern put temporary splints on the two wrists of the redhead. They unstrapped his ankles. He looked at me and laughed.
“Next time, pal, I’ll think of something original—but you did all right. You really did.”
He went out. The ambulance doors clanged shut and the growling sound of it died. The sergeant was sitting down now, with his cap off. He was wiping his forehead.
“Let’s try again,” he said evenly. “From the beginning. Like as if we didn’t hate each other and were just trying to understand. Could we?”
“Yes, Sergeant. We could. Thanks for giving me the chance.”
23
Eventually I landed back at the cop house. Captain Alessandro had gone. I had to sign a statement for Sergeant Holzminder.
“A tire iron, huh?” he said musingly. “Mister, you took an awful chance. He could have shot you four times while you were swinging on him.”
“I don’t think so, Sergeant. I bumped him pretty hard with the door. And I didn’t take a full swing. Also, maybe he wasn’t supposed to shoot me. I don’t figure he was in business for himself.”
A little more of that, and they let me go. It was too late to do anything but go to bed, too late to talk to anyone. Just the same I went to the telephone company office and shut myself in one of the two neat outdoor booths and dialed the Casa del Poniente.
“Miss Mayfield, please. Miss Betty Mayfield. Room 1224.”
“I can’t ring a guest at this hour.”
“Why? You got a broken wrist?” I was a real tough boy tonight. “Do you think I’d call if it wasn’t an emergency?”
He rang and she answered in a sleepy voice.
“This is Marlowe. Bad trouble. Do I come there or do you come to my place?”
“What? What kind of trouble?”
“Just take it from me for just this once. Should I pick you up in the parking lot?”
“I’ll get dressed. Give me a little time.”
I went out to my car and drove to the Casa. I was smoking my third cigarette and wishing I had a drink when she came quickly and noiselessly up to the car and got in.
“I don’t know what this is all about,” she began, but I interrupted her.
“You’re the only one that does. And tonight you’re going to tell me. And don’t bother getting indignant. It won’t work again.”
I jerked the car into motion and drove fast through silent streets and then down the hill and into the Rancho Descansado and parked under the trees. She got out without a word and I unlocked my door and put the lights on.
“Drink?”
“All right.”
“Are you doped?”
“Not tonight, if you mean sleeping pills. I was out with Clark and drank quite a lot of champagne. That always makes me sleepy.”
I made a couple of drinks and gave her one. I sat down and leaned my head back.
“Excuse me,” I said. “I’m a little tired. Once in every two or three days I have to sit down. It’s a weakness I’ve tried to get over, but I’m not as young as I was. Mitchell’s dead.”
Her breath caught in her throat and her hand shook. She may have turned pale. I couldn’t tell.
“Dead?” she whispered. “Dead?”
“Oh, come off it. As Lincoln said, you can fool all of the detectives some of the time, and some of the detectives all the time, but you can’t—”
“Shut up! Shut up right now! Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Just a guy who has tried very hard to get where he could do you some good. A guy with enough experience and enough understanding to know that you were in some kind of jam. And wanted to help you out of it, with no help from you.”
