Max Roth showed up at nine o’clock on the dot and we shook hands and sat ourselves down. He looked out of place, shaved, with his hair combed back and clothes in decent order. He mumbled something about being sorry about the other day and being glad we could work things out.
I leaned back and gave him a friendly smile. “I’m even sorrier, Max,” I said. “I tried to phone you before you got here but I guess I just missed you. I wanted to save you the trip.”
“What do you mean?”
“The job I was planning for you fell through. Happened only ten minutes ago.”
The color in Max’s face dropped but he didn’t say a word or move a muscle. I continued, “You see, two days ago Mulrooney Construction called me. They were having problems with some materials disappearing. I know you favor that type of work, and hell, they can be good clients for repeat jobs. So while we were having our talk last night I couldn’t help thinking it would be only fair to give it to you.”
I was giving it to him alright.
“What”-his voice cracked and he cleared his throat-”what happened?”
“Just before you showed up I got a call from the old man over there that the situation had cleared itself up. One of their workers had himself an accident. Fell and broke both his legs. Lying there, he had some sort of revelation. Made a guess on where the stuff was. And he must have been psychic because he was right on the mark.”
“So that’s it, huh? You don’t have anything else?”
I shook my head, disappointed in him. Here Max hears about a fellow human being breaking both legs, and all he can think about is his own situation. Of course, this other person didn’t exist since I made up the story, but Max didn’t know that.
“It’s slow right now,” I said. “The only other job I have is some cop work, and I’d feel kind of bad offering you that. Narcotics department needs some help finding an informant.”
He didn’t say a word. He couldn’t, at least not knowing how things really stood. So we sat there staring at each other, him looking sick to his stomach and me smiling as if nothing were wrong. All he could do was guess whether I was leveling or stringing him along, but guessing just wasn’t good enough. After a long silence he asked, “So that’s the way it’s going to be. Fifty percent on that, right?”
I shrugged. “If we’re going to be more like partners then it’s only fair you take some of the bad with the good.”
There are times when the Denver police need help on a case and I take it on as a kind of public service to the community. They can’t pay more than a hundred and sixty dollars a day-part of some bureaucratic red tape-and I take the loss personally. I pay the full amount to whoever I subcontract to. Hell, it’s the only decent thing to do and I guess I make sure they all know it. But it’s the least I can do for the community that has done so much for me. Also it doesn’t hurt none to have some friendly officers on the force.
Max must have wanted to tell me to go to hell. But what if I were on the level? With our new arrangement he’d end up making only fifty percent on the hundred and sixty dollar fee. So he would end up a good eighty dollars worse off than before. And, even if he were able to get them as permanent clients, you just don’t want that type of work. Worse for your health than smoking. If he took the job and I weren’t on the level then I would be giving him the royal horselaugh. But if I were on the level-then maybe next time . . . .
It was a hell of a choice to make. And I could tell by his face that he wasn’t having a good time with it. The color slowly came back, mottling his cheeks.
He shrugged without much enthusiasm. “I guess it’s only fair and it’s better than nothing. Sure, why not?”
I gave him the information and after he left I gave him the royal horselaugh. Silently. Deep in the gut. You see, I’m the type of guy who would give anyone in the world the shirt off my back. I’d do it without expecting a thing in return except being treated fairly.
I don’t see that as expecting anything more than what’s right. And if someone is going to try to give me a hard time, he’d better cover himself because I’m going to stick it right back at him. In spades. And-
And the phone rang. It was Mary.
“I was going to call you,” I said. “Why were you in such a hurry this morning?”
“It was better that way.”
“Now, honey. What’s wrong?”
“Why should anything be wrong?”
“Well,” I sighed. “There isn’t any reason I can think of. Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you.”
There was a long silence. Then, “Who was at your door last night?”
“No one. I’ve already told you that.”
“Who’s Margo?”
“Ahh, Mary,” I groaned. I wanted to kick Marge for leaving that letter. “She’s someone who doesn’t matter. Trust me.”
“Something that does matter. That man isn’t my father.”
I didn’t know what to say. She broke the silence by telling me she wanted to see me.
She didn’t want to come to my office. I tried asking her why, but she wouldn’t say. We arranged to meet at a diner a couple of blocks away.
* * * * *
Mary sat at the table as rigid as a three-day-old corpse.
I reached for her hand. She pulled it away.
“Mary,” I said, “I’m a little confused about what’s happening. Why’d you leave this morning without saying a word?”
Her eyes blazed, and if there had been an open can of gasoline sitting on the table we both would’ve been cooked.
“What difference does it make?”
“What differ-” I said, shaking my head. “Mary, I care about you.”
“I don’t care about you!” The four-alarm blaze going on in her eyes flared and then flickered out, leaving her looking a little pale around the gills. “Anyway, you don’t really care,” she added. “If you did, you’d have been with me last night.”
I asked, incredulously, “Where do you think I was?”
“You weren’t with me. Not really. While we were making-having sex, you were thinking of her.”
“Mary, I-” I stumbled a little, tongue-tied. “That’s just not so. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. That man isn’t my father. My real father would never have tried to do that to me.”
“I know it’s unpleasant, but these things happen.”
“No!” she said, shaking her head, as if that would settle the issue. “I want you to tell me why you thought he was my father. Because he isn’t!”
Before getting Mary’s phone call, I was hungry enough to empty a refrigerator. Now though, I wasn’t sure if my stomach could even hold down a cup of coffee. When the waitress came over, I ordered the coffee anyway, and as she walked away, I heard her muttering something about big spenders.
“Like I already told you,” I said, after the waitress was out of earshot, “after your mother died you were given up for adoption. I dug around and found out who her boyfriend was. And he-Jerry Bry-admitted he was your father. He also confirmed you were given to an Oklahoma City adoption agency, and that the Williamses ended up adopting-”
“Did you show him my picture?”
“What?” I asked, puzzled.
“Did you show him my picture before you started asking him questions?”
“Well, I guess I did.” I saw where she was heading and I almost laughed, it was so farfetched. I played along, though. “I don’t understand-”
“Don’t you see?” she cut in. “He saw what I looked like before he told you anything.”
“I still don’t see what you’re getting at,” I mumbled, scratching my head.
“Johnny, he’s a pervert!” she shouted, almost jumping out of her seat. “He was lying to you. Don’t you see that?”
