'Even though he's a wrong Gee,' I said.
'I am not much of a father, Mr. Marlowe. I have only my daughter. Her mother is long since gone. I indulge my daughter entirely, doubtless for selfish reasons. If she wishes to be married to a wrong Gee then he will become, so to speak, my wrong Gee.'
'The wrong Gee is home,' I said. 'I delivered him myself.'
'So you weren't telling me everything,' Blackstone said.
'I never said I was.'
'You're an interesting man, Marlowe. You wouldn't tell me that until you decided what I'd do with the information.'
I didn't say anything.
'I can admire that, Marlowe. But do not make the mistake of confusing admiration with patience. I can eliminate you by nodding my head. And if it suits my purposes I will.'
'Anybody can eliminate anybody, Mr. Blackstone. Once you realize that, it all gets into perspective.'
'Where did you find him?'
'He was in his office,' I lied. 'I told him the cops would be after him any minute and he came with me.'
'Where had he been?'
I shrugged. 'He didn't say.'
Blackstone put the glass to his lips, discovered it was empty, gestured, without looking, to Garcia. Eddie was there with the decanter and siphon. He looked at me. I shook my head. Eddie was back at the bar.
'Be careful, Marlowe. I'm not a playful man. So be very careful.'
'Sure,' I said. 'You don't mind if I nibble on a turnip once in a while.'
'Take him home, Eddie,' Blackstone said. 'When you get there give him back his gun.'
'Lola's place would be fine,' I said. 'I didn't finish searching it.'
Blackstone almost smiled.
'Take him where he wants to go, Eddie.'
This time J.D. drove and Eddie rode in back with me. When we got to Kenmore Eddie reached in his side pocket and got my gun. J.D. stopped in front of Lola's house. It was silent. The street was dark. There was a high pale moon shining straight down on us. Garcia handed me my gun.
'You're a piece of work, Marlowe,' he said. 'I'll give you that.'
I stowed the gun under my arm and got out of the car.
J.D. slid it into gear. I gave it the gunman's salute as they drove away.
23
It was 3:37 on my wristwatch, by moonlight, when I came out of Lola Faithful's house. I hadn't found anything, but on the other hand no one else had come and pointed a gun at me. It was too late to go home. I drove slowly. Hollywood was empty, the houses blank and aimless, all the colors altered by the moon glow. Only the neon lights along Sunset were still awake. They were always awake. Bright, hearty and fake, full of Hollywood promises. The days come and go. The neon endures.
I tried to figure out why I was here, alone, in the night on Sunset musing about neon. I had a client, but he sure as hell hadn't hired me to protect Valentine and look for whoever killed Lola. I hadn't slept in a while. I hadn't eaten in a while, and the rye for lunch and the Scotch for supper had worn off, leaving me feeling like something that belonged on Sunset Boulevard at 3:30 in the morning with no place to go. I had a beautiful wife at home in a comfortable bed, sleeping with one arm across her forehead and her mouth open only a fraction. If I got into bed with her now she would roll toward me and put one arm around me. What the hell difference did it make if she owned the bed? What the hell difference did it make if Les Valentine had killed Lola Faithful? Why not let the cops sort it out? At Western Ave I turned up toward Hollywood Boulevard. I didn't have any purpose. I wasn't going anywhere. What the hell difference did it make where I drove? I drove past Larry's building. Ten yards past it I slowed, and U-turned, and cruised back. Something had moved in the doorway of Larry's building. Probably just a bum staying out of the moonlight. Why not take a second look? It didn't matter.
I stopped in front of the building and got a flashlight out of the glove compartment and shined it in the doorway. Huddled back, trying to avoid the light, was Angel, the other wife. I switched off the flash and got out of the car, and when I did she dashed out of the doorway and headed up Western toward Hollywood. What I needed, a foot race. I took a deep inhale and headed out after her. I caught her after she had rounded the corner at Hollywood and was heading west. I might not have caught her at all but she broke one of the high heels on her shoes.
'It's me,' I said, 'Marlowe, the guy that drove off with Larry.'
She was breathing very hard, and crying a little from fear, and didn't quite get who I was. I held her arms while she tried to pull away.
'Marlowe,' I said, 'your pal, your protector, your confidant. I won't hurt you.'
She struggled less, then even less, and finally stood, her breath going in and out hard, her shoulders shaking, the tears running down her face. I still held her wrists, but she had stopped trying to hit me, and she wasn't trying to pull away.
'It's me,' I said again, 'Marlowe the moonlight knight. The shabby savior of ladies in doorways.'
I was so tired I was dopey.
'Where's Larry?' she said.
I didn't answer. Instead I looked at the spotlight that was suddenly in my eyes from the car that had swung around the corner from Western and pulled up over the curb beside us.
'Hold it right there,' a voice said. It was a cop voice, a little bored, a little tough. They came out of the spotlight on either side of me.
'Hands on the car, Jack,' one of them said.
I put my hands on the roof of the car. One of them kicked my legs apart and patted me down. He took the gun from under my arm. Made me wonder why I carried it, people kept taking it away. Then the cop stepped back away from me.
'Got some ID?' he said.
I fished my wallet out again and handed it over and the cop looked at the contents in the light of the spotlight. They were both plainclothes, one fat with his tie snugged up around his neck but off center. The other one, the one doing the talking, was a tall, loose-built guy with glasses. He had on jeans and a tee shirt and wore his gun inside the belt of his jeans in front.
'My name's Bob Kane,' he said as he handed me back my wallet. 'You mind telling me why you were chasing this lady?'
'I wanted to give her a ride home,' I said.
Kane smiled happily.
'Hear that, Gordy?' he said to his fat partner. 'Guy just wanted to drive her home.'
Gordy had his gun still out but was holding it at his side pointed at the ground.
'No shit,' Gordy said. He was wearing a wide-brimmed panama hat with a big flowered band.
'She didn't seem to want to ride home,' Kane said. 'She kind of looked to be running like hell to get away from you.'
'She didn't recognize me,' I said.
'You know this guy?' Kane said. His glasses had big round lenses and his eyes were pleasant and heartless behind them, enlarged a little.
Angel nodded. 'I know him,' she said.
'So how come you were running?' Kane said.
'Like he says, I didn't recognize him.'
'How you know him?' Kane said.
'He's a… a friend of my husband's.'
