Poodle Springs

was used to, even if my wife did have ten million bucks.

'Glad you could make it, Marlowe,' Lipshultz said.

'Me too,' I said. 'Got to make a living.'

'Married to Harlan Potter's daughter?'

'That means she doesn't have to make a living,' I said.

Lipshultz nodded. 'I got a problem, Marlowe.'

I waited.

'What we do here ain't, you know, quite legal.'

'I know,' I said.

'Ever wonder why we don't get the arm laid on us?'

'No,' I said, 'but if I did, I'd figure you had backing, and the backing had the kind of money which keeps people from getting the arm laid on them.'

Lipshultz smiled. 'Smart, Marlowe. I knew you was smart even before I had you checked out.'

'So with that kind of connection, what do you need me for?'

Lipshultz shook his head sadly. He had a thick nose to go with his red face, and slick black hair parted in the middle and combed tight on each side of his bullet head.

'Can't use that backing in this,' he said. 'Fact if you don't help me out, the backing is going to maybe send some people out to see me, you follow?'

'If they do you should get better help than the two yahoos you got following you around now.'

'That's the truth,' Lippy said. 'Hard to get people to come out here, I mean this ain't Los Angeles. Not everybody likes the desert. Why I was so glad when I found out you was here. I heard about you when you were operating out of Hollywood.'

'Your lucky day,' I said. 'What do you want me to do?'

He handed me an IOU for $100,000, with the signature Les Valentine across the bottom in a neat, very small hand. Then he sat back to let that sink in.

'Me,' Lippy said, 'taking a guy's marker for a hundred g's. I must be getting old.'

'How come you did?' I said.

'He had money in the family. Always made good before.'

'And when Mr. Big that runs you audited the books one day he noticed you were 100,000 short.'

'His bookkeeper,' Lipshultz said. 'And Mr. Black-stone came to see me.'

The air-conditioned room was full of cold, but Lipshultz was sweating. He pulled the silk show handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his neck with it.

'Drove right out here himself and sat where you're sitting and told me I had thirty days to cover the loss,' Lipshultz said.

'Or?'

'There ain't no 'or' with Mr. Blackstone, Marlowe.'

'So you want me to find the guy who stuck you.'

Lipshultz nodded.

'I find people, Lipshultz, I don't shake them down.'

'That's all I'm asking you, Marlowe. I'm out a hundred grand. I don't get it back and I'm dead. You find the guy. Talk to him.'

'What if he doesn't have it? Guys that lose a hundred g's at the tables don't usually have it for long,' I said.

'He's got it. His wife's worth twenty, thirty million.'

'So why not ask her?'

'I have, she don't believe me. She says her Lester wouldn't do that. And I say ask Lester, and she says he's away now, doing stills for some movie shooting north of L.A.'

'How come you didn't shake her down?'

Lipshultz shook his head. 'She's a lady,' he said.

'And you're a gentleman,' I said.

Lipshultz shrugged. 'What the hell,' he said.

I believed that like I believed you should draw to an inside straight, but there didn't seem to be anything for me in arguing about it.

'I'll pay you ten percent if you get the money,' Lipshultz said.

'I get a hundred dollars a day and expenses,' I said.

Lipshultz nodded. 'Heard you was a boy scout.'

'There's some people doing twenty to life in San Quentin thought the same thing,' I said.

Lipshultz grinned. 'Heard you thought you was tough, too.'

'Where do I find this guy?' I said.

'Valentine, Les Valentine. Lives with his wife somewhere in Poodle Springs, out near the Racquet Club. Want me to look it up?'

'I'm a trained sleuth,' I said. 'I'll look it up. Can I keep the IOU?'

'Sure,' Lipshultz said. 'I got copies.'

Lipshultz gave me $100 as a retainer and pushed a button somewhere because Leonard and his alter ego showed up. Leonard gave me back my gun, alter ego stayed far enough away so I wouldn't bite him and followed me out through the gambling layout and into the hot bright daylight at the front door. He and Leonard watched while I got into the Olds and drove away with the hot wind washing over me through the open windows.

6

Les Valentine's house was off Racquet Club Road, on one of those curvy little streets created to make an instant neighborhood. There were giant cactus plants at regular intervals, and jacaranda trees for a touch of color. The bungalows with their wide roofs were set close to the drive so that there was room for the pool in back, and the patio, which represented the ultimate advancement of civilization in the desert. No one was in sight. The only movement was the soft sluice of water sprinklers. Everybody was probably inside trying on outfits for the party at the Racquet Club Saturday night.

I parked the Olds in front and walked up the crushed white stone path to the porch. On either side of the Spanish oak door there were bull's-eye glass panels which went with the Spanish architecture like a Scotch Margarita. A Japanese houseboy opened the door and took my hat and put me in the front parlor to sit while he went for Madame.

The room was all white stucco. In one corner was a conical stucco fireplace in case the temperature dropped below ninety after the sun went down. The hearth was red Mexican tile. On the front wall was a large oil painting of a mean-looking guy in a three-piece suit with big white eyebrows, and the mouth of a man who tips people a nickel. On the end wall, to the left of the fireplace, was a series of photographs, full of arty lighting from below and odd over-the-shoulder poses of women. Black and white stuff, framed expensively as if they were important. On an easel near the doors to the patio was a big blow-up of a man and a woman. She was in her mid-30s, serious-looking, with the same kind of mouth as the mean-looking old guy in the oil on the front wall. Even though he was balding, the man with her seemed younger. He wore rimless glasses in the picture and a smile that said, Don't pay attention to me.

'Mr. Marlowe?'

I turned to look at the woman from the picture. She was frowning down at the brand-new card I'd had printed up. I hadn't even had an office yet when I ordered them so they merely said Philip Marlowe, Investigation, Poodle Springs. Linda had vetoed the brass knuckles rampant.

'Yes, Ma'am,' I said.

'Sit down, please,' she said. 'Have you been admiring my husband's work?'

'Yes, Ma'am. Is that your husband with you here?' I nodded at the picture.

'Yes, that's Les. He set the timer and then joined me. He's very clever.'