We were moving again, toward the shadows and a partially open door.
'You're an actor,' I said.
'I'm what you call an entrepreneur,' he countered. 'Right, Tools?'
'Hundred percent,' came Tools's voice.
We went through the open door. We were in a familiar room, an old room.
'You recognize it?' Gouda asked as Tools closed the door behind us. 'Furniture, drapes?'
'I don't…'
'Study,' he said. 'Old O'Hara's study in Gone With the Wind. Tara. Not copies. The real stuff. The McCoy. Saturday there's going to be a reunion of some of the cast and crew of the movie. Right on the Selznick lot, in front of the Tara exterior. I understand there are still some pieces left, furniture, paintings. We get first crack at buying it. You working for DeGeorgio or Baumholtz, trying to scare me off of being there to pick up what's left, tell them I'll see them on Saturday. You know what I'm saying here?'
He let go of my shoulder and moved to the wooden chair at the ancient-looking desk and motioned toward an embroidered, rickety-legged armchair. I looked at the door behind me. Tools was leaning against it.
'I'm not gonna ask you why anyone would want to kill me,' Gouda said, running an open palm over the surface of the desk. 'Truth is, I confess, there are guys who are not well inclined toward me. Women too. A couple or so. Business rivals, DeGeorgio, Baumholtz, and such like. I've got various holdings and interests, right, Tools?'
'A wide variety of interests,' Tools agreed.
'Diversification,' Gouda said, watching me. 'Sit down.'
I sat.
'Now,' Gouda said. 'I'm saying what I'm gonna say because (a) it's true, and (b) I want you impressed. I used to be engaged in contract work for legitimate businesses, corporations, even a union here and there in Detroit, Cleveland, Akron. When they needed people to be reasonable, I used to talk to them, me and Tools and some part- time help. I would talk and they would be reasonable. But I'm more interested in art now, Gothic art. I mention that I have a passion for beauty?'
'Something like that,' I said.
'I say it, Tools?'
'Absolutely,' Tools agreed.!
'And do I have a certain sensitivity for character?'
'Absolutely,' Tools agreed. 'Very sensitive.'
'Could you and me have made it so long through life if I couldn't read through a man or woman who came to me and said the moon is made of shit painted white?'
'Never,' said Tools emphatically.
'You,' said Gouda, pointing at me, 'are telling me shit is white.'
'Someone plans to kill you or a woman named Gilmore,' I said.
'You said.' Gouda sighed. 'Who the hell are you?'
'Toby Peters,' I said, moving my head to be sure Tools was still leaning against the door.
'You a crackpot?' asked Gouda.
'No,' I said.
'You a crackpot?' Tools repeated.
'I'm a private investigator,' I said.
'You know anybody named Markowitz, Gamble, With-erspoon,' Gouda said, picking up a small porcelain doll.
'Lerner, Romano, Hansen, Arango,' Tools went on.
'Any of them send you here with this load of crap?' asked Gouda. 'Not that I expect an easy answer.'
'Karl,' I said with my best smile.
'Mr. Gouda,' Tools corrected.
'Mr. Gouda,' I amended. 'I'm just…'
'And some have said I am unjust,' he chimed hi with a satisfied smile aimed at me and Tools. I couldn't see Tools's reaction. If it wasn't an old favorite of Gouda's, I was sure it went a few miles over Tools.
'Fine,' I said, standing up. 'I come here maybe to save your life and you play Little Caesar. You're on your own.'
Tools was still leaning against the door. I took a step toward him.
'I don't like a guy coming here and telling me someone wants me dead,' Gouda said. 'It offends me. It makes me think something is going on.'
I kept moving toward the door.
'Question, Peters,' Gouda said behind me. 'How do you think Mr. Nathanson got his nickname?'
I didn't answer.
'Answer,' said Gouda and Tools opened his baggy jacket to reveal a holster.
I stopped.
The holster had four pockets. I could see a claw hammer hi one pocket and something metal in the other three. Tools was well armed for minor house repairs but I didn't think he could stop me unless he came up with something that fired bulle'ts. He was older than me, a roly-poly barrel.
'Out of the way, Mr. Nathanson,' I said.
'Tools sparred with Joe Louis,' said Gouda. 'When Louis was tuning up for Tony Galento. Tools was a better fighter than Galento. Nothing hurts Tools. That right, Tools?'
'Nothing hurts Tools,' Tools agreed, removing an oversized pair of pliers from his holster. 'But…'
He didn't have to finish.
'No one sent me,' I said, turning back to Gouda.
'I'll believe it when Tools has chatted with you a while,' he said. 'I didn't get to be the most sensitive dealer in Tiffany lamps this side of St. Louis by being incautious.'
A buzz. From under Gouda's desk.
'I get it?' asked Tools.
'I get it,' said Gouda, rising from the desk and adjusting his tie. 'You have a little talk with Mr. Peters and see if maybe he remembers Lerner, DeGeorgio, or Arango.'
Gouda moved past me toward the door.
'Where you going?' I asked.
'Customer,' he said.
Tools moved away from the door toward me.
'Don't go,' I said. 'It might be…'
Gouda waved his hand at me and went through the door, closing it behind him.
'Tools,' I said. 'Your boss…'
'Karl's not my boss,' Tools said, clicking the pliers together like castanets. 'We're partners. He's got a passion for lamps with scary stuff, and I got a passion for tools and confession. I was a Catholic when I was a kid.'
I backed away toward the desk, looking for a tool of my own.
'What are you now?'
'Bored,' he said. 'I was happier back east.'
There was no way out but through Tools Nathanson. He could see me thinking. Tools shook his head no. I didn't have a choice even if I did have a rotating ball in my stomach that told me the man in front of me was too confident to be bluffing.
I was saved by the gun.
Karl Albert Gouda wasn't.
The shots were close together. Two of them. Tools blinked and turned. He had the door open and was running into the shop before I had taken my first step after him. The fat little son of a gun could move like a welterweight.
By the time I got to the front of the store where Tools was leaning over Karl Gouda near the open front door, I knew I had another victim for the list. I jumped over Gouda and went out the door. A car was going by. Cars were
