Free Live Free

“Jim, it won’t look good if he sees me talking to you.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not well dressed enough for a pimp,” Stubb said, “or the right color either.” But he was already turning away, losing himself even to himself in the crowd in the lobby. The letter felt thin and dry between his fingers; he wondered vaguely why he had not put it inside his coat. There were no statues in the Consort’s lobby, no palms or ferns, and out of long habit he did not want to open the letter where someone might read it over his shoulder. Neither did he want to remain close enough to see the man who came for Candy. With a surge of others, he entered an elevator.

He got off at the seventh floor. No one answered when he tapped at the door of the witch’s room. He stood for a moment and listened, fearing that Barnes had taken his tall brunette there. No sound came through the thin panels, and there was no answer when he tapped again, positioning himself before the peep-hole.

The room had not been occupied since he had searched it with the witch that morning. The big bed where she had slept was still smoothly covered by its quilted spread. The drapes he had opened then had been drawn again— that was new. A chaise had replaced the other bed.

He switched on all the lights and checked the bottom of the table, the television, and all the lamps again, then slipped out of his trenchcoat and jacket and threw them on the bed. The room seemed warm. He had tossed the envelope onto the table when he came; now he picked it up, peering at it through his thick glasses, fingering it, pushing back his hat.

I should have asked that bellboy questions, he thought. That’s what comes of stopping at the Irishman’s to drink with her—I’m a little bombed myself. He must have had a good laugh out of me. Man’s writing, only one sheet inside.

He tore open the envelope.

Jim—Need you on a case. This is a tough one, but the sky’s the limit. $200/day & exp., could be a long one if you set yourself up right with the client. Call me PDQ. I’m in 877.

Cliff

Stubb smiled to himself, picked up the telephone and dialed. A moment later he could hear it ringing in the room directly overhead.

“Room eight seventy-seven.”

“It’s Stubb, Cliff.”

“Jim! This is great. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get hola of you.”

“How did you know I was in the hotel?”

“I didn’t, not for sure, but I’ve been asking around for you, and Iran into Bill Kramer. You remember Bill? He’s the security chief here now.”

“Big guy, crooked nose.”

“Hell, Jim, everybody’s big to you. My height, maybe two hundred pounds.”

“So you ran into him. Your wife throw you out of the house or something?”

“Would I stay here? Listen, Jim, you’re getting pretty damned independent. The last time you called me you were begging for work.”

“I’m not begging any more. I’ve got something.”

“You called me just for old times’ sake?”

“Right.”

“Jim, you’re not licensed.”

“I didn’t say I had a client. Just a little job for an old friend. I told you. How about finishing the story? You ran into Bill Kramer.”

“I said, have you seen Jim, and he said, yeah in the coffee shop this morning with another guy and two gals—”

“He said ‘gals’?”

“All right, so Bill’s not a very bright guy. If he was he’d be working for me. Yep, he said gals. You and two women and another guy in the coffee shop. He said after that he checked to see if you were registered and you weren’t, but he figured maybe you were shacking it with one of the women.”

“He’s running a riding academy now, huh?”

“Jim, every place’s a riding academy now. Nobody gives a shit unless you rip the sheets or wake up the couple in the next room. Where are you?”

“In the hotel.”

“Hell, I know you’re in the God-damned hotel, you just told me. What’s your room number?”

“That’s confidential, Cliff. You know how it is.”

“By God, you’re getting cocky. This afternoon you were begging me for a job.”

“Yeah, and you wouldn’t give me one.”

Stubb hung up. Leaving the spindly chair beside the telephone stand, he kicked off his shoes, threw himself into a larger, more comfortable chair, and put his feet on the bed. Smoothing the note, he reread it and stuffed it into his shirt pocket. A smile crossed his waxy face. He stretched, went into the bathroom and relieved himself, washed his hands, then sat down at the telephone again and dialed.