“I never got your letters,” I said looking for something to play with. I found a mechanical Eversharp pencil that hadn’t worked for years.
“Possibly, but unlikely. According to our records you made only one thousand eight hundred sixty-seven dollars in 1941. Is that true?”
“True.”
“Forgive me, Mr. Peters, but that is a bit difficult to believe.”
“I forgive you. I also agree with you. It’s difficult to believe. Look around. I have a luxury office in a select location, drive the latest in modern transportation, have a standing reserved table at Ciro’s and Chasen’s, and reside among the stars. Drop by my house later. I’ll have the servants prepare a picnic on the patio.”
“You are being sarcastic,” Gartley said without smiling.
“I’m trying,” I agreed. “Now where do we go?”
“You give us a detailed listing of all your property and a more complete set of data on your purchases and expenditures.” He handed me about seven pages of forms with spaces and lines and Internal Revenue Service written in the upper-right-hand corner.
“And if I don’t?”
“You will be prosecuted for failure to cooperate with the federal government. In wartime that can be a quite serious offense.”
“I have no money,” I said standing up and turning my pockets inside out, which was a mistake, since I did have some change that went flying. Gartley had seen it all before. He simply looked at me, readjusted his glasses, and began putting papers back in his briefcase.
“It is difficult for us to understand,” he said evenly as I sat down without bothering to push my inside-out pockets back in, “how someone with the clients you had last year, some of our most reliable and wealthy citizens, could have so little income.”
“I’ll explain,” I said twisting the Eversharp so that the little piece of metal at the end stuck out. “If I’m lucky, I work maybe a month or two each year on cases that pay reasonably well. That’s four to eight weeks. Outside of that I take odd jobs at store openings, busy hotels, picking up on bad debts. I made more when I was a guard or a cop.”
“Then,” Gartley said quite reasonably as he rose, “why don’t you go back to those occupations?”
“I like what I’m doing,” I said.
Gartley looked around the room, shrugged, and said, “You have one week to turn those papers in. You could and probably should put down a good-faith payment of a hundred dollars, which will be returned to you should our investigation of your form so indicate.”
“I haven’t got a hundred dollars. I haven’t got a decent suit. I’m not sure if I can pay my rent next month and I need some new socks.”
Gartley nodded and left. I looked at the forms. They gave me a headache. I considered trying to fill them in while I was sitting there, but the Eversharp didn’t work and I couldn’t find a pencil. Besides, I had something else on my mind.
It was raining. Maybe I couldn’t get a cab. Maybe I couldn’t get there in time. Maybe I should work on the case, go to see Mae West, head for Talbott.
Enough. I turned off the lights and went to the door. The Farraday hummed at me, and I walked down slowly. By the time I hit the front door, the rain had stopped again. The streets were wet, and a cab was cruising at about three miles an hour. I stepped out and motioned for him. He made a lazy U-turn and came to me.
I got in and told him where to take me. I hadn’t brought a present. I had given Alcatraz to Phil. I could have stopped at a drugstore or flower shop, but what the hell. Whatever I got she wouldn’t like. What do you give your ex-wife when she’s getting married? You give her a kiss goodbye, that’s what.
The trip should have taken twenty minutes to the Beverly Wilshire. It probably did, but it felt like five minutes. I got off at the hotel, paid the Sunshine cabbie, and went in. The doorman smiled when I asked where the Howard wedding was being held. Everyone smiled me into the right room. It was big. It was money. It was Howard and TWA.
The ceremony had already begun when I stepped into the room. There were about sixty people seated, watching. Anne was dressed in a brown suit, her favorite color, and Ralph was wearing a matching brown. His white hair was Vitalis smooth as he put the ring on her finger.
I couldn’t tell what denomination the clergyman performing the ceremony was. It didn’t matter. It was legal and it was over. Ralph kissed her, and they turned to face the guests. Anne’s eyes were moist and she caught me at the door. She gave me a small smile and I nodded and smiled back.
I’d lost my Buick and my wife in twenty-four hours. Maybe, if I really worked on it, I could lose my health or my life in the next twenty-four. Something touched my sleeve. I looked at my side but no one was there. Then I looked down at Gunther.
“I thought, perhaps,” he said softly, “that you might like a nearby friend.”
CHAPTER 6
A woman with a sickly purple dress and tears in her eyes rushed for the happy couple, threw her arms around Ralph’s neck, and began to laugh and cry. Others joined her with greater restraint, congratulating Ralph and Anne, who looked over them with a pleasant smile in my direction.
I wanted to think that her look across the crowded room was one of regret and nostalgia. I knew it probably had a tinge of fear in it. A scene of some sort was a distinct possibility, but I wasn’t planning one. My only thought was to feel sorry for myself, give Anne a little guilt, and needle Ralph if I got the chance. Then I had a killer to catch.
Anne excused herself and came through the small crowd in my direction. She looked full and beautiful as she took my hand with a smile. Gunther faded back a dozen steps.
“What are you pulling, Toby?” I could see that her grin was fixed and false.
“Pulling?” I said innocently. “Nothing. You invited me. I’m here.”
“Why did you bring a midget?” she whispered. The purple lady had pulled away from the cluster around Ralph and now took Anne’s arm and gushed, “I hope you’ll be happy, so happy with Ralph. He deserves it.”
“Gunther is not a midget,” I explained. “He’s a little person and my friend. I told him about the wedding, and he thought I should have a friend with me.”
Anne glanced at the immaculate Gunther and then at me as a waiter with red eyes and a runny nose offered us some sparkling drinks on a tray. Anne took one, sipped, spilled a little, and laughed lightly.
“Don’t embarrass me here, Toby. Don’t do it.”
The warning in her voice, beyond her fine white smiling teeth, was clear and present. I wondered what she had to threaten me with.
“You mean,” I said, grabbing a handful of tiny, crustless white bread sandwiches with something green inside them from a passing tray, “you won’t invite me to your next wedding?”
I gulped a finger sandwich or two, turned to watch Gunther accepting a drink from the stooping waiter, and listened to Anne say, “I think it would be best if you kissed my cheek and walked out of my life now. I invited you for one reason only, to make it clear to you that you are no longer part of …”
Ralph had broken out of his circle of well-wishers and had stepped beaming next to Anne with a curious look at me.
“Ralph,” she said, her voice showing a little strain as she reached up to wipe a stain from the corner of his mouth, “This is Toby.”
Ralph’s sincere small smile didn’t flicker. He put out his right hand and shook mine firmly. I gobbled the last of the sandwiches.
“I’m glad you came, Toby,” he said in a deep baritone. “Anne’s told me a lot about you, almost all of it quite sympathetic. I admire you in many ways.”
“Thanks,” I said, trying not to sound sullen.
“Haven’t I seen you …?” he began.
