with.
“Friend of yours?” he asked casually.
“We grew up together,” I said.
“Quiet sort of guy,” the man said easily. “I used to pass the time of day with him. Works for Cal-Western, don’t he?”
“He did,” I said.
“Oh. He quit?”
“Let out.”
We went on staring at each other. It didn’t get either of us anywhere. We both had done too much of it in our lives to expect miracles.
The man put the cigar back in his face and sat down on the side of the bed beside the open suitcase. Glancing into it I saw the square butt of an automatic peeping out from under a pair of badly folded shorts.
“This Quest party’s been out of here ten days,” the man said thoughtfully. “So he still thinks the room is vacant, huh?”
“According to the register it is vacant,” I said.
He made a contemptuous noise. “That rummy downstairs probably ain’t looked at the register in a month. Say—wait a minute.” His eyes sharpened and his hand wandered idly over the open suitcase and gave an idle pat to something that was close to the gun. When the hand moved away, the gun was no longer visible.
“I’ve been kind of dreamy all morning or I’d have wised up,” he said. “You’re a dick.”
“All right. Say I’m a dick.”
“What’s the beef?”
“No beef at all. I just wondered why you had the room.”
“I moved from 215 across the hail. This here is a better room. That’s all. Simple. Satisfied?”
“Perfectly,” I said, watching the hand that could be near the gun if it wanted to.
“What kind of dick? City? Let’s see the buzzer.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I don’t believe you got no buzzer.”
“If I showed it to you, you’re the type of guy would say it was counterfeit. So you’re Hicks.”
He looked surprised.
“George W. Hicks,” I said. “It’s in the register. Room 215. You just got through telling me you moved from 215.” I glanced around the room. “If you had a blackboard here, I’d write it out for you.”
“Strictly speaking, we don’t have to get into no snarling match,” he said. “Sure I’m Hicks. Pleased to meetcha. What’s yours?”
He held his hand out. I shook hands with him, but not as if I had been longing for the moment to arrive.
“My name’s Marlowe,” I said. “Philip Marlowe.”
“You know something,” Hicks said politely, “you’re a Goddamn liar.”
I laughed in his face.
“You ain’t getting no place with that breezy manner, bub. What’s your connection?”
I got my wallet out and handed him one of my business cards. He read it thoughtfully and tapped the edge against his porcelain crown.
“He coulda went somewhere without telling me,” he mused.
“Your grammar,” I said, “is almost as loose as your toupee.”
“You lay off my toupee, if you know what’s good for you,” he shouted.
“I wasn’t going to eat it,” I said. “I’m not that hungry.” He took a step towards me, and dropped his right shoulder. A scowl of fury dropped his lip almost as far.
“Don’t hit me. I’m insured,” I told him.
“Oh hell. Just another screwball.” He shrugged and put his lip back up on his face. “What’s the lay?”
“I have to find this Orrin P. Quest,” I said.
“Why?”
I didn’t answer that.
After a moment he said: “O.K. I’m a careful guy myself. That’s why I’m movin’ out.”
“Maybe you don’t like the reefer smoke.”
“That,” he said emptily, “and other things. That’s why Quest left. Respectable type. Like me. I think a couple of hard boys threw a scare into him.”
“I see,” I said. “That would be why he left no forwarding address. And why did they throw a scare into him?”
