I’ll like it.”
“Where’re you moving them to, Wanda?” Padillo said.
“To New York first,” she said.
“Then where?”
She looked at Padillo for nearly fifteen seconds. It was a searching, suspicious look such as she might give the two-carat diamond ring that could be had for only fifty dollars along with a touching hard luck story. “I don’t think you should know that just yet,” she said.
“All right,” he said, “you can tell me something else.”
“What?”
“Where were you last night when your brother was being garroted?”
“You really think you need to know, don’t you?”
“I think so.”
“It’s just as I told the police,” she said. “I was out.”
“You’ll have to do better than that,” Padillo said.
“I didn’t for the police.”
“You’ll have to for me.”
They exchanged another long look. “I was out with a man,” she said finally.
“Where?”
“In his bed. Actually, it’s only partly his. The rest of it belongs to his wife.”
“What is he?” Padillo said.
She turned to me. “Notice that he said what, not who. That’s what persons are to him. Things.”
“Like chess pieces,” I said.
“No,” she said, “more like the game you call checkers. All counters have the same value.”
“He’s a true democrat,” I said.
“He asked what the man is because he wants to know how much the man has to lose if he eventually becomes my alibi. If he’s a bellhop or a taxi driver, then he has little to lose. A wife, perhaps, but he can always get another, can’t he, Padillo?”
“He’s Government, isn’t he, Wanda?”
“Yes, damn it, he’s Government.”
“I may have to have his name.”
“What will you do with it, blackmail him?”
Padillo smiled at her, but it wasn’t the kind of a smile that one returns. “No,” he said, “I’ll merely use it to make sure of something.”
“Of what?”
“Not much. Just that you’re not lying.”
9
IT WAS collect, of course. That’s the only kind of longdistance call I ever get at three o’clock in the morning and often as not it’s from someone I haven’t seen in fifteen years and haven’t thought of in ten. Usually, they just want to talk because they’re about three-fourths of the way through a bottle of bourbon and the wife has gone to bed and it seems like a damned good idea to call up old McCorkle and find out how the hell he is.
But sometimes they’ve run into a little trouble and need fifty dollars to get out of jail or a hundred to get to the next town where the new job is waiting and they can’t think of anybody else in the whole world who’ll lend it to them except me and please, for Christ’s sake, would I mind wiring it?
So I usually send the money because it’s as cheap a way as I can think of to make sure that they don’t call anymore. After I hang up I sometimes lie there in bed and try to think of whom I could call at three in the morning to send me fifty or a hundred. It’s not a long list.
This time it was Padillo and he was calling from New York and after I told the operator that I’d accept the call, I said, “How much do you need?”
“I’ve got a little trouble.”
“It’s not so little if you’re calling at three in the morning.”
“They made a try about two hours ago.”
“Where?”
“In Delaware,” Padillo said. “I was driving them up.”
“From Baltimore?”
“Right.”
“Was it Kragstein and Gitner?”
“It must have been, but it was too dark to tell.”
“What happened?”
“They pulled up alongside and tried.”
“Tried?”
“I caught on in time and they went off the road.”
“Anyone hurt?”
“You mean them or us?”
“Us,” I said. “You.”
“No. Kassim was barely ruffled.”
“What about the other guy, his adviser?”
“Scales? He’s another cucumber.”
“So what do you need?”
“Another hand.”
“Who?”
“Do you remember one of our customers called William Plomondon?”
“I see his
“Where’re you moving them to, Wanda?” Padillo said.
“To New York first,” she said.
“Then where?”
She looked at Padillo for nearly fifteen seconds. It was a searching, suspicious look such as she might give the two-carat diamond ring that could be had for only fifty dollars along with a touching hard luck story. “I don’t think you should know that just yet,” she said.
“All right,” he said, “you can tell me something else.”
“What?”
“Where were you last night when your brother was being garroted?”
“You really think you need to know, don’t you?”
“I think so.”
“It’s just as I told the police,” she said. “I was out.”
“You’ll have to do better than that,” Padillo said.
“I didn’t for the police.”
“You’ll have to for me.”
They exchanged another long look. “I was out with a man,” she said finally.
“Where?”
“In his bed. Actually, it’s only partly his. The rest of it belongs to his wife.”
“What is he?” Padillo said.
She turned to me. “Notice that he said what, not who. That’s what persons are to him. Things.”
“Like chess pieces,” I said.
“No,” she said, “more like the game you call checkers. All counters have the same value.”
“He’s a true democrat,” I said.
“He asked what the man is because he wants to know how much the man has to lose if he eventually becomes my alibi. If he’s a bellhop or a taxi driver, then he has little to lose. A wife, perhaps, but he can always get another, can’t he, Padillo?”
“He’s Government, isn’t he, Wanda?”
“Yes, damn it, he’s Government.”
“I may have to have his name.”
“What will you do with it, blackmail him?”
Padillo smiled at her, but it wasn’t the kind of a smile that one returns. “No,” he said, “I’ll merely use it to make sure of something.”
“Of what?”
“Not much. Just that you’re not lying.”
9
IT WAS collect, of course. That’s the only kind of longdistance call I ever get at three o’clock in the morning and often as not it’s from someone I haven’t seen in fifteen years and haven’t thought of in ten. Usually, they just want to talk because they’re about three-fourths of the way through a bottle of bourbon and the wife has gone to bed and it seems like a damned good idea to call up old McCorkle and find out how the hell he is.
But sometimes they’ve run into a little trouble and need fifty dollars to get out of jail or a hundred to get to the next town where the new job is waiting and they can’t think of anybody else in the whole world who’ll lend it to them except me and please, for Christ’s sake, would I mind wiring it?
So I usually send the money because it’s as cheap a way as I can think of to make sure that they don’t call anymore. After I hang up I sometimes lie there in bed and try to think of whom I could call at three in the morning to send me fifty or a hundred. It’s not a long list.
This time it was Padillo and he was calling from New York and after I told the operator that I’d accept the call, I said, “How much do you need?”
“I’ve got a little trouble.”
“It’s not so little if you’re calling at three in the morning.”
“They made a try about two hours ago.”
“Where?”
“In Delaware,” Padillo said. “I was driving them up.”
“From Baltimore?”
“Right.”
“Was it Kragstein and Gitner?”
“It must have been, but it was too dark to tell.”
“What happened?”
“They pulled up alongside and tried.”
“Tried?”
“I caught on in time and they went off the road.”
“Anyone hurt?”
“You mean them or us?”
“Us,” I said. “You.”
“No. Kassim was barely ruffled.”
“What about the other guy, his adviser?”
“Scales? He’s another cucumber.”
“So what do you need?”
“Another hand.”
“Who?”
“Do you remember one of our customers called William Plomondon?”
“I see his
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