nodded. “Except that she told me where Waldo’s apartment was and I went in there and looked for the pearls. I found the dead man. In his pocket I found new car keys in a case from a Packard agency. And down on the street I found the Packard and took it to where it came from. Barsaly’s kept woman. Barsaly had sent a friend from the Spezzia Club down to buy something and he had tried to buy it with his gun instead of the money Barsaly gave him. And Waldo beat him to the punch.”
“Is that all?” Ybarra asked softly.
“That’s all,” I said, licking the torn place on the inside of my cheek.
Ybarra said slowly: “What do you want?”
Copernik’s face convulsed and he slapped his long hard thigh. “This guy is good,” he jeered. “He falls for a stray broad and breaks every law in the book and you ask him what does he want? I’ll give him what he wants, guinea!”
Ybarra turned his head slowly and looked at him. “I don’t think you will,” he said. “I think you’ll give him a clean bill of health and anything else he wants. He’s giving you a lesson in police work.”
Copernik didn’t move or make a sound for a long minute. None of us moved. Then Copernik leaned forward and his coat fell open. The butt of his service gun looked out of its underarm holster.
“So what do you want?” he asked me.
“What’s on the card table there. The jacket and hat and the phony pearls. And some names kept away from the papers. Is that too much?”
“Yeah—it’s too much,” Copernik said almost gently. He swayed sideways and his gun jumped neatly into his hand. He rested his forearm on his thigh and pointed the gun at my stomach.
“I like better that you get a slug in the guts resisting arrest,” he said. “I like that better, because of a report I made out on Al Tessilore’s arrest and how I made the pinch. Because of some photos of me that are in the morning sheets going out about now. I like it better that you don’t live long enough to laugh about that, baby.”
My mouth felt suddenly hot and dry. Far off I heard the wind booming. It seemed like the sound of guns.
Ybarra moved his feet on the floor and said coldly: “You’ve got a couple of cases all solved, policeman. All you do for it is leave some junk here and keep some names from the papers. Which means from the D.A. If he gets them anyway, too bad for you.”
Copernik said: “I like the other way.” The blue gun in his hand was like a rock. “And God help you, if you don’t back me up on it.”
Ybarra said: “If the woman is brought out into the open, you’ll be a liar on a police report and a chiseler on your own partner. In a week they won’t even speak your name at headquarters. The taste of it would make them sick.”
The hammer clicked back on Copernik’s gun and I watched his big bony finger slide in farther around the trigger. The back of my neck was as wet as a dog’s nose.
Ybarra stood up. The gun jumped at him. He said: “We’ll see how yellow a guinea is. I’m telling you to put that gun up, Sam.”
He started to move. He moved four even steps. Copernik was a man without a breath of movement, a stone man.
Ybarra took one more step and quite suddenly the gun began to shake.
Ybarra said evenly: “Put it up, Sam. If you keep your head everything lies the way it is. If you don’t—you’re gone.”
He took one more step. Copernik’s mouth opened wide and made a gasping sound and then he sagged in the chair as if he had been hit on the head. His eyelids drooped.
Ybarra jerked the gun out of his hand with a movement so quick it was no movement at all. He stepped back quickly, held the gun low at his side.
“It’s the hot wind, Sam. Let’s forget it,” he said in the same even, almost dainty voice.
Copernik’s shoulders sagged lower and he put his face in his hands. “O.K.,” he said between his fingers.
Ybarra went softly across the room and opened the door. He looked at me with lazy, half-closed
“Is that all?” Ybarra asked softly.
“That’s all,” I said, licking the torn place on the inside of my cheek.
Ybarra said slowly: “What do you want?”
Copernik’s face convulsed and he slapped his long hard thigh. “This guy is good,” he jeered. “He falls for a stray broad and breaks every law in the book and you ask him what does he want? I’ll give him what he wants, guinea!”
Ybarra turned his head slowly and looked at him. “I don’t think you will,” he said. “I think you’ll give him a clean bill of health and anything else he wants. He’s giving you a lesson in police work.”
Copernik didn’t move or make a sound for a long minute. None of us moved. Then Copernik leaned forward and his coat fell open. The butt of his service gun looked out of its underarm holster.
“So what do you want?” he asked me.
“What’s on the card table there. The jacket and hat and the phony pearls. And some names kept away from the papers. Is that too much?”
“Yeah—it’s too much,” Copernik said almost gently. He swayed sideways and his gun jumped neatly into his hand. He rested his forearm on his thigh and pointed the gun at my stomach.
“I like better that you get a slug in the guts resisting arrest,” he said. “I like that better, because of a report I made out on Al Tessilore’s arrest and how I made the pinch. Because of some photos of me that are in the morning sheets going out about now. I like it better that you don’t live long enough to laugh about that, baby.”
My mouth felt suddenly hot and dry. Far off I heard the wind booming. It seemed like the sound of guns.
Ybarra moved his feet on the floor and said coldly: “You’ve got a couple of cases all solved, policeman. All you do for it is leave some junk here and keep some names from the papers. Which means from the D.A. If he gets them anyway, too bad for you.”
Copernik said: “I like the other way.” The blue gun in his hand was like a rock. “And God help you, if you don’t back me up on it.”
Ybarra said: “If the woman is brought out into the open, you’ll be a liar on a police report and a chiseler on your own partner. In a week they won’t even speak your name at headquarters. The taste of it would make them sick.”
The hammer clicked back on Copernik’s gun and I watched his big bony finger slide in farther around the trigger. The back of my neck was as wet as a dog’s nose.
Ybarra stood up. The gun jumped at him. He said: “We’ll see how yellow a guinea is. I’m telling you to put that gun up, Sam.”
He started to move. He moved four even steps. Copernik was a man without a breath of movement, a stone man.
Ybarra took one more step and quite suddenly the gun began to shake.
Ybarra said evenly: “Put it up, Sam. If you keep your head everything lies the way it is. If you don’t—you’re gone.”
He took one more step. Copernik’s mouth opened wide and made a gasping sound and then he sagged in the chair as if he had been hit on the head. His eyelids drooped.
Ybarra jerked the gun out of his hand with a movement so quick it was no movement at all. He stepped back quickly, held the gun low at his side.
“It’s the hot wind, Sam. Let’s forget it,” he said in the same even, almost dainty voice.
Copernik’s shoulders sagged lower and he put his face in his hands. “O.K.,” he said between his fingers.
Ybarra went softly across the room and opened the door. He looked at me with lazy, half-closed
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