Black Mask (Vol. 33, No. 3 — September 1949)

“Not any longer,” said Sackler. “Your wife will doubtless furnish that information. They’ll look for you in the alleys and the chop suey joints. You’ll give up both. They’ll also check the trucking companies to see if you’ve applied for a job since that’s your line of business. You must take up something else. Is that clear?”

This was all obvious enough to me but Parry nodded gratefully as if he thought he was getting a bargain for his five hundred bucks.

“That’s about all,” said Sackler, “except my advice to take as much cash with you as possible. It may take a little while to get yourself started in a new line.”

Parry shook his head. “I’m taking no cash at all — or very little. I have about thirty thousand dollars in savings but I’m leaving that behind for my family.”

“Your wife has no money of her own?”

“Oh, yes. Her family’s quite wealthy. She has plenty.”

Sackler looked blank. That kind of a deal baffled him. Parry went on. “They don’t really need my cash but I’m leaving it as a sort of — well, conscience money. I’m going to start right from the bottom.”

Sackler still looked baffled. But as Parry rose, withdrew his wallet and laid five new hundred dollar bills on the desk a smile wreathed his face.

“Thank you,” said Parry. He put on his hat and left the room. I regarded Sackler with outrage.

“You are Fortune’s fool,” I said bitterly. “People actually track you down and thrust money into your pocket.”

He stowed away the bills and looked at me smugly. “For services rendered,” he said. “The little guy ought to keep well under cover if he does what I tell him. That is, unless he had a girl.”

“A girl?”

“Sure. Lots of these runaway husbands have girls they leave behind them who plan to join them later. That’s death. Because they’ll write. They’ll send the girl their address. Either some smart dick’ll steal the letter, or the girl, herself will talk. Women do, you know.”

I nodded. I wasn’t particularly interested in Campbell Parry. I said, “We shall now revert to the subject which was under discussion before your client came in.”

“What was that again, Joey?”

“Cash. Whether I go over to Owens or whether you pay me a sum approaching my worth.”

Now he looked pained again. “Listen,” he said. “I pay you a regular salary, Joey. I pay it whether we have a case or not; whether we work or not. Sometimes it puts me sorely out of pocket. I wish I drew a regular salary as you do.”

He sounded convincing. I said, “All right, I’ll forego the salary raise but I want a percentage on all your fees and rewards.”

“How much?”

“Ten per cent.”

He closed his eyes and shuddered. I followed it up with what I thought was a magnanimous offer.

“Moreover,” I said, “if I stumble across a client or if I solve a case all by myself, I’ll give you ten percent of any rewards I get.”

He wasn’t enthusiastic. Considering the fact that I had never brought in a rich client, that I had never cleaned up a case by myself, I hadn’t exactly expected him to be.

“Of course,” I said, bluffing cautiously, “if you don’t feel you can afford it, I can always go over to Owens.”

He looked at me as if he’d caught me stealing a Bible. “Go away,” he said. “Let me think about it. You’re doing a terrible thing to me and I must think it over. I’ll tell you tomorrow. Let me sleep on it.”

I said, “That’s fair enough,” and put my hat on prepartory to going to lunch. “You sleep on it.”

But knowing what the idea of parting with dough did to his emotions I knew he was in for an insomniac night.

Chapter Two “Too Damned Efficient”

On the following morning I was drinking my coffee and munching a slice of toast as I opened the paper. I ran a careless eye across the front page. Then a headline jumped at me. I blinked, put down my cup and proceeded to read.

When I had finished the story, I threw back my head and howled with joyous laughter. I paid the check without finishing my breakfast and ran all the way to the office.

Sackler was at his desk, rolling a cigarette with inexpert fingers, when I arrived, breathless. He looked up at me with some distaste and said, “Must you pant all over my desk at this hour in the morning? I never knew you to be so assiduous about getting here on time.”

“Listen,” I said. “You remember Parry yesterday? You told him how to hide out?”

“Naturally”

“Could you find him yourself?”

“Of course not. If he does as I told him, not even I can find him. When I give five hundred dollars worth of advice, it takes.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” I said. “Especially considering that there’s a ten grand reward for Parry’s capture.”

His eyes bugged and his jaw fell. “What are you talking about?”

“Parry. He killed his wife last night, then scrammed. His father-in-law has offered ten thousand bucks for any information leading to the arrest and conviction of the killer.”

“You’re screwey,” said Sackler without conviction.

“Then so’s the paper,” I said tossing it on his desk. “Here, read it.”