Kept Women Can’t Quit

“Hell, no,” Hobart said, “only I’ve been years on this job. I get so I can tell when they’re lying and when they’re telling the truth. This guy is doing both.”

Sellers turned to me. “I’m not going to be a sucker. I’m going to look into this. I’m going to think it over. But this song and dance isn’t going to do you any good. You’re going to be sitting in a cell.”

I shook my head. “No, I’m not.”

“That’s what you think,” Sellers said. “You try and spring yourself out of this and you’re going to have a surprise.”

“I’m not going to try to spring myself,” I said, “and I’m not going to have a surprise. But I’m going to send for an attorney and after I get an attorney I’m going to have a press conference and I’m going to yell frame-up so loud that some of it is going to stick.”

“What do you mean, a frame-up?” Sellers asked.

“Draw your own conclusions,” I said. “Down in Los Angeles you’re in bad. Baxley says that you recovered a hundred grand. You say there was only fifty grand there. That makes a stink. You’re looking for an out, so you come up to San Francisco and try to nail me on a frame-up so as to take the heat off yourself.”

“You’d do that to me?” Sellers asked.

“If you throw me in the clink, I’ll do that to you,” I told him.

“Why, you little insignificant rat! You puny little nincompoop! I’d break you in two!”

“No, you wouldn’t,” I said. “This is San Francisco. They’ve got troubles of their own. They’re not going to get in bad over your trouble in Los Angeles. Inspector Hobart has got a murder to solve.”

“And I suppose it’s your idea you can help me out on that,” Hobart said.

“That’s right,” I told him.

“The brass of the bastard,” Sellers said.

I said, “Wait a minute. I’m not trying to hurt you, Sergeant, unless I have to. And I’m not going to try to do Hobart any good unless I have a chance to play my hand my way. Now then, you wanted me to talk. I’ve talked. Now I demand a lawyer.”

Sellers reached out and slapped my face hard with the palm of his right hand, than slapped it on the other side with the back of his right hand as he cuffed the hand back.

“Why, you little—”

Hobart’s voice was cold and hard. “Hold it, Sergeant!”

There was something in Hobart’s voice that caused Sellers to freeze.

“I think we’d better talk,” Hobart said. “I’ve got some ideas myself.”

“Don’t let him sell you,” Sellers warned angrily. “The little bastard is smart. I admit that.”

“If he’s that smart he can make us trouble,” Hobart said, “and if he’s that smart he can do us some good. I’ve got an idea. Come on in here. I want to talk.”

He turned to me and said, “You stay right there, Lam. Don’t move.”

They left the room.

I was left alone for about fifteen minutes. Then Inspector Hobart entered the room, drew up a chair at the table, opened a package of cigarettes, offered one to me, took one himself, lit up, settled back, inhaled deeply, then let the smoke come out of his throat as he spoke so that the words seemed wrapped in a smoky aura.

“Lam, you’re a liar,” he said.

I said nothing.

“And it’s damned skillful lying,” he went on. “You’ve mixed some truth and some lies all up together. I know what you’ve said is both false and true, a mixture of logic and crap. And I don’t know which is which.”

I kept silent.

“The annoying thing,” he said, “is that you must think the police are a terrible bunch of saps. You know, some fellows could get themselves in quite a bit of trouble trying to pull the type of stuff you’ve been trying to pull.”

I just sat there.

He looked up at me and grinned and said, “And the funny part of it is, I don’t give a damn.”

There was silence for a few moments. Then he took another deep drag at the cigarette and said, “The reason I don’t give a damn is because somehow I have a feeling that you’re on our side all the way through but you’re in so deep yourself you can’t take us into your confidence, and what you’re trying to do is to get enough slack on the rope so you can get out and clean this thing up before you get jerked off your feet. I think you had the fifty grand and lost it and want to get it back.

“Now then, Sergeant Sellers is in a bind. That’s one of the things that can happen in police work. He’s got to get out of it as best he can. Somehow I have an idea you’ve given him a lead that may amount to something.

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do with you, Lam. I’m going to let you walk right out that door. I’m going to give you the keys to San Francisco. I’m going to let you just prowl around on your own. Only understand that if you stub your toe and get into trouble you’re going to be in trouble just as deep as though I’d never seen you in my life. In fact, I’ll let the other boys handle it. I’ll be home at bed or watching TV or something. You get that?”

I nodded.

“Now,” he said, “I’ve got a homicide to clean up. I’m going to give you lots of rope and let you stir around because I think perhaps you’re going to uncover some evidence.