Over My Dead Body

He didn't like going, leaving Wolfe there within three feet of a telephone and all that intimate knowledge of Bosnian forests buzzing in his head, but I eased him into the hall and on out into the November night.

I had rather expected to find a Minerva town car waiting at the kerb, considering his category, but there wasn't anything there at all, and we had to hoof it to Eighth Avenue before we could ambush a taxi at that ungodly hour. We piled in, me last, and he told the driver Times Square.

As we jolted off I surveyed him disapprovingly. "Don't tell me you left her standing on the sidewalk."

Disregarding that, he twisted himself on the cushion to face me in a confidential manner. "See here, Goodwin," he demanded, "you've got to help me. I'm in a bad hole. It wouldn't have done any good to try to persuade Wolfe that I don't know where Zorka is, because he was convinced that I do. But the fact is, I don't know."

"That's too bad."

"Yes. I'm in one hell of a fix. If you go back and say I told you I couldn't take you to her because I don't know where she is, he'll do what he threatened to do."

"He sure will. So I won't go back and say that."

"No, that wouldn't do. If I couldn't persuade him I don't know, I can't expect you to. But we could work it this way. We can drop in somewhere and have a couple of drinks. Then, say in half an hour or so, you go back and tell him I took you to an address-pick out any likely address-and we went in expecting to find Zorka and she wasn't there. You can describe how astonished and upset I was-you know, make it vivid."

"Sure, I'm good at that. But you haven't-"

"Wait a minute." The taxi swerved into 42nd Street, and he lurched against me and got straight again. "I know you'll get the devil for going back without Zorka, but you can't help that anyway, because I don't know where she is. I wouldn't expect you to help me out on this just for the hell of it. Why should you? You know? How about fifty dollars?"

I have never seen a worse case of briber's itch.

I made a scornful sound. "Now, brother! Fifty lousy bucks with a big deal in international finance trembling in the balance? A century at least."

The driver called back, "Which corner?"