Chapter 3 house on turkey street
I was told that the man I was looking for lived on a certain block of Turkey Street, but the informant couldn't provide a street number.So on a rainy evening, I began to check the neighborhood from house to house, ringing the doorbell one by one, and reciting the following myth:
"I'm from Wellington & Berkeley LLP. One of our clients - an elderly lady - was thrown from the back of a streetcar last week and was seriously injured. One of the eyewitnesses to the accident was a young man whose name we don't know, but we heard he lived around here." Then I described the man I was looking for, and finally asked, "Do you know anyone who looks like this? ?”
Residents on one side of Turkey Street answered "don't know", "don't know", "don't know."
I crossed the street and started checking the residents on the other side.The first: "I don't know." The second: "I don't know." The third, the fourth, the fifth——
The first time I rang the bell, no one came to the door.After a while, I pressed it again.Just when I decided that there was no one in the house, the door opened slowly, and a short old lady appeared behind the door.She was a frail little old man, with gray knitting in one hand, her cloudy eyes gleaming happily behind gold-rimmed glasses, and a stiffly starched apron tied over her black dress.
"Good evening," she said in a thin voice that sounded friendly, "I hope you're not impatient. Before I open the door, I have to sneak a peek to see who's out there—I'm old and timid."
"Sorry to bother you," I said apologetically, "but—"
"Would you please come in?"
"No, I'm just asking for some news, it won't take long."
"You'd better come in," she said, and then add with mock seriousness, "I dare say my tea is getting cold."
She took my wet hat and coat, and I followed her down a narrow corridor into a dimly lit room.A man stood up as we entered.An old man, but stocky, with a thin white beard hanging down over a white waistcoat as starched as the old woman's apron.
"Thomas," the frail little old woman told him, "this gentleman is—"
"Tracy," I said—because that's the name I'd told everyone else on the block, but I almost blushed when I said it, for the first time in fifteen years.These two people are really not the target of lying.
I learned that their surname was Quill, and they were a loving old couple.Whenever she spoke to the old man, she called him "Thomas" and rolled his name on her tongue, as if she liked the smell.He called her "honey" about the same number of times, and got up twice to help her adjust the cushions to make her fragile back more comfortable.
I had to share a cup of tea and a few slightly spicy biscuits with them before letting them listen to my questions.Then I told about the old woman who fell from the streetcar.Mrs. Quayle clicked her tongue in a little sympathy, and the old man said "It's a damned world" out of his beard, and handed me a fat cigar.
I finally ended the car accident story and described the man I was looking for.
"Thomas," said Mrs. Quayle, "isn't that the young man in the house with the iron bars—the one who always looks worried?"
The old man stroked his snow-white beard and pondered for a while.
"But, my dear," he whispered at last, "isn't he dark-haired?"
She smiled at her husband. "Thomas is very observant," she said proudly. "I forgot, but the young man I just mentioned is indeed dark-haired, and he is not the one you are looking for."
Then the old man suggested that so-and-so who lived in the next block might be.They discussed it for a long time and agreed that he was too tall and too old.Mrs. Quayle proposed another one, which was discussed and rejected together.Thomas nominated the next candidate, who was also eliminated after some weighing.And so they went on and on.
Night fell.The old man turned on a lamp, which was placed very high, and cast a yellowish circle of light over our heads, while the rest of the room was still dark.The room was large, and rather dreary, with thick hangings and heavy furniture covered in horsehair from a previous generation.I didn't expect to get any news here, but I was comfortable and the cigars were good.I had enough time to finish my cigarette before going out into the drizzle.
Something cold touched the back of my neck.
"stand up!"
I didn't get up: I couldn't get up.I was paralyzed; I just sat there, blinking at the Quayles.Looking at them, I don't believe that there will be something cold pressing against the back of my neck. It is impossible for someone to order me to get up in a rough voice, it is impossible!
Mrs. Quayle was still leaning on the cushions her husband had adjusted for her, her shoulders erect and delicate; her eyes still gleamed kindly behind her spectacles.The old man was still stroking his white beard, letting the cigar smoke calmly escape his nostrils.
They should be about to talk about who else around here might be the young man I'm looking for.Nothing happened, I just dozed off.
"Stand up!" The cold thing on my neck pierced deeply into my flesh.
I stood up.
"Search." A hoarse voice came from behind me.
The old man carefully put down his cigar, walked up to me, searched me all over, and found to my satisfaction that I was not carrying any weapons.He emptied my pockets and threw them all on the chair I had just gotten up from.
"That's all," he told the man behind me, before returning to his seat.
"Turn around, you," the gruff voice ordered.
I turn around.Opposite him was a tall, thin man with mostly bones, about my age, around thirty-five.His face was ugly—sunken cheeks, skinny, and covered with large and light freckles.His eyes were watery blue, and his nose and chin were raised abruptly. "You know me?" he asked.
"do not know."
"fraud!"
I didn't argue with him, he had a gun in one huge freckled hand.
"You'll know what I'm capable of before we're both done," the tall ugly man threatened, "and you'll—"
"Hook!" came a voice from the curtained door—the door through which the ugly man must have slipped behind me. "Hook, come here!" It was a female voice—young, crisp, and melodious.
"What are you doing?" the ugly man asked back.
"he came."
"Okay!" He turned to Thomas Quayle. "Keep this guy on."
From the beard, the coat, or the starched white waistcoat, the old man took out a large black revolver, which he carried with ease.
The ugly man pulled together the things I took out of my pocket, took them and opened the door curtain and went in.
Mrs. Quayle smiled up at me. "Please sit down, Mr. Trish," she said.
I sit down.
Another voice came through the curtain from the next room, a bass with a drawn-out vowel, and it sounded English, and educated. "What's the matter, Hook?" asked the voice.
The ugly man's hoarse voice sounded:
"There's a lot going on. I say, they've got us. I was out just now, and I just came up the street and saw a man I knew across the street. Someone pointed him out to me in Philadelphia five or six years ago. .I don't know his name, but I remember his face - he is from the mainland detective agency. I ran back right away, and Avrilah was next to the window to watch him. He went to every house across the street, asking questions and so on .and he came up here and started wandering this side of the street and soon he rang our doorbell. I asked the old lady and her husband to let him in and hold him and see what he was up to. He made up Ah, what the heck, looking for a guy who saw the old lady fall off the car--bullshit! He's looking for trouble with us. I just came in and threatened him with a gun. I was going to wait until you came, But I'm afraid he'll run away if he gets nervous."
British accent: "You shouldn't show your face, others can deal with him."
Hook: "What's the difference? Anyway, he knows what's going on with us. And if he doesn't, what difference does it make?"
Drawn British accent: "That's a big difference, stupid!"
Hook yelled, "Stupid? You're always calling people stupid. Fuck you! Who's doing the work? Who's running all the business, huh? Where—"
Young female voice: "Okay Hooker, for God's sake, stop talking about it, I'll know it by heart!"
There was a rustle of paper, and then a British accent: "I see, Hook, you're right that he's a detective. Here's a card."
Female voice: "Uh, what should we do now? What should we do next?"
Hook: "It's easy, let's kill this spy!"
Female voice: "Then we also go to the gallows?"
Hook said with disdain: "You think we can keep our necks if you don't kill him? You can't figure out whether this guy is here for the Los Angeles ticket, right?"
British Accent: "You're a pig, Hooker, a hopeless pig. Assuming the guy's here for the L.A. deal—it's possible, so what? He's from the Continental Detective Agency, Is it possible that their house doesn't know where he is? Don't you think they don't know he's here? If our business gets out--could--don't they know as much as he does? It's no use killing him, It's only for bad things. The only thing in front of us is to tie him up and keep him here, and his accomplices won't come to him until tomorrow, no matter how early."
I am grateful to the English accent, for speaking for me, at least for keeping me alive.I haven't been very happy for the first few minutes.Somehow, not being able to see the people who were deciding my life and death seemed to make my situation even more desperate.Now I feel better - although far from happy.I have confidence in the slow British accent, the owner of which sounds like he is used to everything.
Hook roared again, "I'm telling you, brother, this guy has to be killed! Nothing more to say! I'm not going to take any chances. I'm going to keep my head if you say what you like to say. This guy wants It’s safe to silence your mouth, and nothing else to say.”
Female voice, disgusted tone: "Hey, Hook, let's be reasonable!"
The British accent is still slow, but cold to the bone: "It's useless to reason with you, Hooker, your intuition and brain are like that of an ape. You only understand one language, and I will tell you that kind of language." Boy, between now and before we leave, if you want to act rashly, say to yourself, 'He's going to die, I'll die', say it two or three times, just like you read the Bible—because the words It's true."
Followed by a long period of silence, I was so nervous that my scalp, which was not particularly sensitive, went numb.
At last a voice broke the silence, and I jumped up as if I had heard a gunshot, though the voice was very low and calm.
It's a British accent—a triumphant, confident voice, and I can breathe again.
"Let's take the old man away first," said the voice. "Hook, you take charge of the guests, and I'll get the bond. You tie him up so we can go in less than half an hour."
The curtain of the door was thrown back, and Hook entered the room--sternly, with freckles showing a kind of green on his sallow face.He pointed his revolver at me and said grimly to the Quayles, "He's looking for you."
They got up and went into the next room.
Meanwhile, Hooker had walked back to the door, and the revolver continued to threaten me.Then he tore off the velvet cord that bound the heavy curtains, went around behind me, and tied me firmly to a high-backed chair.My arms were tied to the armrests, my legs were tied to the legs of the chair, and my upper body was tied to the back and seat of the chair.Then he took another bulging cushion and stuffed a horn in my mouth.
When he had tied me up and stood back and looked at me sullenly, I heard the door to the street shut softly, and then the sound of small footsteps running back and forth overhead.
Hook looked in the direction of the footsteps, his small watery blue eyes became sly. "Avella!" he called softly.
The door curtain bulged, as if someone had touched it, and a pleasant female voice came. "What are you doing?"
"come over."
"Let's not, he'll—"
"Go to hell!" Hook became angry, "Come here!"
She walked into the room, into the halo of the high lamp.The girl was in her early twenties, with a curvaceous figure, dressed to go out, but she held her hat in one hand.Her short red hair framed a snow-white face, and her smoke-gray eyes were set too far apart to look untrustworthy—though it didn't detract from her beauty.Her eyes were laughing at me, and her red lips were laughing at me, revealing the corner of her pointed little canine teeth.She was as beautiful as a genie and twice as dangerous.
She was laughing at me—a fat man all bound up with red velvet rope, with a green cushion stuffed in his mouth—and turned to Ugly. "What do you want to do?"
He spoke in a low voice, peeking at the ceiling, where he could still hear small footsteps walking back and forth.
"How about we dump him?"
Her smoky eyes stopped smiling and began to calculate. "He has a hundred thousand bills in his hand—a third is mine. You don't think I'll give it up so easily?"
"Of course not! How about we take the one hundred thousand bills ourselves?"
"How to get it?"
"Leave it to me, little sister, leave it to me! If I succeed, will you follow me? You know I will treat you very well."
I think she smiled disdainfully - but he seemed rather pleased.
"You'll be good to me, and you're damn right," she said, "but listen, Hook: we can't get away—unless you kill him. I know him! Unless Do him, otherwise I won't run with his things, he will chase you from the ends of the earth."
Hook licked his lips and looked around the room blankly.He obviously didn't want to fight that slow English accent, but his desire for the girl outweighed his fear.
"I'll do it!" he blurted out. "I'll kill him! Do you mean it, little sister? If I kill him, you'll be with me?"
She held out her hand. "It's settled," she said, and he believed it.
His ugly face turned red and happy, and he took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders.If I were him, I'd probably believe it too--who hasn't been in that situation at some point--but when I'm sitting on the sidelines tied up, I know he's going to take a gallon of nitric acid Playing is also safer than playing with this baby.She is dangerous!Hook may not have any good fruit to eat.
"The plan is this—" Hook began, and then stopped, tongue tied.
There were footsteps in the next room.
The British accent came through the door curtain immediately, slowly and now with anger:
"This is too much! Can't I—" he said the words "really" and "can" with a full British accent, "leave for a while, and then nothing happens? You're eating the wrong thing now What medicine, Elvira, do you have to run there and show your face to our detectives?"
There was a flash of fear in her smoky eyes, then relief. "Don't be so timid all the time," she said, "Your precious neck doesn't need to look so tight, it can be kept."
The door curtain is lifted, and I twist my neck as far as I can to meet the man who made me sit here alive.I saw a chunky man, neatly dressed, looking like he was about to go out, with a brown travel bag in one hand.
Then his face entered the yellow halo, and I saw that it was a Chinese face.A stocky Chinese man, impeccably dressed as British as his accent.
"It's not about the color," he told the girl—I realized she was laughing at him, "it's just common sense."
His face was round and yellow like a mask; his voice was as dead and slow as I had heard it before.But I realized that he must have been held by the girl just like the ugly man—otherwise he wouldn't have come into the room because of her sneer.But I doubt whether she thought the English Oriental would be as easy to fool as Hooker.
"It's really unnecessary," the Chinese was still talking, "for this guy to see any of us." He looked at me for the first time, small opaque eyes like two black seeds, "he probably won't Doesn't recognize us - even if he's heard what we look like, it's an idiot to show him."
"Ouch, damn it, Ty!" Hooker yelled. "Stop blah blah blah, eh? What's the big deal? I kill him and it's over!"
The Chinese put down his brown bag and shook his head.
"You can't die," he said slowly, "or you'll have to die several. Do you understand me, Hook?"
Hook didn't understand, his Adam's apple was rolling up and down from swallowing hard.And I, who was under the suffocating cushion, once again thanked this yellow man.
Then the red-haired witch began to move.
"Hook never counts," she told the Chinese.
Hook's ugly face was bright red, and he realized that she was referring to the promise he had just made to kill the yellow people.He swallowed again, his eyes looking as if he wished there was a hole in the ground to sink into.But the girl had him under control: her influence outweighed his cowardice.
He approached the Chinese man abruptly, taking advantage of his height, and glared at the round yellow face.
"Ty," growled the ugly man, "you're dead. I've had enough of you being bossy, I'm sick of it—you're always acting like you're the boss. I'm going to -"
He began to stutter, and the words that followed were never spoken again.Ty looked up at him, his eyes were hard and dark, inhuman, like two lumps of coal.Hook's lips trembled, and he turned away slightly.
I stopped sweating and the yellow race had the upper hand again.But I ignored the red-haired witch.She was laughing now—that sneer must have sounded like a knife to the ugly man.
He let out a low growl from the depths of his chest, and swung a big fist at the yellow man's hollow round face.The punch was so powerful that Ty flew out and landed on one side in the corner of the room on the other side.
But even if he flew sideways, he still managed to turn around in mid-air to face the ugly man—he had an extra gun in his hand before he landed, and he still spoke in a well-bred voice before his legs stood still Slow English accent.
He said, "We'll settle our issues later. Now you put down your gun and stand still until I get up."
Hooker's revolver--just halfway out of his pocket when the Easterner aimed at him--thumped to the carpet.Ty stood still as he stood still, and then his breathing became heavy, and every freckle became more pronounced on his ashen, dirty face.
I look at the girl.She looked at Hu Ke with contempt in her eyes, but she was not disappointed.
Then I found that something had changed in this room where she stayed.
I close my eyes and try to remember what the place looked like before the two men clashed.I opened my eyes abruptly, and I had the answer.
There used to be a book and a few magazines on the table next to the girl, but they are gone.Not two feet from the girl was the brown bag that Ty had carried into the room.Maybe the bag contained the bonds of the Los Angeles case they mentioned, very likely.What should I do now?The bag may now contain books and magazines that were originally on the table.The girl sows discord between the two men in order to distract them so that they can take advantage of the opportunity to drop the bag.But where would the stolen goods be?I don't know, but considering the size of the thing, it stands to reason that it shouldn't be able to hide on the girl's slender body.
Immediately past the table was a sofa covered with a wide red cloth that hung down to the floor.My eyes moved from the sofa to the girl.She was staring at me, and when I moved my eyes back from the couch to meet her, there was a twinkle of pleasure in her eyes.It's a sofa!
Now the Chinese have put Hooker's revolver in their pockets and are talking to him: "One is because I don't like killing people, and the other is because I think Elvira is going to leave with me. Maybe you can help me, or I I will definitely get rid of your stupid burden. But I am willing to give you another chance. Listen to me, if you have any impulse to be rough, you have to think it through carefully." He turned to the girl, "You are in our Hook What kind of stupid idea was instilled in your head?"
she laughed. "Who can instill any idea in there?"
"You may be right," he said, and came over to test the velvet rope that bound my arms and body.
The results of the inspection were satisfactory, so he picked up the brown travel bag and handed over the gun he had taken from the ugly man a few minutes ago.
"Return the revolver to you, Hook, be sensible. We must go too. The old man and his wife will do as they are told, and they are already heading for a city we don't have to tell this friend, and will be at the There awaits us, and their share of bonds. Needless to say, they'll be waiting a long time—they're out. But the three of us can't be half-hearted, and we must help each other if we want to get out."
According to the rules of good plot development, these people should give me a speech and sneer before they go, but they didn't.They passed me without even looking goodbye and disappeared into the darkness of the vestibule.
Suddenly the Chinese were back in the room, tiptoeing—with a knife in one hand and a gun in the other.This is the man I am grateful for saving my life!He bent over me.
The knife moved to my right, and the rope that bound that arm tightened and loosened.I can breathe again and my heart is beating again.
"Hook will be back," Ty whispered, and went away.
On the carpet, three feet in front of me, lay a revolver.
The door to the street was closed and I was alone in the house at that moment.
You can believe it, I put all my energy into fighting against the red velvet rope that bound me.Ty cut a section, and my right arm was not so tightly bound, and my body had a little more room to move, but I was far from being free.And his line "Hook will be back" made me use all my strength to get free.
Now I finally know why the Chinese insist on saving my life: he wants to kill someone with a knife!The Chinese figured it out a long time ago: as soon as they hit the street, Hooker would immediately find an excuse to sneak back to the house and kill me before going to them.Even if he doesn't take the initiative to do so, I think the Chinese will make insinuations.
That's why he put the gun within reach of me and untied me as much as he could, but still left room for him to free himself first.
These thoughts were just thoughts, and I didn't slow down the speed of untying the rope.The reason doesn't matter to me at this moment - what matters is that I have a gun in my hand when the ugly man returns.
Just as the front door opened, my right arm was finally completely free.I hastily pulled the suffocating cushion out of my mouth.The rest of my body was still bound with rope—not as tight, but still.
I fell forward with my chair and my free arm propped on the ground to reduce the force of the impact.The carpet is pretty thick.I was face down with the heavy chair on my back, folded in half, but my right arm was free so I had the gun in my right hand.Dim light fell on a man hurrying into the room—a metallic glint in his hand.
I fired.
He clasped his stomach with both hands, bent at a right angle, and fell on the carpet.
It's over, but it's far from over.While pulling the velvet rope, I used my brain to think about what was waiting for me.
The girl dropped the bond and hid it under the couch—that was beyond doubt.She was going to come back and take it before I could get away.But Hook came first, so she had to change her plans.The biggest possibility is that she told the Chinese that Hook dropped the bag, and then what?There's only one answer: Ty will come back for the bond -- and both will.Ty knows I have a gun now, but they say the bond is worth a hundred thousand dollars, the temptation is too great!
I ditch the last length of rope and climb to the sofa.The bonds were underneath: thick bundles of four, held together with thick rubber bands.I tucked them under my arm and walked over to the dead man by the door.His gun was under one leg, and I drew it out, stepped over him, and walked into the dark vestibule, pausing to think.
The girl and the Chinese would split up against me, one coming in by the front door and the other by the back door, which was the safest method.And if I want to resist, obviously the best way is to hide behind one of the doors and wait for them.Leaving this house is a bad move, they must have already thought of this move, so they will lie in ambush outside first.
Figured it out, my strategy was to lie down with a view of the front door and wait for one of them to come in - if I couldn't get out, one of them would.
The light from the street lamp shines in through the glass, illuminating the living room leading to the street door.The stairs to the second floor cast a triangular shadow in the hall—a shadow so dark that it could do whatever it wanted.I squatted in this night with three corners, waiting.
I have two guns: one given by the Chinese, and one taken from Hooker.I fired once, so I have eleven rounds to go—unless someone used both guns before I fired.I cocked Ty's gun and ran my fingers along the back of the magazine in the dark.My fingers touched only one cartridge case - under the bolt.Teko didn't take any chances: he gave me just one bullet—the one that killed Hook.
I put the gun on the floor and start checking the one I got from Hook: empty.The Chinese really didn't take any risks!After the quarrel, he emptied the bullets before returning the gun to Hooker.
I'm in a dilemma, alone, unarmed, in this strange house, and there are two more men in the house who are going to kill me, and the danger is not less because one of them is a woman-she's no less lethal Not bad either.
For a moment I couldn't help but want to run for the door.It was nice to think I could be back on the streets again, but I gave up on that idea.That's stupid, and it's ridiculously stupid.Then I remembered the bonds I had tucked under my side—they could be my weapons.I'll have to hide them first if I'm going to use them.
I jumped out of my triangular shadow and went upstairs.Fortunately, there are street lights, so the upstairs room is not so dark that I can't move around.I went round and round those rooms looking for a place to hide the bonds.Suddenly a window rattled, as if an outside door had been opened and the incoming wind had blown to it.And now the loot is still in my hands.
Right now it looks like they'll just have to be lucky to throw them out the window.I snatched a pillow off the bed, peeled off the white insert, stuffed the bond in, and looked down through an open window to find a good place to throw it.I don't want the bonds to land on something and make a big fuss.
Looking out the window, I found a nice place to stash bonds.The window opened onto a narrow atrium opposite a house exactly like the one I was in, at the same height, with a flat tin roof sloping to the other side.The roof wasn't far from me—not so far that I couldn't even throw a pillowcase over it.I threw it, and the pillowcase disappeared behind the roof with only a soft thump on the tin.
Then I turn on all the lights in the room, light a cigarette (we both like to put on a show once in a while), and sit on the bed to wait for my prey.I should be able to track the enemy through the dark house, and maybe catch it, but the possibility of death is more likely.I don't like to die.
The girl found me.
She tiptoed into the living room, an automatic pistol in each hand, hesitated outside the door, and then rushed in.Seeing me sitting on the edge of the bed calmly, she gave me a sideways look of contempt, as if I had done something outrageous.I think she probably thinks I should give her a chance to shoot.
"Got it, Ty!" she cried, and the Chinese joined us.
"What did Hook do to the bonds?" he asked straight to the point.
Looking at his round yellow face, I grinned and showed my cards.
"Why don't you ask the girl?"
His face was impassive, but I imagined his corpulent body stiffening in the fashionable English suit.I am more courageous, and continue to tell my little lies to spoil the situation.
"You haven't figured it out yet," I asked, "are they ganging up on dumping you?"
"Shameless liar!" the girl screamed, rushing towards me.
Tay stopped her with dignity.His opaque black eyes stared at her, staring, the color drained from his face.It's true that she played with this yellow-faced fat man in the palm of her hand, but he is not a completely harmless plaything.
“What the hell is going on here?” he said slowly, nonspecifically, and then to me, “Where did they put the bonds?”
The girl walked up to him and said in a word, "I'm telling the truth, Ty, for God's sake! I dropped the bag, Hook wasn't involved. I meant to leave you two and run away." I hid the bond downstairs under the couch, but it's gone now. By God, I'm not lying!"
He wanted to believe her so much that she sounded right.And I knew that, loving her as much as he did, it would be easier for him to forgive her for taking the bond than for her planning to elope with Hook, so I had to hurry up and mess it up again.
"It's partly true," I said, "that she stuffed the bonds under the couch—but Hooker was involved too. They arranged it while you were upstairs, and he would challenge you, and you'd quarrel." She dropped her bag when she got up, which is exactly what they did."
He fell for it.As she turned to face me angrily, his automatic was pressed against the side of her body—hard enough that it suppressed all the angry words she wanted to throw at me.
"Bring your gun, Elvira," he said, reaching for it.
"Where are the bonds now?" he asked me.
I smiled. "Tai, I'm not your accomplice, I'm here to catch you."
"I don't like violence," he said slowly, "and I think you're sensible. Let's make a deal, my friend."
"Go ahead." I suggested.
"Great. Let's start with the trade footing: Suppose you hid the bond, nobody could find it but you, and you were in my hands—that's what dime horror novels are about."
"That makes sense," I said. "Go on."
"This situation is what gamblers call deadlock. We're equal. As a detective, you're going to catch us—but you're on us; as a thief, I'm going to get the bond—but that's up to you I think it's only fair that I trade the girl for your bond, because then I can get away with the bond and you can make a good fortune as a detective. Hooker's dead, Here you go, girl. You just need to find me and Bond - definitely not hopeless - to turn a defeat into a half-victory with a chance of a big one."
"How do I know if you'll give me that girl?"
He shrugged. "There is no guarantee. But when I know that she chose the dead pig on the ground and plans to abandon me, do you think I can be more friendly to her? Besides, if I take her away, she will ask for a share of the spoils .”
I turned the blueprint around in my head.
"For me," I said at last, "you're not a killer, so I'll survive anyway, right? Then why should I trade? You're better off with this girl than bonds, and bonds are It's my main task, I won't let it go, it depends on luck to find you. Well, I choose the insurance side."
"Yeah, I'm not a killer," he said, softly, and for the first time he laughed.That smile was not pleasant, and there was something in it that made one shudder. "But I may be someone else, you can't think of it. But it's all nonsense—Avilla!"
The girl came over obediently.
"There are sheets in a drawer of the chest of drawers," he told her. "Take one or two and tear them into strips, and tie up this friend."
The girl went to the chest of drawers.I racked my brain for a less jarring answer to the question in my head, and the first one that popped up was not a good one: torture.
There was a faint sound, and we all held our breaths and stayed where we were.
The room we were in had two doors, one to the living room and one to the other bedroom.The faint sound came from the drawing-room door, the sound of soft footsteps.
Tai quietly backed away to a position where he could stare at the hall door and see me and the girl.The pistol was alive in his fat hand, and we wouldn't even fart with that warning.
The noise came again, just outside the door.
The gun in Ty's hand was ready to go.
From the other door—the one leading into the next room—popped Mrs. Quayle, a revolver clutched in a veiny hand with the safety on.
"Put the gun down, you bastard savage!" she screamed.
Ty dropped the gun first, then turned to face her, arms raised—very wisely.
汤玛斯·奎尔这才从厅门进来，他也握着一把子弹在膛上的左轮手枪——和他太太那把一模一样，不过在他硕大身体的衬托下，他的枪看来没那么庞大。
我又看了看老太太。原先那个沏茶倒水、说长道短的弱不禁风的慈祥老太太一点儿影子也没了。她就是一个巫婆，如果真有巫婆存在的话——而且是那种最黑心最毒辣的巫婆。她暗淡的小眼睛里露出凶光，枯萎的嘴唇发出狼嚎，瘦弱的身体因为仇恨而发抖。
“我就知道！”她尖着嗓子叫道，“我们走得足够远，可以把事情想清楚的时候，我马上就跟汤玛斯讲了。我就知道是陷阱！我就知道这个所谓的侦探是你的同伙！我就知道你耍了花招把我跟汤玛斯踢出局！好，我这就要你好看，你这只黄猴子！债券在哪儿？在哪儿？”
中国人已经回过神来——如果他失过神的话。
“我们壮实的朋友也许可以告诉你，”他说，“你刚才那样——呃，戏剧化地进场时，我正要逼他的供呢。”
“汤玛斯，拜托你不要站在那儿发呆，”她怒斥她先生——从外表来看，他还是递给我一支上好雪茄的老好人，“把中国佬绑起来！他的话我半句也不信，不把他绑好我不放心。”
我从床边站起身来，小心翼翼地走到我假想的火线之外，以防我预期的事万一发生。
泰已经扔下他手里的枪，不过还没被搜身。中国人做事彻底，他们不带枪则已，要带通常会带两三把或者更多。泰已经被下了一把枪，但如果不搜身就绑他的话，很可能会爆发枪战。所以我向一边躲去。
大胖子汤玛斯·奎尔平静地走向中国人，执行他太太的指令——而且完全搞砸了。
他的大块头挡在了泰和老太太的枪之间。
泰的手动了一下，两手各多了一把枪。
泰再一次验证了种族分类标准：中国人开枪时，会开到子弹用光。
当我猛地抓住泰的胖脖子往后拽，并把他按到地板上时，他的枪还在疯狂地喷出子弹；等我的膝盖压上他一只胳膊时，枪终于空了。我可没冒险。我专心对付他的脖子，直到他的眼睛和舌头告诉我他已经好一阵没喘气了。然后我四下看看。
汤玛斯·奎尔靠着床，明显死了，浆得硬硬的白背心上有三个洞。
奎尔太太躺在房间另一头的地板上。不知怎的，她的衣服在她纤弱的身体上显得很服帖，死亡让她的脸再度慈祥起来，就像我第一次在她脸上看到的表情一样。
红发姑娘艾薇拉不见了。
过了一会儿，泰动了动。我从他衣服里摸出另一把枪，然后扶他坐了起来。他的一只胖手摸着自己青肿的脖子，冷静地四处环顾。
“艾薇拉呢？”他问。
“跑了——暂时。”
He shrugged. “嗯，你这次绝对称得上是大获全胜。奎尔夫妇跟胡克死了，债券跟我都在你手上。”
“还不错，”我承认道，“不过你能帮个忙吗？”
“如果我帮得上的话。”
“说说这他妈的到底是怎么回事！”
"What's going on?" he asked.
“正是！从我旁听的来看，我猜你们是在洛杉矶干了一票，捞到价值十万的债券，可我不记得最近那里出过这么个大案子。”
“怎么，这完全没道理！”他睁大眼睛——以他的标准算是大了——诧异地说，“没道理！你当然统统知道！”
“我不知道！我本来在找一个叫费舍尔的年轻人。一两个星期之前，他气冲冲地离家出走了。他家在塔科玛。他父亲要我偷偷找到他，然后他再过来劝他回家。听说费舍尔有可能在土耳其街，我就是为这个来的。”
他不信，他一直不信，他上绞刑架时都以为我在胡扯呢。
等我出门上街（在那栋屋里待了一个晚上，再以自由身出去之后，我才发现土耳其街还满可爱的）买了份报纸，我才恍然明白了大半。
一个二十岁的小伙子——洛杉矶一家债券公司的信差——两天前携带一沓债券在去银行的路上失踪。当天晚上小伙子和一名留着红色短发的苗条女孩住进一家位于法斯诺的旅馆，登记的名字是雷欧丁夫妇。第二天早上小伙子在房里被人发现遇害，女孩不见了，债券也不见了。
报纸就说了这么多。其后几天，我东挖西挖，拼凑出这个故事。
中国人——全名陶泰中——是这伙人的头儿。他们玩的是一种百试不爽的骗局：先由泰挑出某个在银行或者证券公司上班的信差或跑腿的——总之是会随身携带大把现金或者可以换现的票据的那种人。然后小伙子就转交女孩艾薇拉负责，让他为她疯狂——这点对她应该不难——由她牵着他的鼻子，要他不知不觉跟着她跑掉，不管他手上有多少票券或者现金。
第一个晚上不管他们跑到了哪里，胡克都会扮演妒火中烧的丈夫现身——口吐白沫，全副武装。女孩会求饶、扯头发等等，拉着不让胡克宰掉小伙子。最后她会得逞，到头来小伙子会发现他赔了女孩，也折了他偷来的钱。
有时候他会到警察局自首。我们发现有两个自杀的。洛杉矶这小子和其他人比起来算条汉子。他和胡克拼命，胡克只有杀了他。这出戏里女孩演得多好你可以自行判断：六名受害的小伙子没有一个说过半句会定她罪的话，有几个还想尽办法为她开脱。
土耳其街的房子是这伙黑帮的老窝，而且为了确保基地安全，他们从来不会在旧金山行骗。邻居们都把胡克跟女孩当成了奎尔夫妇的儿子和女儿——而泰则是中国厨子。黑帮有业务要处理的话，奎尔夫妇和善可敬的外表也派得上用场。
中国人上了绞刑架。我们撒下天罗地网搜捕那个红头发姑娘，也找到好几十个留了红色短发的姑娘，可是艾薇拉不在其中。
我答应自己，总有一天……
Notes:
Notes: