Chapter 6 Chapter 6 The Little Man's Stalker
After Joe Kylo left, Spade sat alone at his desk for half an hour, frowning and motionless.Then, in a tone that put the headache behind him, he exclaimed, "Come on, they paid for it." Then he took a bottle of Manhattan and a paper cup from a desk drawer and poured it into the glass. Pour 70% full, put the wine bottle back in the drawer after drinking, throw the paper cup into the wastebasket, put on a hat and coat, turn off the lights, and walk to the road under the night.
A small young man, about twenty, in a neat gray overcoat and baseball cap, was standing in the corner of the building off Spade's office.
Spade walked north on Sutter Street to Kenny Street, went into a tobacconist, and bought two sacks of Durham Bull.When he came out, there were four people waiting for the tram on the opposite corner, and the young man was one of them.
Spade had dinner at Herbert's Grill on Powell Street.When he left the kebab shop at a quarter to eight, the young man was looking in the window of a nearby men's clothing store.
Spade went to the Belvedere Hotel, went to the front desk and said to see Mr. Caro.The front desk told him Kylo wasn't there.The young man sat on a chair in the far corner of the lobby.
Spade went to the Gilly Theatre.He didn't see Kylo in the hall, so he came out and stood on the sidewalk in front of the door, facing the door of the theater.The young man was loitering in front of the Marquardt Hotel with several other loafers.
At ten past eight Joe Carroll appeared, walking north with his brisk little trot along Gilly Street.Apparently he didn't see the private eye until Spade tapped him on the shoulder.He looked a bit surprised and paused for a moment before saying, "Oh, yes, of course you saw the ticket."
"Well. There's something for you to look at." Spade pulled Carol back onto the sidewalk beside the group of people waiting to enter the theater. "Look at that kid in the baseball cap at the Marquette gate."
Kylo murmured "Let me see," and looked at his watch.He looked north of Gilly Street, then at the theater sign in front of him, which said Costumes, and slowly his dark eyes turned away from their sockets until he saw the kid in the baseball cap.He stared at the pale, impassive face and the eyes hidden under the drooping, curved eyelashes.
"Who is he?" Spade asked.
Kylo smiled at Spade: "I don't know him."
"He's been following me everywhere."
Kai Luo licked his lower lip and asked, "Then do you think it would be bad for him to see us together?"
"How do I know?" replied Spade, "he's seen it anyway." Kylo took off his hat, smoothed his hair with one gloved hand, and put it back on carefully, Then in a frank tone: "I assure you that I did not know him, Mr. Spade. I assure you that he has nothing to do with me. On my reputation I have not asked anyone for help but you."
"Then he was sent by someone else?"
"That's possible."
"I'm just trying to figure it out, because if he's in the way, I'll just have to fix him."
"Come as you like. He's not my friend."
"That's good, the show is about to start, goodbye."
After Spade finished speaking, he crossed the road and got on a westbound tram.
The young man in the baseball cap got into the same car. Spade got out of the car on Hyde Street and walked to his apartment.His room hadn't been messed up much, but the traces of the search were still obvious.Spade took a shower, put on a clean shirt and false collar, and went out again, walking north to Sutter Street and catching a westbound tram.The young man got into the car too. Spade got out of the car five or six blocks away from Crown Apartments and walked into the foyer of a brown apartment building.He rang three doorbells at the same time.The door lock buzzed.He entered the door, passed the elevator and the stairs, walked through a yellow-walled corridor to the back of the building, found a back door with a tumbler lock, and opened it into the small backyard.The backyard opened onto a dark back street, which Spade took two blocks north and then crossed onto California Street to the Crown Apartments.It was not yet half past nine. The eagerness with which Bridget O'Shaughnessy greeted Spade suggested she wasn't too sure he was coming.She had changed into a blue silk gown, now called "Antoine blue," with chalcedony on the straps.The stockings peeping out of her slippers were also Antoine blue. The red and cream living room has been tidied up and fresh flowers in low clay vases of silver and black liven up the room.Three small stripped logs burned in the fireplace.She put away his hat and coat, and he looked at the burning logs. "Have you got any good news for me?" she asked breathlessly as she returned to the room, a worried smile. "Things that we haven't made public don't need to be made public." "You don't need to let the police know about me?" She breathed a sigh of relief, sitting on the walnut sofa, her expression and body relaxed.She looked up at him with a smile of admiration. "How did you do it?" she asked, more surprise than curiosity in her tone. "In San Francisco, you can buy or get most things." "You won't get into trouble, will you? Sit down." She made room for him on the couch. "I don't care about a little trouble that is reasonable," he said without much satisfaction in his voice.He stood by the fireplace watching her, making no secret of his judgmental eyes.Under his blunt scrutiny, her face blushed slightly.She looked more confident than ever, although there was still a hint of shyness in her eyes.He stood there the whole time, seemingly ignoring her invitation to sit beside her.Only then did he go to the couch. "You're not who you pretend to be, are you?" "I'm not sure I understand what you mean," she said softly, looking at him with puzzled eyes. "Behave like a schoolgirl," he explained, "all that stammering and blushing thing." Her face was flushed, and without looking at him, she hurriedly replied: "I told you this afternoon, I am a bad person—worse than you imagined." "That's what I mean," he said. "You said exactly the same words to me this afternoon, in the exact same tone, and you practiced them." She nearly cried in panic, but laughed again a moment later, and said: "Very well, Mr. Spade, I am not at all what I pretend to be; I am eighty years old, a lot of villains, and live on cast-iron. But if I've grown up like this, you can't expect me to change it all at once, can you?" "Oh, that's all right," he reassured her. "If you're so naive that's the problem, then we can't get anything done." "I won't be naive." She assured her with a hand on her chest. "I saw Joe Kylo tonight," he said in a polite tone.The joy disappeared from her face, her eyes fixed on his profile, first fearful, then wary.He straightened his legs and looked at his crossed feet with no expression on his face. After a long silence, she asked uncomfortably, "You...you know him?" "I just saw him tonight," Spade said without raising his head, and his tone was still relaxed. "He's going to see George Aris' performance." "You mean, you talked to him?" "Just a minute or two, and then the opening bell rang." She got up from the couch, went to the fireplace and lit the fire.She shifted a piece of decoration on the mantelpiece a little, crossed the room again to the corner table, got a pack of cigarettes, drew down the curtains, and returned to her seat.Now her face was calm and composed. Spade tilted his head and grinned at her. "You're amazing. You're amazing." She asked quietly, without changing her face, "What did he say?" "about what?" She hesitated for a moment: "About me." "Nothing." Spade turned and moved the lighter to her cigarette.His devil-like face was carved out of wood, and his eyes were shining. "Come on, what did he say?" she asked half-jokingly, half-temper. "He offered to pay me five thousand dollars to help him find the blackbird." Startled, she bit the cigarette in her mouth, gave Spade a quick frightened look, and then looked away. "You're not going to poke the fire and tidy the room again, are you?" he asked lazily. She laughed, a smile that conveyed unmistakably good mood.She threw the deformed cigarette into the ashtray and looked at him with the same pleasant eyes. "Not going," she promised, "then what did you say?" "Five thousand dollars is a lot of money." She smiled again, but seeing that instead of smiling, he stared at her with gloomy eyes, the smile became blurred and flustered, and slowly disappeared, replaced by a sad and hesitant expression. "Surely you don't really mean to accept it," she said. "Why not? Five thousand dollars is a lot of money." "But Mr. Spade, you promised to help me." Her hand grabbed his arm. "I trust you, you can't—" She stopped abruptly, let go of his sleeve, and twisted her hands. Together. Spade smiled gently into her troubled eyes. "Let's not study how much you trust me," he said. "I promised to help you, yes, but you never mentioned any blackbirds." "But you must have known, otherwise why would you tell me? You know now. You wouldn't—you couldn't—you couldn't do this to me." Her cobalt blue eyes were pitiful. "Five thousand dollars," he said a third time, "is a lot of money." She raised her shoulders and hands, let them fall again, in a gesture of surrender. "Indeed," she whispered feebly, "if I had to bid for your loyalty, it would be more than I could pay you." Spade smiled, a mocking, fleeting smile. "You're right," he said. "What have you given me other than money? Have you given me confidence? Have you given me the truth? You asked me to help you, have you ever helped me? Did you give me anything but money? Ever try to trade my loyalty with something else? Well, if I'm going to sell, why don't I sell to the highest bidder?" "I've already given you all my money." With tears in her eyes and white circles around her eyes, her voice was hoarse and trembling, "I put all my wealth on your kindness, and I told you that if you don't help I am completely finished, what else can I do?" She approached him suddenly, crying angrily, "Can I buy you with my body?" Their faces are only inches apart.Spade took her face in his hands, kissed her lips roughly and contemptuously, then sat back and said, "I'll think about it." His face was grim and angry. She sat motionless, her numb face still the same as when he let go of her. Spade stood up and said, "My God! There's no point in that." He took two steps toward the fireplace, stopped, and glared at the burning logs through gritted teeth. She didn't move. He turned to look at her, and the two vertical lines above the bridge of his nose looked like deep clefts between red welts. "I don't expect you to tell the truth at all," he told her, trying to be as calm as possible. "I don't care what tricks you're up to, what secrets you have, but you've got to prove to me that you know yourself. doing what." "I do understand. Please believe me, I'm doing it for our own good, and—" "Prove it to me," he ordered, "and I'll help you. I've done what I can so far. I'll keep going blindfolded if I have to, but if that's all I have for you Faith, I can't do it. You've got to convince me that you know how it all is for yourself; convince me that you're not just running around on guesswork and God's blessings, and hoping it's going to be all right in the end." "Can't you trust me just a little longer?" "How long is a while? What are you waiting for?" She bit her lip and looked at the ground. "I've got to talk to Joe Carroll," she said in a barely audible voice. "You can see him tonight," Spade said, looking at his watch. "His show will be over soon. We can call him at the hotel." She looked up, looking at him in fear. "But he can't come here. I can't let him know where I live, I'm afraid." "Go to my place," Spade suggested. She pursed her lips and hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Do you think he will go?" Spade nodded. "Okay!" she jumped up, her eyes wide and shining. "Shall we go now?" she said, walking into the next room. Spade went to the corner table and gently opened the drawer.In the drawer were two packs of cards, a bridge scorecard, a brass screw, a red string, and a gold pencil.He closed the drawer and lit a cigarette.Then she came back in a little black hat and a gray suede coat, with his coat and hat. Their taxi was parked behind a black sedan facing the Spade gate.Eva Archer was alone in the car, behind the wheel.Spade tipped his hat at her and went in with Bridget O'Shaughnessy.He stopped by a bench in the foyer and asked, "Can you wait for me here a while? I'll come when I go." "Of course," said Bridget O'Shaughnessy, sitting down. "You needn't worry." Spade went out to the car.As soon as he opened the car door, Eva shot out, "Sam, I need to talk to you. Can't you let me in?" She was pale and nervous. "not now." Eva's teeth chattered and she asked sharply, "Who is she?" "I only have a minute, Eva," Spade said patiently. "What's going on?" "Who is she?" she repeated, motioning towards the door.He looked away from her and looked south along the road.In front of a garage on the corner, a small young man in his twenties, wearing a neat gray overcoat and a baseball cap, was idly leaning against the wall.Spade frowned, and looked back at Eva's persevering face. "What's the matter? Is something wrong? You shouldn't be here at this time of night." "I'm starting to believe it now," she grumbled. "You said I shouldn't be in the office, and now you're saying I shouldn't be here. You mean I shouldn't be pestering you? If that's what you mean, why not Straight up?" "Come on, Eva, you have no right to that attitude." "I know I don't. Looks like I don't have a say in your business. I used to think I did. I thought you pretended to love me, and it gave me—" Spade said wearily, "This isn't the time to argue, baby. What do you want from me?" "I can't say it here, Sam. Can't I go in?" "not now." "why not?" Spade said nothing. Her lips pursed into a line, she fidgeted and squirmed behind the wheel, then started the car's engine and stared angrily ahead. As the car moved, Spade said "Good night, Eva," closed the door, and stood on the sidewalk, hat in hand, until the car drove away before stepping in again. Bridget O'Shaughnessy rose from the bench, smiling happily, and together they went upstairs to his room.
Notes: Sherlock the loan shark.
The young man in the baseball cap got into the same car. Spade got out of the car on Hyde Street and walked to his apartment.His room hadn't been messed up much, but the traces of the search were still obvious.Spade took a shower, put on a clean shirt and false collar, and went out again, walking north to Sutter Street and catching a westbound tram.The young man got into the car too. Spade got out of the car five or six blocks away from Crown Apartments and walked into the foyer of a brown apartment building.He rang three doorbells at the same time.The door lock buzzed.He entered the door, passed the elevator and the stairs, walked through a yellow-walled corridor to the back of the building, found a back door with a tumbler lock, and opened it into the small backyard.The backyard opened onto a dark back street, which Spade took two blocks north and then crossed onto California Street to the Crown Apartments.It was not yet half past nine. The eagerness with which Bridget O'Shaughnessy greeted Spade suggested she wasn't too sure he was coming.She had changed into a blue silk gown, now called "Antoine blue," with chalcedony on the straps.The stockings peeping out of her slippers were also Antoine blue. The red and cream living room has been tidied up and fresh flowers in low clay vases of silver and black liven up the room.Three small stripped logs burned in the fireplace.She put away his hat and coat, and he looked at the burning logs. "Have you got any good news for me?" she asked breathlessly as she returned to the room, a worried smile. "Things that we haven't made public don't need to be made public." "You don't need to let the police know about me?" She breathed a sigh of relief, sitting on the walnut sofa, her expression and body relaxed.She looked up at him with a smile of admiration. "How did you do it?" she asked, more surprise than curiosity in her tone. "In San Francisco, you can buy or get most things." "You won't get into trouble, will you? Sit down." She made room for him on the couch. "I don't care about a little trouble that is reasonable," he said without much satisfaction in his voice.He stood by the fireplace watching her, making no secret of his judgmental eyes.Under his blunt scrutiny, her face blushed slightly.She looked more confident than ever, although there was still a hint of shyness in her eyes.He stood there the whole time, seemingly ignoring her invitation to sit beside her.Only then did he go to the couch. "You're not who you pretend to be, are you?" "I'm not sure I understand what you mean," she said softly, looking at him with puzzled eyes. "Behave like a schoolgirl," he explained, "all that stammering and blushing thing." Her face was flushed, and without looking at him, she hurriedly replied: "I told you this afternoon, I am a bad person—worse than you imagined." "That's what I mean," he said. "You said exactly the same words to me this afternoon, in the exact same tone, and you practiced them." She nearly cried in panic, but laughed again a moment later, and said: "Very well, Mr. Spade, I am not at all what I pretend to be; I am eighty years old, a lot of villains, and live on cast-iron. But if I've grown up like this, you can't expect me to change it all at once, can you?" "Oh, that's all right," he reassured her. "If you're so naive that's the problem, then we can't get anything done." "I won't be naive." She assured her with a hand on her chest. "I saw Joe Kylo tonight," he said in a polite tone.The joy disappeared from her face, her eyes fixed on his profile, first fearful, then wary.He straightened his legs and looked at his crossed feet with no expression on his face. After a long silence, she asked uncomfortably, "You...you know him?" "I just saw him tonight," Spade said without raising his head, and his tone was still relaxed. "He's going to see George Aris' performance." "You mean, you talked to him?" "Just a minute or two, and then the opening bell rang." She got up from the couch, went to the fireplace and lit the fire.She shifted a piece of decoration on the mantelpiece a little, crossed the room again to the corner table, got a pack of cigarettes, drew down the curtains, and returned to her seat.Now her face was calm and composed. Spade tilted his head and grinned at her. "You're amazing. You're amazing." She asked quietly, without changing her face, "What did he say?" "about what?" She hesitated for a moment: "About me." "Nothing." Spade turned and moved the lighter to her cigarette.His devil-like face was carved out of wood, and his eyes were shining. "Come on, what did he say?" she asked half-jokingly, half-temper. "He offered to pay me five thousand dollars to help him find the blackbird." Startled, she bit the cigarette in her mouth, gave Spade a quick frightened look, and then looked away. "You're not going to poke the fire and tidy the room again, are you?" he asked lazily. She laughed, a smile that conveyed unmistakably good mood.She threw the deformed cigarette into the ashtray and looked at him with the same pleasant eyes. "Not going," she promised, "then what did you say?" "Five thousand dollars is a lot of money." She smiled again, but seeing that instead of smiling, he stared at her with gloomy eyes, the smile became blurred and flustered, and slowly disappeared, replaced by a sad and hesitant expression. "Surely you don't really mean to accept it," she said. "Why not? Five thousand dollars is a lot of money." "But Mr. Spade, you promised to help me." Her hand grabbed his arm. "I trust you, you can't—" She stopped abruptly, let go of his sleeve, and twisted her hands. Together. Spade smiled gently into her troubled eyes. "Let's not study how much you trust me," he said. "I promised to help you, yes, but you never mentioned any blackbirds." "But you must have known, otherwise why would you tell me? You know now. You wouldn't—you couldn't—you couldn't do this to me." Her cobalt blue eyes were pitiful. "Five thousand dollars," he said a third time, "is a lot of money." She raised her shoulders and hands, let them fall again, in a gesture of surrender. "Indeed," she whispered feebly, "if I had to bid for your loyalty, it would be more than I could pay you." Spade smiled, a mocking, fleeting smile. "You're right," he said. "What have you given me other than money? Have you given me confidence? Have you given me the truth? You asked me to help you, have you ever helped me? Did you give me anything but money? Ever try to trade my loyalty with something else? Well, if I'm going to sell, why don't I sell to the highest bidder?" "I've already given you all my money." With tears in her eyes and white circles around her eyes, her voice was hoarse and trembling, "I put all my wealth on your kindness, and I told you that if you don't help I am completely finished, what else can I do?" She approached him suddenly, crying angrily, "Can I buy you with my body?" Their faces are only inches apart.Spade took her face in his hands, kissed her lips roughly and contemptuously, then sat back and said, "I'll think about it." His face was grim and angry. She sat motionless, her numb face still the same as when he let go of her. Spade stood up and said, "My God! There's no point in that." He took two steps toward the fireplace, stopped, and glared at the burning logs through gritted teeth. She didn't move. He turned to look at her, and the two vertical lines above the bridge of his nose looked like deep clefts between red welts. "I don't expect you to tell the truth at all," he told her, trying to be as calm as possible. "I don't care what tricks you're up to, what secrets you have, but you've got to prove to me that you know yourself. doing what." "I do understand. Please believe me, I'm doing it for our own good, and—" "Prove it to me," he ordered, "and I'll help you. I've done what I can so far. I'll keep going blindfolded if I have to, but if that's all I have for you Faith, I can't do it. You've got to convince me that you know how it all is for yourself; convince me that you're not just running around on guesswork and God's blessings, and hoping it's going to be all right in the end." "Can't you trust me just a little longer?" "How long is a while? What are you waiting for?" She bit her lip and looked at the ground. "I've got to talk to Joe Carroll," she said in a barely audible voice. "You can see him tonight," Spade said, looking at his watch. "His show will be over soon. We can call him at the hotel." She looked up, looking at him in fear. "But he can't come here. I can't let him know where I live, I'm afraid." "Go to my place," Spade suggested. She pursed her lips and hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Do you think he will go?" Spade nodded. "Okay!" she jumped up, her eyes wide and shining. "Shall we go now?" she said, walking into the next room. Spade went to the corner table and gently opened the drawer.In the drawer were two packs of cards, a bridge scorecard, a brass screw, a red string, and a gold pencil.He closed the drawer and lit a cigarette.Then she came back in a little black hat and a gray suede coat, with his coat and hat. Their taxi was parked behind a black sedan facing the Spade gate.Eva Archer was alone in the car, behind the wheel.Spade tipped his hat at her and went in with Bridget O'Shaughnessy.He stopped by a bench in the foyer and asked, "Can you wait for me here a while? I'll come when I go." "Of course," said Bridget O'Shaughnessy, sitting down. "You needn't worry." Spade went out to the car.As soon as he opened the car door, Eva shot out, "Sam, I need to talk to you. Can't you let me in?" She was pale and nervous. "not now." Eva's teeth chattered and she asked sharply, "Who is she?" "I only have a minute, Eva," Spade said patiently. "What's going on?" "Who is she?" she repeated, motioning towards the door.He looked away from her and looked south along the road.In front of a garage on the corner, a small young man in his twenties, wearing a neat gray overcoat and a baseball cap, was idly leaning against the wall.Spade frowned, and looked back at Eva's persevering face. "What's the matter? Is something wrong? You shouldn't be here at this time of night." "I'm starting to believe it now," she grumbled. "You said I shouldn't be in the office, and now you're saying I shouldn't be here. You mean I shouldn't be pestering you? If that's what you mean, why not Straight up?" "Come on, Eva, you have no right to that attitude." "I know I don't. Looks like I don't have a say in your business. I used to think I did. I thought you pretended to love me, and it gave me—" Spade said wearily, "This isn't the time to argue, baby. What do you want from me?" "I can't say it here, Sam. Can't I go in?" "not now." "why not?" Spade said nothing. Her lips pursed into a line, she fidgeted and squirmed behind the wheel, then started the car's engine and stared angrily ahead. As the car moved, Spade said "Good night, Eva," closed the door, and stood on the sidewalk, hat in hand, until the car drove away before stepping in again. Bridget O'Shaughnessy rose from the bench, smiling happily, and together they went upstairs to his room.
Notes: Sherlock the loan shark.