Chapter 9 Chapter 9 Bridget
Spade went back to the living room and sat at the end of the sofa with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, staring at the floor instead of Bridget O'Shaughnessy.She was sitting in an armchair smiling at him guiltily.His eyes were fiery, deep wrinkles appeared between his brows, and the wings of his nose rose and fell with his breathing.
Seeing that he was not going to look up at her, Bridget O'Shaughnessy suppressed her smile and looked at him with increasing uneasiness.
Fury suddenly took over his entire face.He spoke in a raspy guttural voice, stared at the ground with his furious face in his hands, and cursed Dundee with all sorts of nasty and obscene words for five minutes without a break.Then he looked up at Bridget, grinned wearily, and said, "Childish? I know that, but God knows how much I hate being hit." He ran his fingers carefully over his chin. , "This punch is not for nothing." He laughed, leaned back lazily on the sofa, crossed his legs, "It's worth it if he can beat him," said his eyebrows, and flashed A trace of anger, "But I will still remember this punch."
The girl smiled again, left the armchair and came to sit on the sofa next to him. "You're the wildest man I've ever met," she said. "Have you always been this bossy?"
"Didn't I let him hit me?"
"That's true, but he's a police officer."
"It's not for this," Spade explained. "He was so angry that he couldn't control his hand and hit me. If I fight back, he can't back down like he is now, and he will definitely investigate to the end. Then we have to Take that nonsense to the headquarters." He stared at the girl thoughtfully and asked, "What did you do to Kylo?"
"Nothing," she blushed. "I wanted to frighten him and keep him still until the police left. He was probably frightened, or unwilling to listen to me, so he yelled."
"And then you hit him with a gun?"
"That's all I can do. He hit me with his hands."
"You don't know what you're doing," Spade couldn't hide his exasperation with a smile. "I told you, you're just going around by guesswork and luck."
"I'm sorry, Sam," she said.Her tone and countenance were very weak and regretful.
"You're sorry for me." He took out the tobacco and rolling papers from his pocket and began to roll the cigarette. "Now that you've talked to Kylo, you can talk to me."
She put a finger to her mouth, stared wide-eyed across the room for a moment, then narrowed her eyes for a quick glance at Spade.He was concentrating on rolling his cigarette.
"Oh, yes," she began, "of course—" She moved her fingers away from her mouth, straightened the blue skirt that covered her knees, and frowned at her knees.
Spade licked the edge of the cigarette paper, sealed the cigarette, touched the lighter and asked, "What?"
"But I didn't," she said slowly, as if choosing words carefully, "didn't have enough time to talk to him." Instead of frowning at her lap, she looked at Spade, "We were interrupted as soon as we started."
Spade lit his cigarette, smiled, and exhaled. "Shall I call him and bring him back?"
She didn't smile, just shook her head.She was still staring at Spade as she shook her head, her eyes full of curiosity.
Spade walked around her back and put his arms out, covering her bare white shoulders.She leaned back in his arms.He said, "Speak, I'm listening."
She turned her head, raised her face and smiled at him, pretending to be arrogant and asked, "Do you have to put your hand there?"
"No." He took his hands off her shoulders and dropped his arms behind her.
"You are so unpredictable," she murmured.
He nodded and said gently, "I'm still listening."
"It's so late!" she shouted, pointing to the alarm clock on the book, the thick hands pointing at two fifty-five.
"Aha, it's been a busy night."
"I have to go." She got up from the sofa, "It's too late."
Spade didn't get up.He shook his head and said, "You have to tell me the reason before you can leave."
"But you can see what time it is," she protested. "It will be hours before I can tell you."
"That can't be helped, just use a few hours to talk."
"Am I a prisoner?" she asked with a smile.
"And that kid out there. Maybe he hasn't gone home to sleep yet."
The smile on her face disappeared. "Do you think he's still there?"
"It's possible."
She shuddered. "Can you go and see?"
"I can go downstairs and have a look."
"Oh, then—are you going then?"
Spade inspected her worried face, got up from the sofa, said, "No problem." He reached for his hat and coat. "I'll be back in ten minutes."
"Be careful." She sent him to the door and instructed.
He said "I will" and went out.
Post Street was empty when Spade came out.He walked one block east, crossed the street, walked two blocks west on the opposite side of the road, crossed the street again, and returned to the apartment building where he lived.He saw no one along the way, only two mechanics working on the car in the garage. When he opened the apartment door, Bridget O'Shaughnessy was standing at the corner of the entryway, Carroll's pistol in her hand, her arm at her side. "He's still there," Spade said. Biting the inside of her lip, she turned slowly, back into the living room.Spade followed her in, put his hat and coat on a chair, and said, "This will give us time to talk." Then he went into the kitchen. When she came to the door, she saw the coffee pot had just been put on the stove and Spade was slicing a loaf of baguette.She stood at the door, looking at him intently, idly stroking the pistol in her right hand with the fingers of her left hand. "The tablecloth is in there," Spade said, pointing with the bread knife to a cupboard that was part of the dining table. He spread pork liver pate and cold ground beef on the oval slices of bread; Bridget spread the tablecloth.Then he poured coffee and poured some brandy into it from a squat bottle, and they sat side by side on a bench by the table, and she put the pistol on her end of the bench. "You can start, eat and talk," he said. She made a face at him and complained, "I've never seen you so difficult." She took a bite of the sandwich. "Yes, and wild and elusive. What is this bird—this eagle, why is everyone so excited about it?" She chewed on the bread and beef, swallowed it, stared intently at the crescent left by a bite on the edge of the sandwich, and asked, "What if I don't tell you? What if I don't tell you anything? What will you do?" " "You mean about the bird?" "I mean the whole thing." "I won't be too surprised," he told her with a grin that showed the edges of his molars. "I know what to do next." "What's that going to be?" She shifted her attention from the sandwich to his face. "That's what I want to know: what you're going to do next." He shook his head. A narrow smile appeared on her face: "Do something wild and elusive?" "Maybe. But I don't understand what's the use of you hiding it now. Things have surfaced bit by bit. There are still many things I don't know, but I know some, and I can guess some. Give me more In one day, I will know things that you don't know." "I think you already know," she said, looking gravely at the sandwich in her hand again, "but—oh! I've had enough of this, I don't want to talk about it. Wait till you —Wouldn’t it be nice if you figured it out yourself, as you said?” Spade laughed. "It's hard to say. Picture it for yourself: The way I figure things out is by grabbing a monkey wrench and frantically and elusively messing with the machinery in front of me. If you're sure the flying debris won't If it hurts you, it's fine." She moved her bare, smooth shoulders uncomfortably, but said nothing.They ate their food in silence for the next few minutes, her composure, his composure.Finally she whispered, "I'm afraid of you, really." "That's not true," he said. "It's true," she insisted, her voice still low. "There are only two people I know who scare me, and I've seen them all tonight." "I see why you're afraid of Kylo," Spade said. "He's out of your hands." "Then you are there?" "That's another story," he said with a smile. She blushed.She took a slice of bread with gray pate, put it on her plate, and wrinkled her white forehead and said, "It's a black statue, you know, smooth and oily; it's a bird, A hawk or a falcon, about that tall." She kept her hands about a foot apart. "Why is it so important?" She took a sip of her brandy-and-coffee, then shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "They never told me. They promised me five hundred pounds if I helped them get it. After we parted from Jo, Floyd told me Said he would give me seven hundred and fifty dollars." "So it must be worth more than seven hundred and fifty dollars?" "Oh, a lot more than that," she said. "It's not like they're going to split it with me. They're just hiring me to help." "How to help?" She raised the glass to her lips again.Spade began to roll his cigarette, but those authoritarian gray-yellow eyes remained fixed on her face.Behind them, the coffee pot gurgled on the stove. "Help them get the statue from whoever owns it," she said slowly, putting down her glass, "a Russian named Kemidov." "how to do?" "Oh, that doesn't matter." She refused to answer, "It's no use knowing," she laughed cheekily, "and it's certainly none of your business." "Is this in Constantinople?" She hesitated for a moment, nodded, and said, "Yes." He waved his cigarette at her. "Go ahead, what happened next?" "That's all. I told you, they promised to pay me five hundred pounds to help them, and I did. Then we found out that Joe Carroll wanted to leave us and take the eagle and give us nothing, so We acted first, and treated the other person in the same way. But then my situation was not much better than before, because Freud had no intention of paying the seven months he promised me. One hundred and fifty dollars. I could tell when we first got here. He said we'd go to New York and he'd sell the eagle there and give me my share, but I could tell he wasn't telling the truth ’” Anger turned her eyes a brooding violet, “That’s why I went to you to help me find out where that eagle is.” "What if you got it? What next?" "Then I am qualified to negotiate terms with Mr. Floyd Thursby." Spade looked at her through narrowed eyes and said, "But you don't know where to sell the eagle for more money than he can give you? You know very well that he is going to sell it for a lot of money." of." "I don't know," she said. Spade stared disapprovingly at the ashes he flicked on the plate in front of him. "Why is it worth so much?" he asked. "You must know a little bit, at least to guess." "I don't have a clue." He turned to stare at her displeased. "What is it made of?" "Porcelain or black stone. I don't know. I've never touched it. I've only seen it once, for a few minutes. Floyd gave me a look when we first got it." Spade crushed the cigarette butt on the plate, drank the coffee and brandy in the cup, and finally relaxed his brows.He wiped his mouth with a tissue, crumpled the tissue and threw it on the table, and said nonchalantly, "You're a liar." She stood up, stood at the end of the table and looked down at him, her eyes were dim and embarrassed, and her face was flushed. "I'm a liar," she said, "I've always been a liar." "Don't exaggerate the facts, it's naive." He came out from between the table and the bench, with a good-natured mockery in his voice, "Is there any truth in the bunch of Arabian Nights just now?" She lowered her head, tears glistening on her dark eyelashes. "Yes." She whispered. "how many?" "No... not much." Spade reached under her chin and lifted her head up.He looked into her teary eyes and smiled. "We've got all night. I'll make some more coffee and some more brandy and we'll try again." Her eyelids droop. "Oh, I've had enough," she said tremblingly, "I'm so tired of all of this--of myself, of lying, of making up lies, of not knowing what's true and what's not. I wish I-- ’ She took Spade’s face in both hands, pressing her parted lips hard against Spade’s mouth, her body pressed against his.Spade put his arms around her and pulled her toward him, muscles bulging, blue sleeves tensing.He supported her head with one hand, half of his fingers were hidden in the red hair, and he stroked her slender back with the other hand.There was a warm light in his yellow eyes.
Notes:
Post Street was empty when Spade came out.He walked one block east, crossed the street, walked two blocks west on the opposite side of the road, crossed the street again, and returned to the apartment building where he lived.He saw no one along the way, only two mechanics working on the car in the garage. When he opened the apartment door, Bridget O'Shaughnessy was standing at the corner of the entryway, Carroll's pistol in her hand, her arm at her side. "He's still there," Spade said. Biting the inside of her lip, she turned slowly, back into the living room.Spade followed her in, put his hat and coat on a chair, and said, "This will give us time to talk." Then he went into the kitchen. When she came to the door, she saw the coffee pot had just been put on the stove and Spade was slicing a loaf of baguette.She stood at the door, looking at him intently, idly stroking the pistol in her right hand with the fingers of her left hand. "The tablecloth is in there," Spade said, pointing with the bread knife to a cupboard that was part of the dining table. He spread pork liver pate and cold ground beef on the oval slices of bread; Bridget spread the tablecloth.Then he poured coffee and poured some brandy into it from a squat bottle, and they sat side by side on a bench by the table, and she put the pistol on her end of the bench. "You can start, eat and talk," he said. She made a face at him and complained, "I've never seen you so difficult." She took a bite of the sandwich. "Yes, and wild and elusive. What is this bird—this eagle, why is everyone so excited about it?" She chewed on the bread and beef, swallowed it, stared intently at the crescent left by a bite on the edge of the sandwich, and asked, "What if I don't tell you? What if I don't tell you anything? What will you do?" " "You mean about the bird?" "I mean the whole thing." "I won't be too surprised," he told her with a grin that showed the edges of his molars. "I know what to do next." "What's that going to be?" She shifted her attention from the sandwich to his face. "That's what I want to know: what you're going to do next." He shook his head. A narrow smile appeared on her face: "Do something wild and elusive?" "Maybe. But I don't understand what's the use of you hiding it now. Things have surfaced bit by bit. There are still many things I don't know, but I know some, and I can guess some. Give me more In one day, I will know things that you don't know." "I think you already know," she said, looking gravely at the sandwich in her hand again, "but—oh! I've had enough of this, I don't want to talk about it. Wait till you —Wouldn’t it be nice if you figured it out yourself, as you said?” Spade laughed. "It's hard to say. Picture it for yourself: The way I figure things out is by grabbing a monkey wrench and frantically and elusively messing with the machinery in front of me. If you're sure the flying debris won't If it hurts you, it's fine." She moved her bare, smooth shoulders uncomfortably, but said nothing.They ate their food in silence for the next few minutes, her composure, his composure.Finally she whispered, "I'm afraid of you, really." "That's not true," he said. "It's true," she insisted, her voice still low. "There are only two people I know who scare me, and I've seen them all tonight." "I see why you're afraid of Kylo," Spade said. "He's out of your hands." "Then you are there?" "That's another story," he said with a smile. She blushed.She took a slice of bread with gray pate, put it on her plate, and wrinkled her white forehead and said, "It's a black statue, you know, smooth and oily; it's a bird, A hawk or a falcon, about that tall." She kept her hands about a foot apart. "Why is it so important?" She took a sip of her brandy-and-coffee, then shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "They never told me. They promised me five hundred pounds if I helped them get it. After we parted from Jo, Floyd told me Said he would give me seven hundred and fifty dollars." "So it must be worth more than seven hundred and fifty dollars?" "Oh, a lot more than that," she said. "It's not like they're going to split it with me. They're just hiring me to help." "How to help?" She raised the glass to her lips again.Spade began to roll his cigarette, but those authoritarian gray-yellow eyes remained fixed on her face.Behind them, the coffee pot gurgled on the stove. "Help them get the statue from whoever owns it," she said slowly, putting down her glass, "a Russian named Kemidov." "how to do?" "Oh, that doesn't matter." She refused to answer, "It's no use knowing," she laughed cheekily, "and it's certainly none of your business." "Is this in Constantinople?" She hesitated for a moment, nodded, and said, "Yes." He waved his cigarette at her. "Go ahead, what happened next?" "That's all. I told you, they promised to pay me five hundred pounds to help them, and I did. Then we found out that Joe Carroll wanted to leave us and take the eagle and give us nothing, so We acted first, and treated the other person in the same way. But then my situation was not much better than before, because Freud had no intention of paying the seven months he promised me. One hundred and fifty dollars. I could tell when we first got here. He said we'd go to New York and he'd sell the eagle there and give me my share, but I could tell he wasn't telling the truth ’” Anger turned her eyes a brooding violet, “That’s why I went to you to help me find out where that eagle is.” "What if you got it? What next?" "Then I am qualified to negotiate terms with Mr. Floyd Thursby." Spade looked at her through narrowed eyes and said, "But you don't know where to sell the eagle for more money than he can give you? You know very well that he is going to sell it for a lot of money." of." "I don't know," she said. Spade stared disapprovingly at the ashes he flicked on the plate in front of him. "Why is it worth so much?" he asked. "You must know a little bit, at least to guess." "I don't have a clue." He turned to stare at her displeased. "What is it made of?" "Porcelain or black stone. I don't know. I've never touched it. I've only seen it once, for a few minutes. Floyd gave me a look when we first got it." Spade crushed the cigarette butt on the plate, drank the coffee and brandy in the cup, and finally relaxed his brows.He wiped his mouth with a tissue, crumpled the tissue and threw it on the table, and said nonchalantly, "You're a liar." She stood up, stood at the end of the table and looked down at him, her eyes were dim and embarrassed, and her face was flushed. "I'm a liar," she said, "I've always been a liar." "Don't exaggerate the facts, it's naive." He came out from between the table and the bench, with a good-natured mockery in his voice, "Is there any truth in the bunch of Arabian Nights just now?" She lowered her head, tears glistening on her dark eyelashes. "Yes." She whispered. "how many?" "No... not much." Spade reached under her chin and lifted her head up.He looked into her teary eyes and smiled. "We've got all night. I'll make some more coffee and some more brandy and we'll try again." Her eyelids droop. "Oh, I've had enough," she said tremblingly, "I'm so tired of all of this--of myself, of lying, of making up lies, of not knowing what's true and what's not. I wish I-- ’ She took Spade’s face in both hands, pressing her parted lips hard against Spade’s mouth, her body pressed against his.Spade put his arms around her and pulled her toward him, muscles bulging, blue sleeves tensing.He supported her head with one hand, half of his fingers were hidden in the red hair, and he stroked her slender back with the other hand.There was a warm light in his yellow eyes.
Notes: