Chapter 15 Chapter 15 Whimsical Guys
Spade and Sheriff Burrows sat at the table Big John was in charge of in the Hof & Brough eating pickled pork knuckles.
Burrows lifted a glistening white aspic off the plate with his fork, and before it reached his mouth, he stopped and said, "Hey, listen, Sam, just forget about that night. He did it all wrong. Yes, but you are so domineering, no matter who you are, you will lose your head with anger."
Spade looked at each other thoughtfully. "Is this why you came to me?" he asked.
Burrows nodded, put the aspic on the fork into his mouth, swallowed it, and then nodded: "Basically."
"Dundee asked you to find me?"
Burrows made a disgusted look. "You know he won't. He's as stubborn as you are."
Spade smiled and shook his head. "No, he's not stubborn, Tom," he said, "he just thinks he's stubborn."
Tom frowned, cutting the pig's trotter in front of him with a knife. "Can't you be more mature?" he grumbled. "What's the use of whining? He didn't hurt you, and you got the upper hand in the end. What's the point of making trouble over it? You're just finding something for yourself." trouble."
Spade carefully placed the knife and fork on the plate, and kept his hands beside it.His smile was indifferent, without any warmth. "Even if every cop in the city was working overtime to make trouble for me, I wouldn't be afraid. I wouldn't even feel it."
Burrows blushed.He said, "It's really you who said that to me."
Spade picked up his knife and fork and began to eat.Burrows ate too.Then Spade asked, "See that burning ship in the bay?"
"I see smoke. Be reasonable, Sam. Dundee was wrong, and he knows it. Why can't you let it go?"
"You think I should run up to him and say, I hope my jaw isn't on his fist?"
Burrows cut the pig's trotter viciously.
Spade asked, "What did Phil Archer say again?"
"Oh, hell! Dundee doesn't think you've killed Miles, but what else is there to do but track him down? You'd do the same in his place, you know that."
"Really?" A hint of malice flashed in Spade's eyes, "Why does he think I didn't do it? Why do you think I didn't do it? Or do you think it was me?"
Burrows' already ruddy face flushed again."Miles was killed by Thursby," he said.
"You think it's him."
"That's him. That Webley is his. The bullet in Miles came out of that gun."
"Really?" Spade asked.
"Indeed," replied the detective. "We found a boy who was a handyman at the hotel where Thursby lived, and he saw that gun in Thursby's room that morning. I never saw anything like that." Gun. You say they don't make it anymore, so it's unlikely there's another gun -- anyway, if it wasn't Thursby's gun we found, where did his gun go? And what happened to Miles? The bullets are fired from this gun." He stopped, was about to put a piece of bread into his mouth, stopped again, and asked, "You said you have seen that kind of gun, where did you see it?" After finishing speaking He put the bread in his mouth.
", in England."
"That's right, that's what happened."
Spade nodded and said, "Then Thursby is the only one I killed."
Burrows writhed restlessly in his chair, his face flushed and bright. "God, why can't you forget this?" he said sincerely. Put the crime on your head, haven't you ever blamed others like this?"
"You mean you've thought about laying the blame on me, Tom—just thought about it."
Burrows swore at the remaining trotters.
Spade said, "All right. You and I understand it's over. Where's Dundee?"
"He also understands that it's over."
"What woke him up?"
"Well, Sam, he never really thought you—" Burrows choked on Spade's smile, swallowed the rest of the sentence, and added, "We've got Thursby's records."
"Really? Who is he?"
Burrows' small brown eyes looked at Spade intensely.Spade yelled impatiently, "You smart fellows think I know everything, if only I knew half as much!"
"Wish we all knew that much," Burrows muttered. "Well, he started out as a hit man in St. Louis, and got caught a lot for various cases. But he's a guy, so he didn't get locked up. I Don't know why he left the umbrella. Once he got caught in New York for robbing a casino - his mistress betrayed him. He squatted in it for a year and then paid to fish him out A few years later he was locked up in Joliet for a few more days because he shot another mistress who pissed him off. But after that he hooked up with Dixie Monaghan, whatever he did What, never got in trouble again. Back then Dixie was famous, like in Chicago casinos. Thursby was Dixie's bodyguard. Then Dixie owed money to other people, didn't know he was Sorry, still don't want to, anyway he slipped away with Thursby. It was a few years ago, around the time the Newport Beach Rowing Club closed, I don't know if Dixie had a part in that . Anyway, whether it's him or Thursby, this is the first time they've been seen since then."
"Dixie showed up?" Spade asked.
Burrows shook his head. "No," his eyes became sharp and prying, "unless you've seen him, or know someone has seen him."
Spade leaned back in his chair and rolled his cigarette. "I haven't seen it," he said tepidly. "It's the first time I've heard of these things."
"I suppose so," Burrows snorted.Spade grinned at him and asked, "Where did you get all of Thursby's stuff?"
"There's some in the files, and others—er—we've been asking around."
"Like from Kylo?"
Now it was Spade's turn to have a prying look in his eye.Burrows put down his coffee cup and shook his head.
"Not a single word. You've given him dumb drugs."
Spade laughed.
"Are you saying that you and Dundee, the two senior detectives, tortured that dainty sissy all night and still failed to break him?"
"All night? What do you mean?" Burrows protested. "We just interrogated him for a few hours, and when we saw absolutely no progress, we let him go."
Spade laughed again and looked at his watch.He called John to bring the bill.
"I have an appointment with the district attorney this afternoon," he said to Burrows as he waited for the change.
"He asked you to go?"
"right."
Burrows pushed back his chair and stood up.This tall man with a beer belly gave off an air of reliability and impersonality. "If you let him know I told you that," he said, "I'll be in trouble."
A tall, lanky young man with protruding ears ushered Spade into the district attorney's office.With a relaxed smile on his face, Spade said in a brisk tone, "Hi, Brian." District Attorney Brian stood up and held out his hand across the desk.He was of medium height, blond, about forty-five years of age, with aggressive blue eyes, glasses with black ribbons on his nose, and a wide orator's mouth with a dimple on his broad chin.When he said "Hello, Spade," his voice was booming and self-important. They shook hands and sat down. The district attorney's desk has four pearl-colored buttons lined up.He reached out and pressed one of them, and the tall, thin young man opened the door again and entered.The district attorney said to the young man, "Call Mr. Thomas and Healy in." Then he leaned back in his chair and said cheerfully to Spade, "You don't really get along with the police, do you?" Spade made a nonchalant gesture with his right hand. "No big deal," he said casually, "Dundee is too warm." The door opened and two men entered."Hello, Thomas," Spade said to one of them, a stocky man in his thirties, with tanned skin and a haphazard hairstyle and clothes.He patted Spade on the shoulder with a freckled hand, asked "How's it going," and sat down next to him.The other was younger and paler.He sat a little apart from the others, with a shorthand pad flat on his lap, and a green pencil in his hand on top of the pad. Spade glanced his way, smiled slightly, and asked Brian, "Is what I said going to be used against me?" The district attorney smiled. "Writing it down is usually useful." He took off his glasses, looked at them, and put them back on his nose.He looked at Spade through the glasses and asked, "Who killed Thursby?" "I don't know," Spade said. Brian twirled the black ribbon on his glasses with his fingers, and said confidently: "Maybe you don't know, but you can definitely guess." "Maybe, but I don't guess." The district attorney raised an eyebrow. "I don't guess," Spade repeated calmly. "I may or may not be right, but Mrs. Spade didn't raise a child stupid enough to be a D.A., an ADA, and a stenographer." Talk nonsense in front of you." "If you have nothing to hide, why can't you take a guess?" "Everyone," replied Spade mildly, "has some secrets to keep from them." "Then you have—" "My guess is one of them." The district attorney looked down at his desk and up at Spade.He stabilized his glasses on the bridge of his nose, and said, "If you don't want the stenographer there, we can make him stand down. I only asked him for convenience." "I don't care if he's there," Spade replied. "I'd like him to write everything I say, and I'd like to sign it." "We're not going to ask you to sign anything," Brian advised. "I hope you don't take this as a formal inquiry. Also, the police seem to have a story, but please don't think I'm going to think they say it." It's true, not to mention how much confidence I have in them." "You do not believe?" "Not a word." Spade sighed and crossed his legs. "That makes me happy." He fished tobacco and rolling papers from his pocket. "What about your version?" Brian leaned forward in his chair, his eyes glaring coldly like mirrors in front of him, "tell me who Archer is following Thursby for, and I'll tell you Who killed Thursby." Spade chuckled. "You're as dead wrong as Dundee." "Don't get me wrong, Spade," Brian said, tapping his knuckles on the tabletop, "I'm not saying your client killed Thursby himself or had someone kill him, I mean, if you knew you who the client was, I may soon find out who killed Thursby." Spade lit the cigarette, took it away from his mouth, exhaled a puff of smoke, and said with a confused look: "I don't quite understand." "You don't understand? Let me put it another way: Where's Dixie Monaghan?" Spade still looked dazed. "The other way of saying it doesn't quite work," he said. "I still don't get it." The district attorney took off his glasses and waved them for reinforcement. "We know that Thursby was once Monahan's bodyguard and that when Monaghan decided it would be best to walk away from Chicago, Thursby walked with him. We know that Monaghan disappeared with about twenty million dollars in debt. But we don't know—yet—who his creditors are." He put his glasses back on, grinning grimly. "But we all know that a bad gambler and his What is most likely to happen when the bodyguard is found by the creditor. This kind of thing is not without precedent." Spade stuck out his tongue and licked his lips, then grinned and showed his teeth in an ugly grin.His eyebrows were drooping, but his eyes were shining, and his flushed neck protruded from his collar.His voice was low and hoarse, and he seemed furious: "Come on, what do you think? Did I kill him for his creditors? Or just find him for his creditors so they can kill themselves?" "No, no," protested the district attorney, "you misunderstood me." "I hope I really misunderstood you," Spade said. "That's not what he meant," Thomas said. "Then what does he mean?" Brian waved his hand. "I'm just saying you may have gotten involved in this without knowing it. That would—" "I see," Spade sneered, "You don't think I'm naughty, you just think I'm stupid." "Bullshit," insisted Brian, "assuming someone finds you, hires you to find Monaghan, and tells you they have reason to believe he's in the city. That person could have made you a whole bunch of lies—this kind of Lies can be made up by the dozen—perhaps that he owed money and ran away, but won't tell you the details. How do you know what's going on? How do you know it's not an ordinary thing? What about your detective mission? In this case, of course, you are not responsible for what you did, unless—" His voice dropped to a more compelling tone, and his words slowed down to become clearer. "You didn't report it, you concealed the identity of the murderer, or you concealed clues that would help you arrest, and turned yourself into an accomplice." The anger on Spade's face had dissipated.He asked, "What do you mean?" There was no displeasure in his voice. "Exactly." "Well, it's easy to put it that way. But you're mistaken." "Prove it to me." Spade shook his head: "I can't prove it now, I can only tell you what I said." "Then tell me." "No one hired me to do anything with Dixie Monaghan." Brian and Thomas exchanged a look.Bryan looked back at Spade and said, "But by your own admission, you were hired to do something with Thursby, his bodyguard." "Yes, about Thursby, his former bodyguard." "predecessor?" "Yes, ex." "You know there's no connection between Thursby and Monaghan? Is that true?" Spade reached out and threw the cigarette butt into the ashtray on the desk.He said casually: "I'm not sure about anything. All I can say is that my client has no interest in Monaghan. Never has. I heard Thursby took Monaghan to the Far East and lost track of him there." gone." The district attorney exchanged glances with his assistant again. Thomas couldn't hide his excitement: "This is a new perspective. Monaghan's friends may kill him for leaving Monaghan." "Missing gamblers don't have friends," Spade said. "This opens up two new lines of thought," Bryan said.He leaned back, stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, and sat up quickly again.His oratorial face shone brightly. "That narrows down the possibilities to three. The first: that the gamblers who were repudiated by Monaghan killed Thursby. They didn't know or believe that Thursby had dumped Monaghan; they killed him Is it because he used to be Monaghan's man, or just wanted to get rid of him so they could find Monaghan. Or he refused to take them to Monaghan. The second: he was killed by Monaghan friends. Or a third, where he betrayed Monaghan to his enemies, fell out with them, and got killed by them." "Or number four," Spade suggested, with a pleasant smile, "he's dying of old age. You guys aren't serious, are you?" The two glared at Spade, but neither spoke.Spade looked at this and that with a smile, shook his head and said with a look of regret, "Your head is full of stories." Brian smacked the back of his left hand against the palm of his right. "The answer must be one of those three situations." There was sharpness in his voice, he stretched out his right index finger, gestured up and down in mid-air, and stopped suddenly when his finger was level with Spade's chest, "And you Could give us clues as to which one it is." Spade said lazily, "Really?" Looking sullen, he touched his lower lip with a finger, looked at the finger, and scratched the nape of his neck with it.Unpleasant wrinkles appeared on his forehead.Finally he let out a heavy breath through his nose and growled unhappily, "You don't want the clue I gave you, Brian. You can't use it. It will give you a gambler's revenge." It is speculated that it has been ruined." Brian sat up straight, chest out.His voice was harsh but not violent. "It's not up to you to judge. Whether my guesses are right or wrong, I'm the District Attorney." Spade bared his lips, showing his canine teeth. "I thought it was an informal conversation." "I am a sworn official of the judicial system, and this status is valid 24 hours a day." Brian said, "Whether it is a formal or informal occasion, you should provide me with criminal evidence, unless of course-" He nodded meaningfully. "You have certain constitutional grounds." "You mean if I'm involved in it myself?" Spade asked.His voice was gentle, almost cheerful, but his expression was not, "Well, I have better reasons than that, or suit me better. My clients have the right to keep some of their secrets properly. If If it were a grand jury, even if it were, I would probably have to speak. But I have not been arraigned by either side. It is safe to say that I will never disclose my client's affairs unless I have to. Also, you and The police all accused me of being involved in the murder that night. I have had bad experiences with both of you. In my opinion, the best way to clear the charges you are trying to make up for me is to send the killer in front of you ——It has to be tied up. And if I want to catch and tie up the murderer, it is only possible if I am far away from you, because it seems that none of you understand how to solve the case." He stood up , turning to the stenographer, "Have you got it down, boy? Am I talking too fast?" The stenographer looked at him in horror and replied, "No, sir, I have written it all down." "Good job," Spade said, turning back to Brian, "now if you want to go to the Detective Board and tell them I obstructed justice and have my license revoked, go ahead. You used to It’s not that I haven’t tried it, but I didn’t get anything, but I was made fun of.” Brian tried to speak: "But look, this—" Spade said, "Also, I'm never going to have this kind of casual conversation again. I don't have anything to say to you or the police. Every whim in the government department sends me for questioning. I'm fucking If you want to see me, send me a warrant, a subpoena, whatever, and I'll come to you with a lawyer." He put his hat on his head. "Probably when we're going to interrogate Goodbye." After saying that, he strode out.
Notes:
A tall, lanky young man with protruding ears ushered Spade into the district attorney's office.With a relaxed smile on his face, Spade said in a brisk tone, "Hi, Brian." District Attorney Brian stood up and held out his hand across the desk.He was of medium height, blond, about forty-five years of age, with aggressive blue eyes, glasses with black ribbons on his nose, and a wide orator's mouth with a dimple on his broad chin.When he said "Hello, Spade," his voice was booming and self-important. They shook hands and sat down. The district attorney's desk has four pearl-colored buttons lined up.He reached out and pressed one of them, and the tall, thin young man opened the door again and entered.The district attorney said to the young man, "Call Mr. Thomas and Healy in." Then he leaned back in his chair and said cheerfully to Spade, "You don't really get along with the police, do you?" Spade made a nonchalant gesture with his right hand. "No big deal," he said casually, "Dundee is too warm." The door opened and two men entered."Hello, Thomas," Spade said to one of them, a stocky man in his thirties, with tanned skin and a haphazard hairstyle and clothes.He patted Spade on the shoulder with a freckled hand, asked "How's it going," and sat down next to him.The other was younger and paler.He sat a little apart from the others, with a shorthand pad flat on his lap, and a green pencil in his hand on top of the pad. Spade glanced his way, smiled slightly, and asked Brian, "Is what I said going to be used against me?" The district attorney smiled. "Writing it down is usually useful." He took off his glasses, looked at them, and put them back on his nose.He looked at Spade through the glasses and asked, "Who killed Thursby?" "I don't know," Spade said. Brian twirled the black ribbon on his glasses with his fingers, and said confidently: "Maybe you don't know, but you can definitely guess." "Maybe, but I don't guess." The district attorney raised an eyebrow. "I don't guess," Spade repeated calmly. "I may or may not be right, but Mrs. Spade didn't raise a child stupid enough to be a D.A., an ADA, and a stenographer." Talk nonsense in front of you." "If you have nothing to hide, why can't you take a guess?" "Everyone," replied Spade mildly, "has some secrets to keep from them." "Then you have—" "My guess is one of them." The district attorney looked down at his desk and up at Spade.He stabilized his glasses on the bridge of his nose, and said, "If you don't want the stenographer there, we can make him stand down. I only asked him for convenience." "I don't care if he's there," Spade replied. "I'd like him to write everything I say, and I'd like to sign it." "We're not going to ask you to sign anything," Brian advised. "I hope you don't take this as a formal inquiry. Also, the police seem to have a story, but please don't think I'm going to think they say it." It's true, not to mention how much confidence I have in them." "You do not believe?" "Not a word." Spade sighed and crossed his legs. "That makes me happy." He fished tobacco and rolling papers from his pocket. "What about your version?" Brian leaned forward in his chair, his eyes glaring coldly like mirrors in front of him, "tell me who Archer is following Thursby for, and I'll tell you Who killed Thursby." Spade chuckled. "You're as dead wrong as Dundee." "Don't get me wrong, Spade," Brian said, tapping his knuckles on the tabletop, "I'm not saying your client killed Thursby himself or had someone kill him, I mean, if you knew you who the client was, I may soon find out who killed Thursby." Spade lit the cigarette, took it away from his mouth, exhaled a puff of smoke, and said with a confused look: "I don't quite understand." "You don't understand? Let me put it another way: Where's Dixie Monaghan?" Spade still looked dazed. "The other way of saying it doesn't quite work," he said. "I still don't get it." The district attorney took off his glasses and waved them for reinforcement. "We know that Thursby was once Monahan's bodyguard and that when Monaghan decided it would be best to walk away from Chicago, Thursby walked with him. We know that Monaghan disappeared with about twenty million dollars in debt. But we don't know—yet—who his creditors are." He put his glasses back on, grinning grimly. "But we all know that a bad gambler and his What is most likely to happen when the bodyguard is found by the creditor. This kind of thing is not without precedent." Spade stuck out his tongue and licked his lips, then grinned and showed his teeth in an ugly grin.His eyebrows were drooping, but his eyes were shining, and his flushed neck protruded from his collar.His voice was low and hoarse, and he seemed furious: "Come on, what do you think? Did I kill him for his creditors? Or just find him for his creditors so they can kill themselves?" "No, no," protested the district attorney, "you misunderstood me." "I hope I really misunderstood you," Spade said. "That's not what he meant," Thomas said. "Then what does he mean?" Brian waved his hand. "I'm just saying you may have gotten involved in this without knowing it. That would—" "I see," Spade sneered, "You don't think I'm naughty, you just think I'm stupid." "Bullshit," insisted Brian, "assuming someone finds you, hires you to find Monaghan, and tells you they have reason to believe he's in the city. That person could have made you a whole bunch of lies—this kind of Lies can be made up by the dozen—perhaps that he owed money and ran away, but won't tell you the details. How do you know what's going on? How do you know it's not an ordinary thing? What about your detective mission? In this case, of course, you are not responsible for what you did, unless—" His voice dropped to a more compelling tone, and his words slowed down to become clearer. "You didn't report it, you concealed the identity of the murderer, or you concealed clues that would help you arrest, and turned yourself into an accomplice." The anger on Spade's face had dissipated.He asked, "What do you mean?" There was no displeasure in his voice. "Exactly." "Well, it's easy to put it that way. But you're mistaken." "Prove it to me." Spade shook his head: "I can't prove it now, I can only tell you what I said." "Then tell me." "No one hired me to do anything with Dixie Monaghan." Brian and Thomas exchanged a look.Bryan looked back at Spade and said, "But by your own admission, you were hired to do something with Thursby, his bodyguard." "Yes, about Thursby, his former bodyguard." "predecessor?" "Yes, ex." "You know there's no connection between Thursby and Monaghan? Is that true?" Spade reached out and threw the cigarette butt into the ashtray on the desk.He said casually: "I'm not sure about anything. All I can say is that my client has no interest in Monaghan. Never has. I heard Thursby took Monaghan to the Far East and lost track of him there." gone." The district attorney exchanged glances with his assistant again. Thomas couldn't hide his excitement: "This is a new perspective. Monaghan's friends may kill him for leaving Monaghan." "Missing gamblers don't have friends," Spade said. "This opens up two new lines of thought," Bryan said.He leaned back, stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, and sat up quickly again.His oratorial face shone brightly. "That narrows down the possibilities to three. The first: that the gamblers who were repudiated by Monaghan killed Thursby. They didn't know or believe that Thursby had dumped Monaghan; they killed him Is it because he used to be Monaghan's man, or just wanted to get rid of him so they could find Monaghan. Or he refused to take them to Monaghan. The second: he was killed by Monaghan friends. Or a third, where he betrayed Monaghan to his enemies, fell out with them, and got killed by them." "Or number four," Spade suggested, with a pleasant smile, "he's dying of old age. You guys aren't serious, are you?" The two glared at Spade, but neither spoke.Spade looked at this and that with a smile, shook his head and said with a look of regret, "Your head is full of stories." Brian smacked the back of his left hand against the palm of his right. "The answer must be one of those three situations." There was sharpness in his voice, he stretched out his right index finger, gestured up and down in mid-air, and stopped suddenly when his finger was level with Spade's chest, "And you Could give us clues as to which one it is." Spade said lazily, "Really?" Looking sullen, he touched his lower lip with a finger, looked at the finger, and scratched the nape of his neck with it.Unpleasant wrinkles appeared on his forehead.Finally he let out a heavy breath through his nose and growled unhappily, "You don't want the clue I gave you, Brian. You can't use it. It will give you a gambler's revenge." It is speculated that it has been ruined." Brian sat up straight, chest out.His voice was harsh but not violent. "It's not up to you to judge. Whether my guesses are right or wrong, I'm the District Attorney." Spade bared his lips, showing his canine teeth. "I thought it was an informal conversation." "I am a sworn official of the judicial system, and this status is valid 24 hours a day." Brian said, "Whether it is a formal or informal occasion, you should provide me with criminal evidence, unless of course-" He nodded meaningfully. "You have certain constitutional grounds." "You mean if I'm involved in it myself?" Spade asked.His voice was gentle, almost cheerful, but his expression was not, "Well, I have better reasons than that, or suit me better. My clients have the right to keep some of their secrets properly. If If it were a grand jury, even if it were, I would probably have to speak. But I have not been arraigned by either side. It is safe to say that I will never disclose my client's affairs unless I have to. Also, you and The police all accused me of being involved in the murder that night. I have had bad experiences with both of you. In my opinion, the best way to clear the charges you are trying to make up for me is to send the killer in front of you ——It has to be tied up. And if I want to catch and tie up the murderer, it is only possible if I am far away from you, because it seems that none of you understand how to solve the case." He stood up , turning to the stenographer, "Have you got it down, boy? Am I talking too fast?" The stenographer looked at him in horror and replied, "No, sir, I have written it all down." "Good job," Spade said, turning back to Brian, "now if you want to go to the Detective Board and tell them I obstructed justice and have my license revoked, go ahead. You used to It’s not that I haven’t tried it, but I didn’t get anything, but I was made fun of.” Brian tried to speak: "But look, this—" Spade said, "Also, I'm never going to have this kind of casual conversation again. I don't have anything to say to you or the police. Every whim in the government department sends me for questioning. I'm fucking If you want to see me, send me a warrant, a subpoena, whatever, and I'll come to you with a lawyer." He put his hat on his head. "Probably when we're going to interrogate Goodbye." After saying that, he strode out.
Notes: