Chapter 7 long farewell (7)

The dreamy woman across the way does not belong to the above categories, or even to that world.She is difficult to classify, as remote and pure as a mountain spring, as elusive as the color of water.I was still staring at her when a voice said, "I'm so late. I'm sorry. It's all this fault. My name is Howard Spencer. You're Marlowe, of course." I turned to look at him.He was a middle-aged man, rather plump, casually dressed, but clean-shaven, with thinning hair brushed back carefully over his broad head between the ears.He was wearing a tacky double-breasted waistcoat, rarely worn in California, perhaps occasionally by visiting Bostonians.He's wearing rimless glasses and is tapping a battered briefcase, which is obviously what "this" means.

I look at the blond beauty across the way.She finished her lime soda or something and was looking at a microscope watch.The bar is more crowded but still too noisy.The two gamblers are still waving, and the solo drinker on the stool by the bar has two drinking buddies.I look back at Howard Spencer. "Is it related to your question?" I asked him, "I mean this guy named Wade." He nodded, looked me over carefully again, and said, "Mr. Marlowe, tell me about yourself. I mean, if you don't object to the request." "What kind of thing? I'm a licensed private investigator and have been for a while. I'm a lone wolf, unmarried, middle-aged, not rich. I've been in jail more than once, and I don't do divorces Case. I like booze, women, chess, etc. The cops don't like me very much, but I know one or two who get along well. I'm local, born in Santa Rosa, both parents dead, no siblings, in case I'll be killed in a dark alley - accidents can happen to anyone in this industry, and so can many people in other industries or people who don't work at all - no one will feel that their life has completely collapsed after I die."

"I see," he said, "but you didn't say what I wanted to know." He finished the gin and orange juice, which I didn't like.I grinned at him and said, "I left out one item, Mr. Spencer. I have a "Portrait of Madison" in my pocket." "President Madison's portrait? I'm afraid not-" "A five thousand dollar bill," I said, "keep it with you at all times. My lucky charm." "My God," he said in a low voice, "isn't that very dangerous?" "Who said that beyond a certain point all dangers are equal?"

"I think it was Walter Baggett. He was talking about chimney builders." Then he smiled, "Sorry, but I'm the publisher. Marlowe, you're all right. I'm going to be on you Take a chance or you'll tell me to fuck off. Right?" I also smiled at him.He summoned the waiter and ordered two more glasses of wine. He said cautiously, "Well, we've got a big problem with Roger Wade, he can't finish a book. He's lost his self-control, there's something behind it. He's like he's about to break down, he's drinking and throwing temper tantrums He's missing days in a row every once in a while. Not long ago he pushed his wife down the stairs and she ended up in the hospital with five broken ribs. There was no normal so-called problem between them, not at all. The man was just Drunk and crazy." Spencer leaned back and looked at me morosely. "We have to get that book done, it's very important, it's my job. But we need more than that. We're going to save a very talented He should be able to write better books than ever. One thing is wrong, he won't even see me this time. Sounds like a psychiatrist, I understand. Mrs. Wade disagrees, she believes him Totally normal, except that there are things that worry him half to death, like blackmail or something. The Wades have been married for five years. There may be something from the past that bothers him, maybe even - just a wild guess - driving over someone before getting away Kind of, someone figured it out. We don't know what it is, we want to know, and we're willing to pay a fortune to fix it. If it turns out to be a medical problem, oh-- forget it. If not, gotta find out .And Mrs. Wade should be protected, too. He might kill her next time. Things never happen."

The second round of wine began.My glass was intact, and he swallowed half of it in one go.I lit a cigarette and just stared at him. "You don't want a detective," I said, "you want a magician. What can I do? If I happen to be there at the right time, if I don't think he's difficult to handle, maybe I can knock him out and put him to bed." .But I have to be there. Chances are 1 in 100. You know that?" "He's about your size," Spencer said, "but he's not as fit as you. You can be there anytime." "Not necessarily. The drunk is cunning. He will definitely pick on when I'm not around. I'm not looking for a job in the male nurse market."

"Male nurses are useless. Roger Wade won't accept male nurses either. He's a brilliant man, he just lost his temper. He makes too much money writing rubbish for stupid readers .But the writer's only redemption is writing. If there's anything good about him, it will show." I said impatiently, "Well, I trust him. He's great, and he's dangerous. He's got a criminal secret, and he's trying to soak it in alcohol and forget about it. Mr. Spencer, I'm not good at that kind of thing." The problem." "I see." He looked at his watch, his face wrinkled with worry, and his face looked older and thinner. "Well, I'll have to try."

He reached for his briefcase.I looked at the blonde beauty across the way, she was about to leave.The white-haired waiter was paying her bill, she gave him a little money and smiled, he was as happy as shaking hands with God.She pursed her lips and pulled on her white gloves as the waiter dragged the table away and let her stride out. I look at Spencer.He was frowning at the glass at the table, briefcase on his lap. "Listen," I said, "if you don't object, I'm going to meet the man and size him up. I'm going to talk to his wife. But I guess he'll throw me out of the house."

Spencer said nothing, and another voice said, "No, Mr. Marlowe, I don't think he will. On the contrary, I think he might like you." I looked up and saw a pair of purple-blue eyes.She was standing at the other end of the dining table.I stood up and awkwardly slid into the back of the cubicle, as if I couldn't escape and had to stand still. "Please don't stand up." Her voice was as soft as white clouds in a blue summer sky, "I know I should apologize to you, but I think I should observe you first before introducing myself. I am Eileen Way Germany."

Spencer said darkly, "Eileen, he's not interested." She smiled. "I don't think so." I cheered up, I couldn't even stand still, and I was gasping with my mouth open.Like a sweet graduate girl, she is really beautiful.It's almost bone-crushing to look at closely. "I didn't say I wasn't interested, Mrs. Wade. I meant that I'm afraid I can't be of help, and I shouldn't be trying, or it might be harmful." Now she is very serious and the smile is gone. "You decide too quickly. You can't judge people by their actions. If you do, judge them by who they are."

I nodded blankly.Because I feel that way about Terry Lennox.He wasn't a good guy in behavior, with a few moments of glory in the foxhole -- if Menendez was telling the truth -- but the action didn't do it justice.He is a man that outsiders cannot hate.How many people you have met in your life can be called such? She added softly, "And you've got to know that's what they are. Goodbye, Mr. Marlowe. In case you change your mind..." She quickly opened her bag and handed me a business card. "Thank you for the honor." She nodded to Spencer and walked away.I watched her walk out of the bar and along the glass-covered section to the restaurant.Her pose is stunning.I watched her turn under the archway leading to the hall, saw the last flash of her white muslin skirt as she turned the corner.Then I relaxed into the cubicle and got the gin and orange juice.

Spencer was looking at me.There was a fierce flame in his eyes. "Good job," I said, "but you should see her once in a while. You can't just sit across from a dreamy woman like that for twenty minutes." "I'm so stupid, aren't I?" He forced a smile, but he didn't really want to.He didn't like the way I looked at her just now. "It's kind of weird what people think of private detectives. To think there's one in the house--" "Don't put me as a detective in your house," I said. "Anyway, please make up another story. You shouldn't want me to believe that someone - drunk or sober - pushed that stunning beauty down the stairs." , causing her to break five ribs." He blushed and clutched his briefcase with both hands. "You think I'm lying?" "What's the difference? You've already acted. Maybe you've fallen for the lady yourself." The next morning, I was about to wipe the powder off my earlobe when the doorbell rang.I went to open the door and saw a pair of purple-blue eyes.This time she was wearing brown linen and a paprika scarf, without earrings or hat.His face looked a little pale, but he didn't look like he was pushed down the stairs once.She gave me a hesitant smile. "Mr. Marlowe, I know I shouldn't bother you. You probably haven't had breakfast yet. But I don't really want to be in your office, and I don't like talking on the phone about personal matters." "No problem. Come in, Mrs. Wade. Would you like a cup of coffee?" She came to the living room and sat on the couch with blank eyes.She straightened her handbag on her lap and sat with her feet together, looking prim.I opened the window, drew the Venetian blinds, and picked up a dirty ashtray from the little table in front of her. "Thank you. Black coffee, no sugar." I went to the kitchen and spread a napkin on a green metal tray.Looks as low-grade as a celluloid collar.I rub it off and get out a fringe lining that goes with the napkin triangles.The upholstery, like most of the furniture, is rented with the house.I got out two Desert Rose coffee cups, filled them up, and carried the tray into the living room. She took a sip and said, "Great, you really know how to make coffee." "The last time I had coffee with anybody was right before I went to jail," I said, "I guess you know I've been to jail, Mrs. Wade." She nodded. "Of course. You're suspected of helping him escape, aren't you?" "They didn't. They found my phone number on a notepad in his room. They asked me something, and I didn't answer it—mostly because of the wrong way of asking. But I don't think you'll be interested in that." ." She put down the glass carefully, leaned back and smiled at me.I ask her to smoke. "I don't smoke, thanks. Of course I'm interested. We have a neighbor who knows the Lennoxes. He must be crazy. He doesn't sound like that." I put the tobacco in a bulldog pipe and lit it. "I guess so," I said. "He must be crazy. He was badly wounded in the war. Now that he's dead, it's over. I don't think you came here to talk about it." She shook her head slowly, and said: "Mr. Marlowe, he's your friend. You must have firm opinions. I think you're quite a man of decision." I tamped the tobacco in my pipe and lit it again, gazing at her deliberately across the pipe. "Listen, Mrs. Wade," I said at last, "my opinion is nothing. It happens every day. The most unlikely person commits the most unlikely crime. Kind old lady poisons the whole family. Healthy Normal kids commit multiple robberies and shootings. Bank managers with flawless records for twenty years turn out to be chronic embezzlers. Successful, popular?, supposedly happy novelists get drunk and beat their wives to the hospital. We even The motives of good friends' actions are not clear." I thought she was going to throw a fit, but instead she just pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. "Howard Spencer shouldn't have told you that," she said. "It's all my own fault. I didn't know how to avoid him. I've learned since that time that you can never stop a drunk man. You may more clearly." "Of course you can't stop him with words," I said. "If you're lucky, if you have strength, you can occasionally prevent him from hurting himself or others. Even that depends on luck." She quietly reached for the coffee cup and saucer.Her hands were as charming as the rest of her body.The nails are beautifully shaped, glossy, and very light in tone. "Did Howard tell you he didn't see my husband this time?" "said." She finishes her coffee, carefully puts the cup back on the tray, fiddles with the spoon for a few seconds before speaking without looking up at me. "He didn't tell you why, because he didn't know. I like Howard, but he is a very dominant person who wants to control everything. He thinks he has management talents." I waited quietly without speaking.There was another silence.She gave me a quick look, then looked away, and said very softly, "My husband has been missing for three days. I don't know where he is. I've come to beg you to find him and bring him home. Oh, it used to be Happened. One time he drove all the way to Portland, got sick in a hotel, got a doctor to hang over. It's a miracle he went all that way and he didn't have a problem. He didn't eat for three days. Another time he was in A small private nursing home in Long Beach, which may not have a very good reputation. It has been less than three weeks. He did not tell me the name or location, only that he is receiving treatment and there is no problem. But he looks very pale and weak. I Glancing at the man who brought him home—a tall lad in a fancy denim suit you'd only see on stage or in colorful musicals—he put Roger down in the driveway and backed away. " "Probably a vacation ranch," I said. "Some docile cowboy spends every penny on that fancy gear. Women go crazy for them. That's why he's there." She opened her purse, took out a folded paper, and said, "I've brought you a check for five hundred dollars, Mr. Marlowe. Would you like to accept it as a retainer?" She put the folded check on the table.I glanced at it and didn't touch it. "Why bother?" I asked. "You say he's been missing for three days, and it will take three or four days to get him fully awake before feeding him. Won't he come back like he used to? Or is it different this time?" "He can't take it anymore, Mr. Marlowe. He's going to die. The intervals are getting shorter and shorter. I'm worried to death. Not only worried, but frightened. It's so abnormal. We've been married five years. Roger always Good drink, but not a crazy drunk. There must be something wrong. I hope to find him. I slept less than an hour last night." "Can you think of a reason for his drinking?" Purple eyes stared at me intently.She seemed a little vulnerable this morning, but by no means alone.She bit her lower lip, shaking her head. "Unless it's for me," she said at last, almost in a whisper, "a man will grow tired of his wife." "I'm just an amateur psychologist, Mrs. Wade. We've got to know some psychology in our line of work. It's more likely that he's sick of the shitty stuff he's writing." "Probably," she said quietly, "I think all writers fall for it. He really doesn't seem to be able to finish the book he's got. But he doesn't need the rent, and he doesn't have to finish it." I don't think that's a good reason." "What was he like when he was sober?" She smiled. "Oh, I may be wrong. I think he's a very gentle man indeed." "What about drunk?" "It's scary. Smart, ruthless, and cruel. He thinks he's witty, but he's mean." "You didn't mention violence." She raised her tawny eyebrows. "Only once, Mr. Marlowe. It's been overblown. I couldn't have told Howard Spencer. Roger himself told him." I got up and walked around the room.It looks like it's going to be hot.It's actually quite hot.I rolled the curtains of one of the windows to block out the sun, and talked to her straight to the point. "I looked him up in Who's Who yesterday afternoon. He's forty-two, married to you for the first time, no kids. New England ancestry. He went to Andover and Princeton. He He's been in the Army and has a good record. He's written a dozen thick historical sex and fencing novels, and every one of them has been a bestseller. Must have made a lot of money. If he's sick of his wife, Looks like he'll just say it out and ask for a divorce. If he's messing around with other women, you'll probably know, and he doesn't have to drink to prove he's in a bad mood anyway. You've been married five years, and he was thirty-seven. I think that By then he should know most about women. I say most, because no one fully understands." I stopped to look at her and she smiled at me.I didn't hurt her feelings, so I went on. "Howard Spencer suggested--on what I don't know--that Roger Wade's problems were caused by something that happened long, long ago before you were married, and now the aftereffects are showing up, and the shock is getting too much for him. Spencer thinks of blackmail .would you know?" She shook her head slowly, and said, "If you mean Roger pays a large sum of money to somebody, would I know--no, I wouldn't know. I don't interfere with his accounts. He sends a large sum." Money, I may not know." "That's all right. I don't know Mr. Wade well enough to know how he reacts to someone being ripped off. If he's in a bad temper, he might break the guy's neck. If the secrecy is going to jeopardize his social or professional status, take extremes." example, and even bring in law enforcement, he might break the bank -- at least temporarily. But it doesn't help us much. You want to find him, you worry, and not just worry. So how do I get him? I don't Your money, Mrs. Wade. Not now." She reached into her purse again and took out two yellow sheets of paper.It looked like folded letter paper, with one page crumpled up.She spread the paper out and handed it to me. "I found one on his desk," she said. "Late at night, early in the morning. I knew he had been drinking, and I knew he hadn't come upstairs. I went down about two o'clock to see if he was all right--was Nothing major, passed out on the floor or on the couch or something. He's gone. The other one was in the wastebasket, or stuck on the edge and didn't fall in."