Too Many Clients

4

If you ever have your pick of being jumped by a man your size or a woman who only comes to your chin, I advise you to make it the man. If he's unarmed the chances are that the very worst he'll do is floor you, but God knows what the woman will do. And you may floor him first, but you can't plug a woman. Meg Duncan came at me exactly the way a cavewoman went at her man, or some other man, ten thousand years ago, her claws reaching for me and her mouth open ready to bite. There were only two alternatives, to get too far or too close, and too close is better. I rammed into her past the claws, against her, and wrapped her, and in one second the breath was all out of her. Her mouth stayed open, but for air, not to bite. I slid around and had her arms from behind. In that position the worst you can get is a kick on a shin. She was gasping. My grip may have been really hurting her right arm because I had the gun in that hand and the butt was pressing into her. When I removed that hand to drop the Marley in my pocket she didn't move, and I turned loose and backed up a step.

"I know who you are," I said. "I caught your show last week and you were wonderful. I'm not a cop, I'm a private detective. I work for Nero Wolfe. When you get your breath you'll tell me why you're here."

She turned, slowly. It took her five seconds to make the half-turn to face me. "You hurt me," she said.

"No apology. A squeeze and a little bruise on an arm are nothing to what you had in mind."

She rubbed the arm, her head tilted back to look up at me, still breathing through her mouth. I was being surprised that I had recognized her. On the stage she was extremely easy on the eyes. Now she was just a thirty-year-old female with a good enough face, in a plain gray suit and a plain little hat, but of course she was under strain.

She spoke. "Are you Nero Wolfe's Archie Goodwin?"

"No. I'm my Archie Goodwin. I'm Nero Wolfe's confidential assistant."

"I know about you." She was getting enough air through her nose. "I know you're a gentleman." She extended a hand to touch my sleeve. "I came here to get something that belongs to me. I'll get it and go. All right?"

"What is it?"

"A - a something with my initials on it. A cigarette case."

"How did it get here?"

She tried to smile, as a lady to a gentleman, but it was a feeble effort. A famous actress should have done better, even under strain. "Does that matter, Mr. Goodwin? It's mine. I can describe it. It's dull gold, with an emerald in a corner on one side and my initials on the other."

I smiled as a gentleman to a lady. "When did you leave it here?"

"I didn't say I left it here."

"Was it Sunday evening?"

"No. I wasn't here Sunday evening."

"Did you kill Yeager?"

She slapped me. That is, she slapped at me. She was certainly impetuous. Also she was quick, but so was I. I caught her wrist and gave it a little twist, not enough to hurt much, and let go. There was a gleam in her eyes, and she looked more like Meg Duncan. "You're a man, aren't you?" she said.

"I can be. Right now I'm just a working detective. Did you kill Yeager?"

"No. Of course not." Her hand came up again, but only to touch my sleeve. "Let me get my cigarette case and go."

I shook my head. "You'll have to manage without it for a while. Do you know who killed Yeager?"

"Of course not." Her fingers curved around my arm, not a grip, just a touch. "I know I can't bribe you, Mr. Goodwin, I know enough about you to know that, but detectives do things for people, don't they? I can pay you to do something for me, can't I? If you won't let me get my cigarette case you can get it for me, and keep it for me. You can give it to me later, you can decide when, I don't care as long as you keep it." Her fingers pressed a little. '' I would pay whatever you say. A thousand dollars?"

Things were looking up, but it was getting a little complicated. At 4:30 yesterday afternoon we had had no client and no prospect of any. Then one had come but had turned out to be a phony. Then Mrs. Perez had dangled a hundred bucks and perhaps more. Now this customer was offering a grand. I was digging up clients all right, but too many clients can be worse than too few.

I regarded her. "It might work," I said. "It's like this. Actually I can't take a job; I'm employed by Nero Wolfe. He takes the jobs. I'm going to look this place over, and if I find your cigarette case, as I will if it's here, I'll take it. Give me your keys, to the door down below and the elevator."

Her fingers left my arm. "Give them to you?"

"Right. You won't need them any more." I glanced at my wrist. "It's ten-thirty-five. You have no matinee today. Come to Nero Wolfe's office at half past two. Six-eighteen West Thirty-fifth Street. Your cigarette case will be there, and you can settle it with Mr. Wolfe."

"But why can't you - "

"No. That's how it is, and I have things to do." I put a hand out. "The keys."

"Why can't I - "

"I said no. There's no argument and no time. Damn it, I'm giving you a break. The keys."

She opened her bag, fingered in it, took out a leather key fold, and handed it over. I un-snapped it, saw two Rabson keys, which are not like any others, displayed them to Perez, and asked if they were the keys to the door and the elevator. He took a look and said yes. Dropping them in a pocket, I pushed the button to open the elevator door and told Meg Duncan, "I'll see you later. Half past two."

"Why can't I stay until you find - "

"Nothing doing. I'll be too busy for company."

She stepped in, the door closed, the click came, and the faint sound. I turned to Perez.

"You've never seen her before."

"No. Never."

"Phooey. When you brought things up at midnight?"

"I only saw him. She could have been in the bathroom."

"Where's the bathroom?"

He pointed. "At that end."

I went to his wife. "When she saw you she said, 'Thank God it's you.' "

She nodded. "I heard her. She must see me some time when she came in, in the hall or a door was open. We don't know her. We never saw her."

"The things you don't know. All right now, you two. It will take hours and will have to wait because I have things to do, but one question now." To him: "When you put the body in the hole why did you climb in and put the tarp over it?"

He was surprised. "But he was dead! A man dead, you cover him! I knew that thing was in there, I had seen it."

That was the moment that I decided that Cesar Perez had not killed Thomas G. Yeager. Possibly his wife had, but not him. If you had been there looking at him as he said that, you would have decided the same. When I had been trying to account for the tarp the simplest explanation had never occurred to me, that long ago people covered dead men to hide them from vultures, and it got to be a habit.

"That was decent," I said. "Too bad you didn't wear gloves. Okay, that's all for now. I have work to do. You heard me give that woman Nero Wolfe's address, Six-eighteen West Thirty-fifth Street. Be there at six o'clock this afternoon, both of you. I'm your detective temporarily, but he's the boss. You certainly need help, and after you tell him about it we'll see. Where are Yeager's keys? Don't say 'We don't know.' You said you took them. Where are they?"

"I have them safe," Mrs. Perez said.

"Where?"

"In a cake. I made a cake and put them in. There are twelve keys in a thing."

"Including the keys to the door and the elevator?"

"Yes."

I considered. I was already on thin ice, and if I took possession of something that had been taken from Yeager's body there would be no ice at all between me and suppression of evidence. No. "Don't cut the cake," I said, "and be darned sure nobody else does. Are you going anywhere today? Either of you?"

"We don't have to," she said.

"Then don't. Nero Wolfe's office at six o'clock, but I'll see you when I come down, probably in an hour or so."

"You take things?"

"I don't know. If I do I'll show them to you, including the cigarette case. If I take anything you think I shouldn't, you can call in that cop from out front."

"We couldn't," Perez said.

"He makes a joke," she told him. She pushed the button to bring the elevator up. "This is a bad day, Cesar. There will be many bad days, and he makes a joke." The elevator clicked at the top, she pushed another button, the door opened, and they entered and were gone.

I moved my eyes around. At the edge of a panel of red silk at the left was a rectangular brass plate, if it wasn't gold. I went and pushed on it, and it gave. The panel was a door. I pushed it open and stepped through, and was in the kitchen. The walls were red tile, the cupboards and shelves were yellow plastic, and the sink and appliances, including the refrigerator and electric range, were stainless steel. I opened the refrigerator door, saw a collection of various items, and closed it. I slid a cupboard door back and saw nine bottles of Dom Perignon champagne on their sides in a plastic rack. That would do for the kitchen for now. I emerged and walked the length of the yellow carpet, surrounded by silk and skin, to the other end, where there was another brass plate, or gold, at the edge of a panel. I pushed it open and was in the bathroom. I don't know what your taste is, but I liked it. It was all mirrors and marble, red marble with yellow streaks and splotches. The tub, big enough for two, was the same marble. Two of the mirrors were doors to cabinets, and they contained enough different cosmetic items to supply a harem.

I returned to the silk and skin. There were no drawers anywhere, no piece of furniture that might contain pieces of paper on which someone had written something. There was nothing at the telephone stand but the phone, which was yellow, and the directory, which was in a red leather holder. But along one wall, the one across from the bed, there was no furniture for about thirty feet of its length, and the silk along the bottom, for three feet up from the floor, was in little folds like a curtain, not flat as it was everywhere else. I went and gave the silk a tug and it parted and slid along the top, and behind it were drawer fronts, of wood something like mahogany, but redder. I pulled one open. Female slippers, a dozen pairs in two neat rows, various colors and shapes and sizes. The sizes ranged from quite small to fairly large.

I looked into only five more drawers before I went to the phone. That was enough to make it plain that Meg Duncan wasn't the only one who had keys to the door and elevator. There was another drawer of slippers, again assorted colors and sizes, and two drawers of nighties, a mighty fine collection. It was after I unfolded eight of them and spread them on the bed for comparison, and found that they also covered a wide range in sizes, that I went to the phone and dialed a number. There was a possibility that it was tapped or there was an extension, but it was very slim, and I preferred the slight risk to going out to a booth.

Saul Panzer, whose number I dialed, was the free-lance operative we called on when only the best would do. But what I got was the answering-service girl, who said that Mr. Panzer was out and couldn't be reached and would I leave a message. I said no and dialed another number, Fred Durkin's, the next best, and got him. He said he had nothing on for the day.

"You have now," I told him. "Pack a bag for a week. It will probably be less but could be more. Come as you are, no costumes required, but have a gun. You probably won't use it, but have it. Come to One-fifty-six West Eighty-second Street, the basement entrance, superintendent, and push the button at the door. It will be a man or woman, either Cuban or Puerto Rican, I'm not sure which. They speak American. Tell him or her your name and ask for me, and you'll have the pleasure and honor of being brought to my presence. Don't hurry. Take three minutes to pack if you want to."

" Eighty-second Street," he said. "Murder. What was his name? Yeager."

"You read too much and you're morbid and you jump to conclusions. Pack your bag and button your lip." I hung up.

Folding flimsy nighties properly is no job for a man and it takes time, but I gritted my teeth and stuck to it, because a detective is supposed to leave a place the way he found it. Them back in the drawer, I brought the elevator up, took it down, and went to an open door, the first one on the left in the hall. The Perez family was having a conference in the kitchen. Father and mother were sitting, and Maria was standing. There was more light than there had been in the front of the hall, and with that rare specimen, the more light the better. Looking at her, any man alive would have the thought, What the hell, I could wash the dishes and darn the socks myself. The beige nightie with lace around the top, medium-sized, would have fitted her fine. I made my eyes go to her parents and spoke.

"A man will come pretty soon, tall and thick in all directions. He'll give his name, Fred Durkin, and ask for me, Send him up."

I got the expected reaction from Mrs. Perez. I had no right to tell anybody about that place, they were going to pay me, and so forth. Wishing to keep on speaking terms with our clients, I took four minutes to explain why I had to leave Fred there when I went, got her calmed down, permitted my eyes to dart another glance at Maria, took the elevator back up, and resumed on the drawers where I had left off. I won't take time and space to list an inventory, but will merely say that everything that could be needed for such an establishment was there. I'll only mention two details: one, that there was only one drawer of male items, and the six suits of pajamas were all the same size; and two, the drawer in which I found Meg Duncan's cigarette case was obviously a catchall. There were three women's handkerchiefs, used, an anonymous compact, a lady's umbrella, a matchbook from Terry's Pub, and other such miscellany. I had just put it all back in and was closing the drawer when I heard the click from the elevator.

Presumably it was Fred, but possibly not, so I got the Marley out and went to the wall by the elevator door. I could hear no voices from below; the place was so thoroughly soundproofed that you could hear nothing but a faint suggestion of noise from the street traffic, and that was more felt than heard. Soon the click came again, the door opened, and Fred stepped out. He stood and swiveled his head, right and left, brought it around until he caught a glimpse of me, turned it back again, and spoke.

"Jesus Kee-rist!"

"Your new home," I told him. "I do hope you'll be happy here. The idea is, you take your pick from the pictures. Something like the Mountain Room at the Churchill with live trout and you choose the one you want for lunch. I strongly recommend the one over there sitting on a rose bush. If she can stand thorns she can stand you."

He put his bag down. "You know, Archie, I've always wondered why you didn't marry. How long have you had it?"

"Oh, ten years, I guess. I have others here and there around town. I'm turning this one over to you for a while. Kitchen, bathroom, TV, maid service. Like it?"

"Good God. I'm a married man."

"Yeah. Too bad. I'd like to stay and explain the pictures to you, but I have to go. The point is, if a visitor comes, someone should be here to receive her. It could be a him, but more likely it would be a her. Most likely there won't be any, but there might be. She might come at any hour, day or night. The less you know the better; just take my word for it that if she steps out of that elevator you are in a position to refuse to let her get back in, and there's no other way out of here. Identify yourself or not, as you prefer. Ring me, and I'll come."

He was frowning. "Alone with a woman, restraining her by force isn't so good."

"You won't have to touch her unless she starts it."

"She sticks her head out a window and yells police."

"Not a chance. There's no window, and she wouldn't want anyone to know she's here, least of all a cop. The one thing she'll want is to get out, and fast."

He was still frowning. "The hole that Yeager's body was found in is right out front. Maybe I ought to know a little more."

"Not from me. Why drag in Yeager? He's dead; I read it in the paper. If the phone rings take it and ask who it is and see what happens, but don't say who you are. That's the door to the kitchen." I pointed. "There's some fancy stuff in the refrigerator when you get hungry. The people down below are Mr. and Mrs. Cesar Perez and their daughter Maria. Did you see Maria?"

"No."

"I'm going to marry her when I find time. I'll tell Mrs. Perez to bring you up a loaf of bread, and if you have to have anything she'll get it. She and her husband are out on a limb and they're counting on me to get a ladder. Okay, enjoy the pictures. You couldn't ask for a better chance to study anatomy." I opened the elevator door.

"What if it's a man that comes?"

"It won't be. If it is, stick to the program; that's why I told you to have a gun."

"What if it's a cop?"

"One chance in a million. Not even that. Tell him you've forgotten your name and he'll have to ring me at Nero Wolfe's office. Then I'll know what happened."

"And I'll be in the coop."

"Right. But not for long. We'll have you out by Christmas easy. There's half a pound of fresh caviar in the refrigerator, twenty dollars' worth. Help yourself."

I entered the elevator. Downstairs I explained the situation to Mrs. Perez and asked her to take up a loaf of bread, and left the house. My watch said noon, on the dot, as I headed for Columbus Avenue for a taxi.