What`s Better Than Money

CHAPTER THREE

I

Rima lay on her bed, her face half hidden by the pillow, her body shaking, and every now and then she sneezed.

I stood at the foot of the bed and watched her.

I should have known, I told myself. I should have recognised the symptoms. It just hadn’t occurred to me that she was a junky, although the writing was up on the wall that night when I had heard her sneezing by the hour.

Willy Floyd had been mad at me. Before he had thrown us out, he had told me if I ever showed my face inside his club again he’d get his bouncer to fix me, and he meant it.

I had had a hell of a time getting Rima back to her room. She was in such a state I hadn’t dared to take her in a street car. I had had to half carry her, half drag her through the back alleys until I had got her to her room.

She was quietening down now.

I watched and I felt pretty sick.

I had lost my job with Rusty and I had got in bad with Willy Floyd. All I had got out of the evening was a drug addict in my hair.

I should have packed my bag and walked out on her. I wished I had, but I kept hearing that silver voice of hers, knowing that it could make a fortune, that I had her under contract and some of the fortune could be mine.

Suddenly she rolled over and stared at me.

‘I warned you,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Now get out of here and leave me alone!’

‘Okay, you warned me,’ I said, resting my arms on the bedrail and staring back at her. ‘But you didn’t tell me what was wrong. How long have you been on the stuff?’

‘Three years. I’ve got the habit.’ She sat up and taking out her handkerchief, she began to mop her eyes. She looked as romantic as a dirty bath towel.

‘Three years? How old are you then?’

‘Eighteen. What’s it to you how old I am?’

‘You started on the stuff when you were fifteen?’ I said, horrified.

‘Oh, shut up!’

‘Did Wilbur feed you the stuff?’

‘What if he did?’ She blew her nose. ‘Do you want me to sing? Do you want me to be a big success?

If you do, give me some money. When I’ve had a big enough shot, I’m wonderful. You haven’t heard anything yet. Give me some money. That’s all I want.’

I sat on the edge of the bed.

‘Talk sense. I haven’t any money. If I had, I wouldn’t give it to you. Listen, with that voice of yours, you could go places. I know it. I’m sure of it. We’re going to get you a cure. Then when the habit’s broken, you’ll be okay and in the money.’

‘That’s stale news. It doesn’t work. Give me some money. Five dollars will do. I know a guy…’

‘You’re going to a hospital…’

She sneered at me.

‘Hospital? They’re full up with junkies like me, and they don’t cure you anyway. I’ve been to hospital. Give me five dollars. I’ll sing for you. I’ll be terrific. Just give me five dollars.’

I couldn’t take any more of it. The look in her eyes sickened me. I had had all I wanted for one night.

I made for the door.

‘Where are you going?’ she demanded.

‘I’m going to bed. Tomorrow, we’ll talk about it. I’ve had enough for tonight.’

I went into my room and locked the door.

I couldn’t sleep. Soon after two o’clock I heard her door open and I heard her tip-toe down the passage. Right then I didn’t care if she had jacked and gone. I had had as much of her as I could take for one night.

Around ten o’clock the next morning, I got up, dressed, and went to her room, opened the door and looked in.

She was in bed, sleeping. I had only to look at her relaxed expression to know she had got a shot from somewhere. She looked pretty, with her silver hair spread out on the pillow: pretty, without that awful, scraped bony look. Somehow, she had found a sucker to part with his money.

I closed the door and went down and out into the sunshine. I walked over to Rusty’s bar.

Rusty looked surprised when he saw me come in.

‘I want to talk to you,’ I said. ‘This is serious, Rusty.’

‘Okay: talk away. What is it?’

‘This girl can sing. She has a fortune in her voice. I have her under contract. This could be my big chance, Rusty. She really could make a fortune.’

Rusty studied me, puzzled.

‘Okay. Where’s the catch? If she could, why hasn’t she?’

‘She’s a junky.’

Rusty’s face wrinkled in disgust.

‘So?’

‘I’ve got to get her cured. Who do I go to? What do I do?’

‘You’re asking me what to do? I’ll tell you.’ He poked my chest with a finger the size of a banana.

‘You get rid of her, and you get rid of her fast. You can’t do a thing with a junky, Jeff. I know: I’m telling you. Okay, the quacks claim they can cure them, but for how long? A month, maybe two months, maybe even three months, then the peddlers smell them out and sell them the stuff and they start all over again. Listen, son, I like you and I’m interested in you. You have brains and education. Don’t mix yourself up with trash. A girl like her isn’t worth bothering about. Never mind if she can sing. Get rid of her. All she’ll ever bring you is grief.’

I wish I had listened to him. He was right, but nobody would have convinced me at that time. I was sure she had a fortune in her voice. All I had to do was to get her cured, and the money would roll in. I was sure of it.

‘Who do I take her to, Rusty? Do you know anyone who could cure her?’

Rusty ran the back of his hand under his nose: a gesture that showed his irritation.

‘Cure her? No one can cure her! What’s the matter with you? Are you crazy?’

I held onto my temper. This was important to me. If I could get her cured, she would be a gold mine. I knew it. I was absolutely sure of it.

‘You’ve been around, Rusty. You get to hear things. Who’s the guy who really fixes these junkies?

There must be someone. The movie world is crammed with junkies. They get cured. Who’s the guy who fixes them?’

Rusty rubbed the back of his neck, scowling.

‘Sure, but those folk have money. A cure costs money. There is a guy, but from what I hear he costs plenty.’

‘Well, okay, maybe I can borrow the money. I’ve got to get her cured. Who is he?’

‘Dr. Klinzi,’ Rusty said. He suddenly grinned. ‘You’re killing me. He’s way out of your class, but he’s the boy. He’s the one who cured Mona Gissing and Frankie Ledder,’ naming two of Pacific Studio’s biggest stars. ‘They were muggle smokers, but he fixed them.’

‘Where do I find him?’

‘He’s in the book,’ Rusty said. ‘Look, Jeff, you’re making a fool of yourself. This guy costs the earth.’

‘I don’t care what he costs so long as he can cure her. I’ll sell him a piece of her. She’s going to make a fortune. I feel it in my bones. With that voice, she can’t go wrong.’

‘You’re nuts.’

‘Okay, so I’m nuts.’

I got Dr. Klinzi’s address from the telephone book. He had a place on Beverley Glyn Boulevard.

Watching me, Rusty said, ‘Listen to me, Jeff. I know what I’m talking about. The worst thing anyone can do is to get tangled with a junky. You can never trust them. They are dangerous. They haven’t the sense of responsibility sane people have. They are crazy in the head. You have got to face that fact. It’s not like dealing with normal people. They will do anything and they don’t count the cost. Get rid of this girl. She’ll only bring you grief. You just can’t mix yourself up with a girl like her.’

‘Save it,’ I said. ‘What are you worrying about? I’m not asking you for any donation.’

I walked out and caught the street car back to my rooming-house.

Rima was sitting up in bed when I walked into her room. She had on a pair of black pyjamas. With her silver hair and her cobalt blue eyes, she really looked something.

‘I’m hungry.’

‘I’ll have those words engraved on your head stone. Never mind how hungry you are. Who gave you the money for a shot last night?’

Her eyes shifted away from mine.

‘I didn’t have a shot. I’m starving. Will you lend me…?’

‘Oh, shut up! If I can fix it, will you take a cure?’

Her expression became sullen.

‘I’ve got beyond a cure. I know. It’s no good talking about a cure.’

‘There’s a guy who really can fix it. If I can persuade him to take you, will you go?’

‘Who is he?’

‘Dr. Klinzi. He fixes all the big-shot film stars. I might be able to talk him into fixing you.’

‘Some chance! It’d be cheaper to give me some money. I don’t want much…’

I grabbed hold of her and shook her. Her breath against my face made me feel sick.

‘Will you go to him if I can fix it?’ I yelled at her.

She jerked away from me.

‘Anything you say.’

I felt I was going out of my head myself, but I kept control of myself.

‘Okay, I’ll talk to him. Stay right where you are. I’ll tell Carrie to bring you a cup of coffee and something to eat.’

I left her.

At the head of the stairs, I called down to Carrie to get a hamburger and a coffee and take it to Rima.

Then I went into my room and put on my best suit. It wasn’t much. It was shiny in places, but by the time I had slicked down my hair, brushed my shoes, I didn’t look too much of a bum.

I went back into Rima’s room.

She was sitting up in bed, sipping the coffee. She wrinkled her nose at me.

‘Gee! You look sharp.’

‘Never mind how I look. Sing. Go on: sing anything, but sing.’

She stared at me.

‘Anything?’

‘Yes – sing!’

She began to sing Smoke Gets in Your Eyes.

The melody came out of her mouth effortlessly, like a silver stream. It crawled up my spine and into the roots of my hair. It filled the room with a clear, bell-like sound. It was better than I thought it could be.

I stood there listening, and when she had gone through the chorus, I stopped her.

‘Okay, okay,’ I said, my heart thumping. ‘You stay right here. I’ll be back.’

I went down the stairs three at a time.

II

Dr. Klinzi’s residence stood in an acre and a half of ornamental gardens, surrounded by high walls, the tops of which were studded with sharp iron spikes.

I walked up the long drive. It took me three or four minutes of fast walking before I caught sight of a house that looked like a movie set for Cosimo Medici’s palace in Florence.

There was a big terrace with fifty or so steps leading up to it. The top rooms had bars to the windows.

Everything about the house and the grounds was sombre and very, very quiet. Even the roses and the begonias seemed depressed.

Well away from the drive, under the shade of the elm trees, I could see several people sitting in wheel chairs. Three or four nurses, in gleaming white overalls, fluttered around them.

I climbed the steps and rang the front door bell.

After a moment or so, the door was opened by a grey man with grey hair, grey eyes, grey clothes and a grey manner.

I gave him my name.

Wordlessly, he led me over a gleaming parquet floor to a side-room where a slim, blonde nurse sat at a desk, busy with pencil and paper.

‘Mr. Gordon,’ the grey man said.

He pushed a chair against the back of my knees so I sat down abruptly and then went away, shutting the door after him as gently as if it were made of spun glass.

The nurse laid down her pen and said in a gentle voice and with a sad smile in her eyes, ‘Yes, Mr.

Gordon? Is there something we can do for you?’

‘I hope so.’ I said. ‘I want to talk to Dr. Klinzi about a possible patient.’

‘It could be arranged.’ I was aware that her eyes were going over my suit. ‘Who is the patient, Mr.

Gordon?’

‘I’ll explain al that to Dr. Klinzi.’

‘I’m afraid the doctor is engaged at the moment. You can have complete confidence in me. I arrange who comes here and who doesn’t.’

‘That must be pret y nice for you,’ I said, ‘but this happens to be a special case. I want to talk to Dr.

Klinzi.’

‘Why is it a special case, Mr. Gordon?’

I could see I wasn’t making any impression on her. Her eyes had lost their sad smile: they now looked merely bored.

‘I’m an agent and my client who is a singer is a very valuable property. Unless I deal directly with Dr.

Klinzi, I must go elsewhere.’

That seemed to arouse her interest. She hesitated briefly, then she got to her feet.

‘If you will wait a moment, Mr. Gordon, I’l see…’

She crossed the room, opened the door and disappeared from sight. There was a longish pause, then she reappeared, holding open the door.

‘Wil you come in?’

I entered an enormous room full of modern furniture, a surgical table and desk by a window behind which sat a man in a white coat.

‘Mr. Gordon?’

Somehow he made it sound as if he were very pleased to see me.

He got to his feet. He was short, not more than thirty years of age, with a lot of blond wavy hair, slate grey eyes and a bedside manner.

‘That’s right. Dr. Klinzi?’ I said.

‘Certainly.’ He waved a hand to a chair. ‘What can I do for you, Mr. Gordon?’

I sat down, waiting until the nurse had gone away.

‘I have a singer with a three year morphine habit,’ I said. ‘I want her cured. What wil it cost?’

The slate grey eyes ran over me none too hopefully.

‘Our charge for a guaranteed cure would be five thousand dol ars, Mr. Gordon. We are in the happy position here to guarantee results.’

I drew in a long, slow breath.

‘For that kind of money I would expect results.’

He smiled sadly. They seemed to specialise in sad smiles in this place.

‘It may seem expensive to you, Mr. Gordon, but we deal only with the very best people.’

‘How long would it take?’

‘That would depend largely on the patient. Five weeks perhaps, but if it is a very stubborn case, eight weeks: not longer.’

‘Guaranteed?’

‘Natural y.’

There was no one I knew who would be crazy enough to lend me five thousand dollars, and there was no way I could think of to raise such a sum.

I turned on the soft soap faucet.

‘It’s slightly more than I can afford, doctor. This girl has a great singing voice. If I can get her cured, she’s going to make a lot of money. Suppose you take a piece of her? Twenty per cent of whatever she makes until the five thousand is taken care of, then three thousand on top as interest.’

As soon as I had uttered the words I knew it was a mistake. His face suddenly went blank, and his eyes turned remote.

‘I’m afraid we don’t do that kind of business here, Mr. Gordon. We are very booked up. Our terms are, and have always been, cash. Three thousand on entry, and two thousand when the patient leaves.’

‘This is a very special case…’

His well-cared-for finger moved to a button on his desk.

‘I’m sorry. Those are our terms.’

The finger pressed the button lovingly.

‘If I can raise the money, the guarantee is real y guaranteed?’

‘You mean the cure? Of course.’

He was standing now as the door opened and the nurse drifted in. They both gave me sad smiles.

‘Should your client want to come to us, Mr. Gordon, please let us know soon. We have many commitments and it may be difficult, if not impossible, to fit her in.’

‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I’l think it over.’

He gave me his cool white hand as if he was conferring a favour on me, then I was ushered out by the nurse.

On my way back to the rooming-house, I thought about what he had said, and for the first time in my life I really felt the urge for some money. But what hope had I of laying my hands on five thousand dollars? If I could raise that sum by some miracle, if I could get Rima cured, I was absolutely certain she would go to the top and I would go with her.

As I was walking along, brooding, I passed a big store that sold gramophone and radio equipment. I paused to look at the brightly coloured sleeves of the long play discs, imagining how Rima’s photograph would look on one of those sleeves.

A notice in the window caught my attention.

Record Your Voice on Tape. A three minute recording for only $2.50. Take your voice home in your pocket and surprise your friends.

That gave me an idea.

If I could get Rima’s voice recorded, I wouldn’t have the worry of wondering when I got her an audition that she would blow up as she had done at the Blue Rose. I could hawk the tape around, and maybe get someone interested enough to advance the money for her cure.

I hurried back to the rooming-house.

Rima was up and dressed when I walked into her room. She was sitting by the window, smoking. She turned and looked expectantly at me.

‘Dr. Klinzi says he can cure you,’ I said, sit ing on the bed, ‘but it costs. He wants five thousand bucks.’

She wrinkled her nose, then shrugging, she turned back to stare out of the window.

‘Nothing is impossible,’ I said. ‘I have an idea. We’re going to record your voice. There’s a chance someone in the business will put up the money if he hears what you can do. Come on, let’s go.’

‘You’re crazy. No one wil pay out that kind of money.’

‘Leave me to worry about that. Let’s go.’

On the way to the store, I said, ‘We’l do Some of these Days. Do you know it?’

She said she knew it.

‘As loud and as fast as you can.’

The salesman who took us into the recording room was supercilious and bored. It was pretty obvious he looked on us as a couple of bums with nothing better to do than to squander two dollars fifty and waste his time.

‘We’l have a run through first,’ I said, sit ing down at the piano. ‘Loud and fast.’

The salesman switched on the recorder.

‘We don’t reckon to have rehearsals,’ he said. ‘I’l fix it as she goes.’

‘We’l have a run through first,’ I said. ‘This may not be important to you, but it is to us.’

I began to play, keeping the tempo a shade faster than it is usually taken. Rima came in loud and fast.

I looked across at the salesman. Her clear silver notes seemed to have stunned him. He stood motionless, gaping at her.

I’ve never heard her sing bet er. It was real y something to hear.

We did a verse and a chorus, then I stopped her.

‘Sweet grief!’ the salesman said in a hushed whisper. ‘I’ve never heard anything like it!’

Rima looked at him indifferently and said nothing.

‘Now we’l record it. Okay for sound?’ I said.

‘Go ahead,’ the salesman said, adjusting the recording knob. ‘Ready when you are,’ and he started the tape running through the recording head.

Rima, if anything, was a shade better this time. She certainly had all the professional tricks, but that didn’t mat er. What counted was her tone. The notes came out of her throat with the clearness of a silver bell.

When the recording was finished, the salesman offered to play it back over an electrostatic speaker.

We sat down and listened.

With the volume right up and the filters on to cut out the valve hiss, her voice sounded larger than life and terrific. It was the most exciting recording I have ever listened to.

‘Phew!’ the salesman said as he took off the tape, ‘how you can sing! You should let Al Shirely hear this recording. He would go crazy about it.’

‘Al Shirely? Who is he?’ I asked.

‘Shirely?’ The salesman looked amazed. ‘Why, he’s the boss of the Californian Recording Company.

He’s the guy who discovered Joy Mil er. Last year she made five discs. Know what she made from them? A half a million! And let me tell you something! She doesn’t know how to sing if you compare her with this kid, I’m tel ing you! I’ve been in the business for years. I’ve never heard anyone to touch this kid. You talk to Shirely. He’l fix her when he hears this tape.’

I thanked him. When I offered him the two dollars fifty for the recording, he waved it aside.

‘Forget it. If s been an experience and a pleasure. You talk to Shirely. It would give me a big bang if he took her up.’ He shook hands with me. ‘Good luck. You can’t fail to go places.’

I was pretty worked up as we walked back along the waterfront to the rooming-house. If Rima was a better singer than Joy Miller, and this salesman should know what he was talking about then she could earn enormous money. Suppose in her first year she did click, and made half a million! Ten per cent of half a million sounded pretty good to me.

I looked at her as we walked along, side by side. She moved listlessly, her hands deep in the pockets of her jeans.

‘This afternoon I’l talk to Shirely,’ I said. ‘Maybe he’l spring the five thousand for your cure. You heard what the guy said. You could go right to the top.’

‘I’m hungry,’ she said sul enly. ‘Can’t I have something to eat?’

‘Are you listening to what I’m saying?’ I stopped and pul ed her around so she faced me. ‘You could make a fortune with that voice of yours. All you want is a cure.’

‘You’re kidding yourself,’ she said, jerking free. ‘I’ve had a cure. It doesn’t work. How about something to eat?’

‘Dr. Klinzi could fix you. Maybe Shirely would advance the money when he hears the recording.’

‘Maybe I’l grow wings and fly away. No one is going to lend us that kind of money.’

Around three o’clock that afternoon, I borrowed Rusty’s car and drove over to Hol ywood. I had the tape in my pocket and I was really worked up.

I knew it would be fatal to tell Shirely that Rima was a junky. I felt sure, if he knew, he wouldn’t touch her.

Somehow I had to persuade him to part with a five thousand dollar advance. I had no idea how I was going to do it. Everything depended on how he reacted to the tape. If he was really enthusiastic, then I might get him to part with the money.

The Californian Recording Company was housed within a stone’s throw of the M.G.M. Studios. It was a two-storey building that covered practically an acre of ground. There was the usual reception office outside the gates with two tough-looking, uniformed guards to take care of the unwelcomed visitors.

It was when I saw the size of the place, I realised what I was up against. This was big-time, and I had an abrupt loss of confidence. I was suddenly aware of my shabby suit and my scruffy shoes.

One of the guards moved forward as I came up. He looked me over, decided I was of no importance and asked in a rough-tough voice what I wanted.

I said I wanted to talk to Mr. Shirely.

That seemed to kill him.

‘So do twenty mil ion others. You got a appointment?’

‘No.’

‘Then you don’t see him.’

This was the moment for a bluff. I was desperate enough to swear my father had been a negro.

‘Wel , okay. I’l tel him how efficient you are,’ I said. ‘He told me to look in when I was passing, but if you won’t let me in, that’s his loss, not mine.’

He did a quick double-take.

‘He said that?’

‘Why not? He and my father were at col ege together.’

He lost his aggressive look.

‘What did you say your name was?’

‘Jeff Gordon.’

‘Just hang on a moment.’

He went into the reception office and talked on the telephone. He came out after a while, unlocked the gates and waved me in.

‘Ask for Miss Weseen.’

At least that was one step forward.

Dry mouthed and with my heart thumping, I walked up the drive to the imposing entrance hall where a boy in a sky blue uniform and brass buttons that glittered like diamonds, conducted me along a corridor lined on either side by polished mahogany doors to a door marked with a brass plate: Mr. Harry Knight and Miss Henrietta Weseen.

The boy opened the door and waved me in.

I walked into a large room decorated in dove grey where about fifteen people sat around in lounging chairs looking like the legion of the lost.

I had no time to concentrate on them before I found myself staring into emerald green eyes that were as hard as glass and just as expressionless.

The owner of the eyes was a girl of about twenty four, a red-head with a Munro bust, a Bardot hip line and an expression that would have frozen an Eskimo.

‘Yes?’

‘Mr. Shirely, please.’

She patted her hair and regarded me as if I were something out of a zoo.

‘Mr. Shirely never sees anyone. Mr. Knight is engaged. Al these people are waiting for him.’ She waved a languid hand at the lost legion. ‘If you wil give me your name and tel me your business I’l try to fit you in at the end of the week.’

I could see the lie I had told the guard wouldn’t cut any ice with her. She was smart, wise and lie-proof.

If I couldn’t bluff her I was fixed.

I said carelessly, ‘A week? Too late. If Knight can’t see me right now, he’s going to lose money and Mr. Shirely will be annoyed with him.’

Feeble stuff, but it was the best I could do.

At least everyone in the room was listening, leaning forward and pointing like gundogs.

If they were impressed, Miss Weseen wasn’t. She gave me a smal , bored smile.

‘Perhaps you would write in. If Mr. Knight is interested he’l let you know.’

At that moment the door opened behind her and a fat man, balding, nudging forty, in a fawn coloured seersucker suit, looked around the room with a hostile air and said, ‘Next,’ the way a dentist’s nurse calls to the flock.

I was right by him. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a tall youth with Elvis Presley sideboards drag himself out of an armchair, clutching a guitar, but he was much too late.

I walked forward, driving the fat man back into his office, giving him a wide, confident smile.

‘Hel o, there, Mr. Knight,’ I said. ‘I have something for you to listen to, and when you’ve heard it, you’l want Mr. Shirely to hear it too.’

By then I was inside the room and had shut the door with my heel.

On his desk was a tape recorder. Moving around him, I put the tape on the machine and turned the machine on.

‘This is something you’ll be glad to listen to,’ I said, talking hard, and fast. ‘Of course, it isn’t going to sound so hot on a machine like this, but hear it on an electrostatic speaker and you’l hit the ceiling.’

He stood watching me, a startled expression on his fat face.

I pushed down the start button and Rima’s voice came out of the speaker and hit him.

I was watching him and I saw the muscles of his face tighten as the first notes filled the room.

He heard the tape right through, then as I pressed the re-wind button, he said, ‘Who is she?’

‘My client,’ I said. ‘How about Mr. Shirely hearing her?’

He looked me over.

‘And who are you?’

‘Jeff Gordon’s the name. I’m in a hurry to do a deal. It’s either Mr. Shirely or R.C.A. Please yourself.

I came here first because R.C.A. is just that much further away.’

But he was too old a hand for that kind of bluff. He grinned, and sat down behind his desk.

‘Don’t get so intense, Mr. Gordon,’ he said. ‘I’m not saying she isn’t good. She is, but I’ve heard better voices. We might be interested. Bring her around towards the end of the week. We’l give her an audition.’

‘She’s not available, and she is under contract to me.’

‘Wel , al right, then when she is available.’

‘The idea was for me to get a contract from you right away,’ I said. ‘If you don’t want her, I’l try R.C.A.’

‘I didn’t say we don’t want her,’ Knight said. ‘I said we want to hear her in person.’

‘Sorry.’ I tried to sound tough and business-like, but I knew I was making a poor show of it. ‘The fact is she isn’t wel . She needs toning up. If you don’t want her, say so and I’l get out of here.’

The door opened on the far side of the room and a small, white haired Jewish gentleman wandered in.

Knight got hurriedly to his feet.

‘I won’t be one moment, Mr. Shirely…’

There was my cue and I didn’t miss it. I pressed the play back but on on the recorder and turned the volume up.

Rima’s voice filled the room.

Knight made to turn the recorder off, but Shirely waved him away. He stood listening, his head cocked on one side, his dark little eyes moved from me to Knight and then to the recorder.

When the tape finished and I had stopped the machine, Shirely said, ‘Exceptional y good. Who is she?’

‘Just an unknown,’ I said. ‘You wouldn’t know her name. I want a contract for her.’

‘I’ll give you one. Have her here tomorrow morning. She could be a valuable property,’ and he started for the door.

‘Mr. Shirely…’

He paused to look over his shoulder.

‘This girl isn’t wel ,’ I said, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. ‘I need five thousand dollars to get her fit. When she is fit, she’l sing even bet er than that record. I’ll guarantee it. She could be the sensation of the year, but she has to be got fit. Is her voice, as it is, good enough for you to gamble on a five thousand advance?’

He stared at me, his small eyes going glassy.

‘What’s the mat er with her?’

‘Nothing a good doctor can’t fix.’

‘Did you say five thousand?’

The sweat was running down my face as I said, ‘She needs special treatment.’

‘From Dr. Klinzi?’

There seemed no point in lying to him. He wasn’t the kind of man you could lie to.

‘Yes.’

He shook his head.

‘I’m not interested. I would be interested if she was quite fit and ready to go to work. I would give you a very good contract, but I am not interested in anyone who has to go first to Dr. Klinzi before they can sing.’

He went out, closing the door behind him.

I took the tape off the recorder, put it in its box and dropped the box into my pocket.

‘There it is,’ Knight said awkwardly. ‘You played it wrong. The old man has a horror of junkies. His own daughter is one.’

‘If I can get her cured, would he be interested?’

‘No doubt about it, but he would have to be sure she was cured.’

He opened the door and eased me out.