My Business is Murder

by Kane, Henry

  “I don’t know, Mrs. Adams. I’m not taking you for anything. I came here to speak with your husband.”

  “You’ll speak with him, right now, right after I’ve finished my say. I saved you from a beating, maybe worse, at the Stardust. When you came here the first time the boys were going to work you over, but I talked them out of that. Reason—I thought you had ideas. You say I was wrong. Okay, maybe I had ideas. Well, I don’t have them any more.”

  “Fine. Now I can talk with Mr. Adams?”

  “Sure, but first hear me. I’m declaring myself in. I promised I’d rattle. I’m rattling, right now.”

  “But why?”

  “Figure it for yourself. I married a guy named Eddie Adams. Tell you a real big secret—I’m not in love with him. Guess why I married him.”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “I’m a chiseler but, like I said, a high-class chiseler. Eddie Adams is rich, and he’s going to be richer, and he’s not going to live forever. I don’t know what you’re up to but whatever it is, in the long run if it hurts Eddie, it’s going to hurt me. So … I’m declaring myself in. Actively. Eddie likes others to do things for him. Not me. I like to do things for myself. That’s all, brother. Lecture finished. I’ve rattled.”

  “What about your theme song?”

  “What theme song?”

  “Publicity. You get jammed up, it’s as bad as Eddie getting jammed up. Like that nobody gets richer.”

  “Leave it to me. You’ll get caught up with, brother, and caught up with bad—and there won’t be any publicity, there’ll be nothing, except you, maybe, dead.”

  “Now can I speak with Mr. Adams?”

  “But of course.” She went to the door, opened it, smiled sweetly, waved, went out and closed the door behind her. I puffed out my cheeks and blew breath in a long wheeze. I wiped my face with a handkerchief, wiped my lips, and looked at the handkerchief. There was no more than a faint smudge of lipstick on it. Then the door opened and closed softly and a man came toward me, a tall, slender, graceful man, his silver hair neatly combed.

  “Mr. Chambers?”

  “Mr. Adams?”

  “I’m Eddie Adams.”

  “How do you do?”

  I put the handkerchief away and we shook hands.

  He said, “May I offer a drink? Brandy?”

  “Scotch, if you will. One cube. And water.”

  “Certainly.”

  He had a soft mellow voice. His face was smooth and pink from the sun. He had a pointed, high, finely-boned nose. He had a cleft in his chin and he had thin lips. His eyebrows were dark and smooth and long, his eyes narrow, of a greenish color with brown-gold flecks. He carried himself high, moving gracefully, as though there were a good deal of power in his slender legs. He wore a charcoal grey perfectly-fitting suit, narrow black pointed shoes, a white shirt with a flowing collar, and a grey tie with small maroon figures. He went to a liquor cabinet in a corner, opened it to glistening bottles and glasses, and prepared my drink, using silver ice prongs on a silver ice bucket. He poured brandy for himself in a small snifter glass. He came back and handed me my drink. His hands were delicate, with thin blue veins and long fingers tapering to highly polished nails.

  I said, “Thank you.”

  “Not at all.” He lifted his glass and smiled without meaning: his face creased and his lips pursed, the skin lifting around his cheekbones and crinkling his eyes. “Good luck.”

  I sipped and set my drink down on a round, long-legged table with a leather top. He looked me over carefully and then his eyes rested on my forehead. He said, “I’m an old man, Mr. Chambers.”

  When you get that, it requires no reply. I brought out cigarettes, made my offer, was shaken off. I lit up and blew smoke.

  He said, “I’m sixty-three. My time for excitement is over.” He sipped, looking at me. I tried to catch his eyes but I missed. He aimed his about a quarter of an inch over mine. It’s a trick and a disconcerting one. He said, “I leave excitement to younger men, men like you.” Suddenly the eyes dropped, and grabbed at mine and held them. “What do you want here, Mr. Chambers?”

  “Talk,” I said. “Chatter. But face to face.”

  He went away from me to an easy chair. He sank into it and crossed his legs. “What have we to talk about, sir?”

  “Mamaroneck. Henry Moore.”

  “And what, precisely, face to face, is there to discuss? About Mamaroneck? Or about Henry Moore?”

  I couldn’t say : Mr. Adams, you’ve got me there. I couldn’t say: Tell you the truth, Mr. Adams, honest I don’t know. This was Eddie Adams, whom I’d never met, but whom I’d heard about, a wise old bird who knew every bluff in the book. I’d met him now and I wasn’t going to go shooting-fish-in-a-rain-barrel. Not with Eddie Adams. So I resorted to the oldest device in my trade: I looked wise, said nothing, and smiled dourly. And waited.

  Eddie Adams said, “I’m a business man. I came up the hard way. Waiter; bartender; maître d’; owner of a small club; owner of a fabulous operation—The Diamond Circle, that suddenly went sour; and now the owner of another highly successful venture, the Stardust Room. I’ve been through the mill. I’ve been down and up, and down and up again. There’s no more time—for struggle.”

  “By struggle, sir—do you mean me?”

  “I mean you’re a young man, punching to get ahead. More power to you. But I’m a business man, remember. I admire a good business man. And I abhor a fumbler.”

  “Fumbler? Again—do you mean me?”

  “You’ve been offered ten thousand dollars—only because, in my old age, I just don’t choose to fight. You turned down a good price, young man. If you press further, you get nothing, because in that case, it would be good business on my part, to resist, to fight. The only possible reason you’re here now is to attempt to increase the figure. I say you’re wasting your time.”

  I played with that. I said, “If it’s worth ten thousand, why isn’t it worth more?”

  “Because, in actuality, it’s worth nothing. What I mean is this. You’ve dug around and come up with a bit of worthless tripe. But—this very tripe may, under certain circumstances, be exaggerated by, let us say, enemies of mine. Suddenly, a going business is in jeopardy. At my age, I don’t want to fight it. So I offer a price just to get it out of the way. But I won’t be made a sucker of.”

  “I repeat, sir. If it’s worth ten, why isn’t it worth more?”

  “Because I’m a business man. Because I know value, even nuisance value. And supposed you agreed to the figure, and I paid you. The question would always remain as to whether or not you wouldn’t start it up again at another time.”

  “Isn’t that always the risk in paying …?”

  “Blackmail?” His forehead furrowed and his eyes squinted.

  “So it’s called, I hear.”

  “There are two answers to that question. One is violence. When this kind of dirty money is paid, the payee, assuming he has any intelligence, realizes it’s a one-shot deal. You press a sucker … you’re asking for trouble, panicky trouble, and that’s the worst kind. Somehow, psychologically, that works.”

  “What’s the other answer, Mr. Adams?”

  “I don’t propose to stay at the Stardust too long. Perhaps another year. I’m husbanding my money for a change. One more year, and I can get out of it, get out of all of it. As I said, I’m getting on. I’ve had it, all of it. I want to take it easy the rest of the way, I want to coast but I want to live right.”

  “I see.”

  “I’m attempting to be absolutely honest with you. Perhaps … at the close of the year … I’d be willing to pay again.” He wriggled a finger at me. “Just to keep you honest.”

  “How much?”

  “An additional ten thousand. After that, I wouldn’t care. I’d be out of it.”

  “Pretty good for one visit.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “One visit, face to face, and I’ve doubled the ante. Despite all t
he prattling about good business.”

  He stood up and he came near me. His voice was very soft. “We can set up a legal contract, for services rendered, something like that. The lawyers can work it out. Ten thousand now. Ten thousand a year from now. That’s it, Mr. Chambers. That’s it, in all finality. How’s it sound?”

  “Stinks.”

  Blood went out of his lips and his jaw muscles lumped.

  “Get out of here, please. Quickly. Please get out of here.”

  “Let’s not lose our heads, Mr. Adams.”

  A slender hand reached out and seized my lapel. His breath came in spurts. “You’ve got more to lose than I have, Mr. Chambers. You’ve got a long life ahead of you. I have just a little time left. I can afford to be careless but you can’t. Think about that, sir.” His hand opened on my lapel and fell to his side. “Remember, it’s easy for me. I’m too old for struggle. I can always”—he shrugged, expressively—”go away, go out of life. I’ve had it and I’m a little tired. But not you. You’re young and vital and the future is long and rosy for you.”

  “Any more?”

  “That’s all. Think about it Mr. Chambers. It’s an uneven contest, and I stand all to the good. Think and if you change your mind, call me And now …”

  He walked to the door and opened it.

  Mike was grinning in the doorway.

  Eddie Adams said, “Mr. Chambers is leaving.”

  “Yes, sir. Kindly follow along with me …”

  New York provides everything for everyone, including an all-night haberdashery where I was able to purchase underwear, shirts, socks and ties. A drug store furnished shaving equipment. I loaded my bundles into the car, drove to the Montero, deposited Casey and his Luger, went to Joe Vincent’s room, and picked up my sleep where I had left it at seven o’clock.

  Sunshine woke me early. The weather was fair again and warm. I attended to my ablutions in a strange bathroom with temperamental faucets and at nine o’clock I was in a tailor shop having my suit pressed while I smoked cigarettes in a cubicle. At ten o’clock I was in the offices of a milk company, Certified Special, and I was being directed to the Head of Compensation who turned out to be a large man with the flutters and a pink tie. His name appeared on a bronze name plate on his desk. Seems foolish, a man alone in an office with a bronze name plate on his desk. In this instance it was not foolish: Certified Special had a certified special reason for a name plate on the desk of Head of Compensation. It stated in raised letters: Mr. BLATHINGSQUYTZE. Mr. Blathingsquytze, I learned very quickly, was more stuffed with self-importance than a wrong-choice pompous traffic policeman magnified by his first and brand-new badge.

  I said, “I should like to inquire about a Fred Davis whom you have on your compensation lists for a good many years.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m a private investigator.”

  “Yes?”

  “Mr. Davis used to live in the Bronx. About six months ago, he removed to Miami, Florida. I’m in the employ of a firm of attorneys.”

  “Yes?”

  “Mr. Davis has come into a small inheritance. I’ve been retained to skip-trace his new address.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m certain that such new address has been put through to you people. For the purpose of forwarding his checks.”

  “Yes?”

  “Would it be possible for you to inform me of this new address?”

  “Sorry, confidential.”

  “But this is to Mr. Davis’s benefit.”

  “Sorry, confidential.”

  “But, look, Mr. uh … uh … this is a small matter. Nothing more than a change of address.”

  “Sorry, confidential.”

  “I’m working on a job, Mr. B. You can help me out. What’s the difficulty?”

  “Any information of this nature,” he said, his voice moving up to a thin soprano, “may be procured by the presentation to me of a Court Order, duly signed by a Justice of a Court of Record, or by a copy of such order, duly certified as such by the Clerk of the Court. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Now look, pal …” I sighed and dug out my wallet and reached in for the traditional twenty and waved it like a flag of truce.

  Mr. Blathingsquytze looked as though he were going to faint. “Sorry,” he squeaked. “Confidential.” And then, his voice soft as a breeze in the trees, he added: “Oh, my …”

  I stood up, glared at his name plate, glared at his pink tie, turned on my heel and departed Certified Special.

  I walked to the subway and took the train to Wall Street Number 10 was imposing, and the offices of the Coronet Insurance Company covered all of the 11th floor with a receptionist facing the elevators. Receptionist. They must have plucked her out of the front line of the best musical in town, and given her a tight blue blouse to strain against, and there was plenty to strain. Her smile added gleam to the sunny morning. I said, “Mr. Wiley.”

  “Assuredly. Would you care to give your name?”

  “Assuredly. My name is Peter Chambers.”

  “Thank you. Won’t you sit down?”

  I didn’t sit down. Standing, the view was better. She wrote out a slip, and pressed a button. Swinging doors opened and another musical comedy number appeared. The receptionist handed her the slip, smiled at her, smiled at me and then bent to answer a phone that tickled a tiny tinkle. The messenger didn’t strain in front. She strained in the rear. She wore a roomy white silk blouse and a very tight blue skirt that divided her into fetching half moons, and as I watched her go back through the swinging doors, I thought how nice it would be to spend all of one’s working day in the quiet confines of the 11th floor of Number 10 Wall Street. I was anticipating the return of the young lady in the tight skirt, but I’m sure Herb Wiley stymied that on purpose. The phone tinkled again, the receptionist answered, and this time she hung out a brand-new smile for me. She pointed. She said: “Through those doors, Mr. Chambers. Third room to the left.”

  Third room to the left was a frost-glass door which swung open on Herb Wiley surrounded by wood-paneled walls. He came up from his desk and we shook hands. He said, “How goes it with Adams?”

  “Nothing yet. I’d like to get straightened away on a couple of items. That file still clear in your mind?”

  “No.” He grinned. “That’s the kind of mind I have. Just a minute.” He lifted the phone, talked into it and dropped it. He said, “Make yourself comfortable, sleuth.” He plumped into his swivel chair, swiveled, and looked out the window.

  Door-knock, and Herb called, “Come in.”

  The young lady in the tight skirt brought a file and laid it on his desk. We both watched her going out. I said, “No boy messengers at Coronet?”

  Herb was pithy. “Girls are prettier.” He opened the file. “What’s your problem, Mr. Chambers?”

  “Bennett was a witness. Right? Who else?”

  “Adams, himself.”

  “Okay for those two. Now what about the servants? That’s been rankling in the back of my head. House up there. Should be servants.”

  “Should be and there were.” He brought a sheet out of the file, read it, said, “There was a butler and his wife. But they occupied a small house about five hundred yards to the rear. They came out after a while but they weren’t actual witnesses. The thing was over and done with by then. What’s the next item?”

  “Jack Rawlings?”

  “Who dat?”

  “Look in your lovely file.”

  He looked. He said, “Adams’ partner. We’ve got data right up to the re-check. What do you want to know?”

  “He isn’t Adams’ partner any more, is he?”

  “No.” He tapped his finger on a typewritten sheet. “They chipped in on the venture, took them about six months to build it. It was a lot of money but I don’t have the exact figure. Adams bought him out practically as soon as they went into active business.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You
got a file. They have a falling out?”

  “I don’t know. My investigators didn’t get this information directly from Mr. Rawlings. Mr. Rawlings doesn’t live here any more. Furthermore, this data is no more than padding, has no relevancy to the case.”

  “Any idea where Rawlings lives?”

  “Lemme look.” He shifted his papers, talked without looking up. “He’s got a daughter.”

  “Hooray for him.”

  “Name of Jane.”

  “Real romantic.”

  “Lives at 666 Park Avenue. Only child.”

  “Where does he live?”

  He found it. He looked up. “Lives at the Hotel Empress.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Miami Beach.”

  “Miami Beach?”

  “What’s so shocking about that?”

  “Nothing. May I use your phone?”

  “Sure.”

  I called the Montero and the girl gave me Casey Moore and I said, “You ought to have a drag with the airlines.”

  Casey said, “You want to borrow a plane?”

  “Not that drastic. I want passage for two to Miami.”

  “Two? Who’s going?”

  “You and me. Think you can arrange reservations?”

  “I’ll try. Just between you and me, if you want fast action—it’s easier to borrow a plane.”

  “Let’s do it the hard way. De Luxe, and don’t lay out any dough. First available flight. Bye. I’ll see you at the hotel.” I hung up.

  Herb said, “All the way to Miami with a friend just to talk with Mr. Rawlings. You sound like one of my investigators. With an expense account.”

  “Expense account?” I looked at him, hopefully.

  He shook his head. “You’re what is known in the law as an independent contractor. You’re working on your own. You might earn a fee and you might not. But your expenses are your own. And that de luxe round trip you were just talking about, that should go you about a hundred and sixty dollars. Each.”

  “Any cash around here?”

  “Of course. This is an insurance company. How much?”

  I had a conference with my wallet. I said, “I’ve got two hundred and thirty. How about five hundred?”

  “You ought to be good for that.”