The Annotated Big Sleep

by Raymond Chandler

  5. Carmen is covering for her former lover Owen Taylor here.

  6. You’d like him to take the blame. Partridge’s Dictionary of Slang and Unconventional English has a related sense for the verb “to spot” in this context: “To note (a person) as a criminal or suspect.”

  7. The “Egyptian goddess” from this page.

  8. Refers to the American Legion, a veterans service organization. Their annual conventions were famously rowdy affairs.

  9. See note 15 on this page on violence against women in hard-boiled and noir.

  10. As Owen Taylor had done (see this page).

  THIRTEEN

  He was a gray man, all gray,1 except for his polished black shoes and two scarlet diamonds in his gray satin tie that looked like the diamonds on roulette layouts. His shirt was gray and his double-breasted suit2 of soft, beautifully cut flannel. Seeing Carmen he took a gray hat off and his hair underneath it was gray and as fine as if it had been sifted through gauze. His thick gray eyebrows had that indefinably sporty look. He had a long chin, a nose with a hook to it, thoughtful gray eyes that had a slanted look because the fold of skin over his upper lid came down over the corner of the lid itself.

  He stood there politely, one hand touching the door at his back, the other holding the gray hat and flapping it gently against his thigh. He looked hard, not the hardness of the tough guy. More like the hardness of a well-weathered horseman.3 But he was no horseman. He was Eddie Mars.4

  He pushed the door shut behind him and put that hand in the lap-seamed pocket of his coat and left the thumb outside to glisten in the rather dim light of the room. He smiled at Carmen. He had a nice easy smile. She licked her lips and stared at him. The fear went out of her face. She smiled back.

  “Excuse the casual entrance,” he said. “The bell didn’t seem to rouse anybody. Is Mr. Geiger around?”

  I said: “No. We don’t know just where he is. We found the door a little open. We stepped inside.”

  He nodded and touched his long chin with the brim of his hat. “You’re friends of his, of course?”

  “Just business acquaintances. We dropped by for a book.”

  “A book, eh?” He said that quickly and brightly and, I thought, a little slyly, as if he knew all about Geiger’s books. Then he looked at Carmen again and shrugged.

  I moved towards the door. “We’ll trot along now,” I said. I took hold of her arm. She was staring at Eddie Mars. She liked him.

  “Any message—if Geiger comes back?” Eddie Mars asked gently.

  “We won’t bother you.”

  “That’s too bad,” he said, with too much meaning. His gray eyes twinkled and then hardened as I went past him to open the door. He added in a casual tone: “The girl can dust. I’d like to talk to you a little, soldier.”

  I let go of her arm. I gave him a blank stare. “Kidder, eh?” he said nicely. “Don’t waste it. I’ve got two boys outside in a car that always do just what I want them to.”

  Carmen made a sound at my side and bolted through the door. Her steps faded rapidly downhill. I hadn’t seen her car, so she must have left it down below. I started to say: “What the hell—!”

  “Oh, skip it,” Eddie Mars sighed. “There’s something wrong around here. I’m going to find out what it is. If you want to pick lead out of your belly, get in my way.”

  “Well, well,” I said, “a tough guy.”5

  “Only when necessary, soldier.” He wasn’t looking at me any more. He was walking around the room, frowning, not paying any attention to me. I looked out above the broken pane of the front window. The top of a car showed over the hedge. Its motor idled.

  Eddie Mars found the purple flagon and the two gold-veined glasses on the desk. He sniffed at one of the glasses, then at the flagon. A disgusted smile wrinkled his lips. “The lousy pimp,” he said tonelessly.

  He looked at a couple of books, grunted, went on around the desk and stood in front of the little totem pole with the camera eye. He studied it, dropped his glance to the floor in front of it. He moved the small rug with his foot, then bent swiftly, his body tense. He went down on the floor with one gray knee. The desk hid him from me partly. There was a sharp exclamation and he came up again. His arm flashed under his coat and a black Luger6 appeared in his hand. He held it in long brown fingers, not pointing it at me, not pointing it at anything.

  “Blood,” he said. “Blood on the floor there, under the rug. Quite a lot of blood.”

  “Is that so?” I said, looking interested.

  He slid into the chair behind the desk and hooked the mulberry-colored phone towards him and shifted the Luger to his left hand. He frowned sharply at the telephone, bringing his thick gray eyebrows close together and making a hard crease in the weathered skin at the top of his hooked nose. “I think we’ll have some law,” he said.

  I went over and kicked at the rug that lay where Geiger had lain. “It’s old blood,” I said. “Dried blood.”

  “Just the same we’ll have some law.”

  “Why not?” I said.

  His eyes went narrow. The veneer had flaked off him,7 leaving a well-dressed hard boy with a Luger. He didn’t like my agreeing with him.

  “Just who the hell are you, soldier?”

  “Marlowe is the name. I’m a sleuth.”

  “Never heard of you. Who’s the girl?”

  “Client. Geiger was trying to throw a loop on her with some blackmail. We came to talk it over. He wasn’t here. The door being open we walked in to wait. Or did I tell you that?”

  “Convenient,” he said. “The door being open. When you didn’t have a key.”

  “Yes. How come you had a key?”

  “Is that any of your business, soldier?”

  “I could make it my business.”

  He smiled tightly and pushed his hat back on his gray hair. “And I could make your business my business.”

  “You wouldn’t like it. The pay’s too small.”8

  “All right, bright eyes. I own this house. Geiger is my tenant. Now what do you think of that?”

  “You know such lovely people.”

  “I take them as they come. They come all kinds.” He glanced down at the Luger, shrugged and tucked it back under his arm. “Got any good ideas, soldier?”

  “Lots of them. Somebody gunned Geiger. Somebody got gunned by Geiger, who ran away. Or it was two other fellows. Or Geiger was running a cult and made blood sacrifices in front of that totem pole.9 Or he had chicken for dinner and liked to kill his chickens in the front parlor.”

  The gray man scowled at me.

  “I give up,” I said. “Better call your friends downtown.”

  “I don’t get it,” he snapped. “I don’t get your game here.”

  “Go ahead, call the buttons.10 You’ll get a big reaction from it.”

  He thought that over without moving. His lips went back against his teeth. “I don’t get that, either,” he said tightly.

  “Maybe it just isn’t your day. I know you, Mr. Mars. The Cypress Club at Las Olindas. Flash gambling for flash people.11 The local law in your pocket and a well-greased line into L.A.12 In other words, protection. Geiger was in a racket that needed that too. Perhaps you spared him a little now and then, seeing he’s your tenant.”

  His mouth became a hard white grimace. “Geiger was in what racket?”

  “The smut book racket.”

  He stared at me for a long level minute. “Somebody got to him,” he said softly. “You know something about it. He didn’t show at the store today. They don’t know where he is. He didn’t answer the phone here. I came up to see about it. I find blood on the floor, under a rug. And you and a girl here.”

  “A little weak,” I said. “But maybe you can sell the story to a willing buyer. You missed a little something, though. Somebody moved his books
out of the store today—the nice books he rented out.”

  He snapped his fingers sharply and said: “I should have thought of that, soldier. You seem to get around. How do you figure it?”

  “I think Geiger was rubbed.13 I think that is his blood. And the books being moved out gives a motive for hiding the body for a while. Somebody is taking over the racket and wants a little time to organize.”

  “They can’t get away with it,” Eddie Mars said grimly.

  “Who says so? You and a couple of gunmen in your car outside? This is a big town now, Eddie. Some very tough people have checked in here lately. The penalty of growth.”14

  “You talk too damned much,” Eddie Mars said. He bared his teeth and whistled twice, sharply. A car door slammed outside and running steps came through the hedge. Mars flicked the Luger out again and pointed it at my chest. “Open the door.”

  The knob rattled and a voice called out. I didn’t move. The muzzle of the Luger looked like the mouth of the Second Street tunnel, but I didn’t move. Not being bullet proof is an idea I had had to get used to.15

  “Open it yourself, Eddie. Who the hell are you to give me orders? Be nice and I might help you out.”

  He came to his feet rigidly and moved around the end of the desk and over to the door. He opened it without taking his eyes off me. Two men tumbled into the room, reaching busily under their arms. One was an obvious pug, a good-looking pale-faced boy with a bad nose and one ear like a club steak.16 The other man was slim, blond, deadpan, with close-set eyes and no color in them.

  Eddie Mars said: “See if this bird is wearing any iron.”17

  The blond flicked a short-barreled gun out and stood pointing it at me. The pug sidled over flatfooted and felt my pockets with care. I turned around for him like a bored beauty modeling an evening gown.

  “No gun,”18 he said in a burry voice.19

  “Find out who he is.”

  The pug slipped a hand into my breast pocket and drew out my wallet. He flipped it open and studied the contents. “Name’s Philip Marlowe, Eddie. Lives at the Hobart Arms on Franklin.20 Private license, deputy’s badge and all. A shamus.”21 He slipped the wallet back in my pocket, slapped my face lightly and turned away.

  “Beat it,” Eddie Mars said.

  The two gunmen went out again and closed the door. There was the sound of them getting back into the car. They started its motor and kept it idling once more.

  “All right. Talk,” Eddie Mars snapped. The peaks of his eyebrows made sharp angles against his forehead.

  “I’m not ready to give out. Killing Geiger to grab his racket would be a dumb trick and I’m not sure it happened that way, assuming he has been killed. But I’m sure that whoever got the books knows what’s what, and I’m sure that the blonde lady down at his store is scared batty about something or other. And I have a guess who got the books.”

  “Who?”

  “That’s the part I’m not ready to give out. I’ve got a client, you know.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “That—” he chopped it off quickly.

  “I expected you would know the girl,” I said.

  “Who got the books, soldier?”

  “Not ready to talk, Eddie. Why should I?”

  He put the Luger down on the desk and slapped it with his open palm. “This,” he said. “And I might make it worth your while.”

  “That’s the spirit. Leave the gun out of it. I can always hear the sound of money. How much are you clinking at me?”

  “For doing what?”

  “What did you want done?”

  He slammed the desk hard. “Listen, soldier. I ask you a question and you ask me another. We’re not getting anywhere. I want to know where Geiger is, for my own personal reasons. I didn’t like his racket and I didn’t protect him. I happen to own this house. I’m not so crazy about that right now. I can believe that whatever you know about all this is under glass, or there would be a flock of johns22 squeaking sole leather23 around this dump. You haven’t got anything to sell. My guess is you need a little protection yourself. So cough up.”

  It was a good guess, but I wasn’t going to let him know it. I lit a cigarette and blew the match out and flicked it at the glass eye of the totem pole. “You’re right,” I said. “If anything has happened to Geiger, I’ll have to give what I have to the law. Which puts it in the public domain and doesn’t leave me anything to sell. So with your permission I’ll just drift.”

  His face whitened under the tan. He looked mean, fast and tough for a moment. He made a movement to lift the gun. I added casually: “By the way, how is Mrs. Mars these days?”

  I thought for a moment I had kidded him a little too far. His hand jerked at the gun, shaking. His face was stretched out by hard muscles. “Beat it,” he said quite softly. “I don’t give a damn where you go or what you do when you get there. Only take a word of advice, soldier. Leave me out of your plans or you’ll wish your name was Murphy and you lived in Limerick.”24

  “Well, that’s not so far from Clonmel,” I said. “I hear you had a pal came from there.”25

  He leaned down on the desk, frozen-eyed, unmoving. I went over to the door and opened it and looked back at him. His eyes had followed me, but his lean gray body had not moved. There was hate in his eyes. I went out and through the hedge and up the hill to my car and got into it. I turned it around and drove up over the crest. Nobody shot at me. After a few blocks I turned off, cut the motor and sat for a few moments. Nobody followed me either. I drove back into Hollywood.

  1. Note the repetition of the word “gray” in the description of Mars, which will be mirrored by the repeated “brown”s describing Joe Brody in the next chapter. The gray man works his evil magic from the shadows, avoids attracting attention. Carmen’s eyes are also gray, and Mars’s henchman Lash Canino will deck himself out in brown. These colorless colors also happened to be favored by the Fascist European powers. Marlowe, it will be remembered, was wearing all blue when the novel began.

  AN OFFER HE COULDN’T REFUSE

  Chandler’s interest in underworld figures continued throughout his life. In 1958 he accepted a commission to interview notorious gangster Lucky Luciano, who has been called the father of modern organized crime. The interview was never published. Helga Greene, Chandler’s agent and fiancée, was present at the interview and reported that both men were “extremely drunk” by the end of it. Chandler was an unrepentant supporter of Luciano, writing that “he is supposed to be a very evil man, the multimillionaire head of a world-wide narcotics syndicate. I don’t think he is either. He seemed to me about as much like a tough mobster as I am like the late unlamented Mussolini. He has a soft voice, a patient sad face, and is extremely courteous in every way. This might all be a front, but I don’t think I am that easily fooled.” Chandler meant to write a play about Luciano.

  Robert B. Parker’s Spenser series features a recurring “Grey Man” character, Ruger, perhaps a Chandler homage.

  2. A double-breasted suit has two sets of buttons on the jacket. George Raft is wearing one in the picture below.

  Bugsy Siegel, left, with George Raft: Gangster chic (Photofest)

  3. The hardness of a well-weathered horseman would be the hardness of experience rather than the simulated hardness of the tough guy. Marlowe will return to this distinction when he meets Joe Brody in the next chapter. As for “horseman,” see note 15 on this page. This horseman represents a different kind of questionable knight than Marlowe. Despite Marlowe’s disdain, the gray knight retains his haughty dignity throughout.

  “SLADE SHOT TO HIS FEET”: FROM “KILLER IN THE RAIN”

  Compare the scene in this chapter with this more classically hard-boiled template from Chandler’s 1935 story “Killer in the Rain.”

  There was a sharp, swift exclamation, then Slade shot t
o his feet. His arm flashed up. A long, black Luger slid into it expertly. I didn’t move. Slade held the Luger in long, pale fingers, not pointing at me, not pointing it at anything in particular.

  “Blood,” he said quietly, grimly, his deep-set eyes black and hard now. “Blood on the floor there, under a rug. A lot of blood.”

  I grinned at him. “I noticed it,” I said. “It’s old blood. Dried blood.”

  He slid sideways into the black chair behind Steiner’s desk and raked the telephone towards him by putting the Luger around it. He frowned at the telephone, then frowned at me.

  “I think we’ll have some law,” he said.

  “Suits me.”

  Slade’s eyes were narrow and as hard as jet. He didn’t like my agreeing with him. The veneer had flaked off them, leaving a well-dressed hard boy with a Luger. Looking as if he could use it.

  “Just who the hell are you?” he growled.

  “A shamus. The name doesn’t matter. The girl is my client. Steiner’s been riding her with some blackmail dirt. We came to talk to him. He wasn’t here.”

  “Just walk in, huh?”

  “Correct. So what? Think we gunned Mr. Steiner, Mr. Slade?”

  He smiled slightly, thinly, but said nothing.

  “Or do you think Steiner gunned somebody and ran away?” I suggested.

  “Steiner didn’t gun anybody,” Slade said. “Steiner didn’t have the guts of a sick cat.”

  I said: “You don’t see anybody here, do you? Maybe Steiner had chicken for dinner, and liked to kill his chickens in the parlor.”

  “I don’t get it. I don’t get your game.”

  I grinned again. “Go ahead and call your friends downtown. Only you won’t like the reaction you’ll get.”