Murder, My Sweet Page #2

The directory listed several in this

neighborhood, so I took a chance...

I'm in a clutch at the moment.

I'm pretty busy.

I couldn't take on anything big.

What's the job?

I'll require your services

for just a few hours this evening.

I'm meeting some men

shortly after midnight.

I'm paying them some money.

You better get your flaps down,

or you'll take off.

What's the deal, blackmail?

I'm not in the habit

of giving people grounds for blackmail.

I've simply agreed to serve

as bearer of the money.

- How much and what for?

- I can't go into that.

You just want me to go along

and hold your hand?

I'm afraid I don't like your manner.

I've had complaints about it.

But it keeps getting worse.

How much are you offering me

for doing nothing?

I really hadn't gotten around

to thinking about it.

You suppose you can get around

to thinking about it now?

How would you like

a swift punch on the nose?

I tremble at the thought of such violence.

I'm offering $100

for a few hours of your time.

If that isn't enough, say so.

There's no risk.

Some jewels were taken

from a friend in a holdup.

- I'm buying them back.

- Where and when?

The arrangements specify that I drive

to a secluded canyon above the beach...

Wait a minute.

You drive to a nice, dark petting spot,

hiding me in the backseat...

- to buy back jewelry for a lady...

- I didn't say that.

...and what you get will be a package

you won't be allowed to open at all.

There's nothing to prevent them

from double-crossing you.

I certainly couldn't do anything to stop it.

Every move's planned. They aren't figuring

on roughing you up if you play ball.

But they wouldn't like you being twins.

One of us might get hurt.

I'm afraid I can't do anything

for you, Mr. Marriott.

But I'll take your $100

and tag along for the ride.

I carry the shopping money, too,

and I do the driving.

We were watched.

I didn't see anything.

I felt it in my stomach.

I was a toad on a wet rock.

A snake was looking

at the back of my neck.

- There should be some white posts soon.

- Pull your head in.

A path there goes down into the hollow

where we're to wait.

Check:
White posts.

You sit tight.

I'll go down and have a look-see.

Looks like a tryout

to see if you obey orders.

I caught the blackjack right behind my ear.

A black pool opened up at my feet.

I dived in. It had no bottom.

I felt pretty good... like an amputated leg.

Are you all right? What happened?

He was doubled up on his face...

in that bag-of-old-clothes position

that always means the same thing:

He had been killed by an amateur...

or by somebody who wanted it

to look like an amateur job.

Nobody else would hit a man

that many times with a sap.

The oftener you go over it,

the sillier it sounds.

You know nothing about Marriott, how

much money he had, or what it was for.

Trusting soul, wasn't he?

Letting you carry the payoff.

Sorry I don't have it.

After I beat Marriott's brains out...

and just before I hit myself on the back

of the head, I hid it under a bush.

Supposing a jewel outfit got the idea

of using a detective as a utility man...

for contacts and payoffs.

Suppose they ran out of uses for him.

They might try

to hang a murder around his neck.

Great.

Now I'm a finger for a heist mob.

Also I'm Jack the Ripper.

Look, I try to be helpful.

I get up off the nice cold ground

and walk five miles to a phone...

right after having my head treated.

I lead you to the body instead of

letting you find it next Christmas.

I tell you all I know, four times!

It sounds screwy. All right, it is screwy.

Sometimes I'm not smart,

but it's all I know.

I'm tired of listening to your bum guesses.

Either book me or let me go home.

Getting personal,

I don't like looking at you, either.

I don't like sitting here.

I'd much rather be home in bed, too.

I'd rather dig eggshells out of garbage

cans than pry information out of you.

- I get it. You don't like me.

- No. I never have, and I never will.

You're a not a detective,

you're a slot machine.

You'd slit your own throat for six bits.

- Now, look...

- All I want from you is silence.

One false move, and you'll be locked up

as a material witness.

It's that kind of a case, with the witnesses

gagged and the papers crying for news?

I'll get them their murderer.

You'll get him about the time

you get your third set of teeth.

Okay. Go on home to bed.

Stick to your story if you want.

Play it dumb, play it any way...

but stay out of my way.

And stay out of the way of Marriott's pals.

I've been after these boys for a long time,

and I'm close. I'll get them.

So watch your step...

or I may have to pick you up

in the same basket with Jules Amthor.

Yeah?

- Is Amthor mixed up in this?

- So you know him, then?

I know lots of people in this town...

but I never heard of Jules Amthor.

It's a bad guess.

Business is getting better. And prettier.

Mr. Marlowe, I'm Miss Allison, The Post.

The police aren't being helpful

on the Marriott case. I wonder...

How did you know about me?

I have friends at the City Hall, naturally.

That's my business.

I'd just get you in a lot of trouble.

Did Marriott tell you

who owned the jade he was buying back?

They'll never know where I heard it,

but if I know something...

I'll be in a much better

bargaining position down there.

Come in, Miss Allison. Have a seat.

No, I wasn't told who owned the jade.

Didn't seem to be any of my business.

- Had you known Marriott some time?

- A couple of weeks. Why?

Did you have any theories about what

happened, or was supposed to happen?

One or two.

- You do your own typing, Miss Allison?

- Why, yes.

I'm not always this brilliant, Miss...

Miss Grayle.

But I'm improving.

What do you do besides playing reporter?

You're a hot rock anyway.

I should toss you to the cops.

All I could tell them last night was that

Marriott was buying back some jewelry.

You'd impress them

with that line about the jade.

Have you ever known a Velma Valento,

Miss Grayle, a singer?

It was another case, anyway.

I was just hoping...

Did your friends at City Hall

tell you about the jade, too?

- Who does it belong to?

- What's your interest in it?

We won't get anyplace

answering questions with more questions.

- I'll take my answer first.

- Okay.

I'm interested in the jade,

now that I know about it...

because I'd like to know who besides me

might have killed Marriott.

He gave me $100

to take care of him and I didn't.

I'm a small businessman

in a messy business...

but I like to follow through on a sale.

The jade belongs to my father.

Now unlock the door.

I got it from Marriott it belonged to a lady.

My father happens to be married.

Yes, of course he would be.

Then your mother was wearing it

the night of the holdup?

She's not my mother.

Which one sent you here to feel me out?

It was my own brilliant idea.

Before I see the police,

I think I'll have a talk with your father...

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