Murder, My Sweet Page #4

or don't you ever relax

when you're on a case?

Not in public. It's too crowded.

Do you like the Coconut Beach Club?

Never been there. I'm the drive-in type.

The lights would be flattering to you.

They might even mellow you a little.

It's the sort of place

where you have to wear a shirt.

Be right with you.

- I think I'll put some powder my nose.

- You've already got powder on it.

Mr. Marlowe.

Look...

I like you, but I'm too old to play games.

If you're jealous of your stepmother,

we can talk about that tomorrow.

She'll be here soon, and I don't want

you two tangling in public.

There's no danger.

You're being sidetracked.

Helen's gone by now.

- What do you mean sidetracked?

- You'll find out.

I'm just staying long enough

to speak my piece.

Tell me, are you a member of a

syndicate with international contacts...

or do you get all your information

by eavesdropping?

- What did she ask you to do?

- You missed that part?

She wanted me to kiss her

and find her jade necklace.

I may have the order wrong,

but that's the general idea.

You said you were a businessman.

All right.

Whatever she was willing to pay you,

I'll up it.

Just stay away from her.

Forget the whole thing.

What's the matter?

What are you looking at me like that for?

I don't know.

Surely I'm not corrupting you.

You've been bought off before.

I seem to remember you

from one of my dreams.

- One of the better ones.

- Would it be worth $1,000?

Well?

Stick around. I'll be right back.

Ditch the babe.

What's the matter with you?

Don't you want me to have a love life?

Ditch the babe.

Look, I'm a big boy now.

I blow my own nose and everything.

You hired me. Now stop following me,

or I'll get mad.

- Ditch the babe. I'd like you to meet a guy.

- Take it easy.

Soon gangrene will set in, in those fingers.

- I'd like you to meet a guy.

- Okay.

You do go for the showgirl type,

don't you, sonny?

- Cute, huh?

- Come on. I'd like you to meet a guy.

What's the matter with going up the front

way? Your friend behind in his rent?

Come on.

That's just part of my clothes.

I hardly ever shoot anybody.

On clear days, Mr. Marlowe, you can see

the ships in the harbor at San Pedro.

I trust you brought your crystal ball.

I don't get it.

You mean there are some things

you do not understand?

I've always credited the private detective

with a high degree of omniscience.

Or is that only true in rental fiction?

I'd like you to ask him now.

- Don't be impatient.

- Ask me what?

- Can't you do your own asking?

- Take it easy, big boy.

The boss wants a nice, quiet talk

with your friend.

I believe you wanted to discuss

my relationship with the police.

I usually come in through the front door,

big as life.

I merely wanted to take you

on the wing, so to speak.

An old psychological trick.

It helps us get closer to the real man.

Where did you pick up Malloy?

My dear Mr. Marlowe...

I notice in you an unpleasant tendency

toward abrupt transitions.

A characteristic of your generation.

In this case, I must ask you

to follow some sort of logical progression.

Now, about the police...

Maybe they got something on you

or they're trying to get it.

I didn't expect you to tell me which.

I was just baiting you.

It's an old psychological trick, grandpa.

What's your racket?

I am in a very sensitive profession.

I am a quack.

Which is to say, I'm ahead of my time

in the field of psychic treatment.

Naturally, certain elements

would like to show me in a bad light.

It's entirely possible

they have discussed me with the police.

That is it.

Sorry if I've upset your theories about me,

which must be more elaborate, but...

My theory's pretty simple.

It goes like this:

Marriott was a blackmailer of women.

He was good.

Women liked him around. His interest

in clothes and jewelry came easy.

But he wasn't the whole works. Somebody

told him which women to cultivate...

so he could load them with ice,

go out dancing...

then slip to the phone

and tell the boys where to operate.

And that is your picture

of Marriott and me?

I am slightly disgusted

and very disappointed.

Don't look now,

but Gussie the gun collector is back.

I am very disappointed in you.

Your thinking is untidy,

like most so-called thinking today.

You depress me.

Suppose your theory were correct...

I would have Mrs. Grayle's jade now,

wouldn't I?

- Unless something went wrong.

- What could have gone wrong?

Marriott could have lost his nerve

and rung in a private dick.

Take a private dick who'd risk his neck

for $100.

He might get ambitious.

He might figure an expensive necklace

would be nice to have in the bank.

This hypothetical detective of yours...

he might be willing to part

with the necklace for a consideration.

Could be, if he had it.

How big a consideration?

It would be difficult to discuss that

until he produced the necklace.

He might be bluffing,

hoping to gain information.

In which case, a great thinker might try

to shake something out of him.

You wouldn't suggest that?

Only if you wanted

to wear your face backwards for a while.

No need for us to be

at each other's throats, Mr. Marlowe.

There's really no need for subterfuge.

I want that jade.

I'm prepared to buy it from you

if you have it...

or if you can get it.

Supposing I haven't got it...

or supposing I don't want to sell...

You get him to tell you yet?

He refuses to tell me where she is.

I gave you some dough to find Velma.

- I don't like you not telling where she is.

- Who says I got her?

- I don't like nobody to kid with me.

- He's lying. He knows where she is.

Take it easy. We'll get it out of him.

How'd you get mixed up with these guys?

What's the connection?

He's okay. He tells me about you.

If he tells you I know where Velma is,

he's nuts.

He just picked you up to do his dirty work.

He's after jewelry. He thinks I've got it.

Ask him about Velma.

- I paid you to find her.

- Keep your shirt on.

- Where you got her?

- I haven't got her, you nitwit.

Where's the necklace?

Tell me and I'll stop him.

You shouldn't have done that.

You shouldn't have hit me.

Let him breathe a little.

- Where's the necklace?

- I haven't got it.

All right. A little more.

Let him go. He's tame.

I could teach you, but to what purpose?

A dirty, stupid little man

in a dirty, stupid world.

One spot of brightness on you,

and you'd still be that.

Isn't that so?

I'm glad you hit me. It helps.

Helps me a great deal.

The black pool opened up at my feet again,

and I dived in.

Next thing I remember,

I was going somewhere.

It was not my idea.

The rest of it was a crazy,

coked-up dream.

I had never been there before.

Where's the necklace?

You shouldn't have hit me.

The window was open,

but the smoke didn't move.

It was a gray web, woven by 1,000 spiders.

I wondered how they got them

to work together.

Help!

What strikes you funny, pally?

- The smoke.

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