Somewhere in the Night Page #4

at Iwo Jima. Thank you.

Here he comes.

- Hello, Mel.

- Hiya, Don.

Sorry I'm late. Looked for a while

like I wouldn't get away at all.

Go on.

Sit down. Sit down.

Yeah, we're a little

shorthanded over at the office.

Big postwar boom

in homicide.

We went ahead and ordered.

What'll you have?

Oh, I never eat lunch.

No. It keeps me sleepy all afternoon.

- You've seen Christy around the Cellar.

- Yeah. Sure. How are ya?

And this is the friend I called you about.

Tom Carter.

- Tom, meet Lieutenant Kendall.

- Hello, Lieutenant.

Hiya, Carter.

Hey. That stuffll kill ya.

Say, I know what's

strange about you.

You've got your hat off.

It's hard for me to believe you're a detective.

You're kidding,

but I get that on the level all the time.

It's almost impossible to make a pinch

without your hat on.

They just won't believe ya.

Well, that's the movies, I guess.

If they'd only make pictures where detectives

would take their hats off indoors...

just like anybody else.

I was wondering, Don, whether you could

give Tom here some information.

Tom Carter, wasn't it?

What about?

Would you know anything

about a fella named Larry Cravat?

- Quite a bit. Would you?

- Not a thing.

Pal of mine in the service asked me

to look him up about a personal matter.

This, uh, pal of yours

in the service-

I suppose he was killed

before he could tell you very much about Cravat.

- That's right.

- Oh, that's too bad.

- You know where he can be reached?

- If we did, lady...

maybe we'd reach for him.

No, he dropped out of sight

quite a while ago.

We did a lot of lookin',

but since it was impossible to believe...

that he was any smarter than us,

we decided he'd been bumped off.

Now, if you'd have asked me that

two days ago, I'd have guaranteed that.

What happened since two days ago

to change it?

Yesterday an ex-soldier,

named George Taylor...

showed up at a bank

with a letter from Cravat.

That's why I asked you

whether your pal was dead.

He acted like-

He acted like he didn't

want any part of the place.

Hasn't been back to his hotel room since.

It's interesting, you know?

You said if you knew where Cravat was

you might reach for him.

- Is it all right to tell us why?

- Oh, sure. It's no secret.

When Cravat faded out,

two million dollars faded with him.

It was all over town at the time.

Didn't you know about it?

I never knew anybody that could

count that high.

That pal of yours,

the one that got killed...

he didn't have

a couple million dollars stashed away?

Sure. Lots of us did.

We save it out of our 60 a month.

I'm not impressed. I make that much

in tips on Monday night.

- But may I ask one tiny question?

- Mm-hmm.

Who was Larry Cravat?

Well, to begin with,

he was a private eye.

- He came out-

- Pardon me. It sounded like you said "eye."

A private eye

is a private detective.

- Oh.

- Yeah. He came out here maybe

five years ago from the East.

He got a license, painted his name

on the window and put his feet on the desk.

Then for about two years, he investigated

husbands that played golf when it rained...

and wives that didn't come back from

the public library till midnight.

But he paid his rent

on time.

And then somebody dropped

two million clams right in his lap.

Coffee?

- Please.

- Tom?

I never touch it.

It keeps me awake.

You better have some.

You're going to be pretty sleepy this afternoon.

That was some drop- two million bucks.

How's a thing like that happen?

Well, it's a long story.

Don't ask for details, but here's most of it.

It started over in Germany when one of the Nazi

hotshots saw the handwriting on the wall.

He sent the two million

over here.

And then before he could

come over after it...

he got knocked off by one of

the fellow members of the lodge.

And here was this big chunk of dough

floatin'around loose in this country...

like a pair of dice

at a firemen's ball.

It moved east to west.

Each time it moved, it left a stiff

behind it with his fingers stretched out.

The boys play rough for

that kind of lettuce, you understand.

Somehow it got to Los Angeles.

Somehow Cravat got mixed up with it.

I don't know much more

than that.

Except that when Cravat blew,

so did the jackpot.

- Sounds like one of those "to be

continued next issue" stories.

- Yeah.

Well, I gotta get back. I shouldn't have come,

but I did it instead of my lunch hour.

You shouldn't go without eating like that.

It's not good for you.

- Lieutenant.

- Yeah? Something else?

- How does this other fella tie

in? This, uh-What's his name?

- Taylor.

George Taylor.

I don't know yet.

Maybe not at all.

Maybe he has as little to do with it as any of us.

I should think you'd have picked him up.

You must have a description.

Oh, those eyewitness descriptions.

Right now he could be anything...

from a jockey

to a Siamese twin.

Later on you narrow 'em down. No. He'll, uh-

He'll probably come in by himself sometime.

If not, we'll go out

and pick him up.

These-These fortunes. They kill me.

This ain't bad.

Well, I'll, uh, see you

some more, huh? Bye.

- Bye.

- Bye, Don.

Not bad at all.

"Confucius say,

"When something smell bad, keep nose clean."'

Boy, I certainly fooled him.

I told you he was

a smart cop.

He was a hungry cop.

I'll say that much.

You know, anybody that dug up Cravat

would be digging up a couple of million with him.

That's a good reason for trying.

That's even a good private reason.

It's not mine, if that's what you mean.

I've got no interest in the money.

Well, I'm a businessman, and frankly,

I'm interested right now.

Maybe we can

work something out...

where you wind up with Cravat,

and I wind up with what I can get.

- Help yourself.

- And I wind up with a pair of nylons, I suppose.

You name it, Chris.

All or any part of what I've got.

Speaking as kind of

a partner now...

I'd like to know a little more about

what happened at my place last night.

You might ask around

about a character named Anzelmo.

- Anzelmo?

- Very polite man with a very wet face.

He shut his eyes every time Hubert hit me,

then he told him to hit me again.

I've heard tell of Anzelmo.

They say it in whispers.

I'm sure he's just

a misunderstood boy.

Well, of all the nerve. A ticket.

And I had lunch with a cop.

Seems somebody left a note.

For you.

"L.C. 42111/2 North Summit.

San Pedro."

Isn't that a little childish

for a detective lieutenant?

Leaving notes around

like Easter eggs.

- What makes you so sure it was Kendall?

- Who else?

- Who else, Taylor?

- I've gotten beyond caring. L.C.

is only one name in my book...

and it means I've got someplace

in particular to go this afternoon.

- Maybe I oughta go with you.

- Yes.

- No, thanks.

- But I've got my own reasons now.

They come after mine.

Cravat and I gotta be alone when we meet.

- All right if Phillips drops you at the hairdresser?

- Sure.

Good.

Things don't happen like this, you know.

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