The Dark Corner Page #4

gonna let himself get shoved into a noose.

And if you can't needle him into

knocking off Jardine, why not let me do it?

I can put a slug into him the nice clean way.

- Get him on the phone.

- Who?

- Galt.

- Oh.

And stop flicking your ashes on my rug.

That's a genuine Kashan.

(phone rings)

Hello? Yes.

- Just a moment, please.

- (buzzer)

And no sooner did he get back

than he left her again.

And I want him back. He needs me.

My job was done when I found your husband.

- It's yourjob to keep him.

- I know that...

The man in the white suit is on the phone.

- Yeah?

- Hello, Galt? You got any dough?

Maybe. What are you selling?

I'm selling Jardine short.

He's slow pay, and I like to keep moving.

- You wanna know what he's up to?

- (whispers) You need $200 to leave town.

I need two yards, powder money.

- Where? Your office?

- (whispers) No, no, no.

- No. No, the heat's on.

- Come to my place. 504 West 52nd.

Apartment 307. 7:30.

- Tonight?

- (whispers) Yes.

Right.

OK. I'll tip you if I can't make it.

All right.

Well, that's done.

Yeah, but how you gonna get Jardine to bite?

After last night he ain't gonna pay no social

call on Galt to get pushed around some more.

He'll be there.

Why shouldn't he be?

After all, he's one of my closest friends.

I trusted him,

now he'll trust me.

How can I watch a newsreel while...

Look, honey. The show takes an hour.

It's seven o'clock.

- I'll be back at eight.

- But I wanna go with you.

White Suit won't talk while anyone's around.

One, please.

Never thought I'd have to beg

to go to your apartment.

You've been there. I'll let you know when

I need any more sewing done. Or cooking.

That's one of your talents too, isn't it?

(radio) If your number is selected and for

some reason you don't wish to compete...

Number 836. There he is,

let's give him a hand.

Oof.

(door buzzer)

(thud, Jardine groans)

(door buzzer)

(door buzzer)

(door buzzer)

(door buzzer)

(door buzzer)

(Kathleen) Brad? Brad.

Brad!

Brad?

Brad.

Go away.

Why didn't you come back for me?

What's the matter?

Nothing.

- I-I'll see you later at your place.

- (rattles door) Let me in.

Brad, I'm gonna stay right here

until you open this door.

What's the matter? (gasps)

Meet Tony Jardine.

Brad...

Don't crowd me. I haven't got the answers.

But the police'll find 'em. They're like

road markers running right up my alley.

- Brad, they can't.

- Oh, I'll make book on it.

- You've got to call the police.

- What am I gonna tell 'em?

That somebody put me out

with a faceful of ether?

I woke up and there was Jardine

with his brains beaten out?

And me with a poker in my hand? They'll still

be laughing while they strap me in the chair.

You can't handle anything like this alone.

Don't give me that law and justice routine.

The cops operate on facts.

And the facts are phoney,

from here to the death cell.

Now get out and let me dope this out.

I didn't mean that.

I just meant I wanted to help.

Yeah, thanks. Thanks, but you can't.

Now beat it, will you?

I've gotta stall for time

and figure this out.

Now get outta here.

(door shuts)

(shattered glass drops to floor)

I... uh... put the poker away.

- I want to help you, Brad.

- I can't let you. If I miss, you'll be in it too.

If we miss. I don't care, Brad.

Whatever's done to you is done to me,

and I'm hanging onto you, nylons and all.

Brad, listen. This may sound silly,

but I think that man in the white suit

wanted you to spot him that very first night.

Course he did. No guy in his right mind

wears a white suit on a shag job.

Why'd that car almost hit me?

Jardine wasn't out to get me -

I should've known that from the start -

but somebody sure is.

Somebody who knew

about Jardine and me in San Francisco.

Somebody who wanted me

to think Jardine was after me.

But who, Brad, who?

I don't know. There isn't a thing to latch onto.

Maybe it's something you've forgotten.

No, I'm clean as a peeled egg.

No debts, no angry husbands,

no payoffs, nothing.

People don't go around

committing murder and frame-ups for fun.

So it doesn't add. What do you

want me to do, call the Quiz Kids?

- It doesn't make sense, but...

- What?

Maybe if I could find White Suit

I could get a lead.

- Where's that wallet?

- At my apartment.

Come on, let's go.

- What about him?

- They only clean up once a week.

The maid never cleans under the bed.

That'll give me a head start.

Go ask the janitor where I am. Say you

rang my bell and I don't seem to be home.

- Go to your apartment, I'll meet you there.

- All right.

(knock at door)

- Who is it?

- (Galt) Me.

(yawns)

- There's a drink in that cabinet.

- Thanks.

Here it is.

Fred Foss, 328 East 23rd Street.

- I think we're gonna hit pay dirt.

- How do you know it's White Suit?

My thumb, baby. My thumb tells me.

Come on, let's go.

(# Salvation Army band)

- Fred Foss live here?

- Ground floor, round the back, on that side.

Thanks.

(gasps) Oh, mamma mia!

Where's Fred Foss?

What do you want with me?

I didn't do anything.

- Is this your wallet?

- Sure, that's my pocketbook.

I lost it in the subway.

- Thank you. Thank you.

- You're Fred Foss?

Sure I'm Fred Foss. Ask the neighbours.

- My five dollars, it ain't here.

- OK, OK.

- Five dollars.

- I don't want your five dollars.

Thank you. Thank you.

There goes my last lead.

I feel all dead inside.

I'm backed up in a dark corner

and I don't know who's hitting me.

(phone rings)

Yes?

Very good.

Get in touch with me tomorrow.

Same place, same time.

- Who's there?

- It's I, darling.

Just a minute.

Come in.

It's after nine, darling.

We're expected at Mrs Kingsley's at ten.

Oh, I simply can't go, Hardy.

I've got a miserable headache.

All right.

I'm so sorry, my dear.

I'm going right to bed.

Why don't you run along without me?

I wouldn't think of it, darling.

Mrs Kingsley will be so upset.

She doesn't upset that easily.

But I did promise to meet Tony there.

I had rather a delicate matter

to discuss with him.

Hadn't you better go, then?

I imagine it can wait.

I'd rather stay here with you.

Isn't it important?

No. But it's a problem

he's eminently qualified to handle,

a man of his vast experience with the law,

in all its tawdry aspects.

You sound so mysterious.

What's it all about?

The oldest clich in the world.

One of my friends, who deluded himself

that his was the ideal marriage,

has recently discovered there's another man.

Well, Tony doesn't handle divorces, does he?

The husband doesn't want a divorce.

You mean, he wants her back?

Yes.

And as the lost and found ads say...

he offers a suitable reward for her return.

You mean the other man

would take money and just go away?

When an impoverished character,

unendowed with any appreciable virtues,

succumbs to a rich man's wife,

it has to be suspected that his interest

is less passionate than pecuniary.

But how could she be taken in

by such a man?

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