Strip for Violence | Page 7

breakdown.' See, that's it."
"And you picked me--just like that?"
"No sir, not just like anything," Will said. "Figured you're a small
agency, wouldn't charge much, see?"
"Yeah I see. Of course you realize this may all turn out to be as simple
as a kid playing with a slingshot and..."
"It ain't simple, Mr. Darling. I live five flights up, nothing higher than
two-story private houses around me. Have to be some slingshot,
wouldn't it?"
"I'm not turning down the case, Mr. Johnson, only don't expect any

fantastic solution, like this coming from Mars or..."
"How do you know it didn't come from Mars?" he snapped.
Anita giggled and I wondered if the postman was nuts or just a plain
liar. Anyway, I wasn't dropping cases--even the stupid ones. I said,
"You know I charge thirty dollars a day, and expenses."
"That much? We mailmen don't make much and with the high cost of
living --"
"And we dicks aren't exempt from the high cost of living."
He sucked on his fat upper lip. "How many days you think it will take?
And expenses, what will they amount to?"
"Hard to say. Let's turn our cards face up, Johnson. What were you
planning to spend?"
"Well..." he coughed and swallowed. "See, I'll make a deal with you.
I'm a poor sucker and..." he waved a hand at my office "... so are you.
Suppose I give you all I can afford--a hundred and fifty bucks--and let's
say you put in a week on it, full seven days, and forget the expenses?
That a deal?"
He clinched the deal by taking out an old wallet and decorating my
desk with fifteen tens. "I'm buying it, only remember, I can't guarantee
a solution in a week. But I'll give it a good try."
"That'll all I want, just try hard for a week--seven days."
"Where do you live and when can I see your apartment?"
"I live at 22 Staymore Avenue, that's Marble Hill, up past Spuyten
Duyvil. I'm off today, it's my comp day. See, any time you want to...."
"Have a lunch appointment Suppose I get up there around two?"
The mailman said fine and we stood up and shook hands-at the door he

turned, said, "Don't lose that stone, or break it. It's... well... a memo to
me." He sounded worried.
"I'll take good care of it."
When he left, I gave Anita four of the tens, told her "Might as well pay
your salary for the week. This is a weirdie."
"He's lying," she sad, looking at the stone. "Odd dark color."
"You'll probably find there's some construction work near by and this
came off while blasting."
"I'll...?"
"Sure, I'll look the apartment over and then you can make like Dick
Powell."
"Oh no, not on this crummy stone?"
"If you'd rather pound out form letters...."
Anita thumbed her nose at me. "Giving me a big choice, but I'll take the
stone deal, Hal... Darling." The way she said it left no doubt as to her
meaning.

7
I PHONED A COUPLE of fellows working for the electric and phone
companies whom I sent some good rye to every Christmas, asked if
they had a Marion Lodge as a customer... and drew a blank. At eleven
Bobo dropped in, got the address of the construction job he was to
guard, signed out for a night stick. Curly Cox who'd been a fair
lightweight when I was an amateur flyweight, came in to put the bite on
me for work. I promised him something over the week-end, slipped
him two bucks, then drove down to the 5th Street Casino.

Thirty or forty years ago this had been a club for wealthy sports, now it
was a seedy-looking place, badly in need of a coat of paint and about
everything else. It had a capacity of 250 people, and a sagging balcony
with a few dozen tables and a dirty bar. Boscom looked like a walking
caricature of an old-time saloonkeeper: short and fat, beady eyes, pink
nose, thick little mouth--even an ancient pearl stickpin in his loud tie.
He had a bullet-headed punk with him, local tough written all over his
nasty puss. Evidently this was my competition.
"When I introduced myself, they both looked astonished and bully-boy,
whose name I never did get, asked Boscom, "Hey boss, you kidding?
This little blond nance is a guard?" I let the "nance" crack go by,
although the punk's short thick neck was interesting. Boscom was
sitting at an old desk, puffing on a cheap rope, and he squeaked, "He's
been keeping order at my dances... Ain't had no trouble and..."
"And you pay him off with a few bucks and leftover bottles," I cut in.
"You're a businessman, Mr. Boscom, and