Black money Read Free Page A

probably a dimestore badge, then changed his mind. "I don't have one," he admitted. "I'm just a kind of amateur dick, you might say, looking into something for a friend. She" - he swallowed the pronoun- "they didn't say anything about this kind of trouble."

    "Maybe we can make a deal after all. Let me see your driver's license."

    He got out his worn billfold and handed me a Photostat.

    HARRY HENDRICKS 10750 Vanowen, Apt. 12 Canoga Park, Calif.

    SEX M COLOR HAIR brn COLOR EYES blu HEIGHT 5' 9 " WEIGHT 165 MARRIED no DATE OF BIRTH Apr 12 1928 AGE 38

    From the lower left-hand corner a photograph of Harry grinned at me. I took down the address and the number of the license in my notebook.

    "What do you want all that stuff for?" he said in a worried voice.

    "So I can keep track of you. What do you do for a living, Harry?"

    "Sell cars."

    "I don't believe you."

    "Used cars, on commission," he said bitterly. "I used to be an insurance adjuster but the little fellows can't compete with the big boys anymore. I've done a lot of things in my time. Name it and I done it."

    "Ever do time?"

    He gave me a hurt look. "Of course not. You said something about a deal."

    "I like to know who I'm dealing with."

    "Hell, you can trust me. I've got connections."

    "In the used car business?"

    "You'd be surprised," he said.

    "And what do your connections want you to do to Martel?"

    "Nothing to him. I'm just supposed to case the joint and find out who he is if I can."

    "Who is he?"

    Harry spread his hands on top of the steering wheel. "I only been in town less than twenty-four hours, and the local yokels don't know a thing about him."

    He peered at me sideways. "If you're a cop like you say - "

    "I didn't say. I'm a private detective. This area is strictly patrolled."

    The two facts were true, but unrelated.

    Harry related them. "Then you should be able to get the information. There's money in it, we could split it two ways."

    "How much?"

    "A hundred I could promise you."

    "I'll see what I can find out. Where are you staying in town?"

    "The Breakwater Hotel. That's on the waterfront."

    "And who is the woman who put you up to this?"

    "Nobody said anything about a woman."

    "You said `she'."

    "I must have been thinking of my wife. She's got nothing to do with this."

    "I can't believe that. Your driver's license says you aren't married."

    "I am married, though."

    The point seemed important to him, as if I'd denied him membership in the human race.

    "That's a mistake on the license. I forgot I was married that day, I mean - " His explanation was interrupted by the smooth mutter of a car coming down the winding driveway above us. It was Martel's black Bentley. The man behind the wheel wore rectangular dark glasses, which covered the upper part of his face like a mask.

    The girl beside him had on dark glasses, too. They almost made her look like any Hollywood blonde.

    Harry got out his miniature camera, which was hardly bigger than a cigarette lighter. He ran across the road and planted himself in the entrance to the driveway, holding the camera concealed in his right hand.

    The driver of the Bentley got out facing him. He was compact and muscular, dressed in English-looking sports clothes, tweeds and brogues, which didn't go with his own swarthy sleekness. He said in a controlled, faintly accented voice: "Can I help you in any way?"

    "Yeah. Watch the birdies." Harry raised the camera and took his picture. "Thanks, Mr. Martel."

    "You are not welcome."

    Martel's fleshy mouth became ugly. "Give me that camera please."

    "Nuts. It's worth a hundred and fifty bucks."

    "It's worth two hundred to me," Martel said, "with the film in it. I have a passion for privacy, you see."

    He pronounced the word `passion' with a long nasal `o,' like a Frenchman. But he was dark for a Frenchman.

    I looked at the blonde girl in the car. Though I couldn't see her eyes, she seemed to be looking back across the road at me. The lower part of